Amaia and Meg sat in one of the balconies inside St. Michael’s Church, listening to Liam take confession below. This had become one of their favorite games. There was something delicious about feeding from humans in their place of worship, where they felt the safest. Humans knelt to pray, and Liam would whisper in their ears, pretending to be the voice of God, taking sips from their necks as he went. Amaia or Meg would pretend to be the Virgin Mary. It was easy to sneak up behind penitents, and the vampires moved quickly enough that the mortals couldn’t catch them.
It was especially amusing to Amaia, who had attended mass at the church with the royal court. If only her clients knew what she got up to when she left them. A wonderful crypt below the church made it all too convenient to dispose of bodies if merely drinking led to killing. It was almost as if the church had been designed for their convenience. They could have hours of fun while the priest slept in his chamber, recovering from blood loss.
In the ornately carved stall, Liam took confession. Amaia found it hilarious to hear what concerned these humans and quaint that they believed in a god who listened, who cared about the way they conducted their everyday lives. The truly devout were the best. Drinking their blood while they sought redemption through the blood of another. Such delicious irony.
An impressive fresco adorned one of the arches. Amaia found it difficult to comprehend that humans were capable of creating such beauty. She wondered if it hadn’t, in fact, been painted by a vampire. She made a mental note to ask Lawrence. Gazing at the figure of one of the apostles, Amaia could make out every brushstroke. The painting seemed illuminated from within. The man’s eyes appeared almost full of life. Amaia sat transfixed until the eyes morphed into the all familiar gray. She shook her head.
“What’s wrong?” Meg cocked her chin to the side.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me that. I see you shaking your head a lot lately.”
The mild inquisitiveness in Meg’s voice was deceiving. Amaia knew from experience that she wouldn’t stop pursuing an answer. “I can’t get my first kill out of my mind.”
“That’s all?” Meg went back to watching the parishioners. “Don’t worry about it. That’s how it is for everyone.”
Meg’s cavalier dismissal of Amaia’s confession put her at ease. Perhaps Amaia wasn’t as disturbed as she feared. “I can’t help it.”
“Trust me. It’s normal. No kill will ever compare to it. Don’t make the mistake of chasing after it.” Meg shot her a wary glance from the corner of her eye.
“That’s what Lawrence says.”
Meg nodded. “He’s smart. I’ve seen vampires go crazy, killing recklessly, trying to recreate that first high. One of the clans always steps in and destroys them. Such a waste.”
“No, I’m smarter than that. I love the kill, but I don’t let it control me.” She wouldn’t accede to her bloodlust, no matter how tempting it was.
“Good.”
They sat in silence for a while, listening to a man below confess. He was guilty of so many sins. It seemed like it would be easier for the man to forsake his demanding God than live in tormented guilt.
Once the man finished, Liam sent him out to pray, and Amaia lost interest. “How did you handle it?”
“What?” Meg still watched the scene below.
“The images of your first kill. His eyes haunt me. I swear, sometimes I think I’ll go mad.”
“What do you mean, haunt you?” Meg focused her attention on Amaia.
“He flashes before me. I’ll see him randomly in my mind. Always his eyes. I try to ignore it, but it just gets worse.”
Meg shook her head. “I’ve never had that happen.”
“What?” A chill settled in Amaia as her heart slowed. “I thought you said it was normal to think about your first kill.”
“To think about it, yes, not to be haunted by the person. Have you told Lawrence about this?” Meg placed a hand on Amaia’s arm, radiating concern.
“No. He didn’t much like the man.”
Meg’s eyes widened. “You knew him?”
“Yes. He was my betrothed.” Amaia’s eyes wandered to where her thumb caressed the vacant spot on her finger. She had hoped the absence of the ring would lessen the visions.
“What?” This time Meg’s surprise wasn’t confined to her face. Her exclamation echoed in the church. Below, Liam coughed to hide it, shooting a glare in their direction.
Amaia’s head snapped up at the tone of Meg’s voice. “He was the first person I saw after Lawrence bit me.”
“Wow. That’s quite the turn.”
“How strong can love be if I killed the man I loved?”
“Love has nothing to do with it. Your transformation kill is pure instinct. You’d kill your own mother in that moment. You have to, otherwise you’ll die. You can’t be blamed for that.”
Amaia didn’t care about blame. She just wanted the haunting to stop. She wanted to understand why it happened. Everyone seemed to experience life differently than she did. “I know. But still, a vampire would never kill her mate.”
“No.” The answer came quick and strong, as if Meg couldn’t allow even a doubt.
A young woman entered the church, and Liam ushered her into the confessional. It appeared the girl was guilty of impure thoughts. She had let one of the local boys have his way with her. Poor girl. At this rate she would never experience truly good sex. Especially if she kept crying about it.