Priest and his Anarchist

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

luna

this is not a love story. it’s a tragedy.

T he decay of nature stains my French-manicured nails as earth leaves its damp fragrance through my hair.

It rained last night? How much did I have to drink? Ugh. I hate alcohol.

My legs swing over the side of my bed, but the movement causes a sharp ache to surge through my head. My hangover has created its own heartbeat inside my brain.

“Fucking River.”

I stumble straight to the shower, not bothering to wait until it’s heated before stepping inside. Drips of water leave clean trails over the soiled parts of my body, and I turn to wash my face when something stabs my right side. Blinding pain flashes before me as I fall against a wall, holding myself up with one hand. Bruises and pain only mean one thing to me.

Fragility.

I twitch through my shower until it smells like a florist and crawl out. Cotton warms my skin as I wrap my towel around my body, snatching my toothbrush from the holder. With the muddy-brown tint now washed from my hair and my skin free of soil, I study myself in the mirror.

So much has changed.

“What is it?” I asked the Fathers, looking between the three men who I’d put so much trust in over the years, one in particular because he had spent a great deal of his time saving me from demons he didn’t even know existed. Or maybe he did know. He never made me feel like he did.

“We need you to fall.”

I go through the motions of blow-drying my hair before plucking the first outfit I can find in the disarray of boxes. I need to unpack. Since being here, it’s been like one thing after another. Suddenly, I wake with mud under my fingers and a hangover from Hades.

My phone vibrates on the bedside table, and I pause. Like shards of glass, a shiver runs down my spine. I must have managed to plug it in on my journey to bed last night.

River’s name flashes over the screen before a number I don’t recognize pops up with it. Swiping it unlocked, I tap on River’s message first.

That was risky.

Finding the next number, I open it.

Stella’s number—save it! So you don’t have a repeat of last night.

Metal sparkles as I slide open the first drawer of my bedside table. Leather straps encase the sharp edges of my throwing stars. Another reminder of him. Everything is always such a damn reminder of him.

Slamming the drawer closed with my hip, I lower myself onto the bed and twist the strap around my thigh, tightening the buckle. There’ve been times when I’d considered where I was going and whether I was making the right choices, but this isn’t one of those times.

I tap out a message to River.

I know.

She replies instantly after the text bubbles disappear.

Are you coming tonight?

What is tonight? There are always different events going on. I wonder if it is only because of the ritual and being so new.

I’ll try.

She leaves me on read, and it’s not until I’m under the parking garage that another text comes through.

You’re too pretty to die.

It’s like River to break tension with a joke.

Swinging my helmet under my arm, I quickly type out my reply.

And you’re too smart to call me pretty.

I fasten my helmet and tuck my hair beneath the collar of my leather jacket. Sleek black paint reflects off the overhead lights, and as soon as I’m straddling my bike, I feel at home. The purr of her starting sends a surge of adrenaline through my body.

Revving the engine, I kick off the stand and direct it from beneath the parking garage.

An hour later, I run my fingers through the strands of my hair and twist it into a low bun. Unzipping my jacket, I place it over the saddle of my blacked-out Ducati and rush across the busy street.

As soon as I’m in the building, I find the elevators and slide inside just before the doors close. A camera blinks red in the corner, and I flip open my compact mirror, gliding the stain of burned cherry over my lips. The elevator doors open with a ding, and I close the mirror with a smirk.

“—you’re late.”

My hand is in my holster before he can turn his suited back around to see his mistake. The first star slips from my thumb with sharp precision, hunting its target.

He strides forward, but it’s too late. The split in his forehead releases a flood of crimson as he tumbles to the floor.

I catch myself in the reflection of the window, dressed in all black with my blonde hair pinned up and the stain of death fresh on my lips. It reminded me of him. Everything reminded me of him.

The part I hate most about Priest Hayes is me.

Backtracking out of the office building and onto my bike, I flip open the compact phone and type a text.

Lost Rabbit

As soon as I’m in the confinement of the underground garage, I strip out of my clothes, leaving me in my lace bra, underwear, and thigh-high boots. I jog toward the waiting car, where exhaust fumes billow through the air. I pull open the passenger door to toss my clothes inside when familiar eyes land on mine.

Electricity snaps through me. I should slam this door closed and run, but the tie that connects us cements my feet to the ground.

“Good job, Madness.”

“Right. I forgot.”

“What? That it’s me who runs the show now?” He’s leaning to the side of his door, his legs spread wide carelessly. “Tell me. Does that mean that the Fathers have seen all of this—” Stripping me naked with every second, he pauses on the holster, working the muscles in his jaw. “—and the fuck-me boots.”

I fumble with the zipper, forcing the first one off. “And no, Priest. They haven’t seen me half-naked.” I toss the first one into the passenger seat before starting on the other.

“Hmmm.” The low hum would stop me if I wasn’t determined to get the hell out of here. The second boot is more stubborn than the first. “They’re not missing out on much.”

Finally feeling the release of the second, I throw it onto his lap. A slow smirk creeps onto his mouth, but I don’t wait for his laugh as I step away, slamming the door closed and flipping him off through the tint. His exhaust lets out a throaty growl when he revs the engine before boosting off into the dark of the night.

I stand momentarily, staring at the tire marks he left behind, before turning to the elevator and pressing the up button. Back in my apartment, I toss the keys to my bike into a bowl and slide open a kitchen drawer, finding my phone and opening a new message to River.

He’s already taken over.

I haven’t even climbed my stairs when her reply vibrates against my hand.

Yep. Straight after. Sorry.

Why sorry?

I wait for her reply, and when it comes through, my mouth turns dry.

Because he found something he loves more than killing. Tormenting you.

I toss my phone onto my bed and fall into the spray of hot water. After scrubbing death off me—at least from the outside—I clutch the towel around my chest and lower to my bed while sending a quick text to River.

Fuck it. I’m coming tonight.

* * *

Twigs snap beneath the soles of my feet, but I keep running. My lungs burn as the first taste of iron hits my throat, each exhale heavier than the last.

I push forward. What would meet me if I stopped running would be even worse.

I should have stayed home. The less access they have, the more I can focus on what’s important.

For whatever reason, he’s still not going to relent.

For whatever reason, I have to continue to fall.

Breaking through the thick brush of trees, moonlight shines down on me from above, and the open air feels like a balm compared to the exhaustion of the congested forest.

In an illumination of black and white, tiles lead the way through thick hedges that puzzle together, leading you into a deep world of strange horror.

I have no options. No out.

This time, when I wake up in the morning with mud beneath my nails and the hangover of regret heavy in my head, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

Not a single damn person.

My mouth dries as my throat tightens around the words I want to say. Or scream. There is only forward.

My movements are slow when I lift my head, unable to disengage from the pull of familiar darkness that calls to me. With modern Gothic architecture and a silhouette of blackened walls that breathe in the fear that’s so often left behind by its owner, Priest’s mansion sits tauntingly.

Illuminated in the darkness of the night, the castle brightens from below. My blood turns to ice when manicured gardens and lawns become replaced by overgrown moss and weeds as if nature is trying to work against fate.

What is happening?

Words swirl in my head as my bare foot lands on the first tile.

We need this favor, but it’s not one that you’re going to be able to be repaid for, Luna. This is something that we will forever owe.

How long has it been since that night?

Turning to the castle as if it’ll give me the answers I’d usually ask the Fathers, I’m again distracted by the neglect. Frequently illuminating a soft hue of baby pink, shadows have crawled over the structure as if darkness itself has swallowed it.

Have I lost track of time?

Squeezing my eyes closed, I think over last night.

The hit.

Priest.

I left with River to come to—to a party? Town?

“Run, Madness.”

I stepped back. “I don’t want to do this tonight!”

Priest glared. “Tell me the part where you have a choice.”

The world around me blurs. I need to find answers. Following the checkered path into the maze, I ignore how the wind whistles around my ankles, curling up my thighs.

My fingernails dig into the base of my palms the closer I draw to the entrance. Thick shrubs surround a sizeable concrete arch that curves above my head. Two gargoyles glare down from atop beside angels blowing trumpets toward each other.

Angels. Right. Someone messed that up big time.

Maybe it was the angle I was looking from, maybe the castle isn’t dead. I know what I have to do.

Fall.

The caw of a crow flying over my head makes me shiver, sticky with sweat and mud. The shadows of its wings flap up in the sky overhead, passing the glowing full moon.

Two shadows tower over me when I lower my head, with faces covered in a ray of glistening diamonds lined into skulls. Fear prickles through me as I jump backward.

“Hello, Madness…” Like a blood clot forming in my belly, bile rises up my throat. His half is a sheen of black, with fangs as teeth and barbed wire caging in one eye. Black diamonds form around the edges, a shadow of opulence because his main goal is death.

I know who he is. I don’t need to be this way with him because if he wanted me dead, he’s had more chances than anyone to do it and hasn’t.

“What is happening?” The words are barely a whisper when they leave my parched throat.

“Tsk, tsk…” He wags his finger, the rest of his face covered by the dark rim of his hoodie. “You don’t ask questions yet.”

A piercing scream of death cuts through the forest, and a new wave of fear prickles over me as I flex my fingers in my fist. “I don’t remember this being part of the Hunt, Rabbit…”

He doesn’t move, and Vaden shifts behind him a little.

“Because this isn’t a hunt.” The wind carries his voice the same way a rotten corpse does death. “This is a race, and you—” His finger curls around the stray pieces of hair that frame my face. “Look lost.”

Confusion weighs me down. I hate that the wall I’ve trained myself to keep up crumbles anytime he’s nearby. As if I can trust a single word he says. “I can’t remember anything. What happened after the Hunt last night? How much time has passed?”

Neither answer, but Priest steps forward, and I’m reminded of how big this man is. He’s a giant, but I’m not talking about his six foot-five inches or three-hundred-and-something pounds of muscle. Priest's size is the second thing you’ll notice because the shadows that move around him in a haze of darkness are the first.

The sting of his touch beneath my chin as he lifts my head rattles every bone in my body. “Barely any at all.”

He turns to look over his shoulder at Vaden.

Vaden’s eyes darken a little before going back to Priest. “Want me to take her in?”

Priest doesn’t answer, simply releasing my chin and stepping away. The absence of his touch leaves a gaping hole in my chest.

“You don’t need to force me.” I glare at Vaden. “When have I ever needed to be forced. I’ll gladly go.”

Vaden snakes his arm around my own as he directs me further down the checkered path. A refreshing breeze rushes through the opening, pausing me in my tracks. I look back, and the place where Priest stood moments ago is now completely vacant.

“Lulu…” Vaden whispers against the side of my head. “You have to get out of here.”

“Of where Vade?” Dark shadows form around his face, but he keeps tracking my every curve.

“Of this hell.” The silence of unspoken words pulls between us as he directs me through the maze, picking up speed as hedges zip past me one at a time. Stones stab at my feet as we move through the thick foliage, and every few seconds, blood-curdling screams erupt from the forest behind us.

“What happened to this place?”

Vaden pauses. “Madness.”

My legs ache once we finally reach the entrance to Priest’s. Beacons of light warm the entrance, where a man dressed in all black stands, his face hidden by a balaclava.

“Why are you smirking?” I cross my arms, glaring up at Vaden. “I’ve either had too much to drink last night and this”—I wave my hands around the place, mainly down below where the castle and maze are—“is either all a dream, or you guys have set up while I was asleep some sick twist to the Hunt!”

Vaden’s head tips back with a roar of laughter.

“Not funny…” I complain.

His amusement dies as he steps back into my space, his fingers find the back of my head, pulling me close. “It’s not a dream, and you haven’t lost any time, Lost One.”

“—but.”

He releases me and walks toward the front door. His dark hoodie stretches over the muscles in his back.

“But I don’t remember anything after texting River that I was coming to the party!”

Vaden stops moving. I can’t see from here, but I swear he’s still smirking. Smug bastard.

“That was just last night. Come. You need rest.”

I follow him through the front door, this time looking closer at the guard. His eyes follow as I tread behind Vaden and into the foyer. Silence fills the minimalistic space with the smell of rich leather and sugared spice. The light is low, that same chandelier hanging above me at the entrance, as I step into the open space of velvet couches and secrets.

Vaden pauses on the bottom step that lowers to the living room, finally removing his hoodie and tossing it onto the floor with his mask. Angry red streaks mark his neck, holding me in surprise.

“What happened?” I ask, following his steps.

He turns in a way that puts distance between us. His mouth opens, but as his eyes shift over my shoulder, it slams closed again.

I don’t need to turn to see who it is since that gaping hole is now filled with gasoline, and any second now, I’m sure he’s going to light the match that burns me to ash. I don’t know when the feeling of ice was replaced with fire, but I don’t like it. I prefer the trail of ice.

Priest swipes the blood off his cheek, tossing his shirt and mask onto the sofa. His eyes are swallowed in darkness; his skin is paler than usual. “I need a drink.”

I run the palms of my hands up and down my arms, dread tasting a lot like mud and bone marrow.

“She needs a bath, Priest.” Vaden’s voice cuts through the tension. The muscles in Priest’s back ripple when he stops walking. The tattoo covers every inch of skin on his back in intricate artistic strokes. I can’t make out all of it from here, but I’m sure that’s a skeleton ribcage.

Being nestled between two of the same kind of monster should frighten me more than it does. They’re so similar… yet achingly different. Vaden has always had more humanity, but that wasn’t hard to do, considering Priest has none.

Priest’s blank stare lands on me when he turns over his shoulder. “Then bathe her?” He returns to what he’s doing, filling a glass with whiskey. Priest is like a thousand-page novel written in invisible ink. Everyone assumes he has nothing but blank pages inside, but I’m starting to wonder if that’s what he wants everyone to think. His first mistake was assuming I was like everyone else, all the while I’ve been studying the structure. The spine that binds the pages. Does the rot start there? Or do I need to tear the pages out to find it?

I must have slept through whatever chaos Priest and the Kings have unleashed, but where are the girls? Where is everyone?

Heat covers my upper arm, and I turn in time for my eyes to collide with Vaden’s. One blue and one brown. He is a beautiful monster. So beautiful, but only because of his soul. His soul even, I can feel, is rotting the more that time goes on.

“Come on, Lost One…”

The palm of his hand leaves a trail of warmth down my arm when it slides down, landing in my own.

I don’t like this new version of Vaden. Since coming back, he and I clearly do not share the same bond we once did. That doesn’t bother me. It should, but it doesn’t. What does is the wave of pain emanating from Priest as he stands emotionless in the corner, head bowed and shoulders rippling with the glass of whiskey sitting on the bar between his hands.

Vaden tugs when I don’t move, and every step I take backward feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest. I don’t care much if it means he needs it with him more.

Sadness fills my throat as I trace Vaden’s steps up the familiar staircase, passing the new art frames.

I pause beside the newest one. A mirror with a faceless person standing in front. The delicate curve of her shoulders and long hair tells me it’s a girl. She hides a knife behind her back, fingers curled tight around the shaft, and I look back at the mirror, noticing the spiderwebs of cracks over the glass. It’s a dusting of gray and black, clearly sketched with a talented hand.

“Lost One…” Vaden’s hand is on my lower back.

“He drew these, didn’t he?” The words leave my mouth in a whisper. When Vaden doesn’t answer, I turn to face him. “Didn’t he?”

Vaden’s eyes shift to the wall behind me. “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bounces before he rests his gaze back on me. “Come on.”

The dirt on my body has long since dried, and the dress is soiled and stained as I aimlessly find myself outside the bedroom I had spent so much time in. My own. Is it still the same?

“Not in that one…” His voice felt like silk against the nape of my neck. It’s almost too painful to look at him when he’s lost in his head. Instead, I allow Vaden to direct me back down the long hallway. The closer I get to him, the faster my heart races. As we pass, Priest’s fingers graze mine, and the air in my lungs seizes as the final wall I’ve barely held together explodes, leaving a storm of embers. Suddenly, every step away is unbearable. It was as if that wall was the only thing stopping the final knot from being formed on a bond that is too lethal to exist in a world so fragile.

Vaden forces the door open onto an array of velvet bedding, a sanctuary for the dark and disturbed. It’s both comforting and terrifying when the space swallows any bit of light that may come into contact with it. With an open entrance to the bathroom, I follow Vaden to the tub that sits opposite floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying the woods. A marble chandelier with veins of beige hangs above, allowing shadows of light to rain down on us.

Water spills into the cement tub as Vaden plays with oils and soap, lowering himself onto the edge. Blowing out a steady breath, I turn to the twin mirrors, resting against the counter and getting the first glimpse of myself. My black ribbon barely holds the dirt-stained blonde strands together in a knot of soil. The dress I slipped into last night hangs from my body in a shard of rips. Whenever I suit up, my mind blocks off all weaknesses as if reciting a code of mental painkillers, but now, without the tight straps of my leather and the decaying adrenaline turning to dust around me, the sting of my ribs returns.

Before I can stop myself, a hiss leaves me as I lean on the counter. Three-six-five-five-four. Inhaling, my eyes open when I breathe out the pain.

Priest’s hand lands beside mine, caging me in without touching. His hand makes mine look childlike, and when I finally look up into the mirror, it’s like seeing us together for the first time. We look exactly as I expect us to anytime we are together, like a girl who has befriended the monster under her bed.

“Why’d you bring me up here?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from the picture painted before me. The twang of vodka sticks to the back of my throat, so I turn the tap and cup water in my hand. When that’s not enough, I grab the glass of mouthwash and twist off the cap. Gargle, spit, rinse. Why couldn’t the Code of Pain work on emotions?

I catch the drop of Listerine with my hand, and among the heavy silence, I know Vaden is watching closely from behind.

“Do you remember much about when we were kids, Madness?”

Fresh mint burns my throat. I’ve fought a long time to not cower in his presence. In any man’s presence.

“Of course I do.”

Priest’s eyes fall to my lips in the mirror, and I’m suddenly aware of my position. I turn, not wanting an enemy at my back. No matter how much my heart thinks it belongs to him.

Squeezing the counter, my neck bends to look up at him. This isn’t torment. It is beginning to feel like feeling death repeatedly but never dying.

He holds my stare. “Get in the bath.”

My fatigue reminds me why fighting with him can wait, so I duck out from beneath him and return to the tub. Reaching my back, I catch the zipper, tugging it down until the withered dress falls to a pool at my feet.

“No use asking either of you to get out,” I say, kicking my underwear to the side and stepping up on the small platform. Warmth crawls through me from a single dip of my foot. I’d never wanted a bath more in my life.

I lower myself into the water, sighing when the stabs of heat turn into a throbbing massage as my skin softens. My eyes close as I slide into the bath. With the echoing silence of water around me, I stay a moment, blowing out air bubbles when I run out of oxygen.

Pushing off the bottom of the tub, I’m about to surface when a hand lands on my head, forcing me back under. I claw at it to push him off me, but it’s useless. When my palm grazes the Cuban chain around Priest’s wrist, I know he won’t let up.

I’ve thought about the day I was going to die. Often. I could never decide whether I was afraid or excited. I didn’t want to die. But I could never find the urge to live—until that day I was given to Bishop. I found a purpose. No longer lost, I thought I’d found my place in a world where everyone has a purpose.

He releases, and I surface, swiping the water from my face. My lungs burn as if each inhale is gasoline. Fucking crazy bastard!

Priest flicks the cap off a small bottle with a tag attached around the rim.

My teeth grind together. “When will you kill me?”

Priest doesn’t answer, staring through me as he pours the liquid into the bath.

“When will you get it, Lost One…” Vaden adds, and the sound of his nickname is almost too painful for me to hear right now.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, my agitation almost unbearable.

“What?” Vaden asks as if surprised. His head tilts as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Lost One?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to keep out my sarcasm. “The person who used to call me that wouldn’t sit aside and watch Priest try to drown me.”

Priest’s chuckle draws me back to him, and I hate myself. I hate that even after all this time, even after everything I’ve gone through, it doesn’t mean anything because all it comes down to is the power of a King.

This particular King.

“Madness. You and I both know that if I wanted you to be dead, you’d be dead.” Lavender and cardamom fill the steam as it rises.

I relax back into the tub. “Ditto.”

“I want to ask you a few questions though.” Priest rounds the tub, and as relaxed as I am from the salts and whatever else he poured—honestly probably poison—I stiffen as he disappears behind me.

“And you’re going to answer my questions with honesty, or I’ll punish you.”

I swallow. I can’t imagine a lifetime where I’ll ever want to find out what Priest does as punishment because I know what he does for fun.

Coolness spreads over my scalp as he pours shampoo onto my head. His fingers find their way into the dirty strands, the water leaving streak stains over my shoulder.

“Where’d you go after those years with me?”

He must feel me tense because his fingers stop. I’m not ready to touch on how they feel buried in my hair or how every time they curve over my scalp, my mind wanders off to a place I don’t want to visit.

“Answer me, Luna.”

My mouth slams closed, and the water around me turns to acid.

“You’re not going to tell me, huh?” The warmth of his body disappears. Footsteps echo over the floor, the tension in the air thickening.

“Just answer him, Luna…”

“Shut up, Vaden.” I keep my tone level, unable to tip the scale.

One day, there will be a house. And in that house, there will be a sofa. And on that sofa, there’ll be a—my eyes open when I see a flash of orange.

No. Not that.

“Do you know how many times we had seen each other?”

I don’t answer, my eyes slowly peeling open and onto Priest sitting at the end of the tub, his fingers at his belt. Sure, his body is tight and defined, but there’s something else about it. It’s strong. Thick. His muscles don’t bulge out in a way that screams I lift heavy every day and my whole personality is protein and gym bros. Me strong, you weak.

No.

This is a body created by pure genetics. This is born, not made.

His arms are long and thick, his muscles flexing every time he moves. His abs almost seem like he was born with them. Maybe he was. But his torso is as long as it is wide. Not a single tattoo on his front, except for the inch of something coming over from his back. I don’t want to look too hard. It’s not that Priest isn’t used to attention, because I know he is, but he doesn’t get it the same way Vaden or War does. Girls don’t fall to their knees in front of him. Not because he’s not good-looking, but because they’re afraid they’ll lose their head. He doesn’t get unwanted attention because he’ll kill you if you look too long. I rather like my life. Or… I did.

The tattoo looks like the end of a trail, connecting to the shadow of one on the side of his neck. I’m intrigued, but not enough to risk my life.

“I don’t know, Priest. How many?”

His hand disappears in the water, and I instinctively move my foot. Self-preservation. Whenever he walks into a room, if you’re smart, you’ll walk out.

“Eleven.”

“Huh,” I whisper, sinking farther down. “I was sure it would have been more than that.”

Vaden turns his body to me, widening his knees to sit forward and rest his forearms on his thighs. The top of his hair is a little longer than Priest’s, and darker. Clearly, he and Stella got their dad’s hair. I’ve never seen hair as black as theirs. “Did you go on holiday?”

I shrug, bringing my hand to my face and tracing the bubbles as they trickle down my arm. “Something like that.”

Vaden chuckles a little, but it’s the kind you know isn’t because he thinks anything is funny. “Cute.” He looks to Priest. “She’s cute. A little ballsier than she used to be, but still cute.”

His smile evaporates when his eyes swing back to me. Ocean and earth. “Do you remember the time we both fucked you?”

I still.

Vaden moves closer. Close enough to feel him breathe.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Because if I recall,” he whispers, and his cologne washes over me in a wave of maple and vanilla, but it’s the hint of moss and psychotic that reminds me of the curse.

His lips brush mine. “You looked cute then too, even if the only word you said was…stop.”

I tense, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of winning. “My vocabulary is bigger now.” Pausing, I fill the silence by studying every inch of his face. “And so is my taste in men.”

He laughs, relaxing back into his spot. “Priest, dawg. She’s all yours.”

“Vaden. Get in the bath.”