Page 119 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

I would go to Hell for you.

“No.” I shake my head. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.”

“I’m keeping you safe.” His large hands reposition mine around the tang, and then envelop them when I start to shake.

Left side subclavian area.

I shake my head, trying to force the words out, but my body doesn’t listen. My hands adjust the sword’s tip, correcting the aim to the left of his heart.

“You can do it, Mercy,” he says. “You must.”

“And if it breaks you?” If it breaks us?

“Then I love you anyway,” he whispers, a plea in his eyes. “Love me anyway.”

Cisco’s grip tightens like a vice over mine, and he forces me to push the sword into his body.

It starts slow, the horror, the blood, the scream building in my throat. Inch after inch, the blade sinks into his flesh. His mouth opens in agony, but he refuses to let sound out. Black ribbons tear from his body and lash at the still dull sword. I can’t summon the courage to ignite the flames. All I can do is watch in horror and help Cisco push the sword deeper into his body.

And through it all, he refuses to leave me. Even now, he is the perfect angel, helping me shoulder the burden of this action. He keeps his hands over mine, eyes locked and unwavering until the sword’s tip clashes with cobblestones and his torso jerks.

His fingers weaken over mine, and eventually, his hands drop altogether. His head hangs. Alarmed, horrified, I freeze.

Is that it?

“Cisco?” A sob breaks out of me.

Maybe we didn’t need the flames after all.

“Cisco, is it finished?” My arms fall to my sides. “Cisco?”

“Finished?” His head whips up, eyes like black voids colliding with mine. “You can’t finish anything if your life depends on it.” The voice is guttural and demonic. “Why start now?” Evil flares in the atmosphere, running icy fingers down my spine, into my soul. “You’re just a useless fucking slut of a whore.”

I blink rapidly.

He keeps spewing vitriol and filth at me, telling me how worthless I am, how I mean nothing to him, how I’m so stupid to think I could fuck him into being saved. A part of me wants to believe him. It would be so much easier just to admit defeat now and give in.

But this isn’t Cisco. It’s Famine, the demon.

And for some reason, somehow, I recall Asmodeus’s forlorn words to me when he showed me the frescoes.

They failed because they stopped believing. They stopped fighting for it.

White-hot, defiant rage surges through me. I lean forward, right into the demon’s face and whisper through clenched teeth, “How dare you!” Darkness swells in his eyes, but he remains skewered by my sword. So I scream louder, closer, “How fucking dare you try to turn our love into something shameful!” Trembling with the force of my fury, I wrap my fingers around the sword’s tang. “Keep your fucking fear. Keep your fucking weak-assed, pathetic attempts to hurt me. I’m keeping the joy.”

With that last, final sobbed word, I let the fire out. Flames ignite along the sword in a roar of combustion.

Holy power shoots into Cisco’s body, and he releases a guttural, unholy roar. I think there’s a point he tries to fight me, but my resolve is unwavering. I keep that sword buried deep, and I refuse to let go.

No one gets to shame me for my desire. No one gets to take my joy. I promised him that I would never leave him, and I still mean it . . . even if I go down in flames too.

Bright, molten light spreads to every corner of Cisco’s body, purging the black from the veins. It streams from his every pore like rays of sunlight.

“No!” the demon bellows.

Without letting go of the sword, I fling my free arm around his neck, climb onto his lap, and press my cheek against his sweaty jaw. He tries to throw me off, but I refuse.

“Mercy—” He sounds like Cisco now. “Go.”