Chapter 5 Chapter 5

“You’re insane,” I whispered, but even I could hear the fear cracking through the words. “I’m calling the cops.”

I lunged for my phone on the desk.

“No,” he said softly.

My hand stopped dead an inch from the plastic casing. He didn't touch me. It was worse than that. My arm just stopped working. I yelled at my muscles to move, I begged my brain to pull my hand back, but nothing happened. My body froze because he told it to. His voice went straight down into my nervous system like an order I couldn't fight. Panic washed over me, cold and sharp. Regular guys don't do that, even bad guys don't freeze your body in place with a single sentence.

Pride.

The word echoed in my head, dragging up memories I hadn't thought about since I was ten years old, crammed into the hard wooden pews of St. Jude’s orphanage while the visiting pastor sweat through his collar and yelled about the seven deadly sins from the pulpit. Pride goes before destruction, he’d rasped, pacing back and forth with a heavy leather Bible clutched in his fat hand. The root of all evil. The fallen angels cast out of heaven, carrying their plagues and punishments down to rot the earth.

Back then, it was just bedtime stories meant to scare us into behaving and keeping our mouths shut. Monsters hiding in the dark. Except the monster standing in front of me didn't smell like the dark or rot. He smelled like expensive cologne, cold iron, and old smoke, and he was looking at me like I was something he’d ordered off a menu six months ago.

That single word sank into my mind like a hook and my fingers went limp. The phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the desk. Terror flooded me. I tried to pull away, but my body suddenly felt heavy and sluggish.

He stepped closer until our bodies were nearly touching. He towered over me and the scent of him, like cold marble, expensive cologne, and something darker, like smoldering incense, filled my lungs.

“Look at me,” he commanded quietly and against my will, my head tilted up to look at him. Those icy gray eyes stared into mine.

“You have no idea what you are,” he whispered, almost reverently. One long finger rose and traced the line of my jaw with terrifying gentleness. “The Eight Sin. The missing piece and the only creature in this wretched world worthy of standing at my side.”

His touch left a trail of goosebumps on my skin. My breathing became shallow and shame burned through me as I felt my nipples tighten under the thin T-shirt.

“I don’t want this,” I breathed out, and his smile returned, but it was colder this time.

“You will,” he whispered. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

“Run if you like, little sin. I want to see how beautifully you break when I catch you.”

The moment I could move, I bolted. I ran straight for the front door, heart beating hard and fast, I could hear the rush of blood in my ears, as my feet hit against the floor. My hand closed around the doorknob but it wouldn’t turn. I twisted it frantically, yanking it with all my strength, but the door wouldn’t budge. It was like it had been welded shut. Behind me, he laughed softly. A low, elegant sound that sent pure dread racing down my spine.

“Oh, Raven,” he said, almost affectionately. “You still don’t understand.”

I turned slowly, and he was standing exactly where I’d left him, with his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed. Like a king watching a peasant’s pathetic attempt at rebellion.

“The moment you spoke those words,” he continued, stepping toward me again, “this apartment became my domain. You became mine.”

I pressed my back against the door, breathing hard. He stopped less than a foot away. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“Now…” His voice dropped to a velvet whisper. “Get on your knees.”

The command sank into my bones like ice water. My legs shook violently as I fought it, my muscles screamed in protest. I tried to stay on my feet, my jaw was clenched so hard my teeth ached. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, to stand my ground and spit in his face. But my knees buckled. My muscles just folded up, giving way as if my skeleton belonged to someone else. I hit the cheap floor with a hard thud that rattled my teeth.

What the hell is happening to me? My brain was screaming, panicking, fighting every single inch of it, but my body acted like a trained soldier following a direct command. I stayed there on my hands and knees, my chest heaving, staring down at the scuffed floorboards while a sick wave of humiliation rolled through my stomach. I couldn't even control my own legs. He watched every inch of my descent with those merciless gray eyes. He didn’t gloat, he just watched me, like a sculptor judging wet clay.

“Good girl,” he said.

I wanted to spit at him, I wanted to scream, but instead, tears of rage and fear burned down my cheeks as he stepped closer, the expensive leather of his shoes stopping right in front of my knees.

“You’ve felt me watching you for months, haven’t you?” he said conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather. “Those dreams where seven hands touched you.” The feeling of eyes on your back while you walked home at night. The way you’d wake up drenched and aching, hating yourself for how wet you were.”

My stomach twisted into a knot, he knew. He’d been there the whole time.

“I saw you touching yourself after those dreams,” he continued, his voice low and smooth. “Desperate little fingers trying to chase the shadows you couldn’t understand, I watched you come while whispering things you didn’t remember in the morning,” he said.

“Stop,” I choked out, but he ignored me.

One elegant hand reached down and cupped my chin, tilting my face up. His thumb brushed across my lower lip, pressing it down slightly.

“I chose you long before you found that grimoire, Raven. I orchestrated every opportunity that led you to it. The failing bookstore, the anonymous client, the money you couldn’t afford to turn down.” His smile was cold and perfect. “I have been pruning your life for six months so that when the time came, you would have nothing left but me.”

I tried to jerk my head away, but his grip tightened just enough to warn me.

“The seven of us made a pact eons ago,” he explained, still holding my face like I was something precious and fragile. “We would rule this world together, but something was always… missing. A balancing force, a vessel capable of holding all our sins without breaking.” His thumb pushed between my lips, resting on my tongue. “That vessel is you, little sin. The Eighth.”