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ChapterTwelve
CALEB
Something was wrong. The rushing pulse in my ears sent panic stealing through me. What was happening to me? My heart hadn’t beat since the night I was killed and changed irrevocably. Was this hunger? Was it her pulse I was feeling, hearing? It had to be.
Blood swirled in the bowl of the sink, the rich crimson contrasting starkly with the white porcelain. Hunger twisted my gut, burned through my body, made me close my eyes and will away the need to taste Sunday’s essence. I had to get clean. Get her off me. If only so I could keep my wits about me and stop this wild monster inside me from breaking free.
Even as the water ran clear, I knew that alone would not be enough to purge myself. I needed a different sort of absolution. One that would cleanse my mind as well as my body. It would be the only way to cast the monster back to the darkest recesses of my mind. As always, thoughts of a session in my ritual chamber, making use of the tools I kept there, eased some of the restless yearning. With their aid, I would find my way back to a righteous path.
Purification through pain. I’d been taught this was the only way once upon a time, back before my life was altered, my soul stolen. Sunday moaned from where I’d settled her in my bedroom. The sound woke an altogether different kind of sin in my head.
Lust.
I was a glutton for blood because of something I didn’t choose, but the lust I felt for her was something I had no one to blame for but myself. Gritting my teeth against the urge to be with her, I stalked to the center of the room where I pulled up the old faded rug, revealing a trap door. My hands shook as I lifted the latch and tugged until the stone staircase was revealed. I was so close to the only kind of confession I could give anymore.
My steps were hurried, my body trembling from the opposing forces seeking to overtake me. I needed release. Any release. But this was the only one still afforded to me. The only way I could cage my demons and purge my soul.
Lights flickered to life as I descended the staircase on my way down to the small antechamber. The room was sparse, free from adornment save a simple wooden cross and a series of floggers hanging from the wall.
Running my fingertips over the implements I preferred when participating in mortification of the flesh, I selected a cat-o'-nine-tails complete with barbs at the base of each leather strip. Intended for pain, not pleasure. Made to draw blood and bring my focus to a God who had forsaken me. As he should have.
Even now, I heard that heartbeat loud in my ears. Was Sunday my ultimate test? I still wanted her, even though I worked to keep her at a distance while watching over her. Fecking hell, everything in me throbbed at the thought of her lying there in my bed.
I fell to my knees and tore my thin shirt to shreds, the tattered fabric hanging from my waist.
As I adjusted my grip on the whip, I closed my eyes and began to mouth the familiar words of prayer.
“Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum,” I began.
With each line, I brought the whip around to score my back. Each burst of pain caused my mind to clear and made the hunger recede. Over and over, I spoke the words, begging for forgiveness until my skin was slick with blood and I felt nothing but emptiness. Heard nothing but my own breaths.
Breathing heavily, I struck my flesh one final time and uttered a shaky, “Amen.”
The whip fell from my limp fingers, and I pressed my trembling hands to my thighs as I came back down from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me in response to the pain. Mind clear, chest loose, I took my first easy breath, feeling in control of myself once more. Just as I was about to revel in the silence of the aftermath of my session, the heavy thump of a heart beating echoed once again.
My eyes snapped open, and I staggered to my feet.
No. No!
It should have worked. Why hadn’t it worked?
What the fecking hell was wrong with me? Was I so lost that even my most sacred forms of repentance were useless against temptation?
It didn’t matter. I had a job to do, and that was to keep Sunday Fallon alive and out of trouble. So far, I was failing.
After a cold shower to wash away the blood on my back, the wounds already healed thanks to my vampiric nature, I dressed and readied myself to face her again. To control my urges, my hunger, my lust, and do the one thing required of me: Save her soul and mine along with it.
I stared at her sleeping form, my devil of a cock thickening behind my trousers. She was beauty personified, leading me directly into temptation. Except I would be precisely the evil she needed to be delivered from if I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her.
Standing in the corner, my tension eased as the pulse that had been incessantly thrumming in my ears became calmer, steady, and suddenly stopped feeling so foreign.
Her soft moan called me closer, and it took everything in me not to touch her when she let out a whimpered groan and said, “Oh, God.”
