The Fallen (Annual Game Night: Sector Five Alphas #3)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Father Draven

Game Night

T he instant my eyes pop open, I know something is wrong. I can feel it in my gut. Rising, I pace about the room. Fourteen more hours until the implant shuts off. Even now, I feel the restraint slip in and out, as if testing the bonds, gearing up for a trial I never signed up for, never wanted.

From my room, I am unable to hear the Sisters as they prepare for the day, but I know they are. I feel their movements like ants crawling on my skin, stinging me with every clamp of their ragged jowls. Closing my eyes, I draw in Sister Emily Agnes’s lingering scent, dragging it deep into my lungs.

I can’t do this. I can’t face the women in my abbey. Even though the others hold no sway, one does. I cannot risk their lives and my sanity by joining them. Not today. Not until I can get myself under control.

Instead of the normal priestly array, I put on something comfortable and make my way down the stairs to see Mother Superior. She will need to guide the sheep while I’m locked up downstairs. Thankfully, they all seem to still be in their rooms, taking in quiet moments of individual contemplation.

The hard wood of her door echoes through the halls like an alarm giving me away. It’s absurd. I shouldn’t be hiding. And yet, I know if I see just one glimpse of my temptation, I’ll falter. I’ll refuse to let Mother Superior lock me up so I can have my way with the omega who torments me just by breathing.

The old omega takes her time shuffling to the door, ratcheting up my anxiety and irritation with every second that passes. I can hear the others moving about. I can smell the vacillating emotions warring for dominance. Has it always been this pungent?

I shouldn’t be this agitated. Not this far away from the actual start of things. I wasn’t even this perturbed in the heat of Game Night last year. What does this mean?

As much as I long to have a moment of self-contemplation, I know I need to do it away from the others. Thankfully, the door opens before I succumb to the urge to bust it down and drag Mother Superior out. The serene smile she gives me is far at odds with the turmoil bubbling inside.

“Father Confessor. It is a blessing to see you up this early. How shall I be of assistance?”

My brain goes into overdrive. What I want to request is to have her drag Sister Emily Agnes up to my chambers so I can torment her some more, but it’s very unwise, seeing as I cannot even keep my thoughts in check.

Clearing my throat, I lean in, so our conversation is not overheard. “I need you to lock me in now.”

“Now, Father Confessor? But it is only half-past five in the morning. Many hours remain ahead of you before the night of affliction.”

“Yes. I am very much aware of that. This year, however, it’s different. I cannot explain why.” The lie sits heavy on my lips.

One more thing I’ll have to atone for after this night is over. Based on the flit of her eyes as she looks away, I don’t think she really believes me either. I’ve been careless, more than likely obvious, in my attention toward my forbidden lamb.

“Am I to understand then that you will not be joining us for Mass?”

“I do not think it wise.”

“Very well. Come with me.”

She ducks into her room and pulls out a large ring full of antique keys. Though I haven’t been down to the catacombs in years, I have to trust that the ancient metal will hold out. It has for centuries. Why would it fail tonight?

I cast a glance up to the heavens. Why indeed? As we shuffle down the hall, the doors open as the Sisters step out to prepare for their daily duties. Before I can even look up to see her, Sister Emily Agnes’s scent accosts me, rooting me to the spot.

“Good Morrow, Father Confessor,” they cry out, oblivious to the discomfort racking my body.

Casting my gaze over to my temptation, my vision wavers, making her shimmer as if she is a mirage. The warning systems I have in place, that I rely on to tell me when I’m going too far, fail me. Lust slams into me so hard it robs me of my breath.

I stand there like a statue, praying it will pass, but it doesn’t. It grows stronger as she slides her way toward me, eyes twinkling in concern. With each approaching step, I feel the buzz burning in my brain, the one threatening to render me helpless lest I rape this girl where she stands.

Thankfully, Mother Superior seems to know and understand my plight. Sliding in between us, she blocks the vision of Sister Emily Agnes standing there, breasts heaving so hard it moves her habit up and down with each inhalation. Even though I can no longer see her, I can still smell her.

“Sisters. You will all retire to your rooms until the bells ring out. Now. Hurry. There is to be no dawdling.”

I rest against the cool stone wall, shoring up my defenses. It’s shameful to have Mother Superior see me this way. Unfortunately, I am only a man. An Alpha at that.

“Come, Father Confessor. I will confine you to your cell, then send breakfast down once Mass is concluded.”

She loops her arm through mine and helps me down the winding steps until I’m far enough away that I can finally take in a blessed gulp of fresh air that is not tainted with Sister Emily Agnes’s scent.

“Who will attend to me?”

“I will. No other Sister will be allowed down here while I am awake.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your compassion during this time.”

“If I may be so bold. I do say another visit outside of these walls after Game Night is concluded might be in order. Seems as if temptation barks at your heels. Strengthen yourself. Shore yourself up. Then come back far stronger than ever, able to resist the devil and his wiles.”

Shaking my head, I slip into the cell and sit down on the comfortably padded bed. “I shall consider your advice during the long hours that await me.”

“See that you do. Conduct your time in prayer, as we will be doing above you.”

As she walks away, I grip the comforter in between my fists. Temptation be damned. The carefully crafted facade I’ve been holding around me since that Sister first came here cracks with each passing minute. Soon, I fear I won’t have any morals to stop me from taking what’s mine.

The little lamb better hope these bars can hold me in. If not, she will be my sacrifice, my unholy rite.