They emerged like smoke made flesh—two men and a woman, their clothing torn and stained, their movements jerky and uncoordinated in the way of the newly turned who hadn’t yet mastered their enhanced bodies.Their eyes gleamed red in the dim light, fixed on me with the singular focus of predators.Once, they had been human; now they were consumed by hunger that obliterated all else.
“I’m not running,” I said, turning to face them fully.“Nor am I afraid.”
The woman tilted her head, confusion briefly breaking through her predatory stare.She couldn’t have been over twenty, with blonde hair matted with blood.“You should be,” she growled, but uncertainty threaded through her voice.
“Catherine,” I said softly, addressing her directly.Her eyes widened in shock.“That is your name, isn’t it?I can still see it in your face.You worked at the textile factory on Houston Street.”
“How—?”she began, then shook her head violently as though trying to dislodge the human memory.Her question wasn’t one I could answer.Over the last two years, I’d gained something of a sight into the souls of the turned.I didn’t know how it had come about, only that it had helped gain new aspirants to our convent and monastery.It only seemed to work with vampires my junior.Those like Desiderius remained a closed book to my gift.
“And you,” I turned to the older of the two men, whose beard couldn’t hide the gauntness of his features, “are James.A dockworker, before whatever tragedy brought you to this state.”
The third vampire, younger and more feral than his companions, circled to my left with predatory intent.“Doesn’t matter who we were,” he snarled.“Only what we are now.”
“You’re wrong, Michael,” I countered, using the name I sensed rather than knew.Names held power; they anchored the soul to its humanity.“What you were matters enormously.And what you can become matters even more.”
I took a deliberate step toward them, my hands open at my sides in a gesture of peace.“I know what you’re experiencing.The hunger that burns like fire.The confusion.The fear beneath the rage.I’ve walked that path myself.”
“Then you know we need to feed,” James growled, his hands curling into claws.
“Yes,” I agreed.“But not as you think.There are other ways.Ways that don’t require you to become monsters.”
Catherine’s expression flickered between hunger and something more human—hope, perhaps, or simple curiosity.“What are you talking about?”she demanded.
“Sanctuary,” I said, the word hanging in the damp night air between us.“A place where others like us have found a path back to humanity, back to grace.”
Michael barked a harsh laugh.“She’s mad.Or lying.”He edged closer, muscles tensed to spring.
“She speaks the truth.”
Ruth’s voice came from behind me, and I closed my eyes briefly in both frustration and resignation.Of course they had disobeyed.I hadn’t compelled them to return to the convent—which I could have done given I was their sire—I’d requested it.They must’ve sensed something was amiss, an instinct many of us had honed since we’d become what we were.Of course they had followed me.
“We once stood where you stand now,” Rebecca added, her calm voice belying the danger of the situation as she and Ruth moved to flank me.“Consumed by thirst, convinced we were damned beyond salvation.”
“Yet here we stand,” Ruth continued.“Not as monsters, but as women of faith.Still vampires, yes, but in control of our nature rather than controlled by it.”
The ferals exchanged confused glances, their attack momentarily delayed by this unexpected development.I seized the opportunity to press forward.
“At our convent, we have created a community for our kind,” I explained.“We provide donated blood to ease the transition.We teach control, prayer, purpose.We offer a future beyond endless hunting and hiding.”
“Impossible,” James muttered, but doubt had crept into his voice.
“I thought so too, once,” I admitted.“Until I discovered that even the damned might find redemption through faith and sacrifice.”
Catherine took a hesitant step forward, something human awakening in her eyes.“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispered.“I didn’t ask for this.”
“None of us did,” Rebecca said gently.“But we need not be defined by how we were transformed, only by what we choose to become.”
For a moment, I believed we might succeed.That these three lost souls might join our flock, might find their way back from the edge of monstrosity.Then Michael’s face contorted with rage.
“Lies!”he screamed, lunging toward me with inhuman speed, fingers curved like talons aimed for my throat.
I sidestepped with the practiced grace born of decades of both hunting and being hunted.My hand found my hatpin—pure silver, its end sharpened to a point—and drove it into his shoulder as he passed.He howled in pain, the blessed silver burning his corrupted flesh.
“Please,” I implored them all, “we don’t want to harm you.We want to help you.”
But the scent of Michael’s burning flesh and the violence of his attack had triggered the predator in James.With a guttural snarl, he charged at Ruth, who defended herself with reluctant efficiency, using her rosary’s silver cross to sear a defensive line across his advancing form.
Only Catherine hesitated, her expression torn between hunger and horror at what she was becoming.“Is it true?”she asked, her voice breaking.“Can I be saved?”
