Chapter 21 #2
“Why?” He clasped his hands behind his back. He was once more playing the austere priest.
“Because you’re trying to kill my sister. Because you kidnapped us and won’t let us go home.”
“If that’s what you wish to believe, so be it. It’s a good thing then,” he paused as he took a slow step forward. “that I specialize in things that are wrong.” He took another step forward and into the range of her candlestick, daring her to swing at him.
“Vile—” She muttered his name through gritted teeth. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” Reaching up a hand, he took the candlestick from her easily and placed it on the floor next to the altar. “I have done nothing.”
She was shivering again, despite the fact that it felt like her skin was on fire.
“Here is the simple fact of things, my dear.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “If you expect me to rationalize to you why it is morally sound to be with me?” He chuckled. “You would do better investing in snake oil.”
When she turned her head away, he tutted and caught her chin, turning her back to face him. His touch was too warm.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he stepped closer to her, nearly zeroing the distance between them.
He smelled like incense and cedar. It was making her head spin.
“No, there is no right way to be with me, my sweet Sasha. Whether you can accept that is up to you. But what I will not allow you to wallow in is shame. For that has no place within my purview. Not unless, of course”—his lips curled up in the slightest grin—“you’re into that kind of thing. ”*
“I—I don’t understand—”
“Sin is what I am made of, my darling.” His hand settled onto her hip, squeezing it. “Sin is what I do best. Do you think I’m not well versed in every single possible kind of depravity the human race has to offer?”
“That’s not what I meant, I meant the shame—” She wasn’t Irene Adler anymore. She was herself. This felt…far more real. Even if it wasn’t Vile in front of her. “Why—”
“Because it was clear to both of us how much you enjoyed it.” He caught her chin in the crook of his fingers again and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “How much you wanted it. Wanted the danger. Wanted the darkness. You didn’t want it to feel right. You wanted the monster.”
“I—” She broke off. She wanted to say she didn’t. She very much wanted to say she didn’t.
But she’d be lying.
And they both knew it.
“But…should you wish to repent your wicked deeds?” His grin grew devious. “I brought you here to this house of God so you could kneel at the altar and confess your sins to me, My Daughter, should you wish…”
It was very clear that what she’d be doing on her knees was anything but repenting her sins.
Sasha had serious, serious problems.
Ones she was only just starting to grasp.
Because everything in her body was screaming about how badly she needed what he was offering her.
It was wrong. And she wanted it because it was wrong.
Was it betraying Sidney? She wasn’t taking Vile’s side.
She wasn’t acting against Sidney. She wasn’t getting emotionally attached to Vile.
It wasn’t about that. It was about something else entirely.
It was about the way she’d felt with Moriarty.
It had been the closest she’d been with another human being in her entire life.
She’d never felt anything like that as herself before.
And that was what she was craving again.
That sensation of being wanted—needed—of feeling that nearness to another soul that she’d never had.
And the threat of the danger of it all? The wrongness? The darkness? It seemed to be what cut through the nonsense. The walls she’d built around herself.
The priest lowered his head towards hers.
That was when it hit her. The real reason this felt wrong. The real reason something was eating away at her. It wasn’t the fact that he was the bad guy. That was going to be what sent her to hell, but wasn’t going to be what stopped her from having sex with him a second time.
The answer was far more embarrassing.
She placed her fingers on his lips. “No.” The word left her in an exhale.
He took a step away from her without hesitation, putting a foot between them. The lack of him made her shiver as the cold came back in a rush. “As you wish. But may I ask why?”
“Don’t you know? You can read my thoughts.” She tried to hide in her frustration and anger. But she couldn’t help but be a little disappointed.
“I can. But not here. I said I was looking for privacy. What did you think I meant?” He paused. “Ah. You think I meant from my brother? He can see this. There’s no avoiding that. No, dear. I meant for you.”
“Why…?”
“It seemed only sporting.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “When one can intrude on another’s thoughts, debates become terribly weighted to one side. I am attempting to be fair about this.”
“As for why, I just told you.” She was still glad to have the altar to lean on, even if her mind kept going back to the things she’d rather be doing on the altar than using it for support.
“Mm. I don’t believe you.” He watched her curiously, those dark eyes that glinted in purple studying her. “What is the real reason?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll use it against me.”
“Valid.” He laughed. “Quite valid. Very well, keep your secrets.” He shrugged.
“But the fact of the matter is this—the reason we are going to return to the story having not enjoyed this little vignette of mine has nothing to do with the fact that I am the Villain of this story and that I have placed you and your sister into this predicament?”
She paused. There wasn’t any point in lying. He could see it written all over her face. “No.”
“Good. And you are not ashamed of what we did?”
Wincing, she looked away. “Maybe a little.”
“I can settle for that.” He clapped his hands together in front of him, startling her so badly she jumped. “Shall we return to Sherlock’s London, then? I am so very eager to see how you will handle the morning after with our professor.”
“That’s…it?” She stared at him dubiously.
“Well, you said ‘no.’ I’m not going to force you.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Unless you want me to be that kind of villain, in which case, I’ll have to make you sign a waiver...or something of the like.”
“No! No. That’s fine—” She said that a little too quickly. Her cheeks went hot as she knew she was blushing.
“Mmm. Maybe you do want me to be that kind of villain...” His voice lowered to a deep purr. “Something to explore another time. You are clearly too distracted with whatever epiphany you’ve just had.”
Epiphany. The real reason she didn’t want to go another round with him. The reason that her stomach was twisted in knots. It had nothing to do with shame. It had nothing to do with morals.
It had everything to do with the fact that if she was herself? If she was Sasha? Then she wanted Vile. Not the priest he was wearing.
And that wasn’t what she had tricked herself into thinking when she’d walked into that rented flat in the story. It wasn’t about the fiction. It was about him. She wanted the danger. Wanted to see what he was capable of if she signed the proverbial waiver.
And that was going to get her into a great deal of trouble.
He held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”
“Not going to drop me this time?” She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Well, you and I have reached a different understanding.” He kept his hand outstretched. “Come, darling.”
This was such a massive mistake. But, like Charlie Brown with the football, she reached out her hand to take his. And as he grasped her, his hand ceased to be human.
He ceased to be human.
Too many eyes. The darkness had too many purple eyes staring at her. Staring through her.
Ink, the color of black tar, swallowed her whole.
She didn’t even have the chance to scream that time.
* If one’s kink is shame, how does kink shaming work? Hm. -V