by Zoe Winters
She sighed. “I’ll stop tormenting you for now. You might need the full week to recover. Pick your jaw up off the floor like a good boy.”
She turned then, her dress whispering around her as she glided out of the church, leaving Hadrian speechless, lacking even the ability to chastise her for her behavior.
***
Six Months Later
Hadrian stood tense with his back to the door; it was five minutes until midnight. His dark angel didn’t show up every week. Occasionally, she’d skip one. On nights when she was absent, he both missed her and breathed a sigh of relief. When she was gone, he was more present for the Mass, his mind not constantly on her, his eyes not distracted by the milky-white skin on display over the top of her dress.
He turned suddenly, pulled by the unmistakable scent of Angeline’s perfume. He took a deep, steadying breath as she passed him with a knowing smile and made her way to her usual seat three rows from the front on the left. She’d been gone a few weeks now. He’d thought—maybe even hoped—she’d left for good.
The woman could turn an angel into a demon with just the glint in her eyes and the sultry downturn of her mouth. The temptation to do something foolish grew each time he saw her, the part of his anatomy that hadn’t consented to a vow of chastity nudging him to find fulfillment. He was only human, after all.
Remember your vows.
Angeline only attended church at night. Hadrian always found himself enthralled by her eerie, blue eyes that nearly glowed with their brightness, always-painted red lips, and dark brown hair that fell halfway down her back. She often wore slinky black, looking like she’d just left work in an old-fashioned brothel and had made a quick pit stop at a funeral on the way to Mass.
He knew nothing of her life or what she did. He could only guess at her sins. She’d never been to confession, not on his watch, at least. Our Lady of Mercy was a sizable church, practically a cathedral, with more than one priest available to hear confession on any given day. Father Hadrian suspected she never went to confession, that her sins had been mounting ever higher for some time.
The tell-all was that she never came up for the Holy Eucharist. She merely sat on her usual bench, watching Hadrian, unnerving him with that potent stare. Sometimes they spoke briefly before or after Mass—always small talk, always some innuendo or subtext, which he always pretended not to notice. It was as if she were feeling him out, planting a seed of something she intended to harvest later. If she didn’t make her move soon, the priest worried he’d succumb to her charms when she played her hand.
He tried to regain his focus as he gave the benediction, feeling guilty that he’d obsessed about Angeline the entire service. The parishioners stated their rote response and got up to leave. A shuffling of hymnals, purses, and scuffling of shoes signaled the beginning of their next shift of regular life, where they’d no doubt do more impure things they’d have to confess before partaking in the ritual of bread and wine the following week.
Angeline took her time putting her hymnal away, searching through her purse for something that most likely didn’t exist, and then stood and smoothed her dress down. Hadrian tried not to watch her, instead focusing on the aging wino in front of him. The alcohol on the man’s breath wasn’t from the small amount he’d just partaken of. A stench that strong required dedication and commitment to the drink that wasn’t possible from a mere sip with a bit of bread.
“Those was good words, Father. They really touched me right here,” the drunk said, pointing to the center of his chest.
Hadrian forced a smile and shook the old man’s hand, allowing the unpleasant smell to destroy his memory of Angeline’s perfume and the arousal that had come with it. He greeted and made small talk with each person who’d attended Mass, and one by one, they filed out, wearing away at the buffer between him and sexual immorality.
The door shut with a loud thud, the same loud thud that had greeted them each week as she’d lingered to be alone with him in the empty sanctuary.
“Father Hadrian.”
Her voice was soft, lyrical. She hadn’t been misnamed, though her dark hair and beguiling nature suggested quite the opposite kind of creature.
“A-Angeline. I haven’t seen you here in a while.” Could he not get that schoolboy stutter out of his voice?
“I was fighting temptation,” she replied coyly.
Hadrian cleared his throat. “And did you succeed?”
“No.”
She glided closer—or floated. The length of her dress made it impossible to tell which. She stopped mere inches in front of him. He should have taken a step back, should have excused himself, but her strange eyes locked with his. They drew him in, hypnotizing him.
If he were another kind of man, he would have proclaimed her a witch putting him under a spell, but it was just as much his responsibility as hers for not moving away. It was his fault for not finding a replacement for midnight Mass. His mind grew fuzzy.
What was I just thinking about?
Her eyes pulled him in, making the rest of the room swirl around him in a slow blur. If he’d looked down to find them both floating and spinning in the air, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He was dizzy from the delicious scent emanating from her.
Her voice was a siren’s song when she spoke again. “Forgive me, Father, for I’m about to sin.”
Angeline’s mouth tasted like hot cinnamon candy as her lips descended on his. Her lip gloss left him tingling. She might burn him alive with a single kiss. She chuckled as she continued her exploration of his mouth, as if he’d stated his thought aloud and she found it amusing.
Somewhere deep inside him was the place that screamed that this must not happen, but it sounded as though it shouted from far away down a long, dark hallway, disappearing into a tinny echo. Quickly overtaking that voice was one penetrating thought that refused to release him.
I want her. I want her. I want her. I want her. The thought happened in rhythm to the beat of his heart.
Her lips left his mouth and made a burning trail over his cheek and up to the lobe of his ear. “Father Hadrian.” It was a breathy pant that held all the promise of a new universe unfolding.
He couldn’t remember what she said after that or even if she said something after that. The pounding of his own blood rushing through his ears—and other blood racing south in response to her nearness—had drowned out his ability to think or hear anything but the lilting magic of her voice calling his name.
“Father Hadrian…”
Her tone went from that of an angel to a writhing serpent as she rubbed her sinewy body against him. This was wrong. The thinking part of him clawed to get out. Something was all wrong about this, beyond the breaking of a vow. But he couldn’t form a coherent thought.
I want her. I want her. I want her.
“And you shall have me. Forever,” she said.
Had he spoken out loud? He wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said, as her fingers slid under the Roman collar.
It startled him. His collar. Where were his vestments? There were more layers of clothing, or there had been a few moments ago. He glanced down to find the vestments somehow on the floor of the sanctuary. He pulled away.
“No, Father. Eyes right here on mine. Stay with me.”
His gaze shifted back to her eyes and his will merged with her again. He didn’t realize his shirt was off until the air from the chilly room hit his bare chest.
“Oh, what a surprise. You must work out. Don’t be shy, Father Hadrian. It’s a crime you never get to be inside a woman with this body.”
She swayed in time to music likely occurring only inside her head—something earthy and sensuous, no doubt. The dress ended in a heap on the floor, and he learned he was right about the corset. Delicate black lace panties barely covered her most intimate area. His gaze panned down to see black leather boots that ended just at her thighs.
Angeline crooked a finger, her gaze heati
ng. “Come with me, Father.”
She still addressed him by his formal title, but they both knew it was just a dirty game she was playing. Why couldn’t he resist her? Like an obedient puppy, tail wagging, he followed her to the front of the church. She braced herself with one hand against the altar, leaning away from him, giving him a lovely view as she removed first one boot, then the other.
Then she stood in front of him. Her usually cool skin seemed to burn him as her hand caressed his cheek. “Help me out of this, will you?”
She turned away, and he was faced with the back of the corset, all laced up. His hands shook as he fumbled with the laces. I want her. I want her. I want her.
The corset joined the boots, and she turned back to face him. Her eyes never left his as she hooked her fingers underneath the fabric of the panties, pressing them down over her hips and gracefully stepping out of them when they hit the floor.
Even without a command to direct him, his hand closed over her breast and he found himself stroking the hardened nipple. Hadrian came back to himself, pulling his hand away as if he’d been scalded.
She laughed. It was a laugh that filled the church, that seemed to taint it somehow and make it unfit for its intended purpose.
“Someone will come in,” he said. It was unlikely at one in the morning—even in this city. But the fear still pressed on him. It was bad enough that God should see this, but he’d lose his post if anyone else found out. His mind had already moved beyond the idea that he could bring himself to stop her. He couldn’t find enough motivation even with the threat of getting caught.
“It would be the last thing they ever did,” came her cryptic reply.
Her hand felt cool in his as she led him onto the platform beside the altar. Moments later, the goblet of wine rang out like a gong as it clattered to the ground along with the tray that had held the bread. The tray made a reverberating sound as it tried to settle out flat like a coin that had fallen on its edge. It was the greatest sacrilege, the body and blood of Christ being carelessly tossed aside, but he couldn’t focus on that right now. There wasn’t room in his brain because of the one repeating thought that crowded everything else out.
I want her. I want her. I want her.
His own voice chanting in his mind wouldn’t let up for even a second to clear the path for any other, more sane thoughts. Her hand was down his pants now, stroking his bare flesh, causing him to harden impossibly further. Moments later, she divested him of the rest of his clothing. He was her toy. His body and mind were both fully committed as she pressed him against the altar and mounted him.
She felt like silk. It had been so long since he’d been inside a woman. He’d forgotten the exquisite warmth, muscles tightening around him to take his pleasure deeper. Mystical experiences aside, how could he have stopped doing this?
You could have been doing this for years instead of denying yourself. What good has any of that denial done? How many people have you helped? How many have better lives than they had because of you? How many keep turning back to their evil while you are left to deny, deny, deny that you’re human and have needs and… Holy Virgin Mary.
He wasn’t sure if the voice in his head was his own or hers. Until the last thought. That had been decidedly his. He’d forgotten the power of orgasm, its own sacred ritual. Perhaps that voice was right. He shouldn’t have denied himself. How many priests really did?
Angeline arched her back and rode him a few more seconds before collapsing on his chest in a fit of giggles, her conquest accomplished.
Hadrian looked around, becoming aware of his surroundings again. He’d had plenty of rationalizations, but now, in the quiet aftermath, the guilt weighed on his conscience. Not only had he broken his vows, but he’d done it in the most lewd way imaginable. If they didn’t strip him of his post and duties, he would do it himself. He couldn’t stand behind this altar again and pretend he was a good man.
“Get off me.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. It was cold, hard, everything he’d fought not to be in spite of a fucked-up world that never seemed to get any better or brighter. But right now, he just wanted to kill the woman draped over him. He wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse for it. He wanted to kill her, because if he could, maybe he could also kill the sin he’d just committed, erase it while he erased her.
He wiped that thought from his mind. Murder was worse than sex—at least a little worse.
She raised herself, and he tried not to stare at her breasts as they dangled free in easy reach. As disgusted as he was with himself and with her, part of him wanted to do it again.
“And we will,” she said. “I just had to try you before I made a full commitment.”
Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t spoken aloud. He may be feeling out of sorts, but he knew that much. She responded to things he hadn’t yet verbalized. How was that possible? He pushed her away and scrambled off the altar, searching for his clothes, trying to get a clear thought to pulse through his muddled brain.
As the fog cleared further, he entertained the idea that there was something preternatural about Angeline’s seduction. She couldn’t be a demon, but she was something. She must be. It was the last thing he held on to, reassuring himself that this wasn’t something he’d do of his own free will.
“What are you?” He’d known something was wrong from the beginning, but now he was sure. Perhaps she was a witch. Maybe he should have taken such a threat more seriously rather than treat it like a joke.
“I am your maker,” she said.
“My maker is God.”
“Originally, perhaps. But I’m about to improve you, elevate you to something truly remarkable.”
Hadrian’s eyes widened as Angeline’s lovely face transformed. Her eyes went from brilliant, hypnotic blue to a fiery red in the blink of an eye.
She’s a demon. Of course. But how?
“Actually, half-demon. Vampire, in fact. But good guess.” Fangs descended, and then she moved impossibly fast.
He jumped back, thinking surely he was about to die, but she was only playing with him, showing off.
“How are you able to be in a church? Have you worked magic to breech the protections?”
“Half demon,” she said with exasperation. “The other half is human. And if you think you are stupidly optimistic about people’s ability to change, you’ve got nothing on God. If I was full demon, I wouldn’t get past the threshold of a church, but the human half gives me an in.”
Hadrian backed up an inch at a time. When he bumped against the altar, he took down a crucifix that had been hanging on a small nail. She advanced, not having seen the danger.
When she was close enough, he pressed it against her face. It wasn’t right that she should be able to get inside a church. Once he got rid of her, he’d find a way to ban her from entering ever again. She let out a horrified shriek and leaped back as smoke rose off her flesh, leaving behind a bright burn mark.
“I see I was still left with weapons to defend myself,” he said.
The mark faded, leaving perfect creamy complexion behind.
“That was stupid. When I’ve turned you and you are mine, you will pay for that. We’re alike, you and I. In more ways than you know.”
“I will never be yours.” He gripped the crucifix more tightly.
A dark smile. “You’ll be my little bitch begging for a bone when I’m done with you. You have NO idea the power I have.”
Since the revelation of Angeline’s true nature, Hadrian had gone through each bit of vampire lore he’d ever heard. He wasn’t sure which parts were true. He hadn’t made eye contact with her since the word vampire had passed her lips, and he hoped it was enough to keep her from enthralling him further. A plan was forming, but it required keeping control of his own mind.
She moved like a viper and struck. Father Hadrian took in a sharp breath at the sting of her fangs, but a moment later he got his bearings and began to chant.
“Exorcizo te, immundissime s
piritus, omnis incursio adversarii, omne phantasma, omnis legio…”
Angeline pulled away from his throat. Her face was gruesome, her lips painted with his blood. “Ooooh baby, talk Latin to me some more.” She laughed maniacally as if she were the author of the best joke ever told, then went back to feeding.
Father Hadrian felt himself weakening, but he continued the chant until the room went dark.
***
Angeline picked up the priest and laid his body out over the altar like a human sacrifice. He’d lost consciousness only moments before. He truly was a beautiful specimen. She allowed her fingers to run over the contours of his face and down his chest to more intimate areas.
She’d sealed the wound on his neck from her bite, but there was still a trail of blood down his neck and shoulder, and a bit on the upper part of his chest. She’d always been a messy eater. Angeline trailed her tongue over the remaining blood to clean him up.
Maybe it was the long time he’d gone without a woman, but she’d felt him, been inside his head as he’d been inside her. It had been everything she’d hoped. He looked so peaceful in the in-between place.
She could still let him die. Until her own blood was inside him, he was on borrowed time. She could almost hear the imaginary clock ticking, counting down to the moment when she couldn’t bring him back and he’d cross over for good into the next world.
She nuzzled Hadrian’s throat, soaking in the last bit of warmth from his skin. She’d miss it. Perhaps she should have kept him alive longer. Human pets were common enough. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but she’d already closed the door to that option by drinking too much. She’d been too greedy. The taste of him had burst across her tongue, a unique blend of despair, guilt, goodness, and a kernel of something darker. Something she recognized. Something she could work with.
His emotions had been a sophisticated blend meant for a discerning palette. After druggies, drunks, whores, and the random simpletons on the street, Hadrian had been the one intoxicating agent she couldn’t get enough of. It had been hard to stop in time. She still felt herself spinning with it. Her skin hummed and buzzed with the euphoria of flavors so passionate and complex, so much repressed power and desire and darkness.
