“Every word you speak, every gesture you make—he catalogues it all.”Matthias paced.“He’ll test you immediately.Not your faith—he assumes any vampire seeking the Order has already wrestled with damnation.”
“How will he test us?”Rebecca asked from her corner, her voice small and frightened.“I don’t have the strength to do much of anything.Anything except—“
She stopped herself.I knew what she meant.If a living, breathing human were there—she’d find the strength to feed.
“The Ritual of Submission.”Matthias’s eyes gleamed.“You’ll kneel before him, place your hands on a Bible, and swear the Oath of Service.The Bible will burn—as Christians you must know this pain already from your own attempts at prayer.But you must not remove your hands from it.You must endure it while reciting the oath, proving your willingness to suffer for redemption.”
My own hands ached at the memory of similar burns, the way holy objects seared our corrupted flesh.“And if we succeed?”
“Then he’ll accept you provisionally.You’ll be given quarters in the monastery, assigned to a senior Nightwalker for instruction.”He gestured to himself with his broken arm.“I could request to be your guide.It would be fitting, since I recruited you.”
Desiderius nodded slowly.“What else should we know about Brother Marcus?”
“He values hierarchy above all else.Never speak unless asked a direct question.Never meet his eyes directly—he considers it a challenge to his authority.Address him as ‘Brother Marcus’ or ‘sir,’ never anything familiar.”Matthias moved closer, his voice dropping.“And never, ever mention the weapon.”
“But you told us about it,” I pointed out, confused by the contradiction.
“I wasn’t supposed to.”For the first time, something like fear crossed Matthias’s face.“My zeal overcame my discretion.I wanted to share the glory of what awaits us, to inspire you to join our cause.But Brother Marcus...he would consider it a breach of protocol.The weapon is known only to the inner circle, and those chosen to carry it.You’re supposed to prove your faith first, earn the right to such knowledge through service.”
“So we pretend ignorance,” Desiderius summarized.
“Complete ignorance.You know nothing of any weapon, any plan, any Light of Judgment.”Matthias grasped Desiderius’s arm again.“Promise me.If Brother Marcus learned I’d revealed such secrets before you were properly vetted...”
“We understand,” I assured him, though watching his terror made my own dread deepen.What kind of man inspired such fear in his followers?
Matthias relaxed slightly.“Good.Good.He’ll also ask about your turning, your time with Silas.Keep your answers simple.Answer his questions honestly, but say nothing more than is necessary.”
Chapter 7
Dawnhadnotyetbroken when we reached the monastery, its stone facade rising over the night sky.Each step forward drained what little strength remained in my legs.The iron gate screeched as Matthias pushed it open.Ruth and Rebecca followed behind me, their movements betraying our shared hunger—awkward, uncertain, like marionettes with half their strings cut.Only Desiderius moved without obvious debilitation.
“Through here,” Matthias whispered, though the reverence in his voice suggested sanctity rather than secrecy.He pressed his palm against a door that should have been sealed for decades.It swung inward on well-oiled hinges, revealing a corridor illuminated by candlelight.
The walls bore Latin inscriptions, remnants of the days when true monks had walked these halls in prayer, before the heretical Order claimed it as their sanctuary.
Matthias beckoned us forward with a whisper.“Do not wander.Stay close.”The monastery swallowed us deeper, past gaping doorways to dark rooms.Once or twice, something moved in those black chambers—perhaps fellow Nightwalkers, perhaps illusions manufactured by my blood-starved delirium.The monastery exhaled centuries of dampness and decay, but beneath that musty veil, I caught the unmistakable copper-penny sweetness of living blood—rivers of it, pulsing through the veins of the humans who resided within.
My fangs ached at the root.
We climbed a narrow staircase that spiraled upward.Rebecca stumbled once, catching herself against the wall.I wanted to help her, but I barely had the strength to keep myself upright.Above us, a door opened before Matthias could knock.
A voice from within commanded, “Enter.”
Brother Marcus’s office overwhelmed with its austerity.Religious artifacts covered every surface—crucifixes of varying sizes, worn leather-bound volumes.A massive wooden cross dominated the wall behind his desk, the carved Christ’s face turned downward in eternal suffering.The man himself sat behind a heavy oak desk.
He was perhaps forty-five, with the kind of sharp features that suggested aristocratic breeding worn down by ascetic practice.His dark hair, peppered with premature gray, was cropped close to his skull.But his eyes transfixed me—the color grey, like a frozen lake.His woolen monk’s habit hung from his shoulders like a memory—the last vestige of the vocation the Church had formally stripped from him.
His gaze swept over our group, his Boston Brahmin accent thick.“I see Matthias has delivered the remnants of Exeter.”
It wasn’t a question.Matthias bowed his head.“Yes, Brother Marcus.As I reported, they’ve come seeking redemption after Silas Blake’s death.”
Marcus’s gaze never left us.“Death.Yes, I received word of that...unfortunate event.Silas was a devoted servant of the cause.”His fingers drummed once against the desk’s surface.“And yet none of you reported to another chapter for nearly a year.Curious.”
Desiderius stepped forward with the measured confidence of his centuries.“The fault is mine, Brother Marcus.As the eldest among them, having served the Order for decades myself, I took it upon myself to continue their instruction, to ensure they didn’t stray from the path of righteousness.”
“You presume much.”Marcus’s voice carried no inflection, which somehow made it more dangerous.“By what authority did you assume this role?”
“By no authority save necessity.”Desiderius met his gaze without challenge.“These three were the first Nightwalkers of the Exeter order, transformed shortly before Silas’s death.They had no formal registration, no documentation of their service.I feared what might become of them without guidance.”
