Forbidden (The Preternaturals) (2 page)

Beyond exorcisms and the knowledge of reincarnation, dimensions, and the
awareness he was in Hell—literally—there wasn’t much else they were encouraged to explore
or know much about. They’d been charged with keeping the flock in the dark on these matters
and guiding them to do the best they could in life. Hadrian often wondered what other
secrets were hidden in the higher levels of the Church. What did bishops and archbishops know?
What did the Holy See know?

Hadrian blinked. The assembled waited with rapt attention for him to close
with the benediction and blessings of peace upon them. He hurried through the rest of the
service then escaped to the back of the church to greet each individual. He was unsurprised
to see the dark angel at the back of the group. Of course, temptation would only visit when
all other distractions had left the building. Life would be too easy otherwise.

He turned his attention back to the front of the line. A redheaded woman
in her early twenties stood before him, a batch of freckles dancing along her cheeks,
skipping her nose altogether. The innocence in her appearance was a deep deception.

He took her gloved hand. “Mary, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you
could make it tonight.”

She wore a hat with a veil—to hide—but the guilt was plain in her
eyes. She’d been working in an illegal brothel. He hadn’t been there, of course, but he
didn’t doubt a few of the other late-night parishioners had seen far more of Mary than
he ever would.

“You know how it is,” was all she would offer him in return.

He nodded and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. She’d spoken
to him in confession on many occasions, but still she repeated the same mistakes. It
wasn’t charitable, but he wondered if she was worth saving at all. Would she forever
remain trapped in this loop of confession and regression? Would she ever transcend it?
Did she even want to?

She extracted her hand from his and made her way out the door. She’d be
back in a few months maybe. He sighed and worked his way through the line, feeling
increasing guilt over his pattern of thought this evening.

He greeted them all: winos, prostitutes, drug smugglers, crime family
members, until the line dwindled to nothing.

The heavy church door echoed as it shut, leaving Father Hadrian alone
with the dark angel. He took her hand, overwhelmed by how cool it was.

“I’m glad you could join us tonight.”

“Thank you for having me,” she said, a brief bit of color coming into her
cheeks. How could one woman seem so dark and so vulnerable all at once? He simultaneously
wanted to hold her in an embrace and fling her out of the church with an admonition
never to return. Finally, realizing he still held her hand, he let it drop.

“I didn’t catch your name earlier?” His voice rose at the end,
hoping she’d acknowledge the question therein.

She smiled, the shyness leaving her all at once. “I didn’t throw it.”

Before his eyes, she transformed from an uncertain, vulnerable creature into
a femme fatale who could certainly be his undoing, given time. He pushed that thought away.

She laughed. “I’m Angeline.”

So his instincts had been correct on that one. Dark angel, indeed.

“There is a pamphlet on the table beside the front door with our hours. If
you ever need to come to confession or…” He faltered. What was he trying to say? “If
you’d like to know about catechism classes or have any questions about the Church, I’d be
happy to…”
I’d be happy to continue to stand here, grasping for vocabulary like a
bumbling idiot.

Her finger pressed against his lips to stop his babbling. He swallowed.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
The inappropriate action ended as quickly as it had begun.
She was no longer touching him, but he still felt the ghost of her finger, pressed against
his mouth.

For
the briefest moment, he’d wanted to suck it between his lips to
taste her skin. An image of the dark angel sprawled across the altar
with him on top of her bloomed in his mind. He took a physical step
back to shake the thoughts free.

“I really must go,” she said after a beat. “You’re too much
temptation.”

He should have called her on her forwardness, but he couldn’t bring
himself to take the light out of her eyes. Her confidence was mesmerizing; watching
it crumble in shame at her behavior wasn’t something he could bring himself to do—not
after how timid she’d seemed upon entering the church. It was as if her brief visit had
breathed new life into her even though she’d remained an observer.

“I hope you can handle a new regular,” she said, “because I’ll be
here every week indefinitely.”

God
help me.
Perhaps another of
Our Lady of Mercy’s
priests could
take over the midnight Mass—someone of stronger constitution. Hadrian found his eyes raking
over her cleavage, which was pushed up by an old-fashioned evening gown of sorts. An antique
pendant nestled between her breasts, drawing his eye. He imagined the heavy weight pressing
against her chest and wished that weight was his hand—or his mouth.

When he collected himself and looked up, her eyes were sharp. Her perception seemed clear
and precise, as if she could read each thought as it tumbled from his mind even before he
could line them up into sentences, ideas, and longings.

Her fingers ran along the edge of the pendant, the backs of them dragging
across her skin. Hadrian struggled for breath.

She
sighed. “I’ll stop tormenting you for now. You might need the
full week to recover. Pick your jaw up off the floor like a good
boy.”

She
turned then, her dress whispering around her as she glided out of the
church, leaving Hadrian speechless, lacking even the ability to
chastise her for her behavior.

***

Six Months Later

Hadrian stood tense with his back to the door; it was
five minutes until midnight. His dark angel didn’t show up every week.
Occasionally, she’d skip one. On nights when she was absent, he both
missed her and breathed a sigh of relief. When she was gone, he was more
present for the Mass, his mind not constantly on her, his eyes not distracted
by the milky-white skin on display over the top of her dress.

He turned suddenly, pulled by the unmistakable scent of
Angeline’s perfume. He took a deep, steadying breath as she passed him with a
knowing smile and made her way to her usual seat three rows from the front on
the left. She’d been gone a few weeks now. He’d thought—maybe even hoped—she’d
left for good.

The woman could turn an angel into a demon with just the
glint in her eyes and the sultry downturn of her mouth. The temptation to do
something foolish grew each time he saw her, the part of his anatomy that
hadn’t consented to a vow of chastity nudging him to find fulfillment. He
was only human, after all.

Remember your vows.

Angeline only attended church at night. Hadrian always
found himself enthralled by her eerie, blue eyes that nearly glowed with their
brightness, always-painted red lips, and dark brown hair that fell halfway down
her back. She often wore slinky black, looking like she’d just left work in
an old-fashioned brothel and had made a quick pit stop at a funeral on the way
to Mass.

He knew nothing of her life or what she did. He could only
guess at her sins. She’d never been to confession, not on his watch, at least.
Our Lady of Mercy
was a sizable church, practically a cathedral, with
more than one priest available to hear confession on any given day. Father Hadrian
suspected she never went to confession, that her sins had been mounting ever higher
for some time.

The tell-all was that she never came up for the Holy Eucharist.
She merely sat on her usual bench, watching Hadrian, unnerving him with that potent
stare. Sometimes they spoke briefly before or after Mass—always small talk, always
some innuendo or subtext, which he always pretended not to notice. It was as if she
were feeling him out, planting a seed of something she intended to harvest later. If
she didn’t make her move soon, the priest worried he’d succumb to her charms when
she played her hand.

He tried to regain his focus as he gave the benediction, feeling
guilty that he’d obsessed about Angeline the entire service. The parishioners
stated their rote response and got up to leave. A shuffling of hymnals, purses,
and scuffling of shoes signaled the beginning of their next shift of regular life,
where they’d no doubt do more impure things they’d have to confess before partaking
in the ritual of bread and wine the following week.

Angeline took her time putting her hymnal away, searching through
her purse for something that most likely didn’t exist, and then stood and smoothed
her dress down. Hadrian tried not to watch her, instead focusing on the aging wino
in front of him. The alcohol on the man’s breath wasn’t from the small amount he’d
just partaken of. A stench that strong required dedication and commitment to the drink
that wasn’t possible from a mere sip with a bit of bread.

“Those was good words, Father. They really touched me right here,” the
drunk said, pointing to the center of his chest.

Hadrian forced a smile and shook the old man’s hand, allowing the
unpleasant smell to destroy his memory of Angeline’s perfume and the arousal that had
come with it. He greeted and made small talk with each person who’d attended Mass, and
one by one, they filed out, wearing away at the buffer between him and sexual immorality.

The door shut with a loud thud, the same loud thud that had greeted them
each week as she’d lingered to be alone with him in the empty sanctuary.

“Father Hadrian.”

Her voice was soft, lyrical. She hadn’t been misnamed, though her dark
hair and beguiling nature suggested quite the opposite kind of creature.

“A-Angeline. I haven’t seen you here in a while.” Could he not get that
schoolboy stutter out of his voice?

“I was fighting temptation,” she replied coyly.

Hadrian cleared his throat. “And did you succeed?”

“No.”

She glided closer—or floated. The length of her dress made it
impossible to tell which. She stopped mere inches in front of him. He
should have taken a step back, should have excused himself, but her
strange eyes locked with his. They drew him in, hypnotizing him.

If he were another kind of man, he would have proclaimed her a witch
putting him under a spell, but it was just as much his responsibility
as hers for not moving away. It was his fault for not finding a
replacement for midnight Mass. His mind grew fuzzy.

What was I just thinking about?

Her eyes pulled him in, making the rest of the room swirl around
him in a slow blur. If he’d looked down to find them both floating and
spinning in the air, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He was dizzy
from the delicious scent emanating from her.

Her voice was a siren’s song when she spoke again. “Forgive me,
Father, for I’m about to sin.”

Angeline’s mouth tasted like hot cinnamon candy as her lips descended
on his. Her lip gloss left him tingling. She might burn him alive with a
single kiss. She chuckled as she continued her exploration of his
mouth, as if he’d stated his thought aloud and she found it
amusing.

Somewhere deep inside him was the place that screamed that this must
not happen, but it sounded as though it shouted from far away down a
long, dark hallway, disappearing into a tinny echo. Quickly
overtaking that voice was one penetrating thought that refused to
release him.

I want her. I want her. I want her. I want her.
The thought happened in rhythm to the beat of his heart.

Her lips left his mouth and made a burning trail over his cheek and
up to the lobe of his ear. “Father Hadrian.” It was a breathy pant that
held all the promise of a new universe unfolding.

He couldn’t remember what she said after that or even
if
she
said something after that. The pounding of his own blood rushing
through his ears—and other blood racing south in response to her
nearness—had drowned out his ability to think or hear anything but
the lilting magic of her voice calling his name.

“Father Hadrian…”

Her tone went from that of an angel to a writhing serpent as she rubbed
her sinewy body against him. This was wrong. The thinking part of him
clawed to get out. Something was all wrong about this, beyond the
breaking of a vow. But he couldn’t form a coherent thought.

I want her. I want her. I want her.

“And you shall have me. Forever,” she said.

Had he spoken out loud? He wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said, as her fingers slid
under the Roman collar.

It startled him. His collar. Where were his vestments? There were more
layers of clothing, or there had been a few moments ago. He glanced
down to find the vestments somehow on the floor of the sanctuary. He
pulled away.

“No, Father. Eyes right here on mine. Stay with me.”

His gaze shifted back to her eyes and his will merged with her again. He
didn’t realize his shirt was off until the air from the chilly room
hit his bare chest.

“Oh, what a surprise. You must work out. Don’t be shy, Father Hadrian.
It’s a crime you never get to be inside a woman with this body.”

She swayed in time to music likely occurring only inside her
head—something earthy and sensuous, no doubt. The dress ended in a
heap on the floor, and he learned he was right about the corset.
Delicate black lace panties barely covered her most intimate area.
His gaze panned down to see black leather boots that ended just at
her thighs.

Angeline crooked a finger, her gaze heating. “Come with me, Father.”

She still addressed him by his formal title, but they both knew it was
just a dirty game she was playing. Why couldn’t he resist her? Like
an obedient puppy, tail wagging, he followed her to the front of the
church. She braced herself with one hand against the altar, leaning
away from him, giving him a lovely view as she removed first one
boot, then the other.