The Sinner by Emma Scott

Seventeen

I climbed the stairs and sat next to Casziel, setting my dress bag aside. “What happened?”

When he didn’t reply, I took his left arm in my hands and carefully rolled up the sleeve of the black Henley that made him look just as devastating as I suspected it would. Seven burned slices marched up his arm now, one fresh, the skin an angry red.

“This isn’t right. It’s horrible. Cas, I—” I’d laid my hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from my touch. “There’s more?”

He smiled grimly. “A souvenir.”

I tugged down the back collar of his Henley and bit back a cry. Something had been burned into his skin. Branded into him.

Anger burned in me too, swift and hot. “Come on. We’re going to take care of this.”

“Leave it, Lucy.”

“Absolutely not. This is wrong. Just…wrong.”

I offered him my hand, and he let me pull him to his feet. Inside, I dumped the bag on the floor and guided him to the couch.

“Show me.”

“You don’t want to see it.”

Based on what little I’d seen so far, that was probably true, but I fixed him with an unwavering stare. He relented with a small smile, shaking his head at a private thought, and started to remove his shirt. He winced and hissed a curse.

“Let me help.” I moved to stand in front of him. “Raise your arms.”

He obeyed, and I reached around his waist and lifted, careful to keep the material away from his back. The shirt covered his face for a moment and then it was off, ruffling the dark curls on his brow. Our eyes locked, my mouth inches from his, his bare chest brushing my breasts.

Heat rushed through me, the kind I’d read about—and craved—in romance novels for years but had never experienced. Especially not with Jeff Hastings in college. Our awkward fumbling had been a candle to my body’s fiery, visceral response to Casziel. To be in his space, this close to his shirtless and scarred skin, lit me up from the inside so fast, it stole my breath. Like the woman in the dream, I trembled with anticipation and ached with want, yearning for a release that was years in the making…

For a heartbeat, we shared the same air and then I took a step back. But I couldn’t stop staring. My eyes gorged on him, the brick wall of muscle that was his abdomen, the rounded bulge of his shoulders that tapered to defined forearms striated with veins.

I put my hands on those shoulders to turn him around—a pathetic excuse to touch him—and a cry caught in my throat, the desire stamped out by horror. A pentagram, about the size of a dinner plate, was burned into his back and bisected with strange lines and loops. His skin was red and raw, blackened at the edges.

“My God. What is this?”

“Ashtaroth’s mark. A reminder to whom I belong.”

I swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “You need medication. For this and for your arm. This is a human body. It can be hurt. It is hurt and you have to take care of it.”

“If you insist, Lucy Dennings.”

He sounded defeated, but maybe it was only the pain. I hurried to the bathroom and returned with a tube of Neosporin. I sat on the couch and Casziel moved to the floor, his back to me. As gently as I could, I coated the strange lines with the clear antibiotic. He never flinched, though now and then, the muscles in his back would move and bulge—he was all elegant lines and sculpted masculinity.

And familiar.

I put the medicine on his skin and touching him rekindled the fire of need that burned deep in the center of me. My fingers itched to stray, to trace his scars. I longed to kiss them, to reacquaint myself with the lines and contours of him because the sense that I’d had him before—and far more intimately—was alive and bright in me. The dream of the woman reuniting with her warrior hovered in the thickened air between us like a secret waiting to be broken open. Or the proverbial door to Narnia, waiting for me to walk through it…

You don’t have the guts, silly Lucy. Stick to your books.

I blinked out of my thoughts and Deber’s insinuations and finished tending to Casziel’s back.

“You should really go to the hospital, but I suppose that’s out of the question.” I took his arm to tend to the cuts. “Why does he do this to you?”

“To feed on the pain that comes from wounding this human body,” Casziel said. “To remind me that I am vulnerable in my human form.”

“Can he…kill you? I mean…worse than sending you to the Other Side?”

Cas didn’t reply and the mountain of things unsaid between us grew taller, more precarious. I set the medicine on the table.

“Do you want something to eat? Or maybe watch TV, to keep your mind off the pain?”

“Are you not supposed to be at work?”

“I’m taking the rest of the day off.” I fished my phone out of my bag to call the office. “I haven’t called in sick or taken a personal day since Dad passed. They’ll survive without me for one afternoon.”

And you have only a few days left on This Side.

The pang in my heart was familiar too. The woman in Japan. The girl in Russia. Both had been left feeling as if they’d come close to something real, only to have it—him—vanish into smoke. Like a dream…

I called into work, then hung up my dress for the wedding. I returned to the couch and turned on Netflix, scrolling shows.

“See anything you might like?”

Cas cocked his head. “Schitt’s Creek?”

“This is the best show ever. I’ve seen the entire series three times over.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s special to me. It’s special to a lot of people. Hilarious but so sweet too.” I moved through the episodes. “It’s about a wealthy family who loses everything and learns to love and appreciate what they have in each other, that they’re rich in all the ways that really count. Then in season three, David meets Patrick and oh my God… Their love story is so beautiful.”

I glanced down to see Casziel looking up at me, and I laughed self-consciously. “I know, I know. Me and my romance. But I just love this show so much. You interested?”

He shrugged, and I turned on a random episode, mostly to fill the silence between us. It was the one where Johnny dreams of how the Rose family’s life used to be before they lost all their money.

Of course, I had to pick the dream episode.

I thought I caught a whiff of pipe smoke and steeled myself.

“Do we live more than one lifetime?” I blurted.

Cas faltered for a split second. No one would have noticed it but me. A small tightening of his mouth. A blink, then gone again.

“No. As the poet said, you have only one wild and precious life.” He smiled, though it looked forced. Pained. “And that is the question, Lucy Dennings. What will you do with the rest of your one life after I’m gone?”

“I-I don’t know,” I said, his last words like a chill wind running through me. “Give my presentation on Monday. Hopefully, the team will take it up and we’ll rid the oceans of more plastic. Though it’s sort of like trying to bail out the Titanic with a spoon. In thirty years, there will be more plastic in the water than fish. Ninety percent of seabirds have consumed some kind of plastic waste. Ninety percent. It’s heart-breaking.”

“A tragedy.”

I knocked his shoulder. “It is a tragedy. And most people would agree, but the problem is so big, it’s hard to grasp the enormity of it.”

“And you will dedicate your life to showing them how,” Cas said, his eyes on the TV. “You will marry Guy and produce children and save the world together.”

“That’s a little presumptuous,” I said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “I mean…I don’t know what’s going to happen at the wedding tomorrow or beyond. Honestly, I’m only going along with our plan for your sake.”

His head whipped to me. “My sake? What of yours? What of your romantic fantasies? You’ve loved Guy from afar for years—”

“I haven’t loved him. I had a crush on him, but I don’t really know him. The idea of him is stronger than the reality.”

“But we’ve broken the ice, so to speak. He serenaded you at the singing bar. He is eager to see you tomorrow. You’ll soon get to know him and see that he’s a good man.”

I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“His demons are weak. His light is bright. He is a man worthy of you, Lucy Dennings.”

I didn’t know what to say. Except that Guy was far from my thoughts and all I could think of was the ticking clock that was going to take Casziel away from me.

“What if I don’t want Guy at all? What if I want…something else?”

Cas stiffened. “What else do you want?”

I heaved a breath. “I had another lucid dream, like the Japan and Russia dreams I told you about before.”

“Okay.”

Be brave. Be brave.

I relayed the dream of the woman and her warrior. How I felt the love and desire between them. When I was finished, Cas’s eyes watched me in the glow of the TV for a long moment, his face impassive.

“And?” he said finally, his tone like a locked door.

I recoiled as if I’d been slapped, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. “And? So? I studied Mesopotamia at NYU, remember?” I inhaled and let it out in a rush. “I think the city was Larsa, you were the warrior, and the woman was…your wife.”

“Probably.”

I stared. “That’s all you have to say? Probably?”

“What do you want me to say?”

His callous dismissal hurt more than I expected. There were a thousand things I wanted him to say. To erase this longing and let me know I wasn’t crazy. That there was something real happening that wasn’t my imagination.

I crossed my arms, trying to keep my lip from trembling. “Why am I having these dreams?”

“We’ve discussed this before. We’re bonded,” he said, his voice low and heavy. “My energy is spilling into your dreams—”

“No! What about Japan and Russia? I had those long before I met you.”

“I can’t speak for how your subconscious works, Lucy Dennings,” he said bitterly, scornfully. “But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say those dreams are manifestations of your romance novels. Romantic interludes with heroes and heroines.”

I shook my head. “You’re lying. Or there’s something you’re not telling me. You’re making me feel stupid. Like…gaslighting. Like I’m holding the truth in my hands and you keep insisting there’s nothing there.”

“Because there is nothing there,” Cas seethed with sudden fire that flared and then burned out. “There’s nothing there,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing left.”

My voice wavers. “I don’t think that’s true.”

His head bowed for a moment, shoulders slumped. He got off the floor and reached for the Henley.

I jumped to my feet. “Where are you going?”

“Out. Where I always go.”

“No!” I tore the shirt out of his hands, shocking him. Shocking me. “No,” I said, softer. “I don’t want you to go.”

A silence fell, thick and heavy. The TV show played on distantly, but my eyes were on Cas, memorizing him—his eyelashes that were long and thick. A sharp jawline but lips that were full and soft. And the scars on his body where he’d fought for his city. For his woman. I’d miss every part of him when he was gone—all those parts I could see and touch and all those that I could not. The invisible parts of him that I felt like I knew so deeply.

The shirt fell from my hands and I moved closer.

“So many scars.”

He nodded, watching me. “Earned in battle. But for one.”

“This one,” I said, touching the silver dollar over his heart.

“The killing stroke,” he said, his voice gruff. “That night. The last night.”

Without letting myself think, I bent and put a kiss there. His skin was warm, his pulse thundering against my lips, an echo of mine. Up, higher, I moved my mouth to the jagged slash near his throat, my tongue flickering, tasting the salt and spice of him. Up, up to his chin, his mouth…

“Lucy…”

His voice was a growl, and he gripped my hair, hauling my lips away from his. His eyes blazed in the dimness, and for a split second, we hovered in delicious, heart-pounding need, and then something in him relented. Gave in. He kissed me ferociously. Possessively. A little cry escaped me at the pure ecstasy that flooded my senses.

At last. At long last….

My lips fell open, letting him take my mouth. My warrior, invading and plundering. The biting, sucking pull of his kiss drawing me into everything that was him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him deeper, my tongue sliding against his with a boldness I hadn’t known I was capable of. His taste…I could’ve cried to taste him again. The scent of his skin in my nose, the feel of him beneath my hands was like coming home.

With a growl, he kicked my rickety old coffee table away, and wrapped an arm around my waist, taking me to the floor. Our bodies were like interlocking pieces finally falling into place. He fit perfectly into the V of my legs and my fingers sank into his hair as if I’d done it a hundred times. The weight of him on me…both new and familiar. Fresh lust swept through me, lifetimes’ worth, now unleashed.

My legs wrapped around his waist, my hips strained against his, and I let out a groan as he ground into me again and again, the hard length of his erection seeking entry through our clothes. He braced himself with one arm while his other hand explored, roughly hiking my dress up to get at bare skin. His hand slid up my thigh, under my dress, to my breast. He palmed me, then pinched the aching nipple. All the while, his mouth plundered and plowed mine, the power in him stealing my breath—otherworldly and barely restrained.

Mindful of the burn on his back, I skimmed his bare torso, feeling the muscles move and slide under my touch. Like a starving woman, I feasted on him with my hands, utterly unafraid of the power every touch ignited in him. I wanted it. I’d go mad if I didn’t have him inside me. My own power that had been sleeping for centuries was waking, along with the pure joy that my lonely search for him was finally over.

My Casziel.

My beloved…

“Ki-áñg ngu,” I whispered, the word slipping easily and perfectly from my lips as if I’d spoken it a hundred times.

Cas froze, then reared back, wrenching his mouth away. His eyes widened, boring into mine in the dimness.

“What did you say?”

“I…I don’t know. It just slipped out. But I think—”

He tore himself off of me, and I was bereft at the sudden loss of his heaviness. He stood in the center of my small place, staring at me, his hand carving through his dark curls—a gesture so thoroughly human it made my heart ache.

I got to my feet. “Cas, it was us, wasn’t it? In Larsa…”

“No. No, you can’t…Gods, I’m a bastard. A careless, selfish bastard.”

“You’re not. Finally, I know who I am. Why I’ve been feeling like I’ve been missing something.” I swallowed hard. “It was you. I’ve been missing you.”

“No! No, Lucy,” he said, pleading. Stricken. “We’re nothing because I am lost. You must forget me.” His mouth drew down in grim determination. “I’ll make you forget.”

He took a step toward me, and I backed away.

“What are you doing?”

“The right thing. Because there’s no hope for me.”

I put out my hand to ward him off, keeping the couch between us. “No,” I said, my lip trembling. “You made me forget before, didn’t you? I remember…the flies. And you holding my face…”

He took another step, and I raced away, nowhere to go in this tiny apartment. I put the kitchen island between us.

“Lucy.” His voice was agonized. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand everything,” I cried. “Years of loneliness. Years—no, lifetimes of it. Wanting you. Waiting for you. You were taken from me and I’m not going to give you up again. No more forgetting—”

I shrieked, as suddenly Casziel disappeared and reappeared in front of me in his demonic form. He gripped both my wrists in one large hand. His huge body pushed me against the sink, feathered wings filling the tiny space while his black-on-black eyes bored into mine. The cold, dreadful sucking pull came with that onyx gaze, but I pressed back, let his hips move in tighter.

His eyes flared, and my heart pounded, fear and want warring in me. Every nerve ending sang with terror, even as I gave myself up to him, offering. Wanting the touch, wanting him. A demon with my beloved trapped inside.

I was helpless against his immense power, but I mustered courage from the deep well in me I didn’t know I had.

“Don’t,” I said, meeting his black gaze, unflinching. “Don’t do it. Don’t leave me. Not again.”

He shook his head, anguish and lust writ in every conflicted line of his face.

“There is no hope for me, Lucy.” His voice was rough and hard but frayed at the edges, betraying his pain. “You will let me go. I’ll make you…”

“No!”

I struggled to free myself, but he was too strong. His thumb pressed the skin between my eyes. Pained regret suffused his voice as he said the word that stole him from me all over again.

“Ñeštug u-lu…”