“Struggle as much as you want, vampire, but it’s no use. You will face the consequences of your choices in this life, like all the others. God will have his judgment day. No begging, no crying. Nothing will stop what is to come. But if you repent…God’s embrace will be loving.”
As the asshole kept on with his religious rant, his words more than anything else drove back Foxx’s fears. In its place came the rage he’d felt in the woods.
Repent? Beg? Foxx…would never. He had once… He had done it all; repented, begged, cried. Mostly, Foxx had begged for death. Begged for the torture to end. Cried and screamed for the priest who had hold of him to hurt him no longer. Foxx had even recently begged Harlow to free him—though he hadn’t even known who he’d been begging at that moment. But never again would he beg simply for the right to be alive, to live his life without some self-righteous holy man screaming at him to fall before a God that was not his own. The only words these men would get from him were ones filled with anger and hatred. No longer would he show fear and cowardice.
If death had come for him, he would not die cowering! He would die speaking of these monsters’ deaths on his lips. Foxx was seven-hundred and twenty-five years old. It was time he fucking acted like it!
So fuck these assholes! Foxx wiggled, swearing through his gag. His actions just caused them all to start to preach.
Ugh—this situation was such bullshit! Slightly bullshit of his own making… if only he hadn’t freaked the fuck out. Foxx knew he could have taken them. But the problem with facing religious nuts is, the more time you give them to spout their garbage, the more their words drain you. For vampires, a fight with a priest was always on a time limit. It was never a fight one could, or should, try to draw out.
Biting through the gag, he spit the fabric out and hissed. “Fuck you. And fuck your God.”
The two who’d been glaring gasped, while the other stiffened.
“Oh, did I shock you? Did you think I would cry or beg?” Foxx asked with a scoff. “Sorry, that's not my style.” He smirked. “Praise thee to Satan. Dark Lord of the underworld, come save me from these whores of God—” He started with bullshit and continued on with even more bullshit, reciting some nonsense he’d read online. He may be pretty fucked, but at least he could be petty about it.
One priest cried, “A Satanist!”
Foxx BARELY stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He couldn’t hold back his grimace though when they started to chant scripture again.
Their words compounded the pain of his injuries.
Instead of nonsense, he began to pray to his Goddess. “To the night, I pray. While I may be but a humble servant of your line, I dare ask for protection from the troglodytes of your pettiest enemy—”
Even as their words continued, the pain still there, he couldn’t help but laugh as he felt it lessen. His prayers to the Goddess above were working. Not enough, mind you. There were three of them, but it worked enough that it had him righteously, and loudly, proclaiming his love for Nycinthea, his trust in her, and his reverence.
The voices of the priests, of those in the front of the van, rose up, joining the others. The pain returned tenfold. But it didn’t matter. Foxx wasn’t trying for freedom, he was trying to enact whatever type of petty revenge he could.
If only he were not bound… If only he hadn’t let his fear grab hold—ugh… Foxx let out an irritated sigh, right before his consciousness slipped away again.
* * *
Harlow was debatingon whether to call and demand information from Tony, or wait for the wolves, when a familiar vehicle made its way down the drive.
“You arrived fast,” he drawled, as three werewolves jumped out of the vehicle.
He recognized the two who instantly shifted and took off into the woods. They’d been the same werewolves who’d been beside Santiago in the clearing.
Santiago approached. “We happened to be in the area on business.”
“Likelihood of them tracking him down?”
“In this weather?” The wolf glanced up at the sky, noting the snow falling down and the wind blowing fiercely. “We’ll get you a direction, but I can’t promise more than that.”
Harlow cursed. “Thought so…”
“Do you know who took him?”
“Priests.”
The man grimaced. “They never quit, do they? I’ll let them know to take the directions that make the most sense, based on who attacked.” The wolf took off into the woods, as his pack members had.
Flipping open his phone, he dialed Tony’s number.
“I’m a bit busy at the moment, Harlow. This better be important.”
“Tell me everything you know about the Order of Bloodless Saints.”
