Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) - Plot & Excerpts
She was almost perfect, had it not been for the smear of blood that ran from her breast to her slender waistline and stained her perfect frame, a wound across her throat caused by his hand. William Archibald sighed deeply, pushed his hand against his temples trying to relieve the pressure that had been building up for some time, and sank back into the chair behind him. The chair was hard and offered little in the way of comfort. He afforded himself only the leanest of luxuries in his quarters. He had already worked for too long tonight and was crying out for sleep, but this was not to be one of his luxuries. It was a burden that he was carrying around, driven on beyond limit by his own obsessive nature. He looked down at the body in front of him. She had asked for it. She made him use force on her; she had not wanted to make it easy for him. And after the few minutes of pleasure that he had rewarded himself with her, she spawned an overwhelming emptiness within him, which turned to guilt and then anger. She had forced his hand with the small blade – the letter-opener that he kept in his desk drawer. He told himself that they were all responsible, the five before her too. They were all the same worthless whores but had served their purpose. She was still out there.
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