Chapter 23 Grace
GRACE
The funeral felt so long, and the church was full.
Royal Bastards lined the pews, all wearing their cuts.
Old friends from the Quarter, people who owed my father their lives.
My mother sat in the front pew with her hands twisted around a worn handkerchief, her shoulders shaking.
The closed casket rested under a spray of white lilies.
My father would have hated it all. I smiled as I thought of him whispering in my ear, telling me the flowers smelled like a hospital.
I sat beside my mother, our arms pressed together as we heard stories and memories of my father were shared by friends and family as they each took their turn at the podium.
No one said the word, demon. No one mentioned possession.
They talked about sacrifice. They talked about a calling.
They talked about a stubborn man who never quit on anyone.
They did not talk about how he died with Bael’s power around his throat or how it was my fault.
After the service, the burial passed in a blur as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Someone handed me a rose, I don’t remember who, and I dropped it onto the polished wood and watched it disappear as more dirt was shoveled onto it.
The clubhouse wake had already started by the time we made it back to the property.
The music was low. The bar was open. People spoke in soft voices, laughter breaking here and there but it was quiet, as if they were afraid of it and needed it at the same time.
Food filled a long table, most of it untouched.
I stood near my mother under the shade of the big oak for as long as I could.
Barythaya’s eyes were red, but there was a steadiness in her that I recognized.
She had seen death before. She had seen worse things than coffins.
She held me as if she wanted to fold me back into herself and never let go.
“He said goodbye before he left,” she whispered against my hair. “Your father. He kissed my forehead. He held my hands. He told me to let him go if it was his time. I did not want to hear it, but I heard it. I think I knew.”
Fresh tears burned my eyes. “I could have stopped him,” I said. “If I had just… if I had fought harder…”
She pulled back and cupped my face in her palms.
“No,” she said. “This is not your fault. You were fighting for your own soul, Grace. He knew what he was walking into. He made his choice, like he always did. Your father loved you more than his own life. This was how it was always going to end for him. In a fight. Doing what he thought was right.”
“He died because of me,” I whispered.
“He died for you,” she said. “There is a difference. Do not twist it into something ugly. Do not let that thing win twice.”
She pulled me back into her arms. We stood like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, the murmurs of the crowd moving around us. When she finally let go, she kissed my forehead.
“Go breathe, baby,” she said. “Go find your man. I see the way he looks at you. He needs you too.”
I gave a small, broken laugh and kissed her cheek, then drifted away. I wandered through the clubhouse yard, through the clumps of people who stopped me with soft words and sad eyes.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“He was a good man.”
“Your daddy saved my boy once. I will never forget it.”
“He was proud of you, you know that?”
I nodded. I thanked them. I smiled where I could and listened where I had to. Their sympathies slid over me without meaning, my grief just settled in deeper.
Eventually, the noise inside and the pressure of all those eyes pushed me toward the back of the property.
The clubhouse sat on the edge of the bayou.
Out past the garages and the old firepit, the land dropped toward the water.
A line of willow trees marked the boundary, their long branches moving in the breeze.
The sun had started its slow fall, turning the sky orange and pink, the light catching on the ripples of the Bayou.
Hellsing stood near the edge of the yard with his back to the house. His hands were in his pockets. His cut hung open over a black shirt. The bruises on his throat had faded to yellow. The wind tugged at his hair as he stared out at the water.
For a second, I just watched him. This man had gone to literal Hell for me. He had dragged Bael down and chained him. He held my hand while I came back. Now he stood alone at the edge of my father’s farewell as he was not sure he belonged at the center of it.
I walked over and slid my fingers into his. He startled just a little, then looked down at our joined hands and backed up at me. His eyes were tired, but they softened when they met mine.
“Hey, cher,” he said quietly. “You holdin’ up?”
“No,” I said. “But I am still standing.”
He gave a small nod. “That counts,” he said.
“Come with me,” I said.
I led him along the side of the house, away from the sound of the club, to where the willows cast long shadows and the air smelled like damp earth and slow water. The wind moved the branches just enough to give us privacy without closing us in.
We stopped under one of the trees.
The sun sat low over the bayou, its light catching on his profile. For a moment, I just breathed with him.
“I don’t think he would have liked this,” I said. “The noise. The food. He always said he didn’t want people he loved whispering over a box.”
“He would have been okay, Gracie.” Hellsing said. “He got church, dirt, food, and whiskey. Virgil would be satisfied.”
I smiled, and it hurt, but it felt right.
“Mom said he said goodbye before he left,” I said. “That he knew.”
Hellsing’s thumb stroked over the back of my hand.
“You know your daddy,” he said. “He saw more than he ever said, cher. He felt Bael stirrin’ even before I did. He knew there was a chance he wasn’t comin’ back. Man like that doesn’t walk into a fight blind. He said his piece in his own way.”
“You were there,” I said. “You saw him. Did he… was he scared?”
Hellsing’s jaw tightened as those memories came back. “I saw a man who was mad as hell he had to face that thing again,” he said. “I saw a man who loved his daughter more than he feared dyin’. He was not scared. He was pissed. There is a difference.”
A shaky laugh escaped me. “That sounds like him,” I said.
Hellsing stepped a little closer. Our shoulders brushed as silence settled between us for a moment. The wind moved through the willow leaves. Someone laughed faintly by the clubhouse. A bike engine turned over in the distance.
I turned my face up to him.
“Peter,” I said.
“Yeah, cher,” he answered, the drawl wrapping around the words.
“I need…” I swallowed, trying to find language that did not sound selfish or broken. “I need to feel something that is not this. Just for a little while. Just long enough to remember I am not only made of grief and guilt.”
His brows drew together ash is eyes searched my face.
“You been through Hell and back,” he said. “Literally. You sure what you’re askin’ for ain’t just you runnin’ from it?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I am so tired of hurting. Of seeing that moment over and over. Of feeling Bael’s hands in my head. I just want you. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to remember what it’s like when it’s just you and me.”
He exhaled slowly and his fingers tightened around mine.
“Gracie,” he said. “I do not wanna take advantage of you when you’re cracked open like this, cher.”
I stepped closer until I was pressed against his chest.
“You are not taking anything,” I said. “I am asking you. I am choosing you. I always have.”
His hand came up to my face and he gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You sure?” he asked. “Once I start, I ain’t gonna be able to pretend I don’t want you the way I do. There is no goin’ back to pretendin’ we’re just friends who share demons, cher.”
“We were never just friends,” I said. “And you already went to Hell for me. I think it is a little late to worry about crossing lines.”
That pulled a low, rough sound out of him, something between a laugh and a groan.
“Stubborn woman,” he said. “You gonna be the death of me.”
“Already dragged you to Hell,” I said. “I figure the rest is just details.”
He shook his head, but there was a small smile now.
“You talk pretty for a girl who nearly bashed some guys head in,” he said.
“I am trying not to think about any of that for five minutes, Hellsing” I said. “Help me.”
He leaned in. His mouth brushed mine in a soft kiss. His lips were warm, and his breath tasted like coffee and whiskey. I pressed into it, answering without words.
His hand slid to the back of my neck and held me there as he deepened it, his tongue sweeping over mine, slow and sure. Heat sparked low in my belly. My fingers fisted the front of his shirt.
For a moment, everything else fell away. No coffin. No demon. No blood spilt. Just the feel of his mouth and the steady strength of his body against mine. He broke the kiss long enough to breathe, his forehead resting against mine.
“You told me you needed to feel somethin’,” he said, his voice rough. “This is the best I can do, cher.”
“This is not what I had in mind,” I said, breathless, even though it was exactly what I had wanted and more.
“Liar,” he murmured.
He trailed kisses along my jaw, down the side of my neck. Each slow press pulled a soft sound from me. His hand slid down my back, over the curve of my hip, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
“You feel that?” he whispered against my skin. “That’s me. That’s real. That ain’t evil. It ain’t grief. That’s just you and me under this tree.”
My head tipped back. My pulse raced. My body ached for more. I pressed my thighs together and still felt the need to climb.
“You feel so good against me,” I said, the words tumbling out in a low rush. “Every time you touch me, it is like my skin wakes up.”
He gave a soft curse, his breath hot against my throat.
“Gracie,” he said. “If you don’t stop talkin’ like that, I’m gonna lose it right here.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I asked.
His grip on my hip tightened.
“No,” he said. “The point is to take my time. The point is to watch you come apart slow in my arms, not just rush you through it because we’re both hurtin’.”
I met his eyes. “Then take your time,” I said. “I am not goin’ anywhere.”
Something shifted in his gaze. The grief did not vanish, but it settled deeper, wrapped around something more powerful. Love.
He turned me gently until my back met the rough trunk of the willow. The bark was cool through my dress. He braced one hand beside my head and moved his mouth over mine again, kissing me until I forgot how to breathe right.
His other hand slid down, fingers brushing the back of my knee, coaxing my leg up around his hip. The position pulled me closer, pressed him firmly between my thighs. Heat flared where our bodies met. I made a needy sound, and his breath stuttered.
“Peter,” I whispered.
“Go on, baby,” he said, his drawl low and thick. “Use me. Take what you need.”
The term he loved slipped out of him, soft and rough at the same time.
“My sexy little witch,” he added, his smile brief but real. “Always knew you’d own me.”
I laughed, and the sound felt strange and precious.
“I like when you call me that,” I said. “I always have.”
“Good,” he said. “’Cause I ain’t stoppin’.”
He kissed me again, slower now, deeper, his hips moving in a careful grind that sent sparks through me. My hands roamed over his shoulders, down his back, memorizing every line of muscle, every small tremor he tried to hide.
Clothes shifted. Buttons came undone. Skin met skin in quick flashes. The air between us grew hotter, the world narrowing to the sensation of his body surrounding me, supporting me, giving me something solid to hold onto while everything else felt like it might cave.
When he finally slid into me, it was with a care that almost broke me.
There was no rush. No frantic tearing at each other. Just a slow, steady joining that pushed the grief back enough for something else to rise, Pleasure, yes, but also a fierce sense of being alive, of being claimed by someone who had seen all my worst parts and stayed anyway.
My hands dug into his shoulders. My breath hitched. The tree at my back grounded me while he moved with me, holding my gaze, whispering my name in that voice that made everything inside me loosen.
“That’s it, Gracie,” he murmured. “Feel me locked inside you. Right here. Stay with me. Only me.”
“You feel so good,” my words stumbled out as his rhythm picked up.
“So thick,” I whimpered.
“You’re so deep,” I moaned.
“Fuck, Gracie. If you don’t stop talkin’, I’ll explode right here.”
“I want you to. Please.”
I watched the sunset over his shoulder as our bodies moved in a rhythm that belonged only to us. The sky shifted to deeper orange, then red, then bruised purple. The wind wrapped the willow branches around us, creating a small, trembling shelter.
He held me tight against him as is dick slid in and out of me, his hips thrusting hard against me as his mouth clamped down over the sigil on my breast.
“Peter!” I cried out as he reached between us, brushing his calloused thumb over my clit.
“Cum for me, my sexy little witch.
I whimpered as his rhythm became erratic, all while his thumb rotated on my clit, my hips jerked, my body begging him for more.
His lips pressed to mine and the words that came out of his lips flung me over the edge.
“That’s my good girl,” he growled.
I shuddered in his arms as he fucked me harder.
He didn’t stop, he just prolonged it so sweetly, relishing in my whimpers.
When I finally broke apart, it was not clean.
Tears mixed with the sounds he pulled from me.
The pleasure crashed into the grief and blurred the edges of both.
I clung to him like he was the last solid thing in a world made of smoke.
He followed me over, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath rough, his hands gentle even as his body shook.
We stayed there for a long time afterward, his weight holding me to the tree, our hearts trying to find a steady rhythm again.
He eventually eased back, careful, helping me straighten my dress, tucking his shirt in with shaky fingers. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my mouth, then the corner of my jaw.
“You, okay?” he asked.
“No,” I said honestly. “But I feel you. And right now, that is enough.”
He nodded, thumb stroking over my lower lip. “We’re gonna carry this together,” he said. “You ain’t doin’ this alone. You hear me, cher?”
“I hear you, baby.” I said.
I laced my fingers with his again and stepped out from under the willow.
The wake continued behind the house and the pain was still there, but so was he. This wonderful man who coveted my soul.