Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,23

and turrets of the old stone structure and the veneration emanating from the walls as if years of worship had imbued the brick and mortar with sentient feeling.

It soothed that restless darkness in my chest, like a lullaby for my demons.

I loved the community too. My grandpa’s flock hadn’t turned their backs on my mother and me after the scandal of my father’s death. Far from it, they’d turned up at our little rented bungalow after we were turned out of the mayor’s mansion and brought with them food and endless support.

So, First Light remained an integral part of my life.

I sat in the front pew as my grandpa finished his sermon about embracing self-love. My mother was beside me, dressed beautifully, not a hair out of place, but I could see the shimmer in her eyes as the words resonated with her as deeply as they did with me.

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind,” Grandpa quoted from Romans 12:2 and then looked out over the gathering in that way he had of somehow looking everyone simultaneously in the eye. “We must not all be exactly alike to live a life worthy of God’s grace. Instead, we must follow the path our hearts set out for us so that we might find fulfilment in ways more than just spiritual, but equally profound.”

I considered that as he said his final blessing, and everyone echoed, “Amen,” before dispersing into their social groups.

It shocked me to realize that I had been conforming to an old sect of beliefs and social mores that were no longer relevant. I was not the mayor’s second daughter, the good girl relegated to the shadows. I had things of import to offer the world, complicated, beautiful things as unique to me as my own fingerprint.

I’d chained my dark thoughts and natural deviancy like some rabid beast inside my chest and never given it room to breathe. It made me wonder if those predilections had grown stronger because of my neglect and now, temperamental and too big for that cage, they knocked recklessly at the door to my soul dying to get out.

Naturally, my mind went to Priest and our kiss the day before. My fingers traced the healing split in my lip as I remembered his sheer ferocity coupled almost contradictorily with his restraint. He was such a powerful man, strong enough to break my neck with a twist of his tattooed hands, but instead, he’d only shackled me with one. He let me feel all that considerable violence leashed tenuously by his control. Whether or not the control stemmed more from his loyalty to the club or from his lack of desire for me, I wasn’t sure, but the romantic in me hoped it was the former.

Loyalty was an obstacle we could hurdle. I doubted my sister would be crazy about me hooking up with Priest, but in the end, she would want me to be happy.

And after that kiss, what I had always secretly wondered at had solidified into a real belief that Priest was the only man to help me break the constraints of my conformity and explore who I really seemed to be. It didn’t shame me to admit I was too frightened to travel those potentially menacing recesses of my soul without a fearless man at my side holding my hand.

“Bea.”

I jerked out my reverie to look up at Seth and Tabitha Linley. They were the best-looking couple I’d ever seen outside of the club, and also the kindest. They had been integral in keeping my mother together after everything happened with my dad.

I surged to my feet to wrap Tabitha in a hug that smelled of her candy-scented perfume.

My ribs ached as she squeezed me, and she pulled back as soon as I hissed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bea!”

“It’s me,” I admitted sheepishly. “I keep forgetting it takes a while for ribs to heal.”

Seth clucked his tongue, handsome brunet brow puckered. “What have we told you about taking care of yourself? You’re always putting others first.”

“So says the doctor.” I raised an eyebrow at him, then looked at Tabby. “You two are the most generous people I know.”

Tabby ran a hand down my hair, a gesture that always made me preen. “Like is drawn to like, I suppose.”

“But honestly, Bea, what were you doing with such an unsavory character?” Seth asked, concern ripe in his lowered voice. “It’s not like