Chapter 22 Elias
ELIAS
“No—no, Penelope, please—” Elias’s voice shattered as he shook her, frantic, refusing to believe what was happening.
A ragged scream tore from his throat, animalistic and broken, as he dragged her against him.
His hand cradled the delicate curve of her neck, covering the wound as the disgusting warmth of her blood covered his hands.
But her body was limp—terribly, irrevocably limp. Elias clutched her tighter, rocking her as though he could deny death itself.
Henry lunged in, musket half-raised, his hands clawing to tear Penelope from Elias’s grasp.
But Elias did not let go. Not even for breath.
With his free arm he caught the barrel, the metal splintering in his grip as though it were kindling.
Henry’s eyes widened in shock as the weapon snapped uselessly between them.
Elias’s roar split the air, animal and unholy, and with a single heave he sent Henry sprawling down the altar steps, the broken musket clattering after him.
“Get away from her!” Elias thundered, his voice breaking with anguish. “She is not yours to possess!”
Elias tore open his own hand, shoving it desperately to her lips. His blood welled, dark and potent, dripping into her still mouth. “Come on, darling. Drink. Please—drink,” he begged, his tears shattering on her skin like glass. His voice rose, breaking against the cathedral walls. “Drink!”
Her lips remained slack, her body unresponsive in his arms. Blood slid past the corners of her mouth, running down her cheeks in crimson streaks that mingled with his tears before dripping to the floor below, the dark stain spreading beneath them like some unholy baptism.
As though the church itself had chosen to consecrate her death, to take more from her still, until even her final moments belonged to it.
Belonged to the men of this town, presenting her corpse like a tithe.
“Please,” he choked, pressing his bloodied hand harder against her, desperate to force life back into her stillness.
“You are alright… you are safe. I am here now. I am here so nothing will ever harm you again. Just—just come back to me. Please, my love, come back.” His words faltered into a sob, the sound raw and bare, as though his grief itself might tear the vaulted ceiling down upon them.
Her father collapsed beside them, his composure unraveling, all color draining from his face as he dropped to his knees. His trembling hands hovered uselessly in the air before clutching at his own chest.
“Save her,” he choked, his voice raw, nothing of the proud man left.
But Elias could not tear his eyes away from Penelope—his Penelope.
Sweet Penelope. Innocent Penelope—as if prayer might tether her soul back to her body.
“Do you hear me?” her father begged suddenly, seizing Elias by the shoulders, his desperation cutting through the air.
“Turn her! Do not let her die! I do not care what it takes!”
“You did this,” Elias whispered as he lifted his eyes to meet her fathers, unable to hear her heart beat its wondrous melody.
“I need you to know that you did this. Your rules, your control, this is what it does. You think you are protecting women by telling them how to live, how to act, how to love, how to breathe!” Elias choked on another ragged breath.
“But you are killing them. There is no God in what you are doing. Only men.”
“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 are all going 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.
It was Elias.
“I promise,” her father swore, voice breaking, his gaze locked on Penelope without any of the rigid pride that had ruled him for so long. “I will never again force my will on you. I was wrong.”
Penelope looked to Elias and smiled, her eyes turning the deepest shade of red as the final strands of her hair went white.
“I swear it, Lamb,” he whispered, carving his vow before her. “I will never again let you go. You are mine now—mine—and until the sun sets upon this world for the final time, I will hold you. Even if the heavens fall. Even if the earth crumbles. You will be mine in this life, and every life after.”
Penelope tilted her head back, a gentle smile spreading across her lips. “I suppose you will be the one teaching me now, Vampire.”