Damned If You Do by Marie Sexton Page A

Abaddon’s heart. He’d never once seen Seth without something wrapped around his neck. Years earlier, he’d met a man with a similar tendency, but that man had made a hobby of hanging himself from the towel bar in his bathroom while he masturbated. He wore turtlenecks and scarves to hide the rope burn.
    Abaddon couldn’t picture Seth asphyxiating himself, but he was suddenly sure that scarf was hiding something.
    He moved closer, dread pooling in his gut. Seth jumped when Abaddon’s fingers touched his neck. But then Seth closed his eyes and held very, very still as Abaddon unwrapped the length of twisted silk. What he saw made his heart clench. Tiny, round scars, all in sets of two. There were a few in front, and Abaddon was sure if he looked, he’d find more in the back, but they were thickest on the sides, the glistening scar tissue trailing from just above Seth’s collarbone to just beneath his ears.
    â€œHoly hell, Seth. How many times have you been bitten?”
    Seth shrugged again, taking the scarf from Abaddon’s hand. “I don’t know. A lot.”
    Abaddon touched one of the scars, electricity and power tingling through his fingers. For the first time, Seth seemed to feel it too. His breath hissed through his teeth and he jerked his head away.
    â€œAlways on your neck?”
    A slow blush began to creep up Seth’s cheeks. “No. All over. My neck and my chest and my stomach and…my thighs.” His cheeks were now bright red, his words barely a whisper. “All over my thighs, but especially, you know. Up high.”
    â€œIt doesn’t hurt?”
    Seth kept his eyes averted but didn’t answer.
    â€œWhy aren’t you dead?”
    Seth shook his head. Abaddon waited, and eventually, Seth cleared his throat and spoke. “‘And when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks, and laid them on the fire, there came a viper out of the heat, and fastened on his hand. And the barbarians said among themselves, no doubt this man is a murderer who vengeance suffereth not to live. But Paul shook off the beast into the fire, and felt no harm. And they looked when he should have swollen, or fallen down dead suddenly: but after they had looked a great while, and saw no harm come to him, they changed their minds.’”
    He hadn’t finished the verse though, so Abaddon finished it for him. “‘And they said that he was a god.’”
    Seth didn’t reply.
    â€œAre you telling me you’re a god?”
    Seth jumped as if he’d been slapped. “No! No, that’s not it at all. I just know that sometimes they come. And sometimes they bite me. And when they do, I can—” He stopped short.
    â€œYou can what?”
    Seth took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I can heal people.”
    â€œWhat?” He’d thought Seth’s sect was different from the bible-thumping, faith-healing groups, but now… “Are you shitting me?”
    â€œI know it sounds crazy, but the snakes—”
    â€œThey could kill you!”
    â€œNo! In Mark it says—”
    â€œI know what it says in Mark, and in Luke.” They were the verses Thaddeus had quoted after the “phenomenon”, the same verses the serpent-handlers always pointed to, justifying their belief that handling venomous snakes proved their righteousness. They were utter bullshit as far as Abaddon was concerned.
    â€œSeth…”
    But he had no idea what to say. He couldn’t describe what he felt as he imagined those fangs sinking into Seth’s flesh. He touched the scars again, and this time, Seth didn’t pull away. He closed his eyes and stood, unmoving, as Abaddon’s fingers traced the marks. He wanted to touch each one. To heal them, even though it was against the rules. Seth’s pulse pounded beneath his fingers. His breathing became shallow, and Abaddon’s supernatural senses detected the sudden