“He is innocent,” Crichton says calmly. “Annoying, but ultimately without guilt. It is time to go home. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” Bryn admits. “I am.”
“Here.” Crichton pulls a flask from inside his jacket. “Brandy, sir. You will feel better.”
Bryn swipes the silver vessel from Crichton, throws his head back and drains the lot in several large gulps. He lets out a long groaning sigh as it hits his stomach. Then he slumps back down in a pew, one hand to his head.
“What’s wrong with him?” I whisper the question to Crichton.
“It’s a condition known as being gloom drunk.”
"What the hell does that mean?”
“These mists and vapors contain more than water droplets. They are brimming with energy. Some normal people can feel it, a certain frisson, an excitement, the welling of a predator inside them. For those like Bryn, it is as potent an intoxicant as wine or any other drug you might care to name.”
“So he’s wasted,” Jonah says.
Bryn rallies and lashes out with the dagger, only to be artfully disarmed by Crichton.
“He is somewhat inebriated, but only in the sense that he is much more dangerous than usual. I would advise you, in particular, young sir, to make yourself scarce. I will not be able to stop him if he continues to attack. Nothing can truly ever stand in the way of a demon slayer.”
“But I’m not a demon.”
“Well…” Crichton tips his head to the side. “That might well be considered a matter for interpretation.”
“Demon spawn,” Bryn growls.
“Let me take the spawn home, sir. I will return for you.” Crichton turns to me. “I will take Jonah back. I do not think transporting you all in the same vehicle would be safe. You will not come to any harm with the master.”
I wish I was as sure about that as Crichton is. Does he know what Bryn did to me in the dark hall? Does he know how I have already been desecrated by this alleged man of the cloth? What if Bryn decides that I am demon spawn too? I am afraid, but not so afraid I raise proper objection. I let Crichton leave me alone with this gloom-drunk priest. Wait. Maybe I should…
It’s too late. They’re already leaving.
The moment they are gone, Bryn leaps up and bars the chapel door from the inside with a thick plank of wood made to go through several iron keepers.
He turns to me, and I feel real fear. There is something unholy in his eyes, something unhinged, but not mad. There is intensity and desire and there is the promise of completion.
“What are you doing? What… I’ll scream!”
No sooner have I made the threat than he is upon me. He casts off his cassock and robes and lets them fall onto the crimson carpet along the aisle, standing before me in a tight dark t-shirt and black pants. His hair is ruffled from running around after Jonah and me, his jaw clenched with some intensity I do not entirely understand. His eyes are locked on me, and then his hands are on me too, gripping me by the hips, lifting me up and carrying me backwards.
He perches me on the edge of the altar at the very top of the dais below all the pretty stained-glass images of good saints, now conveniently dimmed by the external fog. Bryn falls to his knees before me and runs his hands up the length of my thighs, pushing my skirt up to my waist.
“Naughty girl,” he intones upon making a discovery no good man would ever have made. I am not wearing any underwear. My panties are hanging to dry in the bathroom, and here I am without any protection from this strange and powerful monster of a man.
I watch him carefully, the intensity of his expression telling me he has plans for me, plans I do not want to intervene in. I could tell him no if I wanted to, or I could try to push him away, but my curiosity and my need is just as great as his. I want to be ravaged and defiled. I want to feel him. I want it to be my turn to…
“You were late.”
“Hm?”
I didn’t expect him to say that. Not now.
“I told you not to be late. I warned you what would happen if you were. What did I tell you?”
I squirm as I feel his breath on my lower lips. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me. But I do know that it is going to hurt. And I know I’m going to love it.
“You told me you’d punish me… oh!”
He has kissed me between my legs, right against the soft red down of my pussy. It is a taste of things to come. I let my thighs part further and I curl my fingers in his thick, dark hair as he begins to worship me with hot tongue and agile lips, his mouth pleasuring my sex.