He can't

He couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to curse Damian out, yell for security, tell everyone to get this asshole out of here, nothing. His mouth stayed shut.

The church had gone dead quiet. Guests shifted in their seats, whispering. A few phones came out, recording discreetly. Sister Maria looked between them, brow furrowed, clearly trying to decide whether this was a prank or something worse.

Damian took another step forward, eyes locked on Evie now. She shrank back slightly, veil trembling with her breathing.

“Evie,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “You look beautiful. Always did on your best days.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights.

Ben’s free hand clenched into a fist at his side. He wanted to lunge, to tackle the bastard, but his feet felt rooted.

Damian’s smirk widened as he glanced around the stunned congregation, then back to the couple.

“Relax, everyone,” Damian said, voice carrying effortlessly through the stunned silence of the church. “We’re just getting started.”

He raised both arms slightly, palms up, like he was conducting an orchestra. Then he spoke louder, addressing the entire congregation.

“Do not worry, dear guests. Everything that happens inside this church today is par for the course. There’s nothing to be worried about. Nothing at all. The only people this doesn’t apply to are the ones currently standing on the altar.”

The words landed like a blanket being thrown over the room. Ben watched it happen in real time. Shoulders that had been tense dropped. Phones that had been raised to record slowly lowered. Faces that had been frozen in shock or outrage smoothed out into calm acceptance. Whispers died. Even the faint rustle of clothing stopped. The whole church exhaled as one, settling back into the pews like nothing unusual was unfolding. A few people actually smiled faintly, as if they’d just remembered this was supposed to be a happy day.

Ben’s stomach twisted. Something was seriously wrong here. How the hell was this man doing this? Damian had somehow rewritten the feelings of the room with a single sentence.

Sister Maria moved before anyone else could. She stepped in front of Ben and Evie, spreading her arms wide as if to physically block Damian from them. Her habit shifted with the motion, the black fabric catching the light from the windows.

“You foul man,” she said, voice steady but edged with fury. “This is the work of the devil. Who have you made a pact with to acquire these dark ar—”

“Would you shut up, you stupid cow,” Damian interrupted, casual, almost bored.

He didn’t even look angry. Just mildly annoyed, like she’d interrupted a conversation he was enjoying.

“It’s funny you speak of pacts,” he went on, “because I left you aware on purpose. I have a pact to fulfill.”

He lifted his left hand, turning the palm toward the altar so everyone could see. There, carved deep into the skin, was a sigil, jagged lines and curves that looked like they’d been burned in and then scarred over. As Ben stared, the lines began to glow a dull, pulsing red.

Damian yelled something in a language Ben didn’t recognize, harsh syllables that rolled off his tongue like he’d been practising them for years. The sigil flared brighter. A thin beam of red energy shot out from the center of his palm and struck Sister Maria square in the face.

It lasted only a couple of seconds, but it felt longer. The nun staggered back, hands flying up to cover her eyes. She grunted once, low and pained, doubling over. Then she went still.

Evie dropped to her knees beside her instantly, veil brushing the floor, hands reaching out.

“Aunt Maria? Are you okay? What did he—”

Sister Maria giggled.