The Dear Ol' Lord

Serbia, the world without shrimp 1824

The neck of nuns are so tender, like virgins but sweeter. For they believe. When Angelus looked into their eyes he could see the fear, hear them praying for their God to save them from the devilish creature. He had one by the throat, his fangs bared, smiling into her face as she held her rosary to her lips. "Bless me Father, save me-" she was murmuring in Serbian. But it only made him smile more. Her habit trailed around her knees, it was stained with the blood of her Sister nuns she'd tried to save from the soulless savage. He'd caught her bent over someone, making the sign of the cross over her chest. When he grabbed her, the cross on her rosary had burned him. She pushed it into his cheek, the flesh smoking. He bared his teeth, switching faces from angelic to devilish. The nun whimpered, calling out to Satan to take his spawn away from her. But Angelus didn't understand what she was saying. He only knew he wanted her.

"You can keep calling out for your father but he ain't comin'," Angelus said, licking his teeth. He knew she was calling for God, even if He couldn't help her. He let her whisper through her last breath and delved into her neck, lifting the wimple so as not to get it stuck in his teeth. She squealed until the rosary dropped from her hands. He could feel her heartbeat slowing with his fangs, but he kept feeding until the thumping had gone. Until her heart lay cold in her chest. She tasted like a fruit and honey, her blood thick enough to coat his tongue in a film. He dropped her body to the floor and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As he stepped forward, the rosary beads crushed under his foot.

As he looked about for Darla, his eyes sparkled with the view of the Sisters wailing on the stone floor. Some of them were knelt down and praying, some were already dead, their bodies scattered around like dogs, laying in their own blood. It was a beautiful chaos, nuns were something special. "Darla?!" He called excitedly, finding her perched on the altar, watching him slaughter. She wasn't as keen on the whole 'oh forgive me, Father save me' thing as Angelus was. She'd renounced God in life and they were the epitome of hypercritical, they proved there was no afterlife waiting, they were vampires for- well, you get the gist.

But because he was getting his kicks and destroying God's servants whilst he was at it, Darla didn't mind so much. "Having fun darling?" She asked, her voice as high as the nuns claimed their God was.

She had her legs crossed and her back arched and a smile on her face that Angelus wanted to wipe off. He strode towards her and wrapped her legs around his waist, "they're like virgins. Sweeter than wine." He said, looking down at her corseted bosom and kissing her chest. She let him caress her, crashing his lips into hers as she lay back on the altar. She laughed at defacing God's monument. He loomed over her, leaning down and nipping her skin. He carved into her neck, bruising her as he lifted the hem of her skirts. She giggled and relished in the simultaneous pain and pleasure. She liked it like this, when he was happy about something, when the blood was being shed without respite. The remaining women were gathering in a corner, huddled together. Many of them shielding their eyes from what was happening, how the holy Father was being disgraced right in front of them. The blood of the others in odd puddles on the stone. Most thought it was a nightmare come true, and wished for a miracle to save them.

"Are you happy now, Angelus?" She asked chirpily, kissing the skin behind his ear as his hands made their way into her underskirt. He felt through the folds of fabric until he found her flesh. He held up her thigh, supporting her weight.

"Happy now I'm with you," he said flippantly, his voice hoarse with want. His fingers found their way to her and he stroked liberally until her head tipped back against the wood. Her own hands fiddled with the buttons of his breaches and loosened them, letting them fall to his ankles. The lust inside of him rose with sordid thoughts. Darla for one, eating out of the palm of his hand as they defiled the will of the covenant. Then there was the Sisters, fallen to their knees because their faith was failing them. It was a beautiful marvel. He just had to Christen it. "Darla?" He said, "let me in."

"With pleasure, my love." She replied, submitting to him and his will. How she liked it when it took charge. Tonight he was outdoing himself, she was thinking as she spread her legs. He pushed forward, her head hitting the altar top with each thrust. "Take me away from here," she said. And he did, pushing her over into a spine-tingling, disorientating climax that overwhelmed her. He kept going for just a bit longer, the crying screams from the nuns echoing around the convent.

As the vampire pair walked away from the stone building, a fresh coat of blood on Angelus' lips, the burn on his cheek still sinking into his flesh. It would be there for weeks, staring Darla in the face when they fused their loins. A reminder of Angelus recklessness around convents. There was something about the way the nuns prayed as he killed them. He liked to see them beg. It was so distinctly human to try and stop the inevitable. He wasn't interested in a world full of demons, he liked playing with the weak. Darla followed him, a trail of bodies after that. Every woman was slaughtered bar one, she was hiding in the confession box, never found in the carnage. She died of fright, opening the box in the morning to find her Sisters dead.