Atonement A Novel Novels & Stories

He whispered to my ear, “You're safe, I'm here." That statement was peacefully quiet. I'd never felt that kind of peace in my entire life. It was cold and calm—soothing every part of me. I couldn't stop the tears from my eyes. "I am Arden Atticus, Elana Lancelot’s fated mate. I will meet the whole pack when I am ready to, but for now, I'm not, because my mate needs to rest as she was and is still clearly terrified." He said briefly and no one dared to object.

He drops to the ground, and I see a flash of another body – bloody, human, hands raised, begging for mercy… My hands start to shake, and I grab Christian by the throat, long before he can stand. “Atonement. This will make it right.” “Another death?” he gasps, blinking in disorientation, even though that sizzling, bloody mark on his temple is already healing. “How could that make right any sin? Whatever you’ve done--” “Shut-up! This is not murder. You are already dead, you evil abomination--” “And you’re rambling,” he cuts me off, eyes holding mine. “And still, so very much, hesitating.”

A lazy male voice came from the side. I turned my head and saw a tall man leaning against a marble column. His white dress shirt was casually unbuttoned at the collar, revealing sharp, elegant collarbones. A cigarette rested between his fingers. Through the curling smoke, his narrow eyes slowly swept over me. Jonah. I silently repeated the name. This was the demon who had tortured Mona until she was barely alive in my last life. "Nice to meet you, Mr. White." I gave a slight nod, deliberately letting a strand of hair fall by my ear. In my last life, Mona had mentioned that Jonah hated ostentatious women.

"Why would I become a priest, what possible reason would make that seem like a good idea?" "Because you wanted to atone." I pushed open the door and gestured for him to enter. "Because you'd spent fifteen years killing for your father and you needed to believe there was a way to balance those scales." He stepped inside and I watched his face as he took in the rows of pews and the altar with its faded gold paint and the confessional booth that sat in shadows to the left. His breathing changed and his hand went to his chest again, not to the wound but higher, like he was searching for something that should be there.

Nathan, who was still sitting, trembling in his seat. Nathan’s lips quivered as he finally whispered, “Please… forgive me.” His voice cracked like dry wood. His greed had led him into this humiliation, and now he realized he had no choice left but to beg. But Denovon’s doctrine was clear—betrayal was not something he forgave. His gaze didn’t even linger on Nathan. It was as if Nathan didn’t exist anymore. Instead, Denovon turned his eyes slowly toward the other side of the room—toward the man who called himself his granduncle.

Candles burn in iron sconces, their glow fighting with the sunlight pouring through rose windows, gilding the scene in fractured brilliance. Even the priest wears the satisfaction of a man well compensated for his sudden flexibility. Voice softened by the sizable donation that made such a last-minute ceremony possible. The sanctity of the place bends as easily as men do, and the irony makes me want to laugh. No expense has been spared. The message is carved into every detail: Dominik Grimaldi only has the very best. The music swells as the organist launches into the wedding march, and the doors swing wide. George Larson appears first, holding out his hand to the daughter he sold into slavery

“And how did you feel afterward?” “Guilty,” I whispered. “But not enough to stop me from coming back.” He nodded once, like he’d expected exactly that answer. “Kneel.” I dropped to the stone floor in front of the table. The cold bit into my knees. The open book waited. The new chapter was titled *Deeper Repentance*. “Read,” he ordered. “From the top. Loud and clear this time.” My voice shook as I began. “I renounce the weakness of my body. I offer every impure touch to God as suffering. I reject the pleasure that pulls me from grace…”

“What is the meaning of this, Chavonne? You’re my daughter. My own daughter! What did I do to deserve giving birth to a traitor like you?!” The gazes around her pierced deep into her skin. How do you like that, my dear homeroom teacher? After the assembly, Chavonne sought me out but could not meet my gaze. “I’m transferring schools.” I was not surprised. Considering what happened to her mother, I could not imagine her staying here for long. “I know what I did was wrong, and I paid for my actions. No matter what, I still want to thank you for defending what remains of my dignity.

“I think I’d know.” “And I was raised by nuns in an orphanage dedicated to worshipping the Goddess,” Anton says, leaning down with a grin. “Whereas I’m pretty sure that you’ve never picked up a religious text in your life. So, I win.” “I am a religious text,” I say on a haughty huff, waving a hand and making him laugh as I stride away, continuing down the wall. “Oh, I’m aware,” Anton says on a low sigh. “I’m looking forward to studying you very closely, Juniper Sinclair. Lay you out over my lap like a good book. Trace my fingertips all along so I can follow your story.”

“You don’t remember me?” She stared. Then it clicked. The banquet. He was the man who caught her when she nearly fell. The only one who didn’t rush toward Elliot. “You...” she said slowly. “You were at the banquet.” Sarah’s lips parted slightly. “Wait, you’re the one who saved me?” “Yes,” he said simply. “ I'm Damien Blackwood. I found you bleeding in the alley behind that hotel. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” She blinked. “Thank you. I don’t even know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t saved me.”