The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

I should have been happy, ecstatic that I was able to spend the evening unmolested, but a nagging itch at the back of my mind kept me from breathing easy. He’d been watching me during the evening service, his eyes dark pools of malice. And I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at him every now and then. Maybe there was enough of a connection between us that I could use it somehow. He could be the key to me finding out what happened to Georgia and getting vengeance. But if he doesn’t show up for my evening “training,” how can I get close to him?

I shake my head at my reflection. Smoothing the soft waves in my hair is impossible, so I give up after another few moments and toss my brush down with an admittedly self-indulgent huff.

The dormitories are quiet, the earlier smattering of crying now silent. Some of the girls have it far worse than I do. The Protectors—the cruelty of calling them that isn’t lost on me—all seem to have a sadistic streak. Even Noah, Adam’s younger brother who often looks at me with kind, if curious eyes. His Maiden doesn’t sport bruises, but she’s quiet and withdrawn. Then again, being thrust into this vicious world when you thought you were going to be treated with kid gloves can do that to a person.

I sit on my bed, the rough sheets and lumpy mattress my favorite haven. With one more glance at the door, I lie down and adjust to the quiet. Despair seeps through the cracks in the walls, under the door, and coats every filament in the room. I can’t hear the whimpering, but I know there are Maidens crying. They always cry at night.

Heavy footsteps in the hall set me on high alert, and I jolt upright. My lock clicks, and the door swings open so fiercely it bangs against the wall.

The devil strides in, blood on his white shirt and coating his hands.

I can’t scream, my lungs frozen, as he slams the door behind him and stalks to my bathroom. My water turns on, and I turn to find him stripping his suit coat off, quickly followed by his shirt. Gauze wraps around his torso, as if someone started making him a mummy and got distracted. When he holds his fists under the water, a low grunt of pain, or perhaps satisfaction, lofts from him.

“Fuck.” He leans on the sink, his head hanging.

Taut. Dangerous. But in the low light, I see something else. It’s unexpected. I think for a moment I’m imagining it, or maybe I’m willing it into existence. But it’s there. And when I recognize it, my lungs drag in air, and I throw my blanket off and creep over to him.

He fills his hands and runs the water through his hair, the dark strands dripping onto his shoulders as his breath heaves in and out. Something happened. Something bad.

“Adam?” My voice is small compared to him, to how he fills the room, my mind, and every molecule of air.

He simply stares at himself in the mirror. Hatred pours from him in waves.

It takes every ounce of courage in my body, but I reach out. Slowly. As if I’m trying to test a wild animal and see if I come away with my hand intact. My heart slows, and everything stops when my fingertips make contact with his shoulder.

He stills. Every bit of tension in him drawing tight, so tight that it might snap and break both of us.

Then he turns and grabs me, yanking me to him and taking my mouth. His kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t a request. Or even a demand. It’s a total and complete annihilation of me, and the creation of us. He wads my dress in his fists, pulling the fabric tight around me as he presses me against the doorframe.

The scrape of his skin against mine is rough, vicious just like him. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down until I open my mouth at the sting of pain. His tongue darts in, taking advantage and owning me with sure strokes. When he slides his hands down my sides and grips my ass hard enough to hurt, I gasp. He doesn’t stop, just lifts me with ease, forcing me to wrap my legs around his hips as his mouth destroys me and remakes me into something new. Something that needs and needs and needs.

I open my mouth wider, giving myself over to that emotion, that all-encompassing desire for him that’s just as wrong as it is irresistible. He slants his head over me, his hands massaging my ass and sliding closer to my center. I grip his shoulders, his skin slick and hot, and dig my nails in. His groan courses through my veins, ending in the growing wetness between my thighs.