Free Mortal Sin by Allison Brennan Page A

thought he was weak, but they’d said he’d proven himself.
    He’d suffered, he’d killed, he’d bled for their cause. And still, he brought back the book that would give them immortality. The Conoscenza was theirs because of his sacrifices.
    And he kept the one key that made the ritual work all to himself. He didn’t trust those two; they’d stab him in the back—literally—if he gave them all the information. Once they opened the portal and he had control of Ianax, he’d give them the final piece of the puzzle by which they could control the Seven Deadly Sins.
    Jeremiah Hatch was anything but weak.
    “This isn’t a game, Richard, and you should not have whined to Serena. She’s the direct line to the head of the coven, the only one you should concern yourself with pleasing. And you complained about everything.”
    “There’s a risk—there’s no guarantee those men will kill each other. And you’ll be there. What if it works and they kill you, too?”
    “Ye of little faith!” Jeremiah was beginning to despise this pathetic excuse for a witch. If they didn’t need his particular skills, Jeremiah would have dispatched him long ago.
    To curb his temper, Jeremiah walked around the kitchen slowly. But because he was angry, he thought of Raphael Cooper. St. Michael’s had sent him, and Jeremiah didn’t trust him. Yet, he hadn’t treated Jeremiah any different than the others. Someone suspected something… but Jeremiah was pretty certain no one knew about him. He’d covered his tracks exceptionally well.
    Still, Jeremiah sensed Cooper was going to be a problem, and Serena said she’d take care of it. And had she? No. He was still at the mission, still keeping a watchful eye on the damn priests.
    Jeremiah whispered a heat spell. He needed to show to Richard, not explain, that everything they’d been working toward for years was no game.
    Actions were always more powerful than words.
    Heat rose in the room. Richard adjusted his collar.
    “Hatch, don’t—”
    “This. Is. No. Game.”
    He turned his heat toward the refrigerator, and water began to power from the ice maker in the door.
    He said, “We have three days until the sacrifice. Three days. Now is not the time to waver.”
    “I understand.”
    “I hope you do.”
     

 
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    An invisible touch rippled over Moira’s skin. Her peripheral vision darkened, like vertigo, and her heart stumbled as it skipped two beats, then beat rapidly. It wasn’t magic… at least nothing she’d felt before. It was as if an umbilical cord were being pulled from her stomach.
    “What?” Skye asked. Skye didn’t touch her, thank God, because Moira didn’t think she could handle anymore emotion seeping into her soul.
    “Rafe,” Moira mumbled. She whirled around. They were standing in the middle of Richard’s office—there was no magic here, at least nothing violent. All Richard was capable of was parlor tricks, and not very good ones. They didn’t linger.
    Rafe had stood back, let her work, but he wasn’t behind Skye. Or in the hall beyond. Something was wrong. She brushed past Skye and ran toward the entrance. Where was he? She whirled around and looked across the dining room, into the kitchen.
    Oh, God, Rafe.
    Rafe sprawled on the floor, unmoving. She ran to him and rolled him to his back. He was unconscious. Blood flowed from his nose and had pooled on the floor. Too much blood for a typical nose bleed.
    Skye stepped into the threshold and said, “I’ll call an ambulance.”
    “No! He’s not going to the hospital. Call Dr. Fielding.”
    Skye hesitated. “Moira, I think—”
    “He’s not going to that damn hospital!”
    Moira put Rafe’s head in her lap. This wasn’t magic, but there was something here, something floating around, shimmering, like a wisp of the astral plane. She sensed a ripple, could almost see it, but as soon as she focused, it was gone. A ghost? Bertrand’s ghost? Rafe was too smart to be caught unaware by a