For a moment, the world held its breath. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Elias sank to his knees, the calmness in his eyes both unnerving and heart-wrenching.
Penelope’s heart thundered in her chest.
“Let her go,” he said, low and absolute. “And you can have my life. I have been alive centuries, surely my death would garter some respect for yourself.”
No… no.
Henry aimed his musket at Elias as he stepped down from the altar, walking up to the kneeling vampire.
“You know,” he started, nodding back at Penelope. “I did always intend on hunting you down. Suppose this makes everything easier for me. Besides, marriages should never be started on lies, right?”
Her chest tightened. He… he had always planned to kill Elias. Her obedience, her atonement, her submission—her life, all of it—was never meant to matter.
Her life had always been meant to mean… nothing.
And then—
Peace flowed through her. A warmth that settled her nerves, threading through the panic and despair. She moved almost absentmindedly, as though watching herself from a distance as her feet carried her forward. Her hands reached for the wine glass, her fingers curling around the stem. The act of holding the shattered stem to her throat felt both dreamlike and inevitable, a small rebellion in a world that had told her she did not have freedom.
But she did.
In this, in her death, she had freedom.
Elias’ eyes fell on her, widening as a scream tore through him.
But it was already too late. By the time Henry had turned, by the time the townspeople had filled the church with theirscreams, by the time her father yelled for her, she had already felt the warmth of her blood flowing down her neck, staining her dress.
Before she hit the ground she was in Elias’ arms.
The last thing she saw before darkness took over were his eyes.
Those wonderfully red eyes.
22
ELIAS
“No—no, Penelope,please—” Elias’s voice shattered as he shook her, frantic, refusing to believe what was happening. A ragged scream tore from his throat, animalistic and broken, as he dragged her against him. His hand cradled the delicate curve of her neck, covering the wound as the disgusting warmth of her blood covered his hands.
But her body was limp—terribly, irrevocably limp. Elias clutched her tighter, rocking her as though he could deny death itself.
Henry lunged in, musket half-raised, his hands clawing to tear Penelope from Elias’s grasp. But Elias did not let go. Not even for breath. With his free arm he caught the barrel, the metal splintering in his grip as though it were kindling. Henry’s eyes widened in shock as the weapon snapped uselessly between them. Elias’s roar split the air, animal and unholy, and with a single heave he sent Henry sprawling down the altar steps, the broken musket clattering after him.
“Get away from her!” Elias thundered, his voice breaking with anguish. “She is not yours to possess!”
Elias tore open his own hand, shoving it desperately to her lips. His blood welled, dark and potent, dripping into her still mouth. “Come on, darling. Drink.Please—drink,” he begged, his tears shattering on her skin like glass. His voice rose, breaking against the cathedral walls. “Drink!”
Her lips remained slack, her body unresponsive in his arms. Blood slid past the corners of her mouth, running down her cheeks in crimson streaks that mingled with his tears before dripping to the floor below, the dark stain spreading beneath them like some unholy baptism. As though the church itself had chosen to consecrate her death, to take more from her still, until even her final moments belonged to it.
Belonged to the men of this town, presenting her corpse like a tithe.
“Please,” he choked, pressing his bloodied hand harder against her, desperate to force life back into her stillness. “You are alright… you are safe. I am here now. I am here so nothing will ever harm you again. Just—just come back to me.Please, my love, come back.” His words faltered into a sob, the sound raw and bare, as though his grief itself might tear the vaulted ceiling down upon them.
Her father collapsed beside them, his composure unraveling, all color draining from his face as he dropped to his knees. His trembling hands hovered uselessly in the air before clutching at his own chest.
“Save her,” he choked, his voice raw, nothing of the proud man left. But Elias could not tear his eyes away from Penelope—hisPenelope. Sweet Penelope. Innocent Penelope—as if prayer might tether her soul back to her body. “Do you hear me?” her father begged suddenly, seizing Elias by the shoulders, his desperation cutting through the air. “Turn her! Do not let her die! I do not care what it takes!”
“You did this,” Elias whispered as he lifted his eyes to meet her fathers, unable to hear her heart beat its wondrous melody. “I need you to know that you did this. Your rules, your control, this is what it does. You think you are protecting women by telling them how to live, how to act, how to love, how to breathe!” Elias choked on another ragged breath. “But you arekillingthem. There is no God in what you are doing. Only men.”
