into thinking he’d serviced me outside the chapel. “Forget his face,” I said in closing.
Julio blinked and startled, glanced back once more at Jesus, then hurried away.
“That was very good,” I said to you. I squeezed your shoulder, wishing you were in my arms. I had a strange compulsion to carry you wherever we went. Your smile was wan, and I felt your hunger as if it was my own. “We should go get you some blood.”
You nodded. “Or…”
I followed your gaze to where the priest had entered the chapel from the same antechamber as Julio had previously. You slid down on your knees and lowered your head. The priest noticed your reverent posture and approached us, his robes skirting along the wooden floor in a soft rustle of fabric. I edged away so that I’d not intimidate the man. This was your hunt.
“You look troubled, my son,” the priest said to your bowed silver head. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
You glanced up at him, your molten eyes black with hunger.
“Hello, Father,” you said so charmingly. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been to church.”
You stood, and the priest’s expression changed from mild curiosity to intense awareness of not only your covetous energy but also your scant clothing and the snatches of skin peeking through.
“Would you like to confess?” the priest asked. His pink tongue darted out to lick his thin lips.
“Yes, Father, I would.”
“Where I can observe,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” you purred and smirked at me. My salivary glands activated as I watched your slender body glide to the front pew. Such a beautiful dancer. I dislodged the thought from my head and moved closer.
The priest took up the spot next to you, framing my view of Jesus’s crucifixion. The statuary’s expression perfectly captured that moment when the soul is resigned to shed its mortal coil and depart from the human realm—a perfect mixture of agony and ecstasy.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began in a seductive purr. “On more than one occasion. It’s been nearly a month since my last confession.” You glanced up and captured the priest’s attention like a scope to its target.
“Start at the beginning, my son,” the priest said in a rote monotone, already falling under your thrall.
“There was a boy I desired,” you said lowly. I noticed a hitch in the man’s breathing and his accelerated pulse.
“And did you act on those desires?” the priest asked dutifully.
“I did, Father, but it didn’t end well.”
“I see.”
“Then, I desired my…” Your eyes darted to me. “My much older companion. He’s strong and capable and so very sexy.”
The priest swallowed with some effort while my blood flowed with renewed vigor. You smiled, knowing exactly the effect you had on him and me both.
“Were there more?” the priest asked.
“I desire you, Father.”
“Me?” The priest’s nostrils flared. You nodded, eyes never leaving his. “What is the nature of your desire, my son?”
“Sometimes it’s physical. And sometimes, it’s more emotional. Comfort, you know? But the thing I desire more than anything else is… your blood.”
I shot you a warning look, and you pretended not to notice.
“My blood?” the priest asked. His mouth was open, practically panting with arousal.
“I want to taste you,” you said with unfiltered need in your voice. You licked your lips and lifted your chin a little. The priest followed your every movement. “It burns, Father. All over. Day and night. Have you ever had a hunger like that?”
The priest nodded, jaw going slack.
“It makes me so ashamed,” you said, which I suspected was the truth. “I want to be stronger. To resist, but I can’t. I’m only human, you know. Well… half.”
I didn’t worry anymore about any secrets you might reveal. The man likely wouldn’t remember the details of this conversation when it was over.
“Tell me more about this… hunger,” the priest said in a low, throaty voice.
You inched closer and reached for his arm, then laid it gently on the back of the pew as if handling a sacred text.
“It starts like an itch I can’t scratch,” you said as you slowly drew up the sleeve of the man’s cassock. “I feel it in my mouth, a tingling in my gums. My mouth starts to water. My teeth feel sharp as blades. I want to bite down so bad. Bury them into something soft and fleshy and full of blood.” You breathed deeply, inhaling the man’s scent. I marveled at your ability to speak exactly to his desires—incidentally, to my