“Me too,” Boaz said as he lifted the knife to his palm. He sucked in a breath as he dragged it across his palm. Almost immediately, blood welled up from the cut, gathering in thick drops.
Without hesitation, he reached down and hooked his fingers beneath the small iron trapdoor set into the coffin lid. The hinges groaned as he pulled it open.
A heavy stillness settled in the room as Boaz held his bleeding hand over the vampire’s pale, unmoving lips.
The first drop of blood fell. It landed on the vampire’s mouth, spreading slowly across the pale skin.
Another drop followed. And another.
But most of the blood missed its mark, sliding down the vampire’s cheek in ruby trails before disappearing into the tangled strands of his dark hair.
“We need to find a better way to feed him,” Boaz muttered after a moment. He wiped his bleeding palm against his tunic before turning toward Father Claremore. “I’ll send a vial of my blood every month. Make sure he’s fed.”
Father Claremore swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
“I—I’ll do that,” he stammered.
Boaz gave a single nod. Then he turned toward Manlius. Without another word, the werewolf and the other supernatural beings began filing out of the monastery, their footsteps fading slowly as they disappeared into the waiting night.
The cellar fell silent again.
Father Claremore stood there for a long moment, staring at the iron coffin in the center of the room. And only then did a terrible realization settle into his mind.
No one had told him how long it would take for the vampire to heal himself.
***
2026
Claremore Monastery
“There’s no need to feed it,” Father Daniels retorted as he descended the narrow steps into the cellar. A place he avoided as though it housed the gates of Hell itself. If Brother Lacus hadn’t pestered him relentlessly, he would have gone on pretending the cellar didn’t exist. In fact, that had been his intention from the very moment he inherited the monastery from Father Emanuel.
He had pushed aside the old priest’s dying warning about ‘the creature in the coffin’, dismissed the command to feed it once amonth as the babbling of a man slipping into madness. The vial of blood that arrived last month he had thrown out without a second thought, eager to erase every trace of Father Emanuel’s ‘burden’.
Until now.
Father Daniels shot Brother Lacus a murderous look over his shoulder as he stomped down the remaining steps. Cobwebs brushed across his face, making him jerk back with a rasping cough. He swatted at the air in front of him, before stumbling onto the stone floor. His gaze settled on the iron coffin in the center of the room and his lip curled in revulsion.
“I’ve been told it’s only wise,” Brother Lacus said softly, lingering halfway down the steps.
“By who?”
“Father Emanuel… before he died. He left instructions. I’m sure he told you about it.”
No. The word leapt into Father Daniels’ mouth. He was ready to deny any knowledge of the damn thing, but the truth burned at the back of his throat like acid.
He wanted nothing to do with the abomination entombed beneath his church. He was a holy man. They should have let the creature rot in eternal darkness, not nourish it like an unwanted guest.
“Leave it,” he commanded. “I’m sure it will slowly perish.”
“Father Daniels, I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s been a month since Father Emanuel passed. Nearly two months since it was fed. I don’t think…”
“Don’t think, Lacus. Do as I say.” Father Daniels spun on his heel, his shoes clicking together. “This madness ends now. We will not harbor a creature of evil within consecrated walls. Leave it to rot. Tomorrow, after afternoon prayers, we burn the thing.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Now come. We have a sermon to prepare.”