Ritual Sins by Anne Stuart Page A

put someplace where he could no longer practicehis avocation, became wildly, gruesomely creative, crossing some invisible line that he could never go back on.
    Everyone at Joliet was terrified of him, and rightly so. He looked like a balding Santa Claus—round-faced and jovial, with dark, merry eyes and soft hands. Calvin had belonged to him when Luke was first sent up, and since Mallo’s last three boys had been found dead in the shower room it seemed likely that Calvin wasn’t long for this world. Particularly since prison wasn’t a place that embraced diversity, and Calvin was about as diverse as they came.
    Luke never knew why he’d decided to interfere. Some errant strand of human feeling, probably, one he hadn’t been able to eradicate entirely. Unfortunately rescuing Calvin from the thugs who were trying to kill him and wresting him away from his dangerous protector put him squarely in Mallo’s path.
    It would have been simple enough if he’d slept with him—he’d done worse things to survive in his lifetime and he was hardly likely to waste time with self-loathing. But there was something about Mallo that filled Luke with an almost superstitious horror. And Mallo knew it.
    Card-carrying sadist that he was, Mallo found a new outlet for his hobby. Luke was too pretty,too powerful, too smart. Mallo knew just what he needed.
    It had been subtle at first, but Luke had been preternaturally alert. Sly hints, faintly whispered suggestions, about the erotic lure of violence and death, and Luke would listen, unmoved, a faintly supercilious smile on his face.
    Ah, but Mallo knew human nature too well. The doubts that spread through Luke’s soul were like poisonous vines, weaving their way into his heart. It would have been kinder if Mallo had simply raped and killed him.
    But Mallo’s pleasure came from destruction. And his wounding of Luke’s spirit was far more devastating than any wounding of his body could have been.
    Even now, years later, he could hear his voice, softly whispering. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted blood, boy. And you will. Sooner or later, no matter how hard you fight against it. You’re a born killer, I can see it in your eyes. You know it too.”
    Mallo had known, without asking. Guessed that there was more in Luke’s past than self-defense in a bar fight. He’d never asked.
    Maybe it was a matter of time. Maybe Luke’s gift, his talent for calling people to him, was simply a way of luring victims. He hadn’t killedMallo, though he knew that was what Mallo had most wanted.
    But at night Mallo would come back to him, and his soft, lisping voice spoke of death and blood. And he was afraid it would happen again, and this time he wouldn’t stop. He’d killed Jimmy Brown in a bar fight over a botched robbery, a game of pool, and a blonde. He’d killed …
    “You do.”
    He’d forgotten where he was. He’d forgotten she was the enemy, looking up at him. His amusement was stripped down to annoyance. “Do what?”
    “Have fears,” Rachel said. “I can see it in your face. The great messiah is frightened of something. Fancy that.”
    Her pleasure was so obvious it blunted his anger. “But it’s up to you to find out what it is,” he said. “And the only way you’ll do that is to get close to me.”
    Her happiness vanished instantly. “You’re too easy,” he added, pushing open the door. “As long as you’re afraid of me, you’ll never destroy me. And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
    She started past him through the door, but he dropped his arms, imprisoning her. She couldn’t go forward or back without touching him. She stood motionless, and he was reminded of a white rabbit, facing certain death. She lifted herhead to glare at him, exposing her soft, vulnerable neck. If he were a wolf he could tear her throat out.
    “That’s why I’m here,” she said, defiant despite her fears. “If you knew that, why did you invite me?”
    But she was no rabbit,