Lorne’s hand grips my throat, pushing me back so I’m peering up at him. “We’ve been searching for you, Snow. The hunt for happiness led me to you.”
I thought I’d moved on, put the past and the three men who haunt my dreams behind me. But as I stare into his emerald green eyes, I realize I was lying to myself. “Did you consider that I didn’t want to be found?”
“Belongings don’t get a say about where they’re placed. You, my pretty little Snow, belong with us.”
“I crossed the Atlantic to get away from you.”
“You can hide, and we will seek. You can run, and we will chase. There isn’t a place on earth where you don’t belong to us.”
“That’s the problem. You want ownership. I’m not chattel. You can’t buy me. I’m a human being.”
“This isn’t a one-way transaction. We also belong to you. I don’t put a lot of faith in superstition or things I can’t see, but I’m sure about this. I’m sure about us.”
Lorne releases my neck, and I immediately miss his touch. I can’t explain my emotions, even to myself. Perhaps I’m too scared. “I like the simplicity of my life here in Paris. I’m not Edward White’s daughter. I’m not Lorne Miller’s plaything. I’m not Declan Bridges’ damnation, and I’m not Caspian Charming’s target.”
“You’re also not Edward White’s joy, Lorne Miller’s heart, Declan Bridges’ Salvation, and Caspian Charming’s aim. Snow, if you want to live in France, we’ll move here.”
“You can’t pack up and leave. It’s a complicated life in the syndicate.”
Lorne laughs. “Our Daddy can take care of business back home.”
My head snaps up and I glare at him.
“I was sad not to see you at the wedding, sis.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“You’re wrong.” Lorne slides into the pew beside me. A ring of smoke floats from his mouth into the cathedral before it morphs and disperses. “Praying for someone to come save you from the sinners?”
“You can’t smoke in here. It’s the house of God.”
He laughs, his eyes on the cross before us, and the depiction of Jesus crucified on it. “If sky daddy didn’t want me to get the vice, maybe he shouldn’t have created it.”
“Seriously, what’s your problem with faith? It’s not like it’s hurting anyone.”
“Correction, Snow. It hurts everyone. If it was a benevolent thing someone did and kept to themselves, I wouldn’t have a problem. But it’s not. Organized religion is used to coerce, pervert and maintain a vacuum for the sheep. Bow your head and keep praying while those with power hurt you. I’m not willing to be a lamb for them to slaughter.”
“I’m not hurting anyone!” I scream.
My voice echoes through the cathedral. I’m frustrated. Not in Lorne’s lack of belief. I don’t care about that because, unlike Declan, my view of God is good. God isn’t vengeful to me. God is patient, forgiving, and, most of all, loving.
“Correction again. You’re hurting yourself with the notion there will be a guiding light from fantasy. May as well be on your knees asking for dragons to come save you.” He smirks, draping his arm around my shoulder before he brings his lips to my ear. “I like the idea of fucking you here. I promise to show you heaven.”
What is it about this man? He doesn’t even have to touch me, and I’m instantly aroused. Three months in Paris and I couldn’t get excited by any guy here, but all Lorne has to do is exist and I’m gushing like Niagara. “I hate you.”
"Snow, you don’t hate me. You hate that your pretty pink cunt is gushing for me.”
“That’s what I hate the most, that my body wants to bend for you, leaving my heart tattered on the ground. You have women throwing themselves at you. Go fuck one of them and leave me in peace. I don’t want your head games and mind-blowing sex. I want something more.”
“Women may throw themselves at me, but you’re the only woman who’ll ever have me. I know we call you a cum dump, but we don’t mean it. It's all part of the sex play. Part of our devotion to you, because you’re fuckin’ everything, Snow. You’re not a fuck. You’re life itself.”
I want to believe him so badly. To know without a doubt that he means it. That he truly cares for me. “If I mattered that much, you’d open up to me. You only want to give me bits and piece with the mind-blowing sex.”
“The sex is pretty fucking spectacular, isn’t it?”
“A relationship can’t survive on sex alone. I need more.”
Lorne remains silent, his eyes on the altar. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, why do you have those burn marks on your skin? Why does Cas hurt himself and why is Declan in so much pain?”
He nods. “I can only give you one of those three. It’s not as horrifying as the other two tales you seek, but it’s my truth, and I can only share my story.” He pauses to draw a breath. “I killed my dad and took his power. But I didn’t kill him for his position in life. I killed him because of who he was. My father enjoyed two things: fire and children, and both were for twisted reasons. My father was a pedophile. He ran one of the biggest sex rings on the planet because he craved children and wanted to make sure he had a steady supply.”