Page 73 of My Forever Sin

I whirl, one sharp gaze and one phony innocence gaze colliding. “Excuse me?”

She stands, brushing down her skirt before standing before me. “That mark on your back? We—the church—own you. You will not venture out on your own, nor will you speak without permission. Only Heath can take you to the church and back.” She nods like it’s final, then circles me as she continues to speak. “You could’ve had the easy way out, but you chose not to allow St Anton’s to cleanse you. What awaits you now”—she practically cackles—“it’s much, much worse.”

Every second she’s here is another second my resolve cracks. If she gets the slightest inkling I’m planning something, it will crumble.

I fist my hands together in front of me, biting my lip. “Okay.”

“You and Kain both.”

As soon as she exits with a muttered, ‘heathen’, and slams my door shut, I relax, flopping onto my bed.

There’s guards patrolling our wing now, not just the grounds. All day I’ve been trying to work out how to retrieve the book I left in the bedroom and I’m hoping that part of the castle really is abandoned, because if someone found it, I’m in deep shit. Kain would tell them I was in there last. I’m surprised he didn’t already.

A herby essence grazes my nose and music floats into my room and my muscles immediately stiffen.

He’s smoking again, and even though I shouldn’t, something inside me worries about him a little. I’ve never smoked. I don’t know how much it would take to get high, but it seems like Kain is always smoking, and clearly not on his balcony like I told him to.

That thought just stirs up more frustration in me.

The phantom feel of him is still pressed into my throat, his fingers still occupying space inside me. And Lucifer damn him, I’m aching for him to replace Samuel’s hands and Lacey’s assault once again. It’s the only time I can forget. I need him in the most broken way.

I discovered the guards do rounds in our wing, they’re not watching all the time, but they are watching every exit from the castle. Quietly, I press myself to the floor, squinting to see under the small gap between the door and the carpet. There’s hardly ever any light out there, so it’s hard to see. But when I don’t spot any shadows, I stand, stomp across the hall, and bang my fist on his door.

It opens within milliseconds, like he was just waiting there for me. He’s half-dressed again in grey joggers, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the glow of the bud mocking me. Even his cross-chain glints in the candlelight like it’s winking at me. “Back so soon, little devil?”

Gone is the smidgen of care he showed me but I shouldn’t be surprised; he truly doesn’t care about me. All of them just put on an act.

I’m irked beyond being able to control my next move and I rip the stick from his mouth, shoving it between my own lips, and inhaling. The thick smoke scratches at my throat and fills my mouth, causing me to cough out a cloud of grey.

Kain’s chuckle fills the space. “You can do better than that, little devil.” He folds his arms over his tattooed chest and leans against the doorframe.

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” I struggle to say through the ash in my mouth.

A part of me wants to understand what he finds so fucking good about smoking every single day of every hour but that would mean having a conversation with him and I don’t want to.

“I told you not to smoke. I can smell it in my room!” I sound like a petulant child while waving the weed around.

Pushing off the doorframe, he crowds my space, the scent of fresh citrus hitting me, and drowning out the herbal intrusion.

He lowers his mouth to my ear, and tingles immediately erupt over my skin, my head growing lighter.

“The woman I love hates me,” he whispers as one of his hands cradles the back of my neck on the other side as he takes the joint away from me. “And I can’t stand it,” he continues.

His hand trails over my bare shoulder, his fingers taking the thin strap with them. Shivers race down my spine at the contact and I’m hanging onto his every word while my muscles relax. This must be the effects of the weed because I do not want Kain Westbrook touching me.

Ever.

And that might just make me the biggest hypocrite because when his fingers skim the neckline of my cami over the curve of my breast, I draw in a cold breath.

“So, I have to drown out the torment somehow.” I can feel the slight stubble of his jaw grazing the delicate skin of my neck and his mouth travels further down, his fingers feathering their way back up my shoulder.

His hair—coconut and vanilla—settles in my nose. “But I think those feelings might be wavering now,” he murmurs, before his hot tongue latches onto the crook of my neck and trails upwards, his teeth grazing below my ear, and making me whimper.

Fuck no.

He huffs a laugh, sending heat straight to my core.

“It’s just the weed,” I rasp, that dizzy feeling returning.