Illusions of Evil (Illusions Series Book 1)

by Lily White

  Annabelle was the last person to leave, her body aimlessly stalling, hoping for what, exactly, I wasn't sure. Eventually her mom called out to her, waving her on, and I locked my eyes to hers as her sweet smile turned into a frown and she exited through the front doors.

  My hand landed on the ledge of the pulpit, my eyes studying the striation of the wood where it had cracked beneath my fingers, and when I was sure that the only two people left in the building were Eve and me, I let out a tremulous breath.

  "Eve," I ordered with a barely controlled voice. "Get your ass out here."

  The sound of shuffling whispered out from beneath the pulpit, a naked body being exposed with red marks on her knees from where she'd kneeled for over an hour.

  Slowly, she crept toward me on hands and knees like any good girl should. When she reached my feet, she sat in wait, her bottom planted on her crossed feet and her hands folded demurely in her lap.

  Damn it, Jericho. You trained her just right.

  Jutting my chin in the direction of the rectory, I said, "Go to my room and wait for me."

  Not able to trust myself where I was standing, I stepped back to keep our bodies from brushing together as she pushed up to her feet. I watched the beauty of her figure march away in route to my bedroom, my mind drowning in the ideas of what I'd do to her next.

  EVE

  Therefore, just as through one man sin entered into the world, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men, because all sinned… Romans 5:12

  The Elijah I’d known for eleven years - the one who’d stood by patiently while I’d grown, who’d preached to me and taught me the evils of the world, the one who promised to relieve me of all the sin I had teeming inside me - was not the same man I saw staring down at me in the sanctuary.

  I’d completed the last task he’d asked of me. I’d shown him exactly how fearless and dedicated I was, yet his eyes were narrowed into jagged lines, the silver-blue stained with a shadow that kept the light from hitting it directly. I was sliced open by that stare - frightened within an inch of my life.

  Still, I stumbled on shaky legs back to his room. I worried and I trembled because I didn’t know the man who was coming back for me.

  Stepping into the room, I crept on hesitant feet to the center, turning so I’d face the door as he came in. Minutes ticked by, the pressure building until I thought I’d be crushed beneath the weight of not knowing.

  A door opened in the distance, slowly creaking before slamming shut. Footsteps followed, heavy punctuated beats leading straight to where I stood waiting. With each one that drew closer, I shivered more, my mouth going dry as the color drained from my face.

  It felt like evil was coming toward me, its darkness reaching out to tickle my skin, a soft brush in sensitive places that had me squirming in place. For the fear of it alone, the breath caught in my lungs, my breasts were painfully tight and a noticeable slickness was between my legs telling me that, despite my fear, my body was ready.

  What was wrong with me that I craved the Devil’s touch?

  How did I know that it wasn’t the same man walking toward me?

  I hadn’t noticed until he looked down at me when I crawled on hand and foot. But now, to see him marching forward, to watch the way he held his shoulders and the bloodthirsty expression on his face, I just knew this wasn’t Elijah.

  He didn’t have the light of God; he was enshrouded in darkness.

  He wasn’t a gateway to salvation; he was the temptation that would drag me down into the bowels of all that was unholy.

  And I stood there frozen, my body responding with overwhelming anticipation.

  What demon had been strong enough to take my Elijah over? And why wasn’t I running away for fear that demon would invade me, too?

  He stepped through the doorway.

  I lowered myself to my knees.

  Elijah’s eyes weren’t just cold they were glacial, the frost whipping over to run icy fingers across my body, the terror frozen inside every bone, every tendon and every cell.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His head cocked to the side just slightly, his voice a dark whisper. “Any idea at all?”

  There was no intonation in his voice, no emotion or warmth, just a question posed that promised sensual torment and hedonistic sin. When I didn’t answer him immediately, the corners of his lips kicked up into a knowing smirk.

  “Allow me to show you.”

  He didn’t give me the chance to respond.

  Between one second and the next he was looking at me from the doorway and wrapping his hand around my neck. I was lifted from my knees to the tips of my toes, my feet kicking from panic as he dragged me back to hold me against a wall. My lungs were struggling to pull in air, my hands were reaching up to grip onto his, but he was too strong for me to free myself.

  He watched as I struggled, a mischievous child discovering what it was like to rip the wings off butterflies, and when my vision began to tunnel, when I thought he would strangle me with one bare hand, he released me enough that I could stand on my feet, but still kept me pinned by the neck to the wall.

  I opened my mouth to drag in a breath, but he dipped his head faster than I could fill my lungs to steal that air right back as his mouth covered mine.

  It wasn't clear if the euphoria that overwhelmed me was from the lack of oxygen or the danger behind that kiss. Either way, I was floating off into the ether, my body shaking with unbearable fear as he explored my mouth with a vengeful tongue and teeth that clamped down on my bottom lip as he broke the kiss. Pulling just enough away that he could level me beneath the intensity of his stare, he pulled my lip out where it was still clamped between his teeth.

  Elijah bit harder and I cried out in pain. He let go and smiled in response.

  Lowering his head again, he released more pressure from my neck, but still not enough that I could hope to move away from him. Warm lips met the shell of my ear, his breath like steam against my skin as he whispered, "I like that sound, Eve. I like it so fucking much that I want to hear it again and again."

  His free hand clamped onto my upper thigh just shy of the swollen and needy parts of me, and I cried out again as his fingers squeezed down.

  Laughter shook his shoulders, the color of his eyes deepening until they were almost black, and before I could recover from the way he'd already hurt me, I was dragged from the wall and tossed like a broken doll onto the bed.

  The springs screamed beneath me, and I tried to crawl back, to escape, but my body wasn't cooperating. Elijah just stood there watching, his chest beating with breath, his hand reaching up to tear the white collar from around his neck. Tossing it to the ground, he dragged his gaze down my body, his hands curling into fists before he dragged it back up again to meet my eyes.

  "You couldn't just leave it alone, could you?"

  He took a step toward me, his fingers working to open the buttons of his shirt.

  "You couldn't stay in my room or stay the fuck away from me. Instead you found it cute or funny to tease a starving man with the sweetness you could offer him on a silver fucking platter."

  Pulling the shirt from his body, his muscles flexed and contracted, shadows crossing over the bulges in his arms, the broad planes of his chest and an abdomen rippled with pure masculine strength.

  "I'm awake now, beautiful. I'm paying attention and I'm so damn hungry, there might be nothing left of you by the time I'm done."

  A wave of heat crested over me, a burning fire like nothing I'd experienced before. By the time he was pulling up his pants, the muscles in his thighs bunching and strained, I was stuck in indecision of whether I would try to run or surrender entirely.

  He kicked his pants off and stood staring at me with his erection pressed so incredibly tight against his boxers that I knew running wouldn't help me.

  I was his. Thoroughly and completely, and there wasn't a force on this Earth or in the Heavens strong enough to rescue me.

  On a voice drip
ping with promises of passionate pain and tantalizing torment, he said, "You have me now, Eve. All of me. I hope you can handle what you asked for."

  As if lured by his voice, my sin rose to the surface waiting and pulsing with the need for him to rip it out, to rid the burden I feared would always be a thread woven within my bones.

  Even the small bit of hope that he could drive out whatever evil infected me wasn't enough to brighten the shadow of fear that consumed me as he approached.

  Within seconds, he was on top of me, all around me, a heavy weight that pinned me to the mattress while his hand cupped the apex of my thighs. A deep, satisfied growl was a vibration over his chest to find I was practically dripping in my need for him. It's how I knew I was evil:

  Despite the terror flooding my veins, and despite the certain threat of his raw, primal state, I craved the violence he would give me, so much so that I would gladly bleed just to be near him.

  Two fingers pushed inside me, his palm still cupping me, and with every thrust of his hand, I was inched up the bed, my chest arching and my head pulling back from where he had his hand fisted in my hair. If not for his weight holding me down, he would have pushed me off the side with the sheer amount of force he was using.

  I opened my mouth to cry out in both pain and pleasure, but his lips covered mine, his tongue rushing in to lick at the violence of my cries. Only when it was necessary to breath did he pull away, his mouth trailing down my cheek to rest at my ear, his voice so dark and deep it chased shivers up my spine.

  "Is that what you wanted my sinful little slut, to feel my fingers inside you again?"

  Shifting his leg, he closed mine tighter together which just made my muscles bunch around his fingers, sent me over an edge I always feared tumbling across as the sin pushed higher and higher, a storm threatening to unleash its full, unbridled fury.

  "Answer me," he growled, not caring that I couldn't think at that point, much less talk.

  Opening my mouth, I tried - God, how I tried - to say anything that might appease him, but nothing came out more than the moans crawling up my throat, his soft laughter shaking against my chest as he dipped his head again and locked his teeth over the point where my neck met my shoulder.

  The storm inside me exploded. Shards of cleansing pain and toxic pleasure fracturing out beneath my skin until every muscle was cut, every tendon was severed and every bone ached with the force of the climax.

  He laughed again, the sound so dark and low that I knew this was just the beginning of his vicious assault against me.

  Rubbing the tip of his nose slowly along my jaw, his voice was the softest satin. "Will you answer me now?"

  I'd almost forgotten the question.

  "Yes," I breathed out. "I needed you to touch me."

  "And what else do you need, Eve? What other filthy ideas do you have in that head? Tell me all the dirty little thoughts you have of me."

  His erection was solid against my stomach, his fingers crawling up my chest to grip my chin. Turning my face to his, he locked me in his stare. "Do you want me to do more than just fuck you with my fingers?"

  A tear slipped down my cheek full of all the agony and promise, fear and ecstasy, joy and deepest anguish. It was all there, swirling around into an intoxicating poison inside me.

  "Confess," he whispered, "my beautiful, innocent Eve."

  He chased my tear with the tip of his tongue, smiling as it were the finest ambrosia.

  Breath rattled from my lungs, the fear subsiding now that something so familiar had finally happened between us. Elijah always wanted me to confess, always wanted to know my deepest secrets so that he could take from the dark parts of my soul and extinguish them in His brilliant light.

  This wasn't about God above or the Devil below; this was about the salvation that stared at me now, the man who would make all the wicked feelings go away. Because every time he hurt my body with the force of his own, he left me floating in the safety and ecstasy of my own private paradise.

  "I have thoughts about you all the time. Day and night. Hour by hour. Whether I'm awake or asleep, you're with me."

  His forehead pressed down against mine, our mouths a teasing inch apart.

  My voice was breathless. "I imagine your hands on me, your teeth, your tongue. I want to crawl to you if that's what you ask. I only exist to feel the sting of your hand. I live to corrupt you and ruin you and tempt you until all you know is me. I am yours. In body. In heart. And in soul.”

  Elijah's eyes closed, slowly opening again so the sooty black lashes pulled apart to reveal a silver-blue color that brought more tears to my eyes. The anger was gone, but not the flame of desire. Never that scorching flame.

  "That's unfortunate," he crooned. "I could have sworn you were a much nicer girl than that." A pause, a pull at the corner of his lips. "I think I'll have to teach you what happens to women who think depraved and disgusting thoughts."

  Rolling off me, he stood from the mattress. I moved to follow him, but he pressed the tips of his fingers against my forehead to direct me to lie on the bed. I stared up at him in question.

  "Stay," he said.

  He commanded me like a man would a dog. And I obeyed that command not because I was weak, but because I was strong.

  When I was with him, I could conquer whatever evil consumed me. In his light I was free of the shadows that surrounded us all. With his guidance, I would become what God had preordained for me.

  Together, we will build God's army and stand united against the demons that have infected this world.

  ELIJAH

  God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. - Neitzsche

  The hand of God has not touched this Earth in a long time. Don’t let the Church lie to you, not the Catholics nor the Protestants, and all the dominations in between.

  Christ wasn't sent here to save us, but to call us to action. He said it himself: He didn’t come here to bring peace, but the sword.

  History didn't hear that call, the faithful didn’t hear that call, the politicians, liars and thieves didn’t here that call, but I did.

  Standing behind the altar that I have prepared in His name, I stare out at a sea of anxious faces, at men and women. At the children who are ready to begin again.

  All were trained. All could seek shelter here. There is safety in this place.

  In my voice, they hear the might of God's words speaking to them. And behind their bodies hang the bearers of evil, the demons awaiting eradication.

  The game is beginning.

  "It's time, my children. War is upon us. Satan's gates have opened wide and we stand here, the only ones basking in God's light."

  Whimpers sound from the back of the large room, metal creaking over wood.

  "Are you ready for what will be asked of you?"

  Murmurs erupt across the room, my children nodding their heads and lifting their hands in praise for what they'd been taught to do.

  Whimpers turn into peals of pain and grief. My children turn their heads to stare at the damned.

  I lift my eyes like my children to look upon the faces of the whores where they hang from their wooden crosses.

  JACOB

  You have not resisted to the point of shedding blood in your striving against sin. Hebrews 12:4

  A sense of calm came over me that I hadn’t felt at any time in my life. It was the feeling of being right within your self. Of being whole. Of no longer hiding the shadow that lingers just beneath the surface of the light.

  No matter how resolutely I tried, there was no denying it. Not to God. Not to myself.

  But maybe, just maybe, that’s the way it should have been all along.

  All my life, I’d been taught to deny the parts of myself not upheld within the vestiges of the Catholic religion. I’d been taught to mourn my existence, to apologize for my darkness, to bow and beg forgiveness, not from God, but from the people who stand between us.

  At times, it felt like the Bible was telling me one thi
ng and the Church another, and there was no connecting the dots. Power wasn’t seated in Heaven. It was seated in a city where Saint Peter laid beneath the ground, where man stepped over the bodies of the Holy in order to make their mighty decrees.

  You would think that if the Faith were bound to the book written about it, the rules and laws shoved down our throats wouldn’t change so often. But they do, and with those changes come doubt or blind obedience, guilt or undying submission.

  All my life, I’d struggled with the Church into which I was born. The same Church to which I ran after committing a crime against God. And the more time I spent with it - the deeper I crawled along to learn the secrets hidden by those who run it - the more I leaned toward the side of that thin precipice that would separate me from God.

  Or, at least, that’s what they wanted me to believe about that particular side.

  However, at this moment, with this sense of right that pulsed through me, I was beginning to believe the side they always warned me about was closer to God than they wanted to admit.

  We are all God’s creatures, the saints and the sinners, the saved and the damned. We were created in his image, we were given life through his vision, and if that is true, then the parts of me I was told should be hidden and ignored were parts God had wanted there all along.

  Perhaps His intent wasn’t for us to shun those parts, but instead we were to take them for what they were and glorify Him through the differences they created in us.

  Because if God is part of everything, then God can be found in the shadow as much as the light.

  I wouldn’t feel guilty for seeking him in the pitfalls the Church had steered me away from all my life. I would feel justified in the anger that has been slowly simmering inside me about a powerful and wealthy organization that had turned a blind eye to the rural communities they deemed unworthy of their full support.