Carnal Sin

“I know it’s not possible,” she began-hoping it wasn’t possible-“I just-it felt-” She hesitated, then said what she truly feared. “It felt like I was looking through the demon’s eyes. I tasted Hell on my tongue, my blood burned. But-I think-” She bit her lip.

“What?”

“She was pure evil, Rafe. Powerful. And really pissed off. She felt trapped, and somehow she blamed me.” She gave him a half smile. “Stupid, I know.”

Rafe didn’t smile, nor did he say anything-why was he always so damn quiet? Why couldn’t he get angry like Anthony or frustrated like Skye? Instead, he was calm.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, demon or human.”

He barely whispered, but she heard every word as if his voice etched them directly onto her bones. Every hair on her skin rose. He appeared unflappable, but his stoicism was a ruse-he was a tightly controlled bundle of energy, his restlessness tangible but unseen. His words had movement and weight. He never had to raise his voice to be heard, and everyone listened.

She wanted to believe him. He meant what he said, but he wasn’t strong enough to protect her-or anyone- from the Seven. Neither was she; none of them were. They’d nearly died battling the demon Envy, and they had even lost one of their own. A loss she feared would be repeated until there was no one left standing.

Despair had moved in with her fear, but she fought it, questioning whether they were her own feelings or left from residual contact with the Seven. Was their power still present even though they had long left Santa Louisa?

All but the demon Envy, trapped in a tabernacle at St. Francis de Sales in downtown Santa Louisa, in a vault that Moira had commented was the supernatural equivalent of Fort Knox. Anthony hadn’t been amused. He never was.

But Rafe had smiled at her joke behind Anthony’s back, and winked at her, another reason why she was drawn to him. He liked her quick wit, and he made her smile.

“For nearly two weeks, I’ve been doing nothing but waiting for something we can’t even identify,” she said. “How can we stop the Seven Deadly Sins if we don’t know where they are? Do we have to wait until someone drops dead? Do we have to wait until we hear on the news that Greed is working its evil magic on Wall Street or people are dying because they’re too slothful to eat? And dammit, where did Fiona go? I can’t feel her magic anymore. They’re just gone, and I’m waiting for them to come after me! And what if-”

She stopped. When had she become a sniveling brat? She had to put the fear aside or it would bite her in the ass. Yeah, she was worried-so was everyone else. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself, accept her fate, and move forward. Maybe if she repeated the mantra enough she could make it happen.

“Moira, what is it?” Rafe asked, his concern apparent.

She gave voice to her hidden fear. Maybe by speaking it aloud she could stop it from seeming so real. “What if the Seven have infected me?”

He looked at her tenderly and shook his head. “They haven’t. You would know.”

“But I don’t know.”

He smiled. “This is a silly conversation, Moira.”

She shook her head, biting back a smile.

“I saw that,” he said, and sat next to her. He took her hand and kissed it. “Come on, smile.”

Moira started to smile, mostly because Rafe could be so endearing even when he annoyed her, but he kissed her hand again, holding her palm to his lips a moment too long. He stared at the scar from the demon attack two weeks ago, the scar he’d given her to save them all, and his face darkened. He squeezed her fingers tight, almost too tight, and pulled her to his chest.

She had no time to protest as Rafe’s lips covered hers, as one hand held hers between them and the other pressed against her back, holding her still. She tried to turn away, but his mouth followed, sliding down her cheek, to her neck, to the oh-so-sensitive spot behind her ear. A startled gasp escaped her throat and it sounded like she was enjoying this, like she wanted Rafe.

And she did. She’d been keeping her distance because every time she got too close, every time he touched her-innocently or not-she remembered that kiss. That damn, incredible, heated kiss two weeks ago that affected her so deeply that she still warmed at the memory.

It wasn’t a memory anymore. It was happening again, only this time Rafe wasn’t injured, and this time they weren’t about to go to battle against a demon. She could make no excuses about the risk of the moment, the fears of life or death fueling their sex drive, because right now they sat in her bedroom-on her bed-and Rafe was not slowing down.

“Rafe-” Her voice cracked when his hand moved up under her shirt and touched her breast. Her body betrayed her, her hand shot out and wrapped around Rafe’s neck, pulling his mouth back to hers. Waves of conflicting emotions, of lust and fear, of desire and doubt, battled. They shouldn’t be doing this. Moira couldn’t do this. There was too much at stake.

She refused to open her heart because Rafe could die. Worse, he could die because of her.

She’d already lost the first man she ever loved. She couldn’t love again. And with Rafe, sex wouldn’t be a hot and heavy one-night stand.

“Rafe-” Resolved, she put her hands between them and pushed. Hard. He got the point and let her go, a frown hardening his handsome face.

“I, um-” she stuttered, her face flushed. “You want to go to the gym?” That was lame. She swallowed nervously, took a deep breath, and regained her composure. “Well?”

“Every time I get close to you, you take me to the gym. Or for a run. Anything to avoid talking about what you feel when I touch you. What I feel when I think of you. Why I can’t get you out of my mind. You look at me when you think I’m sleeping. I know you’re worried. About what?”

“This isn’t the time-”

“It’s never the time for you,” Rafe said, frustrated.

Movement in the hall startled her, Moira jumped when Anthony appeared in the bedroom doorway. What if he’d walked by two minutes ago? He did not like Moira and Rafe spending time together. Did he suspect they had this attraction? He looked as if he hadn’t slept the night before, with bags under his bloodshot eyes. Anthony had been clocking a lot of hours at the mission reading old books, many handwritten and in ancient languages.

“Rico’s plane just landed,” he said. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes.” He glanced at Rafe. “I need to talk to you.”

She raised an eyebrow at Anthony. “Secrets already?”

He didn’t answer her.

She pushed by him. “Whatever. I’m going for a run.”

“Be back in twenty minutes,” he repeated.

Moira paused, staring at Anthony. She wanted to say so much to him-that she was sorry about everything that had happened seven years ago, that she missed Father Philip as much as he did, that she wished he’d trust her, that she needed his experience if they were going to stop the Seven Deadly Sins.

But he wouldn’t even look at her, the distrust and dislike rolling off him. He hated her. He’d never admit it; it would be so un-Christian for him to hate anyone. She didn’t know why his disdain hurt so damn much.

Moira left the house and set off on her jog at a brisk, steady pace, pushing aside Anthony’s animosity, her growing and unwanted feelings for Rafe, and her confusion over her most recent vision. She focused on running, breathing, one foot ahead of the other. As she ran, her head began to clear.

She loved to run through the early morning fog, the cold, damp sea air burning and cleansing her lungs as if she were running through purgatory, pain and pleasure. She’d been staying at Skye and Anthony’s for two weeks now and knew the cliffs along the shore almost as well as she knew the paths at Olivet, where she’d lived for more than a year.

But even now, she couldn’t think of herself as a demon hunter, because the only reason she’d been trained to banish demons from Earth was to clear the field to pursue her mother, the evil witch who used demons and magic to protect herself from St. Michael’s Order. Moira, in turn, had to be able to protect herself from whatever her