How could you abandon him like that?

Pain shot through my chest. I couldn't breathe, but I needed to; the darkness hid me as well as it could. The streetlights worked against me, brightening the city for the mortals. I needed to go and hide, and only one place called out to me.

Where are you going to go, Octavio? You're a sitting duck...

I stood across the street in front of Prima's Art Gallery. The lights were shut off on the inside. The guests were gone. From the closed curtains, I saw two shadows moving, and a part of me hoped it was Priscilla and Megan. It had to be. I would die otherwise.

You're selfish

Reaching into my pocket, I weakly pulled my phone out to call Priscilla, text her, anything. She'd given me her number to call for a reason; it may not have been this, but I was desperate. Yet, as I held my phone in my hand, the moonlight showed me the screen was shattered. Three shards hit the sidewalk. "Shit..." I whispered.

If you die, she dies. How romantic.

"Okay, Priscilla-" I looked up as the front door to the art gallery opened. Priscilla hung inside the doorway, pressed against the side of it. She smiled as Megan moved around her, a large purse hanging from her shoulder. The two touched each other's hands as they smiled at one another. Megan reached in for a hug. "Let me know what sales need to go out soon and if anything needs to go into storage again."

Sighing, Priscilla hugged her back. "I'll draw up the list. They'll sell eventually."

"They will." Megan leaned back to look at Priscilla's face. "You're an amazing artist and photographer. More people will see that."

A grin lifted the corner of Priscilla's mouth. Her tongue flicked out, sitting between her teeth as she laughed. "Or they'll see wine and drinks on the flyer and then come running."

"Hey," Megan snorted, "drunk sales are still sales."

"Maybe we need stronger drinks then?" Both women turned, so I saw their faces perfectly. Eyebrows were lifted, amused. Then they laughed; hearty, wholesome laughter. The moment slipped into another hug, tighter than the last, before Megan turned to walk down the street, leaving Priscilla alone with the gallery.

It was my chance to ask for help.

Are you going to make her your shield again? Did you forget how that turned out the first time?

My phone was done. Dropping it on the ground, I lifted my leg and crushed it with my heel. The impact made me hiss and bite my tongue. Not that the Seven would use my phone to track me, they'd feel my soul throughout the Earth, but I couldn't take the chance.

"Buddy?" Priscilla's voice pulled my attention. Looking back across the street, I saw her on the sidewalk, arms folded across her chest. She smiled at first until she looked at me. Then the expression faded as she hurried over.

"Hey, hey," her hands cupped my face, thumbs caressing my cheeks, "what happened to you?"

I looked into her eyes. The bright light coming from them warmed me as if healing my wounds. I knew the feeling was mental; her gaze alone couldn't do that. But I took it. I stared for as long as she allowed.

"Shit. You're bleeding. Okay." She stepped back, pulling her hands away. Her gaze slid to my chest, widening with concern and disbelief. "Um...."

Was I bleeding? Wrath's powers had pushed through my legs and spine, but I didn't know she had broken the skin. But it did. I looked down at my chest to see the red dampness under my dark tee. Drops hit the sidewalk. Without a scratch for over fifty years, I'd forgotten that I could bleed like this.

"Okay, I won't ask. I should, but I won't." Priscilla shook her head and grabbed my hand, "You need to come inside." She glanced over my shoulder. "You're not being followed, are you?"

"I hope not," I hissed and immediately regretted it. I shouldn't have said that.

"Well, shit," she whispered.

I followed her into the gallery. Many of the artwork had been placed on the floor, off the wall. The ones remaining in their original place glowed under dimmed lighting. I focused on a landscape painting, hoping it would help control my breathing.

Peaceful feelings always helped in times like this, didn't they?

Priscilla locked the gallery doors behind me. "Once I get you cleaned up, I'll call for help."

My eyes widened. Trying to turn sharply was a mistake because pain shot up my side. I hissed and fell into a small table to my left. Priscilla rushed over to grab me. I panicked, grabbing her shoulders. I didn't know blood was on my fingertips, but I got it on her clothes. Taking in a trembling breath, I frowned and shook my head. "Don't call anyone," I whispered.

Priscilla blinked. "I know I said I wouldn't ask, but what kind of trouble are you in?"

She wouldn't understand even if you tried to tell her. Lie, lie, lie. You're good at it, aren't you?

I pursed my lips. A tear fell from my eye. The next breath I took in was paired with a wheeze.

"Is it drugs? A deal gone bad?" Priscilla grabbed my hand, carefully walking me over to the table in the front. She pushed away the half-used wine bottle with one arm and reached for a napkin. She folded it between two fingers to wipe my face. "Are you using?"

Even if I wanted to use them to forget myself and how I live, it wouldn't work. I tried. It was just a buzz above a glass of whiskey-temporary fabricated bliss.

Biting my lip, I looked down at my chest and shook my head.

"Right, drugs wouldn't do this." Priscilla dropped the napkin on the table before digging under another table on the left. She pulled a box out in one motion, opened it with both hands and peered inside. A quiet 'Ah,' left her as she found a red towel inside.

"I didn't mean to come here," I whispered, watching her rush over to the alcohol table. "I just... didn't have... anywhere else to go."

Octavio, you pitiful soul.

Priscilla's gaze slid over to me as she grabbed a bottle of vodka and a bottle of water. She held both in her hands, fingers gripping the towel as best they could, before returning to me. Kneeling in front of me, she placed her supplies on the floor. "I won't ask what happened, buddy," she said, dipping the water bottle against the towel. Once wet, she held it in front of me. "But I will ask for your name."

I blinked as she rolled the towel in her hand.

She licked her lip. "I can't just clean a bleeding stranger. Can we break that wall, please?"

I didn't tell her my name, did I? I was pushed by shock, lured by tea, then went to find Gluttony. Not once had we introduced ourselves properly. Not that this was a proper way to do it.

"Octavio," I said as I leaned back into the seat. My breath caught in my chest as I struggled to get comfortable.

"Okay, Octavio." Pursing her lips, she sat on her knees as she stretched forward to lift my shirt. Her face changed. "Shit, what the hell?"

I followed her gaze. Gashes sliced across my chest in the shape of an X. Each set had three lines; three nails. Wrath did attack me with her hands; she just didn't need to do it physically. I was afraid to see the rest of me.

"An X?" She scooted closer, gently dabbing at my wounds. With the way they looked, they should've burned. I felt nothing. Was I numb? "Why an X?"

She glanced at my face, and I met her gaze. Could I tell her the apparent reason?? An 'X' for a banished soul, for a failure? Or was it that I was marked as their next kill?

The less she knows, the better. Keep her soul as intact as you can.

"They're something else..." I said. And I wasn't lying. Wrath and Lust together indeed were what I believed them to be; a terror you wouldn't want to experience. I just never thought I'd be one to feel it firsthand.

"Okay?" Priscilla gently pulled my shirt up to my chin before sighing, attempting to pull it higher. "Sorry," she whispered, "but can we take this off?"

My heart thumped, nervousness setting in, but I nodded.

"Okay." Priscilla moved closer, hips shifting between my legs. Her hands gently held my shirt as she lifted it over my head. I followed, giving her the movements she needed. Once off, it dropped on the floor beside us. "I'll clean that later," she whispered.

I watched the shirt fall, splattering blood near our feet. "I'm sorry," I said.

"No, don't be." The calmness of her voice had me look back at her. Her eyes weren't focused on mine but on my wounds. Carefully, she wiped at them, cleaning them. The more she swiped, the cooler I felt, even when paired with the slight burn. "We just need to get this bandaged and cleaned so you can go where you need to go." She looked into my eyes. "Do you have a place to hide?"

Hide? She knew I'd hide, and with the state I was in, of course, I would. But I didn't have a place to run to. That's why I was here.

Run away from her before it's too late. Don't put her through this.

The smell of her rose-scented perfume filled my nose. The feeling of her warm fingertips tingled across my skin. Memories of Priscilla's hands across my body with need, with desire, played in my head, but the second voice had a point. I shouldn't put her through this. If I run away, maybe the Seven will forget and move on.

Did they ignore her before? She died because she loved you, Octavio. Save her.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hissing at the voices echoing in my ear. I dipped my head left and right to try and get them to stop.

Priscilla dipped back. "I'm sorry, did that hurt?" she asked, and I looked into her eyes. She frowned. "Shit, all of this probably hurts..."

"Thank you," I said. "You don't have to do this. I-" I just needed a place to sit, hide, and a few minutes to get my mind together. Gluttony wouldn't have wanted me to come here. He wanted me to run. "-I just needed a moment."

"A moment?" She stopped mid-swipe. Her lips were close to mine. With her so close, I saw the shimmering light in her eyes, the glitter of a pure soul. When she smiled with parted lips, I caught a whiff of dessert wine and chocolates. "You're not leaving, not like this." She motioned toward my bleeding chest. "We'll get this cleaned, figure out what the hell to put you in, and then, maybe, maybe," she showed me the bloody towel, "we'll think about the next steps."

"I'm not your responsibility," I blurted out. I didn't mean to. The words left me in a rush from a similar memory.

And just like it'd happened before, she shook her head. "You're not, but it isn't right to leave you like this. That's not the type of person I am."

I know, and that's why I shouldn't have come back.