Anatoly saw the flash of irritation in her gaze and gave her hand a light, soothing squeeze. “Maggie, I did not keep secret from you to harm you. It is for protection; yours, ours, everyone’s. Please, believe I would never wish to harm you…”
More than anything, he needed her to understand his motives, but before she could offer a reply, there was another knock at the door.
Now it was Anatoly’s turn to feel frustration, but it was fleeting. He couldn’t blame the deacon for being concerned; a gun had been fired here tonight after all. If he needed more reassurance, then it was Anatoly’s duty to provide it.
That didn’t stop a sigh from escaping him as he kissed the back of Maggie’s hand before letting it go and rising from his seat. He crossed to the door and opened it, fully expecting to see James on the other side. The figure who greeted him, however, was not the deacon, but Anatoly’s bishop.
“Your Grace,” the words came out of his mouth reflexively and it was a good thing because his mind was lagging behind. He started to offer the proper greeting, but the bishop waved his hand, shaking his head.
“Father Anatoly,” he declared and the priest felt a sinking feeling in his gut, as if his mother were standing before him calling him by his whole name. “Your deacon has informed me of some alarming events that took place here tonight. He was adamant I come speak with you immediately. Tell me, Anatoly, why am I being roused from my bed in the night with reports of gunfire in my church?”
Anatoly glanced over his shoulder at Maggie, who was sitting stalk straight on the edge of the armchair, a frown furrowing her brow. “Your Grace, if I may, this is the detective I told you about. Maggie Boone.”
“I was just leaving,” she interjected, starting to rise.
Refusing to hear of it, Anatoly hurried to her side and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her back into the chair. “Nyet, rest, Maggie. You have had tumultuous evening. Please, wait here for me?” He prayed she would agree.
Her dark gaze searched his face, his own uncertain. Then, she nodded and sat back down, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “I do have more questions,” she told him. The smile she offered was encouraging, no doubt she thought he was in dreadful trouble, but he wouldn’t bother her with such matters.
He wanted to soothe the concern in her eyes with a kiss, but he didn’t dare in front of the bishop. Instead, he patted her arm and strode back to the door where Bishop Peter was waiting.
A knowing expression was on the other man’s face, which told Anatoly this would be a hard conversation, but he followed his superior out of the office and down the hall all the same.
Once they reached the bishop’s office and had sealed the door, Peter turned to Anatoly and all pretense was gone. “We’ve known each other a very long time, Anatoly. I am your superior now, but it was not always so. Once I was a young man, lost and searching; you helped me find my purpose. Now, I am compelled to ask in earnest, what has gone on here tonight?”
Clasping his hands at the small of his back, Anatoly knew he must look frightful to any who were used to his usual appearance. His long hair was free and falling over his shoulders and was no doubt a mess. The black shirt he wore hid the blood stains, but the holes were obvious against his caramel skin. He let out a sigh and started at the beginning, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”
“That’s not funny, old friend…” Peter chastised and then visible realization passed over his features; Anatoly wasn’t joking. “This is far worse than I first thought. Go on.”
Anatoly spared no detail. He told Peter every errant thought, every urge and desire, confessing even that he had allowed his vampiric side to egg Maggie into shooting him just to prove a point to her. He wasn’t proud of any of it, though he found it difficult to feel remorse for his affections or for the kiss they had stolen.
“I do not want Maggie to get into trouble for firing weapon. She was defending herself,” he insisted, bringing the matter up again in the silence following his confession. “She is good woman, good detective, I would not want to jeopardize her job because of my poor judgement.”
Peter was watching him stoically and had been since Anatoly began speaking. Whatever he was thinking remained a mystery until the old man opened his mouth to reply. “You have feelings for this woman. What are your intentions with her?”
It was a good question, but not one the vampire had been able to put any thought into. He took a moment to do so now, mulling it over under the bishop’s piercing gaze. “I am unsure. It is new, undefined. We have not had chance to discuss much beyond me being vampire.”
“Yet you found the time for kissing.”
The comment took Anatoly by surprise and adequately cowed him at the same time. “Da, Your Grace,” was the only answer he could give.
“What of your vows then? Are you going to give up your ordainment?” Peter continued with the harsh, pointed line of questioning and Anatoly found he much preferred being interrogated by Maggie.
The bishop had raised valid concerns, however, and he found that once again he had little by way of an answer. “It was my understanding that being vampire negated vows. It is difficult to maintain oaths of the flesh after death, nyet?”
Peter barked a laugh. “I would have thought they were all the more important to keep in that case.” He leaned forward, not at all intimidated by the vampire and fixed him with a stern stare. “You have functioned as a priest all this time and now you finally decide that means nothing? For what? An attractive woman?”
“Maggie is more than that?—”
“Is she?” he countered. “What if she is? Will you leave the priesthood, settle down as an ordinary man, raise children?” He snapped his fingers abruptly. “My mistake, you’re a bloodsucking vampire. You can’t give her any of those things. So I ask you again, why would you throw away your calling?”
Agitated by all the needling questions, Anatoly rose from where he’d been sitting and began to pace. “I do not have answers. She is important and I must see this through, but do not ask me to choose between her and priesthood. It is all I have known, all I have worked toward, even in death.”
At this, the bishop softened and he settled back into his chair. “You’ve given me no choice, Anatoly,” he said, his tone laced with sorrow. “You cannot be a priest and pursue a woman. Were you not already ordained, I would encourage you to marry her before taking your vows, but that is no longer possible. You must make a decision and I will take it into consideration when determining your fate.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dread sat heavy in Anatoly’s stomach, feeling just like the time he’d tried cold pig’s blood in an effort to avoid drinking from humans. It had been a very unpleasant experience, but this was far worse. He found himself sinking into the nearest chair, his mouth dry, and his heart heavy.
