Elena's POV

I used to pray every night.

Kneeling beside my bed in my childhood home, hands clasped, eyes closed, running through the same practiced litany I'd memorized as a girl. Prayers for my family, for the world, for my own soul. It was routine, comfortable, the spiritual equivalent of brushing my teeth before bed.

But I hadn't prayed—really prayed, with any genuine faith behind the words—in months. Not since Father Gabriel had looked at me during communion one Sunday with something other than priestly benevolence in his eyes. Not since I'd realized that what I felt for him wasn't reverence for a holy man, but raw, consuming desire for...