VAS (The V Games Book 3), page 4
As Irina discusses what to order and bring up for me with a maid, I walk over to the window. My fingertips run along the glass, and I fight a smile. A car drives off down below, and I find myself staring down at Vas. He stands beside a shiny black sports car, his hands on his hips and legs slightly parted. Intensity bores into me as I relish this stolen moment with him.
Lord Jesus Christ our God, thank you for this gift.
“Come, Darya,” Irina says, tugging my arm, pulling me away from the window—away from him. My heart remains, though, trapped in his hold.
She guides me to the massive bathroom, and when I see a mirror, I divert my gaze. As she leaves my side to start a bath, I chance a look at my reflection. We weren’t allowed mirrors at the convent. The devil likes to tempt you with vanity. When I see myself, I don’t see the beauty others have mentioned to me before. Like Archbishop Dimitrov saw in me.
“You’re beautiful, like one of God’s angels.”
I close my eyes, thinking of the way he’d run his thumb along my cheekbone when the other sisters weren’t watching. He was much older than me, speckles of gray in his dark hair, but he treated me as though I were an equal. He favored me over my sisters. No one dared speak of it, but in my heart, I felt it.
2 years ago
“The cliros is for the divine,” Archbishop Dimitrov says with pride, smiling at me. “Your voice, your purity, and your grace have earned you a spot there.”
My eyes widen at his words. I’ve been humbly serving God as a sister of the church since my fourteenth birthday when I was removed from the church orphanage. At each service for two long years, I watched those women with voices of angels sing their hearts out for the Lord. The congregation would raise their hands and nod their heads. Such an honor. I’m so humbled, I can’t formulate a response.
His eyes drift to the doorway that remains open. Women and men aren’t to be alone together. Even those who fiercely serve the Lord. Temptation is everywhere. I see a flash of sadness in his brown eyes, as though he wishes he could speak to me alone.
“Should I close the door?” I ask, hoping to please him.
“That would be nice, sister.”
My heart skips in my chest as I walk over to the door and pull it to. When I turn, he’s no longer seated at his desk. His black robe hangs around him, and his large, golden cross sits in the middle of his chest. He smiles as he approaches.
“Let me hear it again to be sure,” he murmurs lowly.
I nod, then begin singing for him. My voice, while normally soft and unsure, takes on a new life when I sing. I sing him a song about redemption and the Lord’s love for everyone, even sinners. He watches me closely and stands so near, I can feel his hot breath on my face. It’s so cold here, I long for the warmth.
“This,” he says as his palm gently grips my throat, “is a gift from God. I can feel the power of the Lord vibrating from your vocal chords. Your melodies will compel others to stay right with God, sister. Do you understand the privilege He has given you? He has given you a tool to bring sinners to their knees.”
I blink up at him and smile as I sing.
“You’ll make a perfect addition to the cliros. I’ll make certain Sister Ivanonva knows your schedule will change to accommodate your rehearsals.”
When the song ends, he pulls his hand away, but remains close. I want to throw my arms around him and thank him for his generosity. The urge for affection becomes too great to ignore. I step forward and hug his solid frame. He’s stiff at first, but then pulls me closer with a chuckle.
“Your innocence is a blessing, child,” he rumbles, his voice gritty and unlike I’ve ever heard. “But it is also a curse.”
“A curse?” I whisper.
His palm slides down my spine and brushes over my bottom. “Innocence is a temptation for the strongest of men. They will want to destroy what God has created. They’ll want to make it impure. Even the most Godly of men will succumb to it.”
“I don’t want to tempt anyone,” I murmur.
“Your temptation is not your fault,” he says huskily. “It is for the man to combat, child. And if he cannot combat it, he must beg for forgiveness.” His hand doesn’t move from my bottom, sending flutters of nervous energy coursing through me. Shame makes my skin heat. Am I a temptress? I don’t understand the emotions swirling inside me. “The man will have to ask for forgiveness when he strays from God, even if only for a few stolen moments. Our Lord is a gracious and forgiving God.”
I look up at him. His eyes are closed as he squeezes my bottom again, hugging me tighter. The hardness between us pokes into me, causing me to gasp. I squirm, and his mouth parts. His eyes pop open and sear me with a gaze filled with fire. For a moment, I worry the devil has sent a demon to tempt me into allowing him to sin. Possessed Archbishop Dimitrov with a beast. I reach a tentative hand to his face, never having seen such a look before. His tongue darts out and licks my middle finger. More of the buzzing zips through me. The throb of my heart rate increases. I don’t know whether I should stay or flee.
With his free hand, he grips my wrist and sucks my middle finger into his mouth. I inhale in shock. I’m sure he’s a demon now. His eyes are glassy and wild. Terror consumes me, but I remain frozen. He sucks on my finger like a lollipop we used to be allowed on Christmas back at the orphanage. His rough tongue rubs up and down the underside.
It feels funny. Tickling the skin.
My stomach clenches when he moans.
Our Lord is a gracious and forgiving God.
I’ll pray extra hard for forgiveness, but until then, I allow myself the small act of unusual affection from Archbishop Dimitrov. He pulls my wrist away, but a string of his saliva keeps his lips tethered to my finger. He turns my wrist and urges my own wet finger into my mouth. He pushes in another finger, then a third. Fire blazes in his orbs as he forces my fingers uncomfortably farther. My longest finger pokes at the back of my throat, and I gag. Tears well in my eyes and spill forth as saliva runs down my chin.
“Sister,” he growls, pushing his body against mine until I’m pressed against the wall. “What have you done?”
My eyes widen in fear.
His hips rock against mine over and over again, his eyes never leaving mine as he moves my fingers inside my mouth in cadence with the way he moves his hips. A hiss of air leaves him, then he lets out a groan. He stares at me for what feels like forever in silence until wetness soaks through my habit between us. His wetness. I don’t understand where it came from or what it is.
“You must run along and change clothes,” he says, pulling his fingers from my mouth. “You’ll need to beg for the Lord’s forgiveness the rest of the evening. I’ll excuse you from your duties.”
I simply nod at him, gulping down the huge stone that’s formed in my throat.
“And, sister?” he rasps, pulling his body away from mine. My eyes drift to the wet spot on the black fabric where I’d felt the hardness.
“Yes?”
“Don’t ever close the door in the presence of a male again.”
Feeling chastised, I nod and rush for the door. Before I get too far, he stops me with his words.
“Child, you’ll make an excellent addition to the cliros. I’m looking forward to watching you sing each service. Remember, your throat is a gift.”
“Darya?” Irina asks, startling me from the past.
I meet her concerned stare in the mirror. I’m touching my neck where he once touched me. If only he could see me now—or see me just yesterday when my throat was used by Molokh.
I shudder and suppress a sob.
“Shhh, sweetie,” she coos. “The bath is hot. I’ll take care of you.”
Irina is nice, but I can’t help but wonder why my blood matters so much to her. Days ago, she saw me kneeling at Molokh’s feet at lunch within the kitchen and she rushed through the room without looking back. The only one who has ever stopped for me is Vas.
I divert my eyes back to the floor where it’s safe and allow her to help me undress. She’s gentle as she removes the bandages.
“Good news is they all look superficial and have stopped bleeding,” she says once I’m fully naked. “Bad news is the water may sting them a bit.”
Can’t be worse than the sting of hands beating against my skin because I look like someone he hates so much.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She helps me into the tub, then settles on the closed lid of the toilet. I peek at her and the way she cradles her growing belly. Just like Vlad, love shines in her eyes. They may be a part of Molokh’s world, but they have goodness inside them. I can hold onto that hope. Plus, Irina is related to Vas. Below his surface, alongside his raging beast, is a good man. A man I want to know. A man I want to protect me.
A man I want to touch.
I remember the way Archbishop Dimitrov rubbed against me. At the time, I didn’t understand it. Now, I realize he was using my body for his pleasure. I’d tempted him with my innocence. Not a day goes by that I don’t ask for God’s forgiveness. Archbishop Dimitrov was a good, Godly man. He didn’t deserve my tempting him. How awful he must have felt to have been lured over by my purity. Looking back, I can’t be sure I would have stopped him if he’d gone further. I’m paralyzed by that thought. Sometimes, the sins they perform on me feel good. My body betrays me and behaves like a harlot—and that is the worst punishment. The shame, guilt, sin.
A shame-filled sob echoes through me.
Irina pets my hair and murmurs assurances at me, then sets to washing my body. Once I’m as physically clean as I can get, she assists in washing my hair. By the time the tub is draining and I’m wrapped in a plush towel, I feel tons better. Hope ripples through me like a tidal wave. I ride it gleefully and unafraid. So dangerous to give in so easily. It could all come crashing down in an instant.
As though the devil has heard me, my eyes lock with Vlad as we exit the bathroom. He’s shed his suit jacket and stands near the bed wearing a scowl. His gray vest and white undershirt hug his physique. He’s fuller in the chest than Vas, but I don’t doubt who would win in an actual match. I’ve been to enough gatherings to sneak in peeks at Vas’s abilities. He’s lean muscle and barely restrained violence, like the panthers I once read about in a book. Sleek and deadly. Powerful and beautiful.
“Privacy?” Irina utters to her husband.
“Right,” he grits out. Instead of leaving us, he walks over to the window and stares out with his back to us.
Irina rolls her eyes in frustration, and I fight a smile. She picks up a long, demure white dress from the bed, and my heart flutters. It reminds me of the smocks we’d wear during our cleansing rituals before the church clergy. Warmth tickles down my back. She helps me put on a bra I’m not used to wearing. It’s far too risqué for me, but I don’t dare tell her no. If I’m being honest with myself, the white lace and small cups are pretty. I peek down at my breasts and admire the way they seem to be pushed up. Vas has seen me bare and at my lowest. Would he like the way I look now?
“Vlad’s not looking,” Irina assures me upon noticing my blush. “You can trust him.”
Can I?
She helps me into a pair of panties that hardly cover anything. I’m not sure I understand the point if they go between my cheeks and keep my bottom exposed. Again, I bite my tongue. The dress goes on next, and while it’s modest when laid out on the bed, it fits a little too snugly for my liking. It hugs my breasts, is lower cut than I prefer, and cinches at the waist. But it covers my arms and is floor-length. Beggars can’t be choosers. This is the best I could hope for.
“Sit here. I’ll comb your hair,” she instructs.
I sit at the vanity, and she pulls up a chair behind me. Vlad abandons the window to make his way over to us. He leans his hip against the vanity and stares down at me. Bravely, I look up at him, searching his eyes for familiarity. How wonderful would it be to see myself in him? Then maybe the pain and horrors would disappear indefinitely. It all seems too good to be true. The ifs, buts, and whys will come later. For now, I need to survive, and being related to him is my best chance.
“How old are you, Darya?” Vlad asks.
I blink at him. “Recently turned eighteen.”
He clenches his jaw and looks away. “The math is there,” he says to Irina. “Mom left after the twins were born.” He then turns to me. “Do you remember your mother?”
I remember her singing to me. The earliest memory I have. “All I remember are the sisters at the orphanage.”
“You went there as a young child?” he asks.
I nod. “A baby.”
“When did you leave?”
“When he took me. The devil man showed up, and everything was a blur after that.” I shiver and close my eyes. “I remember the cages. The sting of the whips. The dreadful cold. He wanted my spirit broken.”
Silence falls on the room.
“The devil man,” Vlad mimics, his voice slow as he attempts to understand what I’m saying. “Then I bought you?”
Blinking my eyes open, I find his stare. “And then you gave me to him. Molokh.”
His nostrils flare. “Molokh? Yuri, my father?”
I nod again.
“This devil man,” he says, reaching into his pocket and showing me a picture of the man in charge of me when I was in the cage being shipped around.
“Is this who you mean?”
“No. That’s not the devil,” I murmur.
Footfalls sound from outside the door, making my body stiffen. When they pass, I relax and release the breath I was holding.
Vlad sighs, dropping to his haunches in front of me. “Yuri, my father, won’t hurt you anymore. Nobody will.”
My mind drifts to months ago.
He’s furious.
And when Molokh is furious, he takes it out on me.
I cower on his bed, curling into myself. Maybe he’ll forget I’m here. Maybe he’ll leave the room to go spend the rest of the evening drinking in the library like he sometimes does. At least when he gets ridiculously drunk, he’s nice to me. During those moments, he calls me by another name and kisses me in places that make my body betray me. But after those moments are always the worst. When the drunkenness fades and realization sets in, he bruises me so bad, I can barely function.
Are those tender moments worth the pain that follows?
Nothing is worth his wrath.
Lord Jesus Christ our God, give me strength.
He argues with his son Vlad on the phone. “Darya getting boring?” Vlad’s voice rings out through the speaker. My heart stops.
Molokh grabs a handful of my hair and hauls me to my knees beside him. He slaps me so hard across my cheek, I scream out in pain.
“Darya is learning how to take a fist in her cunt. She’s fine.” Molokh glowers at me, daring me to challenge his lie.
“Now, are we done?” Vlad snaps.
“We’ll discuss the rest later. Give my future daughter-in-law my regards,” Molokh grits out, then mashes the button to end the call.
His evil eyes slide down my flesh. “You think that’s funny?”
My eyes widen in horror, and I try to shake my head. “N-No.”
I scream again when he pins me down on the bed, wrenching my thighs apart. He fumbles with his belt, then pulls out his floppy manhood. It’s like God does look after me because he never can make it hard like he wants. But the downside is it always infuriates him. He rubs it against me and pokes at my entrance, but it bends the wrong way and slides between the cheeks of my bottom.
“Fucking useless whore can’t even get a man’s dick hard!” he bellows.
Reaching over, he picks up a cigar from the table and forces the object inside me, making me cry out. It burns, and I sob against his cruelty. He chokes me hard enough I almost black out, then pulls the offending object from inside me and stuffs it in his mouth. His eyes are soulless and empty when he bites out, “I have someone I want you to meet later.”
Finally, he leaves, storming off. I cry and sleep. Taking turns all day until it grows dark. Hours and hours pass by. My stomach grumbles, and sadness eats away at me. When he finally comes in late, stumbling drunk and carrying a bowl of grapes, I’m almost happy to see him. This is the only way I can tolerate him.
He climbs into bed and pats his thighs, the glow from the bedside lamp almost making him seem friendly. I sidle up to him, take a seat on his thigh like he wants, and greedily eat the grapes he feeds me. Because he’s drunk and his eyes are barely open, he drops many I’ll hunt out after he falls asleep. Once they’re nearly gone, he pulls me to him. His lips press sweetly to my cheek, and I can smell the liquor.
“Why did you leave me, sweet Vera?” he asks, his voice pained.
I open my mouth to remind him for the hundredth time I’m not her, but he shoves another grape in. He leans forward and kisses my bare shoulder—sloppily, but it’s gentle. I’ll take gentle any day. His touch is soft, and he cradles me to him like I’m precious. And then he lays me back on the bed.
The bedroom door opens, and a man enters. He looks like he’s unsteady on his feet, also intoxicated by liquor. I don’t recognize him. This man is different than Molokh. He’s taller, more muscular, and has handsome features. He seems dangerous, though. Just like all the men in my world.
I freeze and bite the inside of my cheek when Molokh grins salaciously down at me.
“You didn’t say how pretty she was.” The man smirks, looking over my exposed body, appreciation gleaming in his hard, hazel-colored eyes.
“You think I’d have an ugly whore?” Molokh grunts, getting to his feet and allowing the man to take his place on the bed next to me.
My heart pounds in my chest as his scent invades my nose. He smells clean, like fresh linen.
“Taste her, Artur. Make her come,” Molokh demands.
“You want me to make you come, sweetheart?”
A crashing sounds, and a glass shatters against the wall.
“Don’t fucking ask her. Just do as you’re told,” Molokh roars, and it makes me think this man is more of a prisoner, like me, than a friend.
