Page 24 of Of Faith and Fangs

“That’s bad theology.” I snorted.

“For humans, yes. But so far as I’m aware, our theology has no redemption for your kind. Not that’s been written, anyway. There is reason to believe it’s possible.”

“To be saved?” I could barely get out the question.

“Through the successful fulfillment of a divine mission. You must embrace your new nature like Christ embraced the villainous cross. What men meant to use to extinguish all hope must become that which delivers life, which saves the world.”

“You want me to save the world? I’m not God. I can’t do that.”

“But you can help. You can eliminate those evil ones who share your nature, but lack your spirit, your faith.”

I snorted. I wasn’t even sure what to make of that. What good was my faith if I couldn’t so much as pray without it feeling like a herd of elephants was trampling my skull?

“Do not worry,” Silas said, standing and adjusting his cuffs. “You were made for a purpose. You will get your revenge, Nightwalker. You will earn your redemption and save us all.”

Nightwalker. The name fell like a stone into the hollow where my soul had been. It wasn’t Alice. It wasn’t even a person. It was a thing, a creature, a weapon.

“I’ll never serve you,” I whispered. But what choice did I have? Where else could I go? Who else would take in the monster I’d become?

Silas smiled for the first time, a thin, cold curving of lips. “You already do, Miss Bladewell. You already do.”

He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading as he left me alone with my hunger, my pain, and the terrible emptiness where my soul had been.

Chapter 11

Hunger clawed at my insides like a rabid beast, tearing through where my soul used to be. The restraints bit into my flesh—all but the one at my right wrist that I’d snapped in my frenzy. I felt hollow, a walking tomb with nothing inside but echoes of the girl I once was and the monster I’d become. The room’s darkness didn’t bother my new eyes; I could see every crack in the stone ceiling, every water stain on the walls, all with perfect clarity. What good was such sight when all it showed me was the prison of my damnation?

I wasn’t sure how long Silas had been gone. Minutes? Hours? Time stretched and contracted like taffy in my new perception. The only constant was the burning in my throat. I tried not to think about blood, but my mind betrayed me, conjuring images of pulsing veins and warm, wet life flowing just beneath fragile skin.

So much for visions of gumdrops and sugarplums dancing in my head. Those days were long gone. Now I had visions of gaping wounds and recreational dismemberment.

My father’s face swam before me, and the memory of what Silas had told me—Mercy, killing him on our doorstep—sent a spasm of grief through my body. I tried to weep, but no tears would come. Even that small mercy was denied me now.

“Daddy,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’m so sorry.”

I tried to remember the scripture he’d taught me, seeking comfort in familiar verses, but the moment the holy words formed in my mind, pain shot through my skull. It was as if my very brain rejected what had once been my foundation. I was cut off—from tears, from prayer, from God Himself.

The door opened with a sound that would have been subtle to human ears but crashed like thunder against my heightened senses. Silas entered, carrying a small wooden case and wearing an expression of careful neutrality. The scent of his blood—sharp, metallic, alive—hit me with the force of a freight train. My remaining restraints creaked as I involuntarily strained against them.

“Control yourself, Miss Bladewell,” he said calmly, though I noticed he kept his distance. “That’s your first lesson.”

I forced myself to stop struggling, though every muscle in my body screamed to lunge for his throat. “I can’t,” I rasped. “It hurts.”

Silas nodded, setting the case on a small table just out of my reach. “The hunger is always worst at first. It will become manageable with time and practice.” He opened the case, revealing several glass vials filled with dark liquid. “We have methods.”

The smell hit me immediately—blood. My body responded with a violence that shocked me; my back arched, my free hand clawed at the air, and something between a growl and a moan escaped my lips.

“This is from faithful donors,” Silas explained, selecting one vial. “Members of the Order who understand the necessity of your... condition.” He held it up to the dim light, examining the contents. “You must consume it quickly. If you don’t drink it soon after it’s shed, it’ll lack all nourishment.”

He approached cautiously, the vial extended before him. With his other hand, he produced a small wooden stake, its tip gleaming with silver. “A precaution,” he said, noting my gaze. “Not a threat—unless you make it one.”

I struggled to focus on his words, my attention fixed on the vial of blood. “Why are you helping me?” I managed. “I’m a monster now. Why not just kill me?”

“Because monsters can be useful, Miss Bladewell.” He unscrewed the vial’s cap, and the scent intensified. “Especially those who have your faith. I realize it might not be easy to believe—but you may still serve the Lord as you are. Now, drink.”

He held the vial to my lips. I turned away, a last desperate attempt to cling to whatever humanity I had left. “I can’t. It’s wrong.”

“Is it?” Silas’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Think of it as medicine. Would you refuse medicine for consumption? For cholera? This is no different.”

---