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The Church had given me walls strong enough to stand inside. Rules clear enough to obey. A life that asked nothing of my hunger except that I deny it. Food at set hours. Sleep when possible. Silence when required. Touch given only through blessing, through the press of my fingers to a bowed head, through the light weight of absolution across a sinner’s shoulder. It had not made me pure. It had contained me.

My old life had been the opposite. The family home had never been quiet. Men spoke in low voices behind closed doors. Women learned to read anger before it entered the room. Children understood early that a slammed drawer could mean nothing or everything. A hand on the back of the neck could be affection or warning. Sometimes both.

My father had worn expensive suits and never raised his voice unless he was murderous. My uncles had laughed over blood like other men laughed over sport. My brothers, my cousins, all of us had been inducted young, trained to be useful. We learned to keep our mouths shut, and to take pain without displaying it.

Ten years. It had been ten long years of living a different life. And now a woman—a stranger with a story to tell—had found her way to my doorstep and challenged my whole existence.

What would I be willing to do for her?

The question sat with me like a heavy stone on my shoulders.

What would I do to protect Adriana?

It had been years since desire had troubled me as anything more than an old ache. Desire was normal. The body had not agreed to the vows. The soul had. So the body made its small rebellions, and the soul answered with discipline.

I had learned not to look too long, not to stand too close. I couldn’t confuse comfort with invitation.

There had been women before the priesthood. Too many. Beautiful, willing, dangerous in the careless way that belonged to men who thought themselves untouchable. I had taken pleasure like everything else in that life. Quickly. Privately. Without letting it mean more than the body could carry.

Then I took my vows.

Celibacy did not empty me. It disciplined me. And I became good at it. I turned hunger into silence, and silence into prayer. That became my armor. For ten years, that armor held.

Then Adriana invited herself into my life. And I became a different man around her. For her. I wanted to protect her with clean hands and bloody ones. To stand between her and every evil thing in the world. And now I was a man wondering how far I would fall if it meant she survived. Because the real question wasn’t whether I desired her. I did. No prayer could ever make that untrue.

The question was what would I sacrifice.

My vows? My standing? My Church? My soul?

The collar had been gone for one day and already I could feel the dark circling me with the patience of an old friend.

It knew me. And it knew exactly what I was willing to do. Because a man could hide a lie in his eyes, but truth lived in the spaces he refused to show.

10

ADRIANA

By the fourth bus, my body had begun to revolt. Every vibration travelled through my ribs. My wrists ached beneath the clean bandages. The bruising along my face had settled into a dull, constant throb, and exhaustion pressed heavily against the backs of my eyes.

Still, I had fought sleep.

At least, I thought I had.

I opened my eyes slowly.

For a few seconds, I had no idea where I was.

The bus hummed beneath me, the sound low and steady. Darkness pressed against the windows, broken by streaks of passing lights. Something warm and solid supported the side of my face.

I blinked.

Then I realised I was leaning against Demitri.

My cheek was pressed against his shoulder, my body angled toward him as though I had been there for hours.

Heat rushed into my face.

I straightened so quickly that pain shot through my wrists.