The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

of Saint Joseph.”
    Katrina only looked more confused at his reply. He went on, clarifying.
    “The Feast of Saint Joseph is a holy day in the Church, held every year on the nineteenth of March. Many years ago, on this day, I met her. Catrine.”
    The way he said the name sent an uncomfortable shiver down Katrina’s spine, and she drew her wrap tighter around her shoulders to hide it.
    “Yes,” Kyle said, looking at her. “A name very similar -unnervingly similar - to your own.”
    Kyle reached for his glass and sat back, staring into the liquid as he gathered his thoughts. He contemplated where to begin, now that he’d decided to answer her.
    “I am not Catholic, but tonight I will use you as my confessor, if the queen of the Destrati will consent to hear my confession, that is,” he said. “They say confession lightens the soul, but as I no longer have one, I can only believe that it is so. Will you, Katrina, hear my confession?”
    Katrina consented with a slow nod, wide-eyed, thinking it strange that he would ask her such a thing. Many vampires held to strange traditions, and permission was a big deal to ethereals. Nikolai had gone over and over that with her, teaching her how to construct her phrases, and the power of different word combinations that, if changed slightly, lost their magic completely. The fact that Kyle asked her for anything was enough to earn her consent, especially if all he wanted from her was a good listener.
    Kyle smiled a little and continued, though he lowered his eyes again to study the liquid in his glass.
    “She was beautiful. Not so tall, dark-haired, with deep brown eyes. Not attractive by modern standards, but beautiful nonetheless. Pure. Pure in all ways, down to her immortal soul. It radiated from her: an innocence so gentle it was almost brutal in its kindness. And strength. Not physical strength, though as far as that went in those days, she had that, too, but strength of spirit. Even mortals could almost feel it as they walked by her, not knowing what it was but yearning to be touched by it.”
    It was painful to hear Kyle talk this way. Katrina could hear the emptiness, the loneliness, the longing. The memory. But something told her he was far from finished, and she sat in rapt attention, listening to his melodic, hypnotic voice as he spoke. Truly, it was confessional.
    “I had been sent to murder her.”
    Katrina gasped. Kyle could hear her thoughts. She was screaming with denial inside. Though she had been exposed to this new and violent world for nearly a year now, where such brutality was trivial and commonplace, it still shocked her to hear Kyle speak of taking a life so casually.
    He continued, “But when I saw her, I could not fulfil my mission. I was struck by everything about her, and instead, I offered to walk her home, as her arms were laden with her morning shopping.”
    “Who sent you to kill her?” Katrina was pale.
    “My father.”
    “Who is your father?”
    “You need only repeat my true name and hear it for what it is to answer that, my lady,” Kyle said quietly, meeting her eyes. “Speak it, and hear.”
    “Kailkiril’ron,” Katrina obeyed, speaking the difficult Ancient name.
    Ancient. But it was unlike any name of any Ancient she’d come across, and she’d been studying in earnest, trying to learn as much as she could about the new world she had become a part of when she took Nikolai as her husband.
    “No, it’s not the name of an Ancient,” Kyle confirmed her thoughts. His pale eyes challenged hers. “Now, what am I called? Speak the whole of it.”
    “Kailkiril’ron the Be—,” Katrina began. The word caught in her throat, but she swallowed and forced it out. “Betrayer.”
    Kyle nodded. He held Katrina’s eyes and waited for the meaning to clarify itself to her.
    It didn’t take long. Kyle watched the realization cross her face and forced himself to endure it. He’d asked her to hear his confession, and he would endure the penance. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been exiled before.
    Katrina rose from her chair and backed away instinctively. “You’re a demon!”
    “Former, please,” Kyle said calmly, gesturing for her to sit down again in the chair she’d left. “Neither, thankfully, am I a true ‘vampire’. I’m not like your Nikolai or any other Destrati, or any other in any clan. I did not choose this existence. I am a true lost soul. A consciousness in mortal form that must live off the blood of those I