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Authors: Jennifer St Giles
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couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He preyed upon my every thought, and the feel of his gloved touch irritatingly lingered upon my skin as much as the chafing wool.
Eventually, I resorted to whispering nursery rhymes and counting sheep. My mind and body would have none of it, and kept clamoring that I dwell on Sean.
Sean? Not Sean Killdaren or Mister Killdaren, or even The Killdaren, but Sean? Good heavens. Had I lost my mind? I was now even thinking of the man more intimately than propriety would allow. Yet his name and his lilting Irish brogue had delved deep inside me, all the way to the hidden places where I kept my grandfather’s stories of fairies and magic.
Desperate, I lit a candle and dug out the vampire book I’d borrowed from the library. Surely a story would wipe the man from my mind.
The woman entered the dark stone church, fearful of what she would find, but too alone in life to miss speaking to the man again. Earlier, when she’d been at the altar praying for the love she’d never known, he’d arrived. He’d knelt at the altar and prayed aloud, almost jovially, asking for the blessed blood of the Lamb. His comfortable manner with God had brought her prayers to a halt. She’d studied him, noting his dress, all somber black, with an edging of white at his collar.
“Is there something that I can pray for you?” he’d asked, startling her.
She’d shaken her head. After a long moment her curiosity grew too great to ignore. “You are a minister?”
His warm smile broadened, making her examine the dark of his eyes more closely. “In a way. I live here; just beyond those doors there’s a stairwell.” He’d nodded toward carved wood panels behind her that she’d never noticed before. After he’d spoken with her for some time, he’d stood, citing an important meeting. Then just before leaving, he’d invited her to come back tonight to pray again.
And she had.
The church was empty when she arrived, but the carved wood doors stood open, inviting yet darkly forbidding. She called out several times, only to hear the echo of her own voice. Peering beyond the doors, she found a stone stairwell, lit by sconces. She hesitated a few moments, watching the candle flames dance upon the walls. Then, taking one last look over her shoulder, she descended the steps, coming unexpectedly to a richly appointed circular room. Ensconced in the center of the chamber upon a raised dais lay a lonely crypt shaped like a man. It reminded her of him in some way, and she wondered if perhaps she’d in some way seen his ghost.
Rather than being frightened, she was compelled, drawn by the loneliness in him that matched hers. Tentatively, she approached, reaching out to touch the unfamiliar words and geometric shapes engraved on the crypt. When she did, the stone beneath her fingers began to warm. Surprised, she pressed her palm to the stone, feeling heat throb in rhythm to the beat of her heart. Drawn, unable to do aught but follow the force urging her to explore, she splayed both of her hands against the stone. Vibrations started to shake the crypt, and in an explosion of light, the lid popped open. The man she met earlier, still richly dressed, in black, rose up.
“You came.” He took hold of her arms, his demeanor much darker than before. She screamed, frightened by the dangerous gleam in his eyes. He pulled her to him, toward the red velvet bed in which he lay. He smiled, showing sharp fangs. “Fear not. Your pleasure will be great. As will mine.” His lips sought the throbbing pulse at her throat and she moaned.
I snapped the book closed, startled by the rekindling of the heat Sean, uh The Killdaren, had seeded within me.
My word, what was happening to me? I stuffed the book into the farthest corner of the room from me and buried it beneath the potato sack that I’d packed my belongings in. Then I firmly blew out the candle and determinedly directed my mind to think only of Mary. The reason I’d
Eventually, I resorted to whispering nursery rhymes and counting sheep. My mind and body would have none of it, and kept clamoring that I dwell on Sean.
Sean? Not Sean Killdaren or Mister Killdaren, or even The Killdaren, but Sean? Good heavens. Had I lost my mind? I was now even thinking of the man more intimately than propriety would allow. Yet his name and his lilting Irish brogue had delved deep inside me, all the way to the hidden places where I kept my grandfather’s stories of fairies and magic.
Desperate, I lit a candle and dug out the vampire book I’d borrowed from the library. Surely a story would wipe the man from my mind.
The woman entered the dark stone church, fearful of what she would find, but too alone in life to miss speaking to the man again. Earlier, when she’d been at the altar praying for the love she’d never known, he’d arrived. He’d knelt at the altar and prayed aloud, almost jovially, asking for the blessed blood of the Lamb. His comfortable manner with God had brought her prayers to a halt. She’d studied him, noting his dress, all somber black, with an edging of white at his collar.
“Is there something that I can pray for you?” he’d asked, startling her.
She’d shaken her head. After a long moment her curiosity grew too great to ignore. “You are a minister?”
His warm smile broadened, making her examine the dark of his eyes more closely. “In a way. I live here; just beyond those doors there’s a stairwell.” He’d nodded toward carved wood panels behind her that she’d never noticed before. After he’d spoken with her for some time, he’d stood, citing an important meeting. Then just before leaving, he’d invited her to come back tonight to pray again.
And she had.
The church was empty when she arrived, but the carved wood doors stood open, inviting yet darkly forbidding. She called out several times, only to hear the echo of her own voice. Peering beyond the doors, she found a stone stairwell, lit by sconces. She hesitated a few moments, watching the candle flames dance upon the walls. Then, taking one last look over her shoulder, she descended the steps, coming unexpectedly to a richly appointed circular room. Ensconced in the center of the chamber upon a raised dais lay a lonely crypt shaped like a man. It reminded her of him in some way, and she wondered if perhaps she’d in some way seen his ghost.
Rather than being frightened, she was compelled, drawn by the loneliness in him that matched hers. Tentatively, she approached, reaching out to touch the unfamiliar words and geometric shapes engraved on the crypt. When she did, the stone beneath her fingers began to warm. Surprised, she pressed her palm to the stone, feeling heat throb in rhythm to the beat of her heart. Drawn, unable to do aught but follow the force urging her to explore, she splayed both of her hands against the stone. Vibrations started to shake the crypt, and in an explosion of light, the lid popped open. The man she met earlier, still richly dressed, in black, rose up.
“You came.” He took hold of her arms, his demeanor much darker than before. She screamed, frightened by the dangerous gleam in his eyes. He pulled her to him, toward the red velvet bed in which he lay. He smiled, showing sharp fangs. “Fear not. Your pleasure will be great. As will mine.” His lips sought the throbbing pulse at her throat and she moaned.
I snapped the book closed, startled by the rekindling of the heat Sean, uh The Killdaren, had seeded within me.
My word, what was happening to me? I stuffed the book into the farthest corner of the room from me and buried it beneath the potato sack that I’d packed my belongings in. Then I firmly blew out the candle and determinedly directed my mind to think only of Mary. The reason I’d
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