Page 124 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“Is it really you?” I whisper.

“Sì.” His joy momentarily disappears when my blanket slips further, and he glares at anyone looking as he fixes it. His jaw flexes, and he says nothing, but I know he’s thinking something about my body being for his eyes only.

He can’t help himself.

The possessive, protective mannerism is so perfectly a part of the man I fell in love with that emotion overwhelms me. I can’t think. Can’t function.

Is he really here? Unchanged?

“Oh, my God,” I whisper. “It’s really you.”

“Not God,” he mutters, lips curving, eyes twinkling. “Just me.”

I burst out laughing. Tears fall.

“But you’re okay?” I check him for injury. “Fuck me, where are your tattoos?” All gone. “I stabbed you here.” He’s completely healed over. I don’t care. “Babe . . .” I shower him with kisses. “Can’t believe it.” More clutching, hugging, and sloppy tears. “Did it really work?”

“Mercy.” Cisco fights with my falling blanket, defending my dignity while I lay his bare.

Every touch, every word, every syllable of mine dances on the razor’s edge of an emotional breakdown. I still can’t believe that the relic worked. That against all odds he’s here and not Hell’s newest demonic addition.

“Piccola, I’m here.” He crushes me against him, pinning my arms. “It’s okay.” He whispers into my ear, “I have you. It’s okay, I’m here.”

His words, the accented timbre, the tight, indomitable embrace . . . I believe.

The riot in my body and mind stops. The world falls away and becomes this—the beat of our hearts, the warmth of his body, the comfort of his arms, and a fresh, clean male scent that’s heaven on earth.

Strong hands squeeze my shoulders. Cisco pulls me back so he can look deeply into my eyes. Despite his outward appearance of calm, he trembles with emotion as he turns my face from side to side to inspect me. His thumb swipes the corner of my mouth, over the beauty mark there, and his lips curve on one side. But when he looks at my hair, his smile drops.

“Is it that bad?” Gingerly, I touch my head and feel sporadic patches of hair between baby-smooth skin.

“I’m so sorry, Mercy.” His voice breaks. “You have⁠—”

I silence his protest with a close-mouthed kiss.

“I would happily do it again,” I declare. “And it will grow back.”

He cups the back of my neck and pulls my forehead to his. “Mercy, I . . . I⁠—”

“You love me,” I finish for him.

“Sì. So much.”

I think he wants to speak, but then he darts a look around us, and helplessness returns to his eyes.

That’s when the world comes crashing back in. I see all the faces surrounding us pinched with tension. I gather my blanket and move to climb off Cisco’s lap. He almost doesn’t let me go, but sighs and helps me sit beside him on the step, facing the yard, tucked under his arm and safe.

Dominic and Raven glare at each other from the base of the porch, one on either side. She’s dressed in all leather, arms folded, hair braided and still damp from her morning shower. I can’t get over his tight little boxer shorts. They leave nothing to the imagination.

I suppose with a body like that, why bother to cover it up?

Muscles bulge as he crosses his arms. Paper in his fist crumples, and he doubles down on glowering at Raven. She only flattens her gaze in return.

Wesley and Zeke stand beside him on the grass, both wearing disgruntled expressions. Thea stands at Raven’s shoulder, also looking annoyed. Leila casually leans against her boyfriend’s body, keeping a wary eye and pistol aimed at Asmodeus, who loiters near the giant moth and ex-demon. They’re not circling each other anymore. Tawny picks up Jinx and starts backing up toward us, still facing the moth and demon prince.

The abbey door closes behind me, and I twist to find the Rev returning to us after seeing the other spectators back inside. I know that face she wears. She’s given it to me more than once.

Something is definitely off.