Chapter 20
Sebastian
Saint Samael’s always reeked, but I could usually breathe through it, almost ignore the frankincense. Today, though, the smoke didn’t just hang in the air—it flooded the sanctuary in thick, suffocating ribbons.
My fingers curled around the wooden podium as I squared my shoulders. The sea of worshipers in front of me looked faceless, like someone had painted over them in oil and left their features blank.
Still, I continued with the sermon.
“When it comes to failure, the Lord knows none. For in his plans, while there are setbacks…”
I trailed off, scanning the crowd again, desperate to focus.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder, tight enough to bruise. Cold lips brushed my ear, corpse-like and slick with what felt like mucus.
“Keep going, Father Castillo,” Dale’s drawl rattled in my ear like death itself.
I jerked around—but no one was there.
Then, from the other side, Dale returned.
“You’re who they’re here for. Make the congregation proud.”
The chapel lights flickered—first dim, then blinding—before every bulb burst at once.
I screamed, ducking behind the pulpit as I covered my face. My body shook violently, wracked with seizure-like convulsions as I waited for the gunshot-like shatters to end.
When the noise finally stopped, I forced myself upright, legs trembling. The sanctuary was pitch black, save for the faint glow of incense.
The pews stretched on forever, but the congregation had bowed their heads, not in prayer. They looked like marionettes with their strings cut, collapsing in unnatural heaps. Limbs tangled and twisted. Some broken. Or worse.
“You remember what it’s like to not be chosen. To be hated. To be feared,” Dale’s voice slithered back into my ear.
I spun, nearly slipping off the podium. My nails dug into the wood just as the floor behind me crumbled into a gaping black void.
Gravity doubled. I stifled a scream, muscles shaking as I fought to stay upright.
“We are the only ones who want you, Sebastian.”
“No!” I shouted, arms trembling. Every skipped gym day suddenly haunted me.
Decay spread across the podium, rot crawling like vines under the wood grain. I jumped—just barely catching the edge—only for it to give way beneath me.
And I fell.
Invisible flames licked at my feet, and I screamed. The pain was instant. Real.
“Do you think they’ll want you after everything you’ve done?”
Dale’s voice again—calm, taunting.
“Sebastian, you betrayed me.”
Cameron’s voice. Closer. Angrier.
“I didn’t! I did it to save you! It was a mistake!” I cried, clawing at the splintered edge of the falling floor.
“Dale took everything from me. And now you’re supporting the cult that ended my life?”
I couldn’t see his face, but I felt the fury in it.
“It’s not like that!”
“You’re sacrificing me,” Mason’s voice added. Distant. Muffled. Like she was screaming from behind locked doors.
Her presence gripped my soul, pulling me toward her. I could feel her.
“Mason! I’d never—I—”
“You already did,” she whispered, voice cracking like splintered porcelain. “You let him get to me. You let him touch me. You should’ve killed him when you had the chance.”
“I didn’t know,” I croaked. “I didn’t know he’d go after you. I didn’t have the evidence—”
“You didn’t stop him. You could’ve stopped him!”
I shut my eyes.
The world shifted again.
Suddenly, I was no longer in Saint Samael’s. The podium was gone. The pews had vanished.
I was kneeling in a bathtub. White porcelain bit into my knees as blood burbled from the drain.
My breath hitched. I fell back, still dressed in the priest’s vestments I never deserved.
I turned my head—and regretted it instantly.
Mason and Cameron’s bodies slumped against the wall. Naked. Skin half-charred. Eyes plucked. Mouths agape.
Unmistakably dead.
I tried to scream, but my lungs refused to work. I couldn’t move.
Why the fuck couldn’t I move?
Mason’s lips twitched, and bile rose in my throat.
“You let us burn,” she slurred, ink-like sludge falling from her lips. “You let me burn. Just like every other victim.”
“No—no, I didn’t—”
“I believed in you when no one else did,” Cameron whispered. “I thought you were more than a monster.”
His head lolled with a sickening crack, hollow sockets staring straight through me.
“I begged you to help her. To free us from the Sons of Christ so they could live.”
“I didn’t know—” I croaked, scrambling back until my spine hit the cold pink tile.
The tub gurgled louder. The blood thickened to tar. It spilled over, creeping toward their broken bodies.
A cry pierced the air.
Sharp. High. Human.
And suddenly—I could move.
I whipped around just in time to see something rise to the surface.
A baby.
A tiny, lifeless back.
Then, a bubble flipped her over.
Red curls.
Blue lips.
Eyes wide open.
Rosie.
She stared at me, but didn’t move or coo or breathe.
“NO!”
The scream tore from my throat, shredding something vital on the way out. I lunged forward with arms outstretched.
I could save her—had to. CPR. Something. Anything.
But the second I touched her, I was pulled under.
Together, we sank into the sanguine sea.
My lungs screamed. My chest burned. Metallic warmth filled my nose and mouth, drowning me in it.
And somewhere above—
Dale’s voice. Calm. Cold. Final.
“You were born for this, Father Castillo.”
“Sebastian!”
A voice tore through the dark.
“Sebastian, wake up!”
And a baby fussed.
My eyes flew open. I gasped—air clawing its way into my lungs. My body jolted upright, every nerve screaming.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus.
I was soaked in sweat. My throat burned. My muscles screamed like I’d just escaped the grave.
“Seb!”
Cold fingers on my shoulder—and I flinched.
My hand shot up to tear them away, but I saw her. Thank God, I saw her.
Mason.
Standing over me, face tight with concern. And Rosie, fussy and red-faced in her arms.
Afternoon sunlight bathed them in gold.
No burns. No blood. No missing eyes.
Just two beautiful, alive girls.
My lower lip quivered, and I barely swallowed the sob. My hands shook as I reached up.
“Can I have her?”
Mason hesitated, studying me for a second, then passed Rosie down.
The baby clung to me instantly, sniffled once, then buried her face in my chest, smearing her boogery nose all over my shirt.
It was disgusting. I didn’t care.
All I wanted was my baby.
And her mama.
I kissed Rosie’s curls a hundred times, whispering apologies into her hair, inhaling the scent of breastmilk, baby lotion, and laundry detergent.
My baby was warm. Soft. Alive.
And right now, her mom was watching me like I was a bomb about to explode.
“Let me have you, too.” My voice was hoarse, and it was then I realized I’d likely been screaming outside my dream.
I reached out, hand open.
Mason hovered for a beat.
“Please, don’t make me beg,” I added.
Her shoulders lifted with a breath, and then she crawled in beside me.
Rosie nestled deeper between us. And Mason? She pressed in close enough that I could feel her heartbeat against mine.
“I want to get the fuck out of Hartwood. I don’t want to live here anymore.”
The words tumbled out, raw and honest. But the second I said them, I realized two things:
One: I sounded insane.
Two: Leaving wouldn’t fix anything.
Because I didn’t know how big the Sons of Christ really were. And I knew Dale would find me.
I’d seen the scars on Cameron’s back. Heard what Dale did to people who tried to run. But, in Cameron’s younger days, he had nothing left to lose.
Me? I had everything.
Mason stilled beside me.
“Leave?” she whispered. “Our whole lives are here.”
I kept my eyes on Rosie. Counting every breath like it might be the last.
“I know,” I rasped. “I just… I think I’m homesick?”
Was that even a good excuse?
“And… I still have the house in Portland. It’s renovated. I always thought we’d end up there.”
Mason blinked at me like I’d grown a second head.
“You had a nightmare about your house?”
I let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh—but nothing about it felt funny.
“No, I had a nightmare about—” I paused and scratched my head. “Actually, I can’t remember.”
Rosie stirred, pulled back from me, and glared before slapping me across the face.
“Ouch, no hitting,” I said, only to be smacked again.
Her chubby palm landed with a wet thud. I looked at Mason, hoping for backup, only to find her biting back a laugh.
“I said no hitting,” I tried, more stern this time.
Whap. A third hit.
Then, she bit me right on the chest, alarmingly close to my nipple.
“Hey—ow!”
I jerked back, staring at the tiny gremlin who had just violated my shirt.
Rosie scowled up at me, then smacked me again for good measure.
“That’s enough from you,” Mason said, scooping her up like this was totally normal.
I braced for a lecture. Instead, Mason slid the strap of her dress down, pulled out her breast, and brought Rosie to it. The baby latched instantly, angry grunts melting into blissful suckling like she hadn’t just tried to kill me.
“You interrupted snack time,” Mason explained. “She was nursing when you started screaming. It scared her.”
Rosie patted her mother’s breast gently—nothing like the violence she’d used on me. Then she flung one leg in the air and grabbed her toes while nursing.
God, kids were weird.
Still… I felt bad.
“Sorry, munchkin,” I murmured, placing a hand on her belly.
She responded by kicking me, which was fair.
Mason chuckled, then leaned in to kiss me, soft, sure, and far too forgiving.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“My nightmare? Hard no.”
Mason nodded, extending a finger to Rosie. The baby wrapped her whole hand around it, sighing against her mother’s skin.
And I thanked God my dream had been just that.
A dream.
“Do you want to talk about what you want for your birthday?” Mason asked.
Fuck, that was in a month, wasn’t it?
I drew in a breath, thinking.
“I mean… nothing, really.”
When I worked for S.H.A.D.E., money wasn’t an issue. If I wanted something, I bought it. I’d never been much for gifts.
“I don’t really do birthdays,” I added.
When we started dating, Mason sent me a thousand-dollar LEGO set for my twenty-third. When I opened the box, I cried for three hours—not because of the gift itself, but because I’d mentioned it once in passing. Something I wanted but would never buy myself.
I never thought I’d be important enough for someone to remember something that small, let alone act on it. Let alone care.
And right now, I didn’t feel like I deserved anything at all.
“Besides, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” I said.
“My dad died, and I asked not to celebrate,” Mason deadpanned.
Goddammit.
“Plus,” she added, “you were sending me gifts the whole time we were long-distance.”
“No, those were care packages. You know, so your dad wouldn’t starve you to death.” I pointed to Rosie. “You’re welcome.”
Mason snorted and adjusted the baby, now starfished across the mattress in a full milk-induced coma. One leg was bent over my thigh. Her tiny fist rested near her mouth, like she was ready to fight someone in her sleep.
“I still like snacks, so they were great gifts,” Mason said, flashing me a crooked grin—the kind that showed the gap in her front teeth and lit up her entire face.
She was happy now. And that knowledge always hit me like a sucker punch.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “So I want something money can’t buy.”
Hopefully, that would end it there.
“So… Another baby?”
I choked.
“Absolutely-fucking-not.”
Mason froze for just a second. The light behind her eyes dimmed. Her smile didn’t fade, exactly, but something beneath it cracked.
“What, do you want another baby?” I asked, immediately regretting the words.
Mason looked down at Rosie, but her face was unreadable.
“I mean… when we started dating, you said you wanted three under three.”
I nearly choked again. Not because I didn’t want that, but because the thought of her getting pregnant right now made my stomach turn inside out.
“I was also mentally ill and thought if I didn’t own you, you’d leave,” I said, too freely.
She gave a tight smile. “Yeah, well… same.”
We both laughed, but it was a little too sharp around the edges.
“The idea of being baby-trapped is kind of hot,” Mason added, more quietly.
“No, it is not.”
“…It worked for Cameron,” she said with a smirk, but something in the air ever-so-slightly shifted. It was so subtle I might’ve missed it if I didn’t know her face better than my own.
“Guess I’ll have to get you something else,” she teased, but the words landed hollow.
And I froze.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “You’re pregnant again, aren’t you?”
There was a beat of total silence as Mason’s face shifted from shock to abject horror.
“Do I look pregnant?” she challenged.
My eyes flicked to her waist. Between her dress and Rosie sprawled across her torso, it was impossible to tell. But with Rosie, she’d been so bloated and miserable she couldn’t fit into her jeans before she even got a positive test. And that wasn’t happening now. At least… I didn’t think it was.
Also, I probably shouldn’t be thinking about Mason’s body like that, considering her history with eating disorders. And, you know, because I loved her.
My mouth snapped shut before I could dig myself in deeper.
“That’s what I thought,” Mason muttered.
“Masie, wait—”
“No. I’m going to my room, by myself, so I can clean up for my girlfriend, who doesn’t randomly ask if I’m pregnant.”
She rose from the bed and pulled Rosie from my arms, and my chest ached at their absence.
“Mattie’s spending the night again?” I asked—because I was an idiot and my mouth couldn’t stay shut.
Mason paused halfway to the door. Rosie was already snuggling into her shoulder.
She didn’t turn around. Not even a glance back.
“Yes. Sophia said she could,” she said flatly.
And I knew—without her saying another word—that was Mason-speak for: Yes. And you’re not invited.
My mouth opened… and then thankfully closed again.
I watched her hips sway as she walked out, then the soft slam of the door behind her.
And all I could think about was what Mattie had said earlier. About the cult, and how she had no desire to be lumped in with them.
And somehow, that made me trust her even less.