Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 76: Confessions in the Rain

Chapter 76: Confessions in the Rain

- Glyndon Walton: ( Song Of the Chapter: Church by Chase Atlantic)

Sunday morning was always the same.

Same routine. Same schedule. Same silence in the car as the driver took me to church.

But this time, my thoughts weren’t quiet.

I rested my elbow against the car door, fingers lightly touching my lips as I stared out the window. My reflection stared back at me, but I barely saw it.

My mind was somewhere else.

Still trapped in that moment.

Kathrine.

Her wide eyes. The way she stiffened under my touch. The way her breath hitched when I pressed the fork to her throat.

I exhaled sharply and turned away from the window, pressing the back of my head against the seat.

What the hell was that?

What the hell was wrong with me?

I clenched my fists against my lap. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t me.

I don’t do shit like that.

I don’t pin people against walls. I don’t press cutlery to their skin. I sure as hell don’t lean in and lick their blood like some kind of fucking lunatic.

I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling, exhaling, trying to get rid of the lingering heat in my veins.

But then the other memory slipped in.

Kathrine at lunch.

The way she smiled at that girl.

Savannah.

The way she gave her her number so casually.

The way she looked interested, engaged, flirtatious.

My jaw tightened.

I didn’t like that.

I hated that.

That girl had no business being that close to her. She had no business touching her. Looking at her like that.

Kathrine wasn’t supposed to look back.

She wasn’t supposed to flirt back.

I gritted my teeth, shifting in my seat, my fingers twitching against my thigh.

That girl thought she could just walk into Kathrine’s life and take my place.

Like I didn’t exist.

Like I hadn’t left my mark.

My grip tightened, nails digging into my palm.

Kathrine could try to run. She could try to distract herself, pretend I didn’t matter.

But she’d never forget.

She was already mine.

The car slowed, pulling up in front of the church.

I straightened in my seat, my expression smoothing over, my posture falling back into its usual elegance. The perfect daughter. The well-behaved girl.

I swallowed down the heat in my blood, locked away the madness curling in my chest.

The door opened.

I stepped out, my heels clicking against the pavement, my face the picture of composure.

But my fingers still itched with the memory of her skin.

The drive to church was quiet.

I sat in the back seat, staring out the window as the city blurred past. The streets were almost empty this early on a Sunday morning, and the silence in the car felt heavy. My driver, an older man with graying hair, didn’t say a word. He never did unless spoken to.

That was fine. I didn’t want to talk.

I was still thinking about yesterday.

I had touched Kathrine. Tasted her. Hurt her.

And I didn’t regret it.

I should have. I should have been horrified by what I’d done. I should have been repulsed by the way I’d slammed her against the wall, the way I’d pressed that fork against her throat, the way I had—God—I had licked the blood from her skin.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I clenched my hands into fists in my lap.

That wasn’t me. That wasn’t who I was supposed to be.

I had always been the composed one. The one in control. The one who didn’t let emotions—or impulses—dictate her actions.

But with Kathrine ...

With Kathrine, I was something else.

Something darker.

Something dangerous.

And the worst part?

I liked it.

I liked the way she looked at me, stunned and breathless, her body frozen against mine. I liked the way her pulse had quickened beneath the press of my fork. I liked the way her lips parted as if she couldn’t decide whether to scream or moan.

And I hated that I liked it.

The car slowed to a stop outside the church.

The towering structure of stone and stained glass loomed ahead, its doors wide open, inviting me inside. My driver glanced at me in the mirror, waiting for me to move.

I took a breath, forced my hands to relax, and stepped out of the car.

The air smelled of morning dew and incense, the crisp chill of early autumn biting at my skin.

I walked up the steps, pushing open the heavy wooden doors. The sound of the organ hummed softly in the background, the scent of candle wax thick in the air.

I made my way to the confessional.

The small, dark space was familiar, almost comforting in its confinement. The wooden divider separated me from the priest, his presence just a shadow behind the carved screen.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I said, the words automatic, practiced. "It has been two weeks since my last confession."

The priest’s voice was calm, steady. "Go on, child."

I exhaled slowly, my fingers curling against my lap.

"I don’t regret anything I’ve done," I admitted.

There was a pause. "Would you like to explain?"

"I should feel guilty," I said. "I should be sitting here, begging for forgiveness. But I’m not."

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, remembering the way Kathrine had gasped, the way her breath had hitched, the way her body had tensed beneath mine.

"It wasn’t a sin," I said quietly. "It was what I wanted. What my body wanted. What my heart wanted."

Another pause.

The priest didn’t speak right away, and I braced myself for what I thought would come next. The lecture. The reprimand. The warning was that I was on the wrong path and that I needed to fix myself before it was too late.

But instead, he said something else.

"Then follow your heart, child. Do what makes you truly happy."

I blinked.

I turned my head slightly, staring at the wooden divider between us. "What?"

"If this is truly what your heart desires," he repeated, his voice calm, steady, "then perhaps you are not sinning at all. Perhaps you are simply finding your truth."

Finding my truth.

I let the words sink in.

For years, I had convinced myself that my feelings were wrong. That my body was betraying me. That I needed to fight against it.

But now?

Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight anymore.

I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders easing just slightly.

"Thank you, Father," I said, and then I stood, stepping out of the confessional, out of the dim light, out into the open space of the church.

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, painting the floor in reds and golds and blues.

I lifted my chin.

I wasn’t going to ask for forgiveness.

Because I wasn’t sorry.

As I stepped outside the church, the first thing I felt was the cold sting of raindrops against my skin.

The sky had darkened significantly since I’d entered, thick clouds swallowing the sun, and now rain poured down in relentless sheets. The street was eerily empty. Not a single person in sight. The only sounds were the pounding of rain against the pavement and the distant rumble of thunder.

I cursed under my breath.

My clothes were already soaked, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to my body. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and reached for my phone to call my driver—only for it to slip from my fingers.

"Shit."

The device landed with a small splash in a puddle at my feet. The water rippled outward in thin, frantic waves. I bent down quickly, grabbing the phone, my fingers trembling slightly from the cold. I wiped the screen against my coat and pressed the power button.

Nothing.

The screen remained black.

I inhaled sharply, pressing it again, harder this time, as if that would somehow force it to work. But no matter how many times I tried, it wouldn’t turn on.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath.

Then—

A shift in the air.

The kind that makes your skin prickle, and your muscles tense.

I froze.

Slowly, my eyes lifted from my phone, and scanned the empty street.

And that’s when I saw it.

A figure.

Standing at the far end of the road, cloaked in shadow, barely visible through the thick sheets of rain.

Watching me.

A dark silhouette against the gray sky, unmoving, completely still.

The Dark Stalker.

My heart stuttered.

For a moment, I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I just stared, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. The figure didn’t step forward, didn’t make a sound—just stood there, watching.

Then, as if sensing my recognition, the figure tilted its head.

And took a step toward me.

I ran.

I didn’t think—I just ran.

My feet splashed against the wet pavement, my pulse thundering in my ears. I didn’t dare look back. I could feel them behind me. Close. Too close. The cold rain stung my face, my soaked clothes weighing me down, but I pushed forward, forcing myself to move faster.

The streets were still empty.

No cars. No pedestrians. No lights in the windows.

I was alone.

Completely alone.

I turned a corner, my breath ragged, my hands shaking as I searched for anyone. But the city had swallowed them all. The storm had driven them inside, leaving me to fend for myself.

Another sharp turn—

Shit.

A dead end.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I skidded to a stop, my boots slipping slightly on the slick pavement. My breath came fast, and shallow, my hands trembling as I slowly turned around.

The figure stood at the entrance of the alley.

Still. Unmoving.

Watching.

The rain dripped from their hood, their face obscured in darkness. My fingers curled into fists. My throat was dry despite the downpour.

I should’ve run back into the church.

I should’ve never stepped outside.

Now, it was too late.