Diel didn’t dwell on it. He didn’t think of anything beyond a kill. He would come every time his victim died, multiple times a night as his killing sprees grew in number—Gabriel understood that his kills had to be many to sate his need. But the more Diel saw Raphael and Maria in the manor, the more he wondered what it would be like to have someone by his side, someone who understood him—all of him. Maria was the only woman he had even known beyond the female staff at Eden Manor.
Diel was sure there was no one in the entire world who would understand what he and his brothers had gone through, the darkness that they were born with, and the fact that they needed to kill and would never give that up—not for anyone. How would anyone understand Purgatory and the torture room that the Brethren would take them to? How would they understand that he had been chained to a bed for most of his life, and now wore metal collar around his neck?
Raphael broke from Maria’s mouth and sat down beside Michael, golden eyes tracking his woman’s every move. Raphael was obsessed with Maria. He hadn’t killed her when she’d been more than willing. That said everything. Diel’s monster wouldn’t stop for anyone.
Gabriel cleared his throat. Maria looked at Gabe, and with a short nod, he faced Diel and his brothers. “Since we left Purgatory and found our home here at Eden Manor, we have lived by a certain set of rules, commandments that each of you have followed rigidly, religiously.” Gabriel glanced at Raphael. “At least most of you have.” Raphael smirked, then looked at Maria, zero apology in his expression for breaking the commandment forbidding him from bringing Maria home. “We have targeted certain people for you to kill—killers who needed to be stopped, who had hurt others and deserved to face retribution at your hands.”
Diel’s hands fisted at his sides when he felt his monster stirring, waking at the sound of Gabriel’s voice. It never settled anymore. It pushed at Diel constantly, forever pacing and snarling to be set free, to finally take control. And Diel was weakening. He was losing the fight he’d fought since childhood. His eyes moved over his brothers. Bara and Uriel still wore the worst of the injuries he’d inflicted on them in the gym. A quick glance at Sela beside him showed him that even his best friend hadn’t been spared by the monster—it didn’t care who it hurt; it had no boundaries or loyalties. Family meant nothing when the tantalizing ecstasy of violence and death was before it. The monster took and took, gaining strength with each kill, until it was a frenzied beast who only rested when its bloodlust had been sated or Gabriel turned the collar back on and forced it to retreat.
The gash on Sela’s cheek showed the lack of mercy Diel’s monster, once freed, would show anyone—even the person closest to him.
“But that way of living isn’t working anymore,” Gabriel said, and Diel swung his head toward his older brother. Gabriel’s bright blue eyes met his, and Diel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. What did that mean? Diel’s heart rate increased, and he saw his brothers shift on their seats in his peripheral. But his attention was firmly on Gabriel. Gabriel sighed and never took his eyes from Diel. “So we’re changing tack.”
Maria addressed the brothers. “The Brethren need to be stopped. We all know that. We all agree on that.” The sound of crashing waves filled Diel’s ears as Maria spoke those words. She moved wayward strands of her thigh-length hair from her face. “The Brethren exist in the shadows.” Maria’s lips curved into a proud smile. “But so do we.” Sela was stock-still beside him. Any talk of the Brethren pulled Sela’s entire focus. All of the Fallen hated the Brethren; they loathed them and wanted nothing more than to see them scream and burn. But Sela was even more invested in the secret sect of priests than the others. Sela was blood tied to the sadistic cult, and filled with the desire for revenge against one specific member.
“To defeat the Brethren, their slayers must live in the shadows too,” Maria said, voice clear and unyielding. Diel had watched her grow in strength as she took her place beside Gabriel as leader to the brothers, as she grew in love with Raphael. “They must be equipped with the skills to rival the Brethren’s evil. They must not shy away from the Brethren’s strength and wickedness.”
“To rival them, they must share elements of that wickedness too,” Gabriel said, picking up where Maria left off. “They must know what it is like to be under the Brethren’s control, what it is to be hurt by their archaic inquisitor trials and medieval punishments. And they must have a burning need to defeat them, a single-minded purpose that will never fade, no matter how hard the battle against them may be.”
“Mmm …” Bara mused, his finger tracing patterns on the wooden table. “Whoever could that be?” he drawled and gave a toothy grin, but the evil that blazed in his green eyes like the stars on a clear night revealed how much he wanted, needed this. They all did. The tension around the table was palpable; the air pulsed with their need to turn onto this new path Gabriel and Maria were laying out like an offering. The Fallen coveted the deaths of the Brethren like they did no other—it was their greatest fantasy come to life.
Gabriel straightened his shoulders, but Diel saw the strained expression on his face, the tension in his muscles. Gabriel had always felt too much. Diel couldn’t understand such empathetic thoughts. “If we do this … If we steer our ship in this direction, there will be no turning back.”
“We’ve always been on this path,” Sela said, and Gabriel met his dark eyes. “Since the day they took us into Purgatory, we have been on this trajectory. They put us on it.”
Sela’s long black hair fell over his face as he looked down, his pencil pressing into the tabletop as he sketched whatever was in his mind. When he lifted his head, Diel saw the image he’d created on the old wooden surface. The monster roared inside his head at the memories the image inspired, at the sensory onslaught—the sounds, the tastes, the sights, the smells, the fucking putrid smell of the Brethren’s sweat sticking to his back as they grunted into his ear. The lone drawing was a motherfucking spell, conjuring up all the fucked-up things the Fallen had been put through.
Diel shook as his eyes raked over the image. A boy on his hands and knees, and a Brethren priest above him, purifying him of evil with his “holy seed.” Diel’s hands shook harder, and he brought them to the table to stop them.
“Diel.” A voice was calling his name. The electrical collar snapped in warning at his quickening pulse. But Diel couldn’t take his eyes off that fucking drawing. The Brethren cunts deserved to die. He felt the need to run, to find them and kill them, rise inside of him like a wild tide. He could almost feel the moment he would stab through their hearts. Glare into their gazes as he rid them of their fucked-up lives and tossed them into the depths of hell where they all belonged.
A searing shock of pain sliced through his body, setting him alight. Diel dropped to the floor. He breathed against the white heat traveling through his body at breakneck speed. His teeth clenched so hard they were close to shattering; his skin singed and his muscles contracted against the searing feeling deep in their fibers.
“Breathe.” A voice came close. The monster roared, needing out, clawing at Diel’s insides to escape the collar and kill anyone who was close. “Breathe, brother,” Diel heard again, and he held on to that voice by the skin of his teeth. “Breathe.” He pushed back the monster, sucking in a deep breath at the amount of strength it took just to keep himself in his own body and not give over to the darkness. “Let your pulse slow.”