I could rest in nearly as long, at least until I met her. But now, as her eyes drooped closed again and I carried her toward home, I realized that I didn’t feel so angry anymore. The knot of hatred that had kept me going through all those years was loosening. Suddenly I was thinking of rest, I was thinking of calm and quiet.
I wanted to hold her in my arms, wrapped up in all her blankets, and sleep with her scent surrounding me. When we woke, I wanted to prove to her that she was safe again and again until there was no more fear in her voice, and all this was just a distant memory.
And I would. I’d keep her safe for eternity.
The storm that hit Abelaum was unlike anything the town had ever seen. The rain poured for days, an unending torrent that flooded the streets, with wind strong enough to knock out powerlines and leave half the townspeople without electricity. The cabin was dark, but Leon lit candles and kept me wrapped in blankets. Warm, safe, and never out of his sight.
When the storm finally ended, more destruction was reported. The soaked soil had caused the White Pine mine shaft to become a massive sinkhole, caving in on itself and completely demolishing what remained of the old tunnels. St. Thaddeus still stood, but its roof had caved in completely, and town officials began to talk of having it demolished despite its historical significance.
Without Kent Hadleigh around to protest it, the decision was made: the church, too, would be destroyed.
Jeremiah’s burned body had to be identified via dental records. The event was called a tragic accident, the fire supposedly started by the lightning that had accompanied the storm. Rumors that the fire had been set on purpose swirled around campus for weeks, but nothing came of it.
Some of my professors looked at me warily, almost bitterly. I would never know for certain, but I had to wonder if any of them had been in that church, hidden behind stag skull masks as Jeremiah cut me. I would always wonder who among them had eagerly awaited my death, but I hoped that every time they saw me walk in, alive and well, it burned them up inside.
I no longer dreamed of the mine’s dark tunnels. I didn’t hear the God call my name. The bruises from Its massive limbs squeezing me faded, but the marks left by Jeremiah’s knife became scars. Leon told me that if I wanted to try medical treatments to fade them, then money wasn’t an object.
I was beginning to suspect he had piles of gold hoarded away back in Hell, but he just laughed and wouldn’t confirm if it was true. He said that would be a surprise for when I got there.
His mark on my leg scarred too, but that was one scar I didn’t want to remove. He would trace it with his fingers, kiss it with his mouth, murmur the filthiest things as he ran his tongue across it. It was his mark of ownership, one only I could give him. A willing promise.
My soul was his to take, to love, to own – forever.
One story has come to an end.
But there is more to this tale to be told.
A story of revenge has yet to unfold.
Acknowledgements
To my husband, my man, my partner, my muse, to whom this book is dedicated. Thank you for being my biggest supporter, my voice of reason and sanity, that calm presence when I am absolutely losing my shit. Thank you for not judging me when I talk through dialogue scenes in the shower, and for always being willing to help me “test” positions before I write them.
To my kitties: Luna, Gizmo, and Azura. Thank you for trying to help write this book. Unfortunately, you’re not very good at spelling. But I know you were really trying all those times you walked across the keyboard.
To Zainab, thank you for helping make this book shine. Thank you for encouraging me when I thought I’d written absolute trash. You’re amazingly skilled and this book wouldn’t be what it is without you.
To my readers, every single one of you who has given love and support to a new author trying to find her way in this very wild publishing world: thank you. Dear God, thank you. You’ve changed my life. I cannot even say how much that means to me. But you’ve given me hope for a dream I’ve clung to since I was a little kid.
To everyone who has made it here to the end of the book, thank you for giving me a chance. You picked up this work and gave your time to it. Keep reading, keep seeking the next big adventure, always dare to go on.
Until next time,
Harley
About the Author
Harley is a writer of New Adult Erotica, Erotic Horror, and Dark Romance. She enjoys crafting steamy stories on the dark and kinky side, the creepier the better.
Harley lives in California with her husband and three cats. She loves horror films, dry red wines, and almost always has a candle lit. Most days she can be found at her desk drinking tea with at least one cat on her lap.
You can find Harley Laroux on these social platforms:
Twitter → @harleylaroux
Instagram → @harleylarouxwriter
Goodreads → Harley Laroux
Facebook → @harleylarouxwriter
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