Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
What a fool he had been. Anatoly couldn’t get Maggie off his mind even as he settled into his favorite armchair in his quarters.
So much of his feelings were tangled and knotted, he needed to find some way to focus on anything else.
No matter what he tried to do, study, pray, even pace, she was not far from his thoughts.
The priest was afraid to put a name to these foreign emotions and so he leaned his head back, rubbing at his eyes, trying in vain to center himself.
The strong ache in his chest was enough to drive him mad and yet being with Maggie eased it.
Being away from her, knowing she was talking and laughing with another man, made him crazy in and of itself.
“I am not just man, I am priest,” he told the empty room. That had always defined him, and yet when he was near her, when she smiled at him or touched him, that clarity evaporated.
She had come into his life and turned everything upside down. What was worse, none of this felt wrong. It was new and frightening, but when he gazed into her deep, brown eyes, all was right with the world. She was right. They were right.
Anatoly jumped at a knock on the door and a not insignificant part of him hoped it was her, come to see him, come to tell him that she too felt this strange flurry of mixed-up affection and fear.
“Enter,” he called, trying to keep the eagerness from his tone.
A second later as his deacon slipped inside with a polite, “Good evening, Father Anatoly,” he forced a smile to cover the disappointment.
“Ah, dobryy vecher, James,” he greeted, realizing that he had completely forgotten their usual appointment.
“Am I intruding, Father?” So James had picked up on his distracted mental state or perhaps it was that Anatoly still hadn’t bothered to dry himself off. He barely noticed the damp clothes he wore or the stray strands of hair that fell out of his soggy ponytail.
Anatoly shook his head, grateful for the company even if it wasn’t Maggie’s. “Not at all. Please, come in and we will get started. How are you this evening?”
Their pleasantries continued even as James came further into the room, rolling his sleeves up as he took a seat on the coffee table closest to where Anatoly sat.
It was a favor James had performed for him since he became deacon six years ago. That’s when Anatoly’s secret of being a vampire had come out to the other man and they made this arrangement.
“Better for you to feed on me than members of our flock,” James had said, and Anatoly wholeheartedly agreed.
Now, the priest could hardly enjoy the act. It was routine, like brushing his hair or getting dressed when he rose for the night. Feeding on mortals had never been pleasant for him, so it wasn’t as though he was missing out on anything by treating it this way.
An errant thought intruded as he accepted James’s offered wrist. What would it feel like, what would it taste like, if he were to feed from Maggie?
He stopped short, his fangs extended, ready to sink into the deacon’s exposed flesh, and a shudder of disgust and excitement both coursed through him. With a growl, he bit into James, unable to stop himself from imagining that the hot blood flowing into his mouth was hers.
James sat stoically as Anatoly took what he needed. He couldn’t have known what the priest was thinking, but he felt shame all the same. Surely he noticed the vigorous way he drank, how he shut his eyes to block the vision of his brother out.
The blood was the same as it had always been, but in his mind, he daydreamed of Maggie clinging to him as he fed from her soft neck, her supple body pinned beneath him… An involuntary groan escaped him at the mental image.
Alarmed at himself, Anatoly suddenly pulled away, dribbling blood down his chin into his beard. James looked likewise startled, not by the priest, but something beyond him. Twisting in the chair, Anatoly followed his gaze and was met by the sight of Maggie.
She was standing in the doorway, still wearing the tight black dress and pink sweater. An expression of shock and fear darkened her features and Anatoly noted that she’d stuck her hand into her purse.
“This area is closed to the public,” James scolded her, rising off the coffee table and moving to block Anatoly from the detective. “You really should have knocked.”
“The door was open, I thought…” Maggie started to answer and then shook her head. “What the fuck is going on here?” Her eyes were fixed on James’s wrist, which was still oozing blood from two puncture wounds.
Anatoly rose from his seat, being careful not to startle the cop with the motion.
“Easy, Maggie,” he told her softly. The rush of having just fed coupled with being in her presence made him feel almost giddy. His heart was racing, blood rushing in his ears. “I can explain, just let me tend to Deacon James first, da?”
He watched her swallow and for a second he feared she wouldn’t agree. Then she gave a slow nod, hand still stuffed in her purse at her side. There was so much tension in her body and that keen alertness made her features hard.
“James, if I may.” Anatoly put his hand out and James promptly extended his wrist. They had done this so many times, the deacon fully knew what was coming next, but that’s not what he worried about.
This wasn’t how he wanted Maggie to find out that he was a vampire, but she’d wandered in on him feeding. There was no way a white lie would cover his tracks. It was better to embrace the moment and let her see that he meant no harm.
A single lick was all it took to seal the wounds, making it as if they had never existed. There was more to it than that, but it was a trick Anatoly had quickly picked up as a new vampire to cover his tracks.
“Oh, shit…” Maggie swore and with a swift motion, she finally withdrew her hand from the purse.
Only it wasn’t empty.
She was holding a small pistol and the barrel was pointed straight at Anatoly’s chest.