Chapter 21 Penelope
PENELOPE
“You’re doing the right thing,” her father said, his hand firm on her elbow as they paused before the heavy, arched doors of the church.
“I’m not doing this for me,” she whispered.
At last, she lifted her gaze to meet his—not with pride, not with certainty—but with the hollow ache of someone who had already given the final piece of herself away.
“But perhaps in doing this, you will be proud. You will be the father who saved his daughter from the blood-thirsty vampire. You should get plenty of campaigns out of that.”
“Penelope,” he began, but his words were swallowed as the doors swung open. A sea of white spilled into the nave, rows of townspeople stretching endlessly, their eyes fixed on her as though the entire congregation had gathered to witness her atonement.
“Make sure Henry keeps his promise,” she asked as they started their walk. “I have given up on what happens to me. But if any part of you still loves me as your daughter, promise me you will not allow a hunt.”
Her father’s grip on her elbow tightened, though his hand trembled ever so slightly. “You have my word, Penelope.”
They stopped at the altar. Henry was staring down at her with a faintly masked reproach as her father released his hold on her, giving her away to whatever future Henry would give her.
“Do try to behave yourself, dear,” Henry muttered under his breath.
“I already agreed,” she whispered, lowering herself to her knees before him, before everyone.
She would be the perfect bride.
She would do exactly as she was taught.
The priest cleared his throat, his voice echoing faintly through the vaulted ceiling. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” His words rolled over the congregation, steady and deliberate, but for Penelope, they felt distant as though she were under water, drowning in her own silent mourning.
“…to witness the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony. In the eyes of God, let them be bound together, not by lust or love, but by promise, and by covenant. By virtue and command.”
Penelope’s hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles whitening against the silk of her gown as she struggled to blink back tears.
“…Do you, Henry Whitlock, take this woman, Penelope Adams, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to honor and protect her, in prosperity and in adversity, in health and in sickness, to lead her and teach her, to never allow her to strive from her path, until death parts you?” the priest intoned.
“I do.”
“And do you, Penelope Adams, take this man, Henry Whitlock, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to honor and obey him, to serve him and submit to his authority, in prosperity and in adversity, in sickness and in health, as befits a woman under God’s law, until death do you part?”
His words fell on her, impossibly crushing.
Penelope lifted her head to look up at Henry as whispers rippled through the church. His eyes were cold, uncaring, unyielding, all the promise of command written in the set of his jaw.
With this, Elias was safe.
A single, silent tear traced down her cheek.
“I do,” she finally said.
No sooner had applause erupted from the congregation than the doors slammed open as that familiar voice raged through the room.
“Get away from her!”
The church fell into stunned silence. Candles flickered as heads turned, eyes wide, and gasps spilled through the pews.
Elias strode into the aisle, each step deliberate, his presence consuming the space.
The light from the stained-glass windows caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting red eyes ablaze with fury.
For a heartbeat, Penelope froze. Her lips parted, her body taut with disbelief.
“No,” she whispered, but before she could react Henry stepped in front of her, pulling his musket from his suit, aiming it directly at her head.
“Ah-ah,” Henry taunted. “On your knees, lest you wish for her death to part us so soon. Perhaps we can see what is faster? You or my bullet.”
The congregation murmured again, some gasping, others clutching hymnals as if to shield themselves from Elias.
Elias froze mid-step, his gaze locking on Penelope with a stillness that made her chest tighten. Every heartbeat between them seemed to stretch into an eternity.
“Elias, don’t!” she cried, her voice cracking, raw with panic and pleading.
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 their screams, 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.