Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

“No,” I whisper, trying to block all of the emotions that are throbbing against the side of my head from him. Pain. Sorrow. Regret. “I didn’t.” Abel’s energy is much different than Bishop’s. When Bishop and I met, it was as though we had been looking for each other all of our lives. We became magnets that could never be parted. Abel is different. Not uncomfortable, just—uneasy. I overheard Bishop casually talking about his troubles one day, and how he came from a very different life than the rest of them.

Abel leans against his hands, and I finally turn to face him. Now that I’m looking right at him, I see the alcoholism over his features. The way his gaze is distant and disconnected from reality. “I won’t survive without her.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Would you?” he asks, and I search his high cheekbones that are even more sunken in than I remember, and the dark circles that taint the rims of his eyes. “Would you survive without Brantley?”

“I, uh—” Words struggle to get past my tight throat. Just the thought of losing Brantley kills everything inside of me. I already know my answer, but I also know encouraging Abel isn’t what he needs right now.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he mutters, looking back to the water. “Your face said it all.”

“No,” I answer truthfully. He shuffles beside me. “I probably wouldn’t survive without him. I would walk around barely the shell of the girl I am right now. I’d be barely recognizable. I’d either eat myself into a coma or I wouldn’t eat at all. I might pick up an unhealthy addiction like alcohol or whatever you have scattered on the table over there.” I take a deep breath. “When Brantley dies, he’ll be taking my soul with him. My body would wither away eventually, but my soul? My soul would be buried right beside him in that scary graveyard.”

“So you understand?”

I shake my head, resting my hand on the lower part of my belly. It wasn’t obvious if you didn’t know I was pregnant. “I wasn’t finished. But I have something that anchors me to this world. Something that reminds me of him. So strongly that I need to be here, whether my soul is not.”

“I don’t have anything,” Abel whispers, and it’s almost too painful to swallow his words as a second wave of his emotions thrash into me so fiercely my knees buckle together. I squeeze the concrete.

“Yes, you do, Abel. You have all of the memories you had with her. You have to hold on to those. Memories anchor your feet to the earth.”

He stands and moves to where he was sitting, collecting his things but casting one final look at me before leaving. “Bailey was the kind of girl that not even her own memories could replace.” He smiles weakly, but the purple ring around his lips and the look of sadness in his eyes are too much. Too much darkness and sorrow. “It was nice meeting you, Saint.” His eyes drop down to where my hand rests. “My niece or nephew is lucky to have you as their mother.” Then he leaves, taking all of his energy with him. Upon his departure, it’s like a black cloud up and shifts from the room. The oxygen becomes lighter, the sadness drawn out.

I sit for a few more minutes quietly, before standing and buckling my wedges back onto my feet. I squeeze my black leather jacket around my torso as I move back through the way I came. Even though Abel left physically, I still feel the chill he left down my spine. I reach the large cathedral-style living room that opens out onto the back end of the house when Brantley finds me. He’s standing off to the other side of the room, sipping whatever it is in his glass. Whiskey, no doubt. He’s talking with someone I don’t recognize, but his eyes are solely focused on me. Just when I think he’s not going to disconnect, he slowly drops them down, inhaling my body. Usually when he does this, it’s to check if I have any injuries. This time, not so much. Heat rises to my cheeks and sweat rolls down the curve of my spine. Not enough to get rid of that chill in my bones, but enough.

“Hey.” Ophelia hands me a glass of what looks like chilled orange juice. “A lot of people here, right?”

I nod around taking a sip. Perfect. Just what I need. Something to only intensify that chill. “Cash was a Divitae. His family managed a lot of the finances and social aspects, I think.”

“Ah,” Ophelia says, looking around the room. “That’s so sad.” I’m glad I have O here. She brings me a kind of comfort I can’t find in anyone else. “So Benny is really goddamn annoying.”