Chapter 6 · Vile Saint's Forced Redemption - Chapter 6: Apartment Interrogation

Kael didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He stepped into my space, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in the cramped apartment. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, smelling of cold rain and old leather. He grabbed the arms of the chair, pinning me in.

"You're not a client, Sera. You're a liability with a price tag on her head," he whispered, his voice a low growl. "And right now, you're lying to me. About everything."

I tilted my chin up, refusing to blink. "I told you what happened. The Council betrayed me. They took my divinity. What more do you want?"

"I want the truth," he snapped. He reached out, his fingers gripping my jaw. Not enough to bruise, but enough to make sure I couldn't look away. His skin was searingly hot against my cold face. "The pact we signed—the one that keeps that curse from eating you alive—it doesn't just bind our lives. It reacts to lies. And you're practically vibrating."

I tried to jerk away, but he tightened his grip. "Get your hands off me."

"Not until you tell me why the Church of Neon is willing to burn a whole city block just to find one fallen Saint," Kael said. He shifted, his body pressing closer, the rough fabric of his coat brushing against my shoulders. The proximity was suffocating. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a physical pressure that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

I sneered, though it came out more like a gasp. "Maybe they're just nostalgic. Or maybe they're scared of what I'll do when I get my shards back."

Kael’s eyes darkened. He didn't let go. Instead, he slid his hand from my jaw to the back of my neck, his palm warm and heavy. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over my lips. For a second, the anger shifted into something else—something thick and dangerous.

"You think this is a game," he murmured. "You think you can manipulate me like you did the priests. But I don't serve the Council, and I definitely don't serve you."

"Then why keep me?" I challenged, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Hand me over. Collect the bounty. You'd be rich enough to retire from this dump of a city."

Kael’s grip suddenly tightened. He didn't push me, but he pulled me forward, forcing my chest to brush against his. I could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. It was too calm. Too steady.

"Because you're the only lead I have to the rot in the Holy Order," he said. "And because I want to see the look on your face when you realize you have absolutely nothing left to bargain with."

I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "I still have my mind, Kael. And I have you. You're starting to like the chaos, aren't you? Admit it. This little arrangement is the most exciting thing that's happened to your boring, righteous life in years."

His reaction was instant. He didn't pull away; he surged forward. His hand moved from my neck to my throat—not squeezing, but controlling. He pressed me back into the chair, his forearm pinning my collarbone. The air in the room felt like it had vanished.

"Don't mistake my patience for interest," he hissed.

I gasped, my hands instinctively reaching up to grab his wrist. His skin felt like iron. I tried to push him, but it was like trying to move a mountain. I looked up at him, my eyes searching his. I saw the flicker there—the anger, yes, but also something else. A hunger. A desperate, repressed curiosity that mirrored my own.

"You... hate me," I managed to choke out, a smirk playing on my lips despite the pressure on my windpipe.

"I do," he whispered.

He didn't let go. He held me there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the tension between us stretching until it felt like it would snap. I could see the tiny gold flecks in his dark irises. I could smell the sharp tang of adrenaline. Then, as quickly as he'd lunged, he released me.

He stepped back, the sudden void of his warmth leaving me shivering. I slumped in the chair, coughing and rubbing my neck.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice returning to that flat, professional tone. "We need to move your things to the inner room. If someone sees you through the window, we're both dead."

I stood up slowly, my legs feeling like jelly. "You're a real romantic, Kael. Truly."

"Shut up, Sera."

I rolled my eyes and started gathering the few scraps of belongings I had left. A broken mirror, a stained ribbon from my old robes, a handful of useless trinkets. I felt his gaze on me the whole time—watching, analyzing, waiting for me to slip up.

"Why do you care about the 'rot' anyway?" I asked, glancing back at him. "You're a hunter. You kill monsters. You don't fix the system."

Kael walked to the window, peeling back the heavy curtain just a fraction of an inch. "The system is the biggest monster of all. It just wears a better suit."

"Deep," I mocked. "Did you get that from a fortune cookie?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, frozen.

I walked toward him, intending to make another jab, but I stopped when I saw his expression. His jaw was locked. His shoulders were rigid.

"What?" I whispered. "What do you see?"

Kael didn't move. "Stay quiet," he breathed.

I leaned in, peering past his shoulder. At first, the street below looked empty—just the usual grimy alleyways of the underbelly, lit by flickering neon signs that hummed like dying insects. But then I saw it.

Three figures. Cloaked in charcoal grey. They weren't walking; they were stalking. And beside them, something was moving—something low to the ground, with a wet, rhythmic sniffing sound that echoed up the brick walls.

My blood turned to ice.

"Hounds," I whispered. "Church hounds."

Kael stepped back from the window and reached for his blade in one fluid motion. The metallic *schink* of the sword leaving the scabbard felt like a death knell in the small room.

"How did they find us?" he asked, his voice tight. "I scrubbed the trail."

"They don't follow trails, Kael," I said, my voice trembling for the first time. "They follow the scent of the blood. My blood. The pact didn't hide me; it just made me a beacon for them."

Suddenly, a sound ripped through the silence.

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

It wasn't a polite knock. It was a heavy, rhythmic thud that shook the door in its frame.

Then came the sound—a low, guttural growl and the unmistakable wet sniffing of a beast pressing its nose against the gap at the bottom of the door.

Kael stepped in front of me, his blade held low, his eyes scanning the room for an exit.

"Don't make a sound," he whispered.

But the door didn't wait. The wood groaned, a massive crack splintering through the center of the frame, and a pale, clawed hand burst through the panel, reaching blindly into the room for my throat.