“You can save her, you can turn her!”
Elias laughed then, a broken, hollow laugh that scraped like glass against his throat. He shook his head, slow, bitter, disbelieving. “If she had vampire blood in her body before she died, perhaps.” His eyes, red and burning, seared through the shell of a father before him. “But not now. Not after.” He lowered his head, his voice quiet, guttural with despair. “And you will remember this, every day of your pitiful mortal life—you didn’t just lose a daughter. You destroyed her.You killed her. Slowly, and then all at once, you killed her.”
Elias bent forward. For the first time, the scent of her blood made his stomach churn. Her blood was not a feast, not a temptation—only a requiem. He pressed his lips to hers, reverent, broken, lingering as if he could coax breath back into her lungs and warmth back into her flesh.
And then, he shared their final whisper, one only for her. “I am so sorry.”
When he drew away, his mouth trembled with ruin, the act of leaving her behind carved him hollow. His forehead rested against hers one last time before he carefully lowered her head to the ground.
“I hope you’ve made peace with your God,” he said. “Because He will not save you. Not from me. Not from what you’ve done.”
He stepped off the altar, his shadow spilling long and merciless across the floor.
“You areallgoing to die.”
“Please,” Henry begged, stumbling backward into a pew, his hand raised as if it could shield him. “Please, have mercy.”
Elias’ lips curved, though it was no smile. He stalked closer, each step deliberate, savoring the tremor in Henry’s voice, the way fear smelled on him.
“Beg louder.”
Henry’s voice cracked. “Mercy! I beg you!”
“Louder!” Elias snarled, his fangs flashing as he closed the space between them. “I want your fool God Himself to hear how pitifully you cry for mercy.”
Henry’s knees buckled, collapsing beneath him, his sobs spilling out as he pressed his forehead to the cold stone. “Please.Please!”
Elias crouched before him, tilting his head. He reached out, his hand brushing Henry’s jaw before gripping it tightly, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“Your god is not here,” Elias whispered.
Wrapping his hand around Henry’s throat, he started to squeeze, watching as the color drained from his face and then—
A gasp.
A cough.
A ragged breath.
Elias froze.
His head whipped around, and in that instant Henry was nothing. He let the man drop like refuse, his body crumpling to the floor in a gasping heap, already forgotten.
“Penelope—”
He was across the altar in a breath, falling to his knees beside her. She clawed at her throat, her chest heaving in frantic, desperate gulps of air. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and alive—alive.
He pulled her close, running his hands through her hair as he watched it turn white.
“Elias,” Penelope choked out.
“I’m here, my Lamb. I’m here,” he murmured, cradling her against him. “I am always going to be here.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” her father gasped as he stumbled forward, collapsing at her side. He clutched Penelope’s hand with trembling fingers, his tears falling freely. “Thank you,” he sobbed, pressing her knuckles to his lips. “Thank you.”
But it was not a god he thanked.
It was him.
