Page 54 of Love the Way You Lion
“A church, my little tail feather? Seems on the nose, don’t you think?”
I laugh again and turn to wrap my arms around him. “Or perhaps just ironic enough?”
He smirks down at me before dipping his head to kiss me with ahunger that promises to be delicious. “Your wish is my command, love. Always.”
Pressing against him, I move my body in a way that is unmistakable. “Then let’s show the pious what true evil looks like.” I pull away, noting the glazed look in his eyes before I turn on my heel and stride to the wide wooden doors as if I’m entering a throne room.
I can feel him watching me as I stop. Tilting my neck back and forth to crack it, I drop into a fighting stance. A spinning kick has the old wood splintering and falling out of the frame as I call, “Yoo hoo, any bodies home?”
A nun that appears to have survived the bloody Crusades appears, her full habit odd for the hour. Her lips purse as if she is used to unwanted intruders, and perhaps in this drug decimated area, she is. That and a cover for the drug runners may be the reason that her supplicants are having choir practice at eleven thirty in the evening on a weekday.
“The church is not open for confession, my child, despite activity inside. You will need to return tomorrow.”
Laughing, I throw my head back, allowing the Beast to shimmer forward. My claws extend, my eyes widen and shift, and my body fills with power that mirrors the rage in my soul. I know these people are not responsible for Sari trying to cause pain within my family’s relationships, but they are not clean either, so I feel the balance in the Universe will be restored.
“Sister, I am not here for redemption. You cannot redeem those who sell their souls. I’m here for vengeance.”
Turning to my mate, I grin. “Winner is on top.” Leaving him to gape, I sprint past the nun with her mouth hanging open towards the sound of the offending choir with malice in my eyes.
How dare they butcher one of my favorite Handel pieces?
Taurus must be dealing with the door nun because he doesn’t appear, and that’s fine with me. I round the corner of the old stone building, scenting my way to the room where the women are struggling through the familiar bridge. I continue to crack my neck as wrong notes and unintentional harmonies make my gut curl in revulsion.
When I locate the room, I don’t even bother to banter with the women. My ears hurt and my anger is overflowing like a river in a monsoon. Diving into the choir with a snarl, I swipe at the most offensive soprano first, drawing blood as I hit her shoulder. The others scramble away, trying to climb out of the pile of bodies, trampling on one another.
Yanking her up by her neck, I grin fangily. “A minor fifth? Really? I should kill youtwicefor that.”
Done talking, I dart my head in and rip her throat out, noting the sound she makes almost hit the right note this time. Drinking deeply, I toss her aside when she goes limp. I turn to the rest of the choir, ignoring the blood on my face and clothes, as I stalk towards the first cowering group. “Can any of you hit the note correctly?” I ask, pretending to look as if I might spare the one who can.
A willowy blond stands, jutting her chin out. None of these women are dressed in a habit like the one at the door. Being younger, they must follow less strict guidance than Brunhilda out there. “I can,” she says, her eyes alight with confidence.
I chuckle darkly.
Even a nunnery has a head mean girl. Bravery in humans only goes so far, and I can promise that it’s not stretching out right now. This is pure ego and dominance. This is the girl that most of us deal with our entire life.
Sometimes, the Universe is kind.
“You can? That would be most pleasing.” I look at the group she’s huddled in, knowing that it’s her gang of lackeys. “Can she? Are you willing to bet your lives on it?”
They look at one another, stupidly unsure if they should be afraid of me or her. That is a BIG mistake, as the hooker once said. The other small groups of women look at me and a brunette mouths the word ‘no’.
I grin; I like her. Smarter than the others—a better survivor. I might send her to a friend if she doesn’t piss me off. I know a religion far more suited to someone with a pair of ovaries like that. Maman would love to train a thing like her for the bar at her place—ballsandbrains.
“Come on, ladies!” I growl. “Answer me truthfully or die.” They’re going to die anyway, but since my husband’s not here yet, I can play with them a little longer. “Can she hit the note?”
The group of four similarly well put together women—for nuns in training, I mean, because vows of poverty shouldn’t include the quality of makeup they’re sporting—finally give in and nod in unison. “Yes.”
That isexactlywhat I wanted to hear. Clapping my hands in gleeful anticipation, I turn to Bitchy McBibleHo and smile beatifically. “That is excellent news! Piano wench! Please go back to the beginning of the bridge. Accompany our virtuoso here.”
I stand, putting my hands on my leather clad hips, feeling my tail swish like the agitated kitty that I am. My fangs are itching to rip this little snot to pieces and the hunger for blood in my soul burns my belly.
The music begins, and I sigh, loving the sound of the piano as the girl sings. Her voice trembles at first, but her ego can’t take goingeasy, so she warbles in a strong operatic style she had to have learned from a classical program.
It takes one to know one.
Unfortunately, this environment did not challenge her enough and her upper registers and ear have suffered. Her pitch wobbles fairly quickly, and it’s not related to the stress of this situation. Her expression says that she can’t even hear the variation in her notes versus what Handel wrote.
What a shame. The Magdalene Mean Girls were incorrect and now they all get to die much more painfully than I had intended.
