And now the time had come to cleanse the world of the Fallen’s stain.
Father Auguste reached forward and took Father Quinn’s hand. “They may have taken the ledger, but that can now be to our advantage.” Father Quinn’s fingers wrapped around his. “I won’t fail you, Your Excellency. Trust me on this. I will bring them to justice.”
“I know you will, child,” Father Quinn said. “You have never failed me. You were always the brightest star to me.”
“Thank you, Father,” Father Auguste whispered. Those words filled his heart with deep love and purpose. But he thought back to a blond boy with soft curls that framed his face like a true, living angel. Joseph, or, as he was now known, Gabriel. Gabriel had always been the one to win Father Quinn’s favor, until he’d opened his heart to evil and tried to kill their leader in cold blood. Father Quinn’s attention had then fallen onto Auguste, where it should have been all along. And Auguste would not fail his mentor. He would bring home a victory for the Brethren over the Fallen. He wouldn’t stop until they all perished.
“God brought you to the Brethren for a reason. You are the best at what you do. A true warrior of the faith, like the Finder Generals of old, our forefathers who lit the way for us to follow. He placed their talents in you. A celestial gift for your unwavering devotion.”
“Thank you,” Father Auguste said, radiating happiness. He kissed Father Quinn’s burned hand one more time before he got to his feet. “I will get to work straight away.”
Father Auguste left the Brethren headquarters and sat back in his town car. The twins waited silently for his instruction. As they made their way back to the Witch Finders’ base, plans circled Auguste’s mind.
If the Fallen thought that they had the upper hand, that they could seriously take on the might that was the Brethren brotherhood, they had sorely misjudged their enemy. Because Auguste was ready to load an army of holy angels onto their sinful ways and crush them where they stood.
So, Auguste told the twins of his plan, a smile breaking out on his mouth at the thought of watching all the sinners die beneath their holy swords. Judgment Day was coming for the Fallen angels who had gotten away, and Auguste’s eyes would be the last thing they saw as he sent them back to hell.
Chapter 9
The water pelted Diel’s head as he stood under the scalding spray of the shower. It ran under the metal of his collar—he didn’t even feel the sting of the freshly fried skin anymore; it was nothing but numbed, unsalvable flesh. He closed his eyes as the blood pooled around the drain. And he thought of brown eyes and a long braid of cotton candy–pink hair.
Noa.
He mentally traced the pentagram on her chest, and the upturned cross in the center. Then he thought of her breasts, of her opening her shirt to show him the brand—no bra, completely exposed to his eyes. His monster awoke inside him at the memory and began to prowl. Diel had never given a fuck about how a woman looked before. He killed them, killed anyone that he could. Gender didn’t matter. But Noa … she was everywhere inside him.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, he saw her perfect nose and her full lips, saw her long lashes and her body in all that tight black leather. Diel’s hands flattened on the tile before him, then curled into fists. He gritted his teeth and looked down. His cock was hard. He tried to control his breathing, taking deep, calming inhales and exhales. But all he could see in his mind’s eye was Noa. Fucking Noa and her eyes and tits and the way she looked at him and showed no fear at all, her lip hooked up in a taunt.
Everyone feared him. His victims’ fear was his lifeblood, the fuel to his very existence.
But she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t fucking scared of him one little bit.
Diel snarled as his monster thought of her too. It wanted Diel to go find her, seek her out. Diel’s forehead fell against the tiles, and he made sure his feet remained planted to the floor. He wouldn’t go, even though she was close. So fucking close. Gabriel had put her and her sisters in the housekeeper’s home on the manor’s property—Fallen property.
Gabe had fucked up. He should never have put Noa that close. Diel wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of having her so easily within reach.
Diel’s breathing became choppy as his cock began to pulse. A fantasy was building—he pictured Noa on his bed, wearing no clothes and with her legs spread in invitation. With a guttural, confused roar, Diel wrapped his hand around his cock and squeezed the rock-hard flesh. His jaw clenched at the pain—not pleasure; he wanted to fucking bruise himself. But his monster fought against the self-assault. The monster wanted Noa. Diel slackened his grip on his dick, instead stroking along its length as the monster took control.