Chapter 20
20
brOGAN
T he vision of Esme walking away from me, head down and shoulders tense, the bare skin on her back scraped from the wall, will forever be etched into my brain. And for the thousandth time that night, a heavy cloak of remorse enveloped me, dragging me down and nearly bringing me to my knees.
Searching blindly with one hand for the pew behind me, I sat down hard on the wooden bench.
What had I fucking done?
Flashes of how it’d felt to be with her assaulted my mind. The exquisite taste of her blood lingered on my tongue, rich and intoxicating. The sensation of her soft, warm body pressed against mine, curves molding perfectly to my body, was seared into my memory. I'd been overwhelmed, drowning in a sea of desire and need unlike anything I'd ever known. But the look on her face afterwards... That haunted expression of vulnerability mixed with accusation cut me to the core, chasing away the blissful haze of our encounter.
My guts clenched.
I couldn't shake the image of Esme's face. The way she'd looked at me, like I was something to be feared. Like I'd betrayed her trust in the worst way possible. It cut me deeper than any blade ever could.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, as if that could block out what I'd done.
Shame and guilt were familiar feelings for me in this new life Killian had given me. And for the most part, I'd learned to live with those feelings, even rebelled against them. Hell, I danced practically naked on a public stage for fun and lured innocent women into the private room to feed without their consent on a regular basis. Yes, I needed to do it to survive, but I took pleasure in it, too. And until now, for the most part, I'd learned to live with my sins.
But I couldn't live with myself now. Not this time.
Those voices from the past joined in on my own self-disgust, echoing loudly in my head until I slammed my hands over my ears to shut them out. Not that it did any good. I'd spent nearly a century trying to break free of their hold, and before Esme came around, I'd tentatively hoped that maybe, finally, I'd actually succeeded. But now I knew how wrong I'd been. They weren't gone. They were just…sleeping. Waiting for me to find some semblance of true happiness before rising from their graves to remind me that I'd never escape them.
What kind of monster was I, to let myself get so carried away? As soon as I'd learned to control myself, I'd sworn I'd never be that kind of vampire, never let my impulses control me. But with Esme...it was like all my carefully constructed walls came crumbling down the moment I laid eyes on her.
Leaning my head back, I stared up at the painted ceiling soaring high above me.
I hadn't come to this church in a long time. Not since shortly after I'd first come to live with Killian. The old stone walls and stained-glass windows were just as I remembered—beautiful as they condemned me from above.
The heavy wooden door creaked open behind me, echoing through the empty church. I didn't need to look to know it was Killian. Our bond alerted me to his presence before he even stepped inside.
I kept my gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling, trying to ignore the growing sense of shame as Killian's footsteps drew closer. The pew creaked as he sat beside me, the familiar scent of whiskey and rain filling my nostrils, and I noticed for the first time the drops of water hitting the large windows.
"I knew I'd find ye here," Killian said, his Irish lilt soft in the stillness of the church.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "How'd you know?"
"I could feel yer guilt eating you alive from blocks away, lad."
"Mm." I wasn't surprised. The shame inside of me could be felt by God, so it made sense that my newest creator would feel it, too.
"So, what is it that happened?"
I clenched my jaw, still refusing to meet his gaze. "I fucked up."
He made an affirming sound. "This is about the lass, is it? Esme?"
It took me a few seconds to answer. I didn't want to. I didn't want to admit what I'd done out loud. "I lost control. I fucking hurt her. I couldn't stop myself, and now..." I couldn't bring myself to finish, the weight of my actions crushing down on my chest until I was unable to speak.
Killian was silent for a moment, and I could feel his stare boring into the side of my head. "Did ye kill her?"
"No!" I snapped my head towards him, my eyes wide with horror. "No," I said again. "I didn't...I wouldn't..."
His knowing eyes met mine. "No. I'd say ye wouldn't have done that." Crossing his arms, he leaned back in the pew, his eyes wandering toward the candlelit pulpit. "I don't like this place. I wish ye'd find somewhere else to confess your sins."
"She'll never forgive me."
Killian looked up at the ceiling, cocking his head to the side as he studied the scene above us. "Aye, that may be true. But I sincerely doubt it. Ye haven't done anything that's so unforgivable. I think ye're worrying about nothing."
I shook my head, self-loathing churning in my gut. "You didn't see the way she looked at me. Like I was a monster."
"We are monsters, lad. But that doesn't mean we're irredeemable." Killian's voice was gentle, understanding. "After all, if the Lord didn't want us to be this way, then why did He create us?"
"I don't think He did create us. I think we're the spawn of satan."
"Who told ye that?"
"No one," I admitted. "They don't exactly teach about vampires in church." I glanced over at him. "But can you honestly sit there and tell me you don't believe it's true? You grew up in an Irish family, did they not teach you to fear God?"
"Oh, sure they did. But that doesn't mean they were right."
I stared at his profile, not knowing what to say.
"When I found ye," he mused, "ye were hanging from a rafter in an abandoned church much like this one, the rope cutting into yer throat until you bled. Trying to end yer life on this earth. Yer human life so terrible, ye thought taking your chances with eternal damnation in hell would be better. That's what the so-called priests in yer cult did to ye. Riddled ye with so much guilt that ye were less afraid of facing satan for committing suicide than ye were of living with the shame of breaking their made-up rules." When he looked at me, his gold eyes were darkened with hate. "So why do ye give anything they said all of those years ago any worth now?"
"Because their teachings are still with me," I confessed. "And I can't help but wonder if what they said was true."
Killian put his hand on my knee. "I know they are. But ye need to listen to me now, and know that I would never lie to ye. Brogan. Are ye listening?"
I ran one hand over my face and took a deep breath.
"Are ye listening?" he asked again, louder this time.
"I am."
"Then look at me."
Turning my head, I met his eyes.
"Those elders in that cult, they're the ones who lied to ye, twisting everything to keep ye afraid and obedient. Calling natural instincts sins and spouting shite. Ye're a bloody vampire. Feedin' is what ye are. Lovin' yer mate is what ye are. Ye think ye were made this way just to suffer for it?"
I couldn't answer him, because I honestly didn't know.
"Guilt's the chain they wrapped around yer throat, lad. Ye didn't need one of yer own. But ye're not theirs anymore. Ye're free . So start acting like it." He paused. "They wanted ye to believe love was dangerous, that pleasure was somethin’ to fear. But tell me, when ye’re with her, when ye drink from her, do ye feel wicked? Or do ye feel alive?"
He didn't wait for me to respond. He didn't need to. He could see the answer written all over my face.
"Yer mate isn't some forbidden fruit. She’s bound to ye, same as ye are to her. Denyin’ that? Now that’s the real crime. Ye were reborn when I found ye. I saved ye. Not some vengeful god. This is yer second chance at life.”
I stared at the male who'd brought me back to life, remembering. "I don't know if I ever properly thanked you for giving me that chance."
He gave a soft snort. "It was the smell of yer blood that saved ye. I couldn't resist it as I walked by on my way home."
"You could've just finished the job I'd started and left me there," I insisted. "But you didn't."
"No, I didn't." He sighed. "But that was for my own selfish reasons. Not because I have some kind of superhero complex."
"Even so, I'm glad I'm still here."
He turned his head to look at me. "Are ye?"
"Yeah, I am," I told him.
"That's funny. Because ye're not acting like it sitting in here, hatin' yerself."
"I can be grateful and still hate myself for something I've done."
"Ye're a vampire. Lusting after yer mate to the point you lose control is normal. Ye won't hurt her, yer instincts won't let ye. And if she's anything like my Lizzy, she'll probably like it more than she's willing to admit."
Wait.
Mate? "What the hell are you talking about?"
He slapped me on the thigh and rose from the bench, giving the pulpit one more uneasy glance before he said, "Don't try to fight it. Believe me, I tried. It's a waste of time." He wagged a finger in my face. "And I still don't trust her. But I guess I'm going to have to learn to live with her being around or lose ye …and I wouldn't be able to live with that."
At my confusion, he shoved his hands into this front pockets and bent forward until his face was nearly at a level with mine. "Esme is yer mate. It's the only reason I didn't kill her the night ye brought her to our home. I suggest ye figure things out with her soon. Or ye'll be getting that death ye so wished for once upon a time. And I'd hate for all of my hard work with ye to have been for nothing." With that, he gave me a wink and strolled out of the church, whistling.
My mate?
Slowly, I turned in the pew until I face the front again, my eyes traveling to the cross hanging behind the pulpit and the man that hung from it.
My mate.
A rush of hunger flooded my veins and my throat burned as my fangs punched down.
My mate.