My knees ached against the hard stone floor as Marquess Lucian Fairchild's fingers tightened around my wrist. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron.
"Let go of me," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "This is a house of God."
Lucian laughed, the sound echoing off the church walls. "And what has God done for you lately, Father Michael?" His eyes gleamed with malice. "Where was your merciful deity when I was locked in closets as a child? When my father beat me until I couldn't stand?"
I swallowed hard. "Whatever pain you've suffered doesn't justify inflicting it on others."
"Doesn't it?" He released my wrist suddenly, only to reach inside his fine coat. When his hand emerged, my blood ran cold. A gleaming dagger caught the light streaming through the stained glass windows.
"This isn't about justification," Lucian said, turning the blade so it flashed with colored light. "This is about power. Control." His smile widened. "Pleasure."
