Next time that young head priest took a walk by himself late at night, he would not have the chance to sneak up on me. Next time he would face me head-on, and I would be the last thing he saw.
For now all I could do was vengefully bleed on the church carpet. I'd left the stake through my shoulder, the spike visible from the corner of my eye.
Even with the wound clogged, my blood still seeped out to ruin my clothes and dripped to the floor. It may have shown my trail, but I doubted he would notice it.
Presumably, he was still back in the forest surrounding his church. I'd departed faster than his eyes could keep up, and priests had a tendency to think my kind couldn't set foot in a church.
They were quite wrong, of course.
I could smell someone else just down the hall. The gentle drum of their heartbeat pulsed in my ears as though it could have been my own. They would be the one to heal this ugly wound.
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