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"You forgot the drink," he said softly, brushing his mouth over hers. "I can feel it, you know."
This time, she didn't. She pulled, savoring the way he made her able to feel more. A little drink grew into a bigger one, and Thane never tried to pull away. His hands found her hair, holding her mouth against his, and she took. She took until she had to gasp. Leaning back, she let her eyes roam across him. The red reflections in his hair from the lighting were like nothing she'd seen in centuries. It was red. Truly, honestly red.
"Thane?" She reached up for his cheek.
He tilted his head slightly, moving into her touch. "I'm fine."
"You make the colors brighter."
His breath caught. "Oh, Dahlia." His eyes searched hers. "Baby, you're welcome to all my vitality if it lets you get closer. Don't ask, just take it. I know what you are, and I'm not scared of you. If you kill me, at least I know I'll die a very happy man."
She traced the line of his cheek, watching his eyes close at her touch. "You taste like pride and beauty. Thane, you don't fill me like the rest. It's better."
"Think it's because I'm an inquisitor?"
"Yeah. It's fucking addictive."
He chuckled softly. "That goes with my theory. The lower-level Words seem to work on the world, catching us in that. Dunno how healing fits into my theory, but the higher ones? The ones the confessors can use? Yeah, they only target people who aren't of the blood, yet I've seen the bishop of my church use a word on a hunter. It's like there are separate categories for those with inquisitor blood and normal people."
"And some of them hit us hard." She kissed him again, then moved far enough away to focus. "Ok. Two feet of space, mister. I want to know about your little cult, and I can't do that if your mouth is busy."
With a groan, he dropped into the spot she'd just vacated. "I'm getting a damned blow job later. You know that, right?"
"Sure. By then I may have fried a little of this energy. If not, I'll reward you with the normal type. Seriously, though, you can't all be interbreeding. There shouldn't be enough."
"Both of my parents were inquisitors by birth. That's not common. Um, usually we're expected to end up with one of the new converts to the Church, or to bring in our love interests. Women of the blood date guys from the Church so the females of our lines won't get lost. About half of those men aren't of the blood. So yeah, there's plenty of us."
"Ok." She gestured to the little book still laying between them. "How do you explain all that shit to the new members?"
"We don't. If you weren't born into the faith, you never get beyond the main areas of the Church. Those of us who have the power, well, we're given a bit of leeway because they have to make sure we can control it. Starts with Sunday School, and we're told this is a thing between us and God that we're not to talk about with our parents. If we do, the names of everything sound normal enough, like the power of God or Words."
"Ah. Indoctrination. That's fucking disgusting."
He chuckled. "Yeah, kinda what I thought. The problem is that with modern education, well, not all the little kiddos are turning out to be blind followers. Look at me. But the few who try to disappear end up being accused of something, usually heresy or blasphemy. This little thing of ours is a one-way trip, and the person controlling the strings is the priest in charge. Every branch has a bishop. Every region has a cardinal. Texas is in the southwest region."
This was worse than she thought. It wasn't just a select group of dedicated extremists; it was an entire way of life. "So how do we break the cycle?" she asked.
Thane leaned over for the larger bag. Unzipping the pocket on the side, he pulled out a handful of silver spikes. Dahlia leaned back instinctually, curling her legs closer. He glanced over, making it clear he'd noticed, but didn't say a thing. He simply set the spikes out of her reach.
"We have to find a way to prevent those from hurting you. Can you even touch them?"
Dahlia's eyes were locked on them. "I don't know. I honestly have no idea, but I've never known anyone that tried."
"Can you feel them from where you are?"
"No."
He rubbed her knee. "Do you think they'd short you out if you brushed one? Any skin contact at all?"
She shrugged, swallowing to make sure her voice worked. "Do you think Russian roulette is a good idea?"
"I'm not asking you to; I'm asking what you think, sweetie. From what you know, do you think it's possible?"
"I dunno," she admitted. "Maybe? Everyone who's ever touched one dies."
"Ok." He picked one up and turned it, showing the symbols etched along the side. "My brother got a set of these when he turned sixteen. That's when he was told he would become a priest. I got mine at eighteen. The ceremony is private - and it's not nice - but ensures that we willnotdiscuss what we saw."
His eyes were on the stake. Shifting it, he let the light play across the surface, showing every variation of the holy cross she could think of. The entire surface was covered. Then he wiped his thumb over the flat head and looked up at her again.
