The Blood Gospel

At Elisabeta’s throat, Rhun swallowed blood. In all his long years as a young Sanguinist, he had never tasted its rich iron against his tongue, save that first night when he became cursed, feeding on tainted strigoi blood.

Panic at the blasphemy gave him strength to swim against that bloodred tide, to pull his vision clear. The beating of his own heart, quickened by her surge of blood through him, slowed … slowed … and stopped.

Elisabeta lay under him, her soft body golden in the firelight. Dark hair spilled over her creamy shoulders, across the stone floor.

Silence now filled the room. But that could not be.

Always he heard the steady beat of her heart.

He whispered her name, but this time she did not answer.

Her head fell to the side, exposing the bloody wound on her throat. Rhun’s hand rose to his mouth. For the first time in many years, he touched fangs.

He had done this. He had taken her life. In his blind lust, he had lost himself, believing himself strong enough—special enough, as Bernard always claimed—to break the edict placed upon those of his order, to maintain chastity lest they free the beast inside them all.

In the end, he had proven to be as weak as any.

He stared down at Elisabeta’s still form.

Pride had killed her as surely as his teeth.

He gathered her cooling body into his lap. Her skin was paler than it had been in life, long lashes soot black against white cheeks. Her once-red lips had faded to pink, like a baby’s hand.

Rhun rocked and wept for her. He had broken every commandment. He had loosed the creature buried within him, and it had devoured his beloved. He thought of her vibrant smile, the mischief in her eyes, her skill as a healer. The lives she would have saved now withering as surely as hers had.

And the sad future of her motherless children.

He had done this.

Under the fire’s hissing a faint thump sounded. A long breath later, another.

She lived! … But not for long.

Perhaps only long enough to save her. He had failed her so many times and in so many ways, but he must try.

The act was forbidden. It defiled his most basic oaths. Already he had defiled his priestly vows, at a terrible cost. The cost would be even greater if he also broke the vows of a Sanguinist.

The penalty for him would be death.

The cost for her would be her soul.

The first law: Sanguinists may not create strigoi. But she would not be strigoi. She would join him. She would serve the Church as he did, at his side. As Sanguinists, they would share eternity. He would not fall again.