Page 2 of The Fallen

I’ll have to do something else. Something drastic. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath and push myself off the floor. Down beneath the abbey lies old catacombs and long deserted prison cells. They were in order long before the central government took over.

After that, there was no need to house anyone down there—criminal or otherwise. That should hold me. It should keep my flock safe. Keephersafe.

Who am I kidding? As long as I have these animalistic thoughts pounding in my brain, she’ll never be safe. Granted, all Alphas have this constant stream of consciousness, but as a member of the cloth, I should be above such things. I must purge them from me, drive them from my body and soul. Weary aches flood my system as I hoist myself up and walk over to my armoire.

I should be over this, over her. It’s times like these I wonder why I even went into the priesthood, anyway. It seems as if I’ve been doing more harm than good.

As the Sisters file out into the bitter chill, my fingers wrap around the thick handle of the flogger I keep hidden inside. No one else knows about this, about my secret shame. Setting myself in front of the window, I pull my robes over my head and place them neatly on the edge of the bed.

I watch each omega as they scuttle off to the chapel, preparing themselves for Mass. A Mass I’m supposed to lead them in. A Mass I feel wholly unprepared to conduct.

Thwack.

The hardened tips of the beads slam against my back, sending a shudder through my body. Pain explodes over me, making me fall forward just a touch.

Thwack.

Wetness trickles down, making my stomach flop as queasy nausea brings bile bubbling up to the back of my throat. It’s like hot-white fire searing me from the inside out, a pain I’ll never get used to, never desire. And that’s how it should be.

Thwack.

My breathing evens out as I force myself to remain calm. It’s not a penance if I trigger the implant and it allows me to slip into oblivion. No. I need to feel every moment of this remorse as I confess before God the lustful thoughts that plague me at every turn.

Thwack.

Harder now. A bit more bite and sting. My back becomes accustomed to the abuse, and so I must increase the force of each strike to ensure the message drives home. I cannot have her. I cannot want her. I cannot desire another woman over the need I have to give myself to God.

Thwack.

The sickening squelch of striking wet flesh fills the room, making my brain fuzz around the edges. It’s not enough to tip the scales, but close enough. Taking in a deep breath, I fill my lungs to capacity, dragging copper-tinged air into my very soul, my very being.

Thwack.

By enduring this agony, I can atone and show my remorse. Maybe, in time, it will drive these base needs out of me so I can once again be a gentle and doting shepherd and not the ravenous monster that lurks just under the surface. But with each stinging lash, I wonder how much of this is just wishful thinking.

Thwack.

As much as I want to look away, to drag my gaze from the women in front of me, I cannot. Iwillnot. I need to get their safety and sanctity in the forefront of my mind. They are why I do this. They are why I debase myself before God. Somehow, it lends me strength, allowing me to continue through the last few strikes I have left.

Thwack.

Off in the distance, a solitary Sister turns around. At first, her face is obscured by the snow and the billowing veil threatening to conceal her, but I know it’s her. Though these windows are made so that no one can see in, her sapphire gaze pierces me as if she’s looking at me.

Sister Emily Agnes.

There’s a sorrow in her eyes, a tinge of grief as she continues to watch. Breath haggard, I lock my gaze with hers and finish out my punishment.

Thwack.

I crave her.

I want her.

I need to have her.

Thwack.

I must consume her.

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