Prologue #2
Father Claremore didn’t know the answer to that question either.
Truthfully, he didn’t want the creature anywhere near his church. The very thought of it made his stomach twist with dread. But he also couldn’t ignore the truth gnawing at his conscience: these beings had protected the valley tonight.
If the demons had crossed fully through the chasm, the valley and every soul living in it would have been the first to fall.
As frightened as he was, gratitude kept his mouth shut.
“I hope so,” Boaz said, dragging the sleeve of his tunic across his brow. The cloth had once been white, but it was now stiff with dirt and drying blood. “The stake seems to have weakened him.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” Manlius asked, studying the coffin thoughtfully. “He’s weakened now. But he will rise.”
“I know,” Boaz said.
A heavy silence settled over the cellar as all three of them stared at the vampire lying inside the iron coffin.
“He was infected by the demon that attacked him,” Manlius continued softly. “And there’s no telling what he will become when he wakes.” His gaze flicked toward Boaz. “Perhaps we should kill him while he’s still weak. I don’t think anyone here wants to fight him again.”
Father Claremore held his breath, his fingers tightening around the crucifix as he waited for Boaz to say something. Anything.
“That’s not our decision to make,” Boaz said at last. “He’s the king of vampires. They should take responsibility for him.”
Manlius lifted a pale eyebrow. “Do you think they would kill their own king?”
“No,” Boaz said without hesitation. “They’ve already lost a lot tonight. I don’t think they could handle something like that too.”
“Shit,” Manlius muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “If only we’d managed to close the chasm before the war started.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Boaz said. “You did everything you could. We might not have saved everyone… but we saved a lot of lives tonight.”
“I know,” Manlius said. His shoulders sagged a little. “It just doesn’t feel like it.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the distant crackle of torches and the faint murmur of voices from outside.
“Perhaps he can heal himself,” Boaz finally said, his gaze drifting back toward the vampire in the coffin. “He’s a born vampire. Maybe his body will fight whatever the demon did to him while he sleeps.”
Manlius tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You think?”
“I don’t know,” Boaz admitted with a tired shrug. “But it’s worth a try. I really don’t want to deal with more death tonight. We’ve already lost too much. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance.” He rubbed his eyes, then added, “Though it’s not just our decision.”
“We should talk to the others then,” Manlius said, turning toward the staircase.
He started up the stone steps. Boaz lingered a moment longer, casting one last look at the vampire sealed inside the coffin, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
Then he turned and followed Manlius.
Father Claremore hurried after them, nearly tripping in his haste. The thought of being left alone in the cellar with the creature made his skin crawl.
Cool night air brushed against Father Claremore’s face as they stepped into the courtyard. But the scene waiting for them depressed him more.
Low groans of the wounded drifted through the courtyard, filling the silence. Some sat slumped against the church walls while others moved among them, tending wounds and whispering healing spells.
Manlius stepped forward into the center of the courtyard. Conversations around him faded as everyone turned their attention toward him.
“We’ve managed to contain him,” he announced tiredly. “For now, he sleeps.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“We must decide what to do with him before he wakes,” Manlius continued, his gaze sweeping over the wounded and weary faces gathered in the clearing.
“Boaz has suggested we keep him in the coffin and allow his body time to heal itself from whatever poison the demon left inside him. But…we cannot be certain that will work.”
The weight of his words settled over the courtyard.
“Many of you may want him dead after what happened,” Manlius went on. “And no one blames you. Too many lives were lost tonight,” his voice softened, “however, it does not feel right to lose another.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. No one moved.
Father Claremore closed his eyes, clutching his crucifix and silently praying someone would choose differently.
One of the vampires stepped forward from the gathered crowd. His face was streaked with dirt and ash, his dark clothes torn and soaked through with blood. His eyes burned with fierce determination as he cast his gaze around the courtyard.
“We will take him home,” he said.
Manlius frowned. “I don’t think moving him is wise, Greer,” he replied.
“The journey north is long and dangerous. Your mountain roads are barely passable even under normal circumstances.” He gestured toward the church behind him.
“And with him sealed inside that coffin, teleportation is impossible. If the stake shifts even an inch during the journey, he could wake up. And we have no idea what he will be when he does.”
The vampire’s jaw tightened. “Then where do you suggest we keep him?”
“He’s safe here,” Boaz said, his voice carrying across the courtyard for all to hear.
Father Claremore blinked. His gaze darted around the courtyard.
Here?
Did he mean… here? In his church? In his cellar?
His stomach twisted painfully.
No. Please, no.
Yet despite the panic tightening his chest, Father Claremore said nothing.
The supernatural beings gathered here had saved every soul in the valley tonight.
While the villagers slept peacefully in their beds, unaware of how close the world had come to ending, these creatures had fought and bled to protect them.
Still… keeping a vampire beneath the church? And for how long?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Greer argued. “If we take him home, we can watch over him. We can make sure he stays asleep.”
“You can do the same here,” Boaz replied firmly. “Moving him is too risky.”
“There is a reason we live in the north…” the vampire said slowly. His gaze moved across the courtyard, lingering on the unfamiliar hills and forests surrounding the valley. “We have longer nights there. Darkness that lasts for months in some places.” He shook his head. “We can’t stay here. And…”
“What?” Manlius pressed, stepping closer.
Concern etched Greer's face. “We might have a problem. Once the blood he drank before battle works through his system, the only thing left inside him will be pure survival instinct. He’s going to rise.”
Boaz frowned. “Don’t vampires sleep most of the time?”
“They do,” the vampire replied. “But only when they choose to.” He glanced toward the church doors. “He didn’t choose to sleep. We forced him under. First with magic, then by driving a stake through his heart. A stake that should have killed him. But it didn’t.”
The murmuring in the courtyard got louder.
“His heart is still beating. Faintly… but it’s beating. Every one of us can hear it. And once the blood he drank runs dry, he'll rise. The only thing I know that drives a vampire into madness is hunger. He was already losing control before we subdued him. Combine that with his instincts…”
“Shit,” Boaz muttered.
Without another word, the massive werewolf turned and strode back toward the church.
Father Claremore watched the others immediately begin following him.
Dammit.
Could this night get any worse?
With a weary shake of his head, he hurried after them.
They descended the stone steps into the cellar once more. The torches along the walls sputtered weakly.
Boaz approached the coffin, a glint of steel flashing as he drew a knife. Father Claremore blinked in confusion as Boaz raised the blade to his palm.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Manlius lunged forward and grabbed Boaz’s arm before the blade could cut his skin.
“Making sure he stays asleep,” Boaz said.
“By giving him your blood?”
“Yes.” Boaz let out a long breath. “If he’s fed, he won’t wake up.” His gaze drifted back toward the coffin. “Well… I hope he won’t wake up. At least not until we give him enough time to heal.”
“Are you sure about this?” Manlius asked worriedly.
“No,” Boaz admitted. “But I don’t think we have a choice. Unless we kill him.”
“Then let the human feed him,” Manlius said, nodding toward Father Claremore. Father Claremore stiffened. “You’re a mystical creature. You have no idea what your blood might do to him. It could make him stronger.”
“Father Claremore has agreed to keep him here,” Boaz countered. “The least we can do is help.”
Did I?
Father Claremore blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the conversation unfolding around him.
He didn’t remember agreeing to any of this.
Not to shelter a vampire beneath his church.
Not to feed it. And certainly not to stand in a cellar filled with shifters, witches, fairies, and creatures he had once believed existed only in stories whispered to frighten children.
Everything had happened so fast. One moment his quiet valley had been peaceful and ordinary, and the next it had been torn open by demons. Now supernatural beings crowded his church, arguing over the fate of a vampire king chained in his cellar.
The whole situation felt as though it were spiraling further and further out of control and he had no idea how he had been swept into the middle of it.
“Fuck,” Manlius growled, releasing Boaz’s arm at last. He began pacing across the cellar, his robes sweeping over the cold stone floor as agitation radiated from him. “I have a very bad feeling about this.”
“Me too,” Boaz admitted quietly.
Manlius stopped pacing and stared at him. “Yet you’re still willing to do it?”
“What other choice do we have?” Boaz replied, resigned.
Manlius dragged a frustrated hand through his pale hair. “Fuck… fuck… fuck…”