Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men 6)

I needed to remember that when dealing with him if I wanted to get Tabby out of this alive. I wasn’t naïve enough to think the same hope existed for me.

“Please, let Tabitha go,” I beseeched him, trembling voice and wide, terrified eyes so he would believe I was properly cowed instead of outrageously angry. “She’s a good wife, a pious Christian. Whatever sins she might have committed are nothing in the face of her love for the Lord.”

Tabby made a little noise beside me, pressing closer in comfort. Her hand stroked over my hair in a gesture that was so familiar it made my heart burn. I wrapped my arms around her, tucking her head beneath my chin to shield her and comfort her in equal measure. She was older than me, but Tabby had always been soft. Age had nothing to do with the fact I was the stronger of the two of us, and it was up to me to protect her.

The man was silent as he hovered over us, clearly enjoying the headiness of his physical superiority and the power of his silence.

Finally, he crouched, careful to maintain enough distance so I couldn’t see into the shadowy recess of his hooded face.

“She is a good wife,” he agreed in a chilling monotone. “Not good enough for the Prophet, but she does try.”

Tabby whimpered, clutching at me with sharp nails.

“She was never as good as you,” he continued, cocking his head in a faint mimicry of Priest. “The moment I met you, I knew it was you who was meant to tend to me and our new flock. Not her.”

Tabby shivered so violently, she moaned.

A niggle of terror worked its way like a worm into the soil of my mind.

This wasn’t right.

This couldn’t be…

“Isn’t that right, Tabitha?” he asked silkily.

Beside me, my friend shivered again, then rolled back her shoulders, affecting a change to her entire demeanor. It was as if she’d pulled back the curtains to reveal the operator behind them.

The glint in her eyes wasn’t fear. Maybe it never had been.

It was madness.

I flinched as she leaned forward to press a soft, sweet kiss to my cheek, then rolled easily to her feet as if she hadn’t been badly beaten. I watched with my heart beating hard in my throat, choking me of breath, as she almost skipped over to our abductor’s side.

“I’m not worthy,” she agreed simply as she leaned like a kitten into his shoulder and nuzzled. Then she looked at me with a soft, almost dreamy expression. “But you could be, if you would just repent.”

“Tabitha,” I said slowly, almost afraid of voicing my fears as if that would make a difference to the outcome of this nightmarish situation. “What are you doing?”

“Supporting my husband as a wife should,” she explained with a little furrow in her brow. “Supporting him as you should, Bea.”

“Oh, my God,” I choked as bile clawed up my throat and my stomach heaved.

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” the hooded man admonished chillingly, stepping forward to kneel so close to me I could feel the wash of cold air as he descended to my level. When he flipped back his hood with a jerk of his head and regarded me with lovely blue eyes gone to frost with chill, I wasn’t surprised, only deeply, irreconcilably horrified. Seth Linley reached out to grasp my chin in a punishing grip in order to bring my face closer still. His breath, when he spoke nearly against mine, tasted of communion wine. “For the Lord’s name is also my own.”

Bea

He explained while he had Tabitha prepare me for my penance. It irritated him that I fought them both, especially when my foot caught Tabitha’s chin and sent her crashing into one of the construction lights. So he produced a startlingly large syringe from inside his dark jacket, flicked it a few times, then stabbed it mechanically into my neck. A painful pressure popped in my veins, then I went lax, every muscle in my body melting to inactivity within minutes

A muscle relaxation, he told me in that monotone I’d never heard before, a strong one.

They didn’t bother to tie me up, an oversight that I planned to exploit just as soon as I got sensation back in my limbs.

For the first time since his reveal, Seth touched me, leaning down to run his soft hands over my crown into my hair. The expression on his classically handsome face was so tender, a study in empathy. He looked so human then that it chilled me to the bone. Because I knew he was utterly inhumane, the worst kind of psychopath, who believed in nothing more than his own conviction.

And Seth? He was full of purpose.

He was God’s mouthpiece on earth. The first modern-day messiah. He waxed on and on about the lessening of morality today, how corrupted people were, how much guidance they needed, how Entrance was a cesspool of sinners from The Fallen to Irina Ventura’s pornography and sex trafficking operation.