Carpathian 13 - Dark Destiny

with her body and her mind and her scarred soul every rising. Dreams had no place in her world.
    Destiny closed her eyes and allowed her incisors to lengthen. She needed to feed. That was all. That was all there could ever be between them. He was prey like every other man. Nothing more. Never more than that. She meant to drive her teeth deep, hoping to hurt him, hoping to drive him away from her.
    It was impossible to hurt him. She couldn't do it. Her tongue swirled over his pulse, her breath warm and soothing. Her body moved on its own, restless and with a sense of urgency, pushing close to his, her hands moving over his chest, his back, shaping the defined muscles while his skin grew hotter and his breath grew ragged.
    Nicolae whispered her name softly, hoarsely, a plea for mercy, his body going up in flames. Destiny wrenched herself out of his arms. She was shaking, her expression a mixture of fear and anger. "Go away from me," she said. "Stay away from me. I'm afraid of what I'll do to you if you stay." She backed away from him. "Please, if you really care, just go to some other land where I know you'll be safe."

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    He watched her leave and made no move to follow her. The chaos of her mind was too turbulent. A boiling mass of violence and rage, hurt and fear. Nicolae remained where he was for a long time, his head down, breathing deeply to get through his sorrow. To get through her pain. When he touched his face he was shocked at the blood-red tears he wept.

Chapter Six
    The moment Destiny placed her foot on the steps in front of the church, she felt the vibrations of violence. She had tried to leaveSeattle , go back to being a nomad, roaming the world, but after several risings, she had reluctantly returned. She had deliberately stayed away from the neighborhood, determined to move on. Determined not to care about any of them. Not purple or pink-haired ladies or Mary Ann or Nicolae. None of them mattered to her. Not a single one.
    But she was a woman of honor. She had unfinished business with Velda and Inez; she'd given her word, so she had no choice but to return. She told herself honor was her only reason, but it was a lie and weighed heavily on her heart.
    Destiny stared at the church doors. She had come back to this place, her one anchor, her last refuge, her sanctuary. Even in this holy place, something evil had followed her. She moved up the stairs cautiously, her footfalls silent, almost gliding above ground. She moved with all the stealth of a hunter. Destiny's hand was steady as she pushed open the doors to the church. At once she scented blood. The smell was nearly overpowering, a dark richness that beckoned and warned. She felt her heart accelerate and her pulse jump. The palms of her hands were sweaty as she widened the opening. Her stomach knotted, and hunger heightened into a terrible craving.
    She scanned the church, found no one hiding, but the reverberations of violence were strong. She lifted her foot and hesitated, trepidation filling her soul. "Father Mulligan?" She called out his name softly and resolutely stepped across the threshold.
    Nothing happened. Not a single lightning bolt slammed down from the sky to incinerate her for such a sacrilege. Her heart settled down to a steady rhythm as she gained confidence. She could see easily in the darkened interior. Several candles lit in a small alcove to her left were dim pinpoints of flickering lights.
    She spotted the priest lying on the floor near the altar. In his brown robes he looked like a dark heap of rags cast aside on the marble stair leading to the altar. Destiny knelt at his side. "Father—not you," she whispered. "Who would hurt you?"
    The priest remained motionless for several heartbeats. Destiny leaned close to him. She could hear his ragged breathing. He was alive, but she was afraid to touch him. He looked so fragile, she was afraid she might hurt him. And a part of her was afraid that if she touched such a holy man, she might be struck dead on the spot. The priest groaned, lifted his fingers to touch his bloody scalp. His lashes fluttered, and then he was looking at her.
    "Father? Who did this?" She inched back, automatically seeking the shadows.
    "Child, I'm afraid you're going to have to help me sit up. I'm quite dizzy." His Irish brogue was still thick despite many years in the States.
    "Touch you, Father?" She sounded horrified. "What if I hurt