Chapter Ten

Damien's corpse slumped in the hot tub style bathtub, his vampiress wife and murder still straddled him, convulsing in orgasm as she sucked the last drops of his blood from his neck. Scarlet spread through the steaming water.

Even now, the change transformed Damien. It would be an hour or more before his corpse awakened to undeath. The angel Aurora sighed in disgust as she watched from the Ether, the realm that lay between the Spiritual and the Material Realms. Damien was too good of a man for her intervention to change this fate.

Aurora hated the rules place upon her and her angelic brethren. For every intervention Heaven made, Hell was granted an equal nudge. Even now, some demon was exploiting Aurora's attempted seduction of Damien.

And it was all for naught. Our tool is on their side.

Aurora turned to Gideon. The lesser angel hovered near her, holding a ledger. Silver glasses rested on his serious face. They were an affectation. Angels could be clothed in any appearance, the only limitation was the sex they could choose. Aurora would always be female, Gideon male.

"What are the odds of success now?" Aurora asked.

There had been a small hope Damien would have detected his wife's transformation into a vampire and reacted in time to save his life. He had been a skilled Knight Venator, slaying dozens of vampires. If he had lived, his righteous vengeance would have led to the enemy's death.

"Almost zero without another intervention," Gideon answered. "Our projections do not end well for Damien."

"And there is a chance that, even turned, we can use him as our sword?" Aurora found that unlikely. Dark hungers would grow in him, erasing the good man.

"Yes," Gideon nodded. "It requires an intervention upon a vampire. It may not work at all, but it if does, the odds improve dramatically. Damien's motivations will be unchanged. He will act as our sword, desiring vengeance."

"And how shall we stop Damien once we are finished using him?"

"That is a problem for later," Gideon answered. "We have a chance to strike a major blow against the enemy. We cannot balk at the tools we have been given."

If only my intervention on Abigail had worked. The odds had been high. But the woman was too dedicated to the hunt to have been swayed. Aurora watched Abigail as she climbed out of the bath, dragging the corpse of her husband behind her.

"She is too much like her husband," Aurora said bitterly. "We lost two beautiful souls because we are bound by these rules!"

"Aurora," gasped Gideon. "You tread on dangerous grounds."

Aurora let go of her anger. "And what happened to Jezebel? Why isn't that harpy swarming around?"

"I do not know," Gideon answered as he studied his clipboard. "She doesn't seemed focused on Damien at all."

"Then why was she lurking around him in New Mexico?"

Jezebel had her arms wrapped around Father Augustine's neck as the distinguished, older priest drove the van through Colorado on his journey back to Chicago. The priest was Damien and Abigail's chaplain, their spiritual guidance and their connection back to the Jesuit Order that funded the pair of Hunters. He was tall and still strong as he entered his middle years, with wings of gray spreading from his temple through is dark hair.

And Jezebel had to corrupt him to protect a vampire.

Jezebel didn't question her orders. She was only glad Auroora wasn't lurking around to spoil all her fun. The demon's black wings lazily flapped as she whispered corrupting thoughts into Father Augustine's mind.

The priest was full of suppressed sin, unlike Damien. She loved it. His thoughts brimmed with the nubile women of his parish. He fantasized about their flesh while listening to their confessions, particularly their sexual ones. He burned to take their bodies and show them true, decadent sin.

She was in the Ether, only half-manifested. She had enough corporeal form so his subconscious could hear her words and his body could feel her touch as an excited tingle that kept his dick hard beneath his cassock.

Remember what that little slut Mary wore last Sunday, Jezebel whispered into the depths of his mind. She could see the image of the barely legal schoolgirl rise up in the priest's mind, wearing a skirt far too short for church. Mary was blonde, perky, and enticing. Imagine her bending over before you, her skirt slipping up, rising higher and higher. But where are her panties?