Damnable Grace (Hades Hangmen 5)

“You call if you need us, yeah?” Vike said.

“Yeah.”

I nodded at Flame. I knew he wasn’t happy. Then I pulled away from the clearing, out of the compound and onto the road. I kept the music off as Phebe slept. Thirty minutes in, she shifted in her sleep, her hand spreading out to lie across my thigh. I looked down at her hand, at her fingers lying open. I didn’t know what the fuck came over me, but I moved one of my hands from the wheel and threaded my fingers through hers.

Her hands looked tiny and frail wrapped in mine. And for the first time in days, I took what felt like a real fucking breath.

And I gripped on to her as we drove closer to the lodge.

Where too many demons waited.

So I just fucking held on.

Chapter Thirteen

Phebe

I felt the weight of my eyelids before I even opened my eyes. It was hot, and my hair was sticking to my face. My cheek was stuck to whatever I was lying on. It smelled like leather.

I moaned as soon as I tried to move. My head ached and my temples throbbed. I lifted my hand to my head and rolled onto my back. I inhaled a sharp breath when that little bit of movement caused nausea to creep up my stomach. I tried to stay still, praying it would go. But I had no such luck.

Scrambling to my knees, I opened my eyes and winced at the sun creeping into . . . wherever I was. My hands fumbled around me, and I realized I was in a truck. My fingers found the lever of the door. I yanked it open and dropped my feet onto the dirt ground.

I had barely felt the warm, sticky air on my face when I had to curl over and expel whatever was in my stomach. I held on to my hair as I purged, my eyes watering. When the need to vomit had ebbed, I stood up on shaky feet. The world spun, and my head felt clammy. I closed my eyes to stop myself falling over. I rested my back against the side of the truck and concentrated on my breathing. The minute I did, I thought of her. My face scrunched up in agony. But I welcomed the pain that came. It was my punishment, my reward for letting her down . . .

“Where is she?” I asked Martha. My skin was still wet from my shower and it was late. Too late, really, but I had done well, and so Brother John had given me permission to seek her out. I had earned thirty minutes of uninterrupted time with her.

A rare gift.

“She is in her room,” Martha said, still dressed from the night’s mission.

“Thank you.” I walked down the hall.

“She received her first touch this eve.”

I stumbled to a stop and felt a deep fissure split down my heart. It was not imagination—I actually felt it break. A true physical pain.

“Who?” I whispered, fighting back the lump from my throat. The tears came to my eyes regardless. I had known this day was coming. I knew it was deemed a blessing, yet I could not feel the joy in my heart that I knew I must. All I could think of was little Sapphira.

She was eleven years old.

“Prophet David had sent some men here for a visit. One of them chose her from the lineup.” Martha came closer and laid her hand on my shoulder. Her smile was bright. “I can see the pain on your face, but she has won the prophet’s favor tonight.”

I nodded numbly, knowing what I should be feeling. Yet I could not. I was aware the devil must have entered my soul to make me doubt our prophet and the ways of our faith, but I could not rejoice.

“I must go to her,” I said.

“Phebe, I love you. But you must sever the tie you have held on to. It is causing you to feel a burden you should be free from.” I looked at Martha’s face and saw only sympathy. “I was there with you, through it all, as you were with me. I have let go. Now you must.”

“I cannot,” I said softly. I laid my hand over my heart. “I have never been able to comply.”

I turned from Martha, and with heavy feet, walked to Sapphira’s room. I held my hand at her door, bracing to knock, but my hand remained suspended in the air. My breathing came too fast. What awaited me on the other side of the door?

I entered the dimly lit room; only a single candle burned in the corner. Her bed was empty.

“Sapphira?” My heart was in my throat.

A gentle sniff came from beside her bed. Numbly, I let my feet lead me, and I found her in the corner of the room, her arms around her knees. Her long blond hair veiled her face, the ends curling on the floor.

“Saffy?” I whispered, using my affectionate name for her, my tears thickening at the sight of her so tiny on the ground.

Saffy lifted her head. Even in this soft glow, her dark eyes were huge and round . . . and filled with pain.

“Phebe?” she said, too quietly. I stepped closer. Her beautiful face scrunched up, and sobs burst from her throat. Instinctively, I flew to her side, called by her pain, and took her in my arms. Her slim body fell into my embrace, and her tears soaked my dress.

“Shh.” I tried to soothe her, rocking her gently. But I knew it was no use. I had been here too. I remembered that day as though it had occurred just recently. So I simply held her. I kissed her head as she expelled all her tears. I smelled her hair, trying to memorize the scent. I squeezed her tighter, memorizing how much she had grown since she was last in my arms—too long ago.

I tried to savor everything about this moment.

“Shh,” I soothed again and felt a morsel of relief when Sapphira’s sobs ebbed and her breathing calmed.

“Saffy.” I guided her head from my chest and smoothed the hair back from her face. Her porcelain skin was mottled with redness, and her eyes were puffy and raw.

“Sweetheart,” I said, looking into her searching eyes and feeling my own vision glimmer. I closed my eyes, chasing away my tears, and looked down upon her again. I forced a smile. “Martha told me.”

Saffy edged closer to me, and I held her tighter. I did not think she would speak, too many seconds stretching in silence, until she said, “It . . . he hurt me.”

Those words. Those simply spoken words, packed with such a heavy confession, were my undoing. I felt the fabric of my soul rip apart as I held her in my arms, helpless to do anything to help. “I know.” I pressed a kiss to her head. Saffy placed her hand on her lower stomach. “I . . . I did not like it as Brother John said I would.”

I did not think I could take it. I did not think I could ever move from this spot. I could not let her go. I could not be sent away from her anymore.

But I knew I had no choice.

“I know,” I said again. The pathetic words tasted like acid on my tongue. “But . . . but it will get better. Next time will not be so bad.”

Sapphira stared at me in panic. “I do not want there to be a next time. Please, sister, I cannot . . . I do not think I can . . .” Her bottom lip trembled. “Please . . .”

Sister . . . The word cycled through my head.

“I want to come and live with you.” She got to her knees, her little, beautiful face before mine. She had matured since I had been here last. Her face was losing her childish features and morphing into a young woman’s. I ran my finger over her cheeks, smiling through my tears when I saw the spray of freckles dotted on her nose. A few lay on her cheeks, one larger one to the side of her eye.

It was beautiful . . . she was beautiful. So perfect in my eyes.

“Please,” she begged again. “You are my sister. We are blood, Phebe. Let me come and live with you. I will be good.”

This time I could not hold back my tears, and they fell, hot and salty, down my cheeks. “I know, my sweetheart,” I said with as much strength as I could muster. “But it is not the way. Brother John and Prophet David would never allow it.” I brought my forehead closer to hers and closed my eyes. “If I could I would take you to my home and keep you safe.” I smiled, picturing that heaven in my head. “I would care for you, and read to you at night until you fell asleep in my arms.”

“What would you read?” She laid her head on my shoulder.

“Whatever you wished,” I said, stroking the hair