She writhed beneath a silent scream, skin blistering in the dawn. The priest found her on the worn stone steps outside the old church.
“Foolish–I hunted too long,” she said.
The priest lifted the vampire in his arms smelling the stench of decay, and hurried around the church to the adjacent rectory, delivering her to the darkest corner of the basement. He brought blankets for her to lie on, brought fresh grave earth to comfort her.
“I will pray for you,” the priest said, watching the blisters and burns slowly heal.
Lost in the sleep of the dead, the vampire did not hear him.
***
When the day ended, the priest sat in his favorite chair to wait. He did not bother to turn on a lamp. Footsteps ascended the basement stairs, entered the dark hallway.
I must feed,” she said, a shadow now in the dying gray light of the priest’s study.
“I know. I prayed for you all day.”
“Did it comfort you?”
“I hope it comforts your lost soul.”
She smiled. “You could have killed me, left me on the steps to burn–your hands clean.”
The priest shook his head. “I could not. I believe in my vows, the word of the Lord, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ Even such lost souls as you.”
“I think you are a fool, but I thank you for that. I will feed.”
“Better me than these people I serve.”
The vampire circled him slowly. Dressed in tattered rags, even in her pale gauntness she remained tempting. “I can kill you or make you my bloodslave. Since you spared me, I will let you choose.”
The priest’s hands trembled. For an instant he considered. Mouth dry, he said, “I do not fear death. My Lord is waiting to embrace me.”
She now stood behind him. Her hands, cool as soil, rested on his shoulders. “Tell me, priest, is such virtue worth dying for?”
He gripped the arms of his favorite chair, attempting to still his shaking hands. “You do not frighten me. I pray for you. Lord, forgive her….”
“Pray,” the vampire whispered from his neck. “If it comforts you.”
- Copyright: © 2008 David J. Rank
