1955, Las Vegas, Nevada
Angeline swayed on her feet, twirling in circles as the lights of Sin City spun around her, her head thrown back in a giddy laugh. When she stopped, the lights kept spinning, turning into long, wispy snakes hissing and flying around her head. She made her own hissing sound back at the apparition and giggled as her fangs snicked back into her gums.
The woman now lying at her feet had been on mescaline and the trip had made it all the way to the vampiress. Her gaze was caught by a church, glittering in psychedelic glory in the distance. It rose out of the ground like a sign to Angeline, glowing and shaking and warping and moving, asking her to join the dance.
The drug expanded her awareness, and she felt there was nothing she couldn’t know. Her future mate was in that building. He was there, waiting for her to turn him and open his world to all the possibilities she held in her hands. She held the world in her hands. Or maybe that was the mescaline talking.
Angeline stumbled over the body in the alley, then righted herself, straightening her black, Victorian-style dress. Her manner of dressing occasionally drew stares in other cities, but she didn’t care. Here in Vegas, people assumed she was some type of performer and didn’t look twice. She could blend while keeping in use a wardrobe from her last favorite era.
She grabbed a sober man off the street and pulled him into the alley, drinking deeply of his blood to rid herself of the effects of her last victim. Then she made her way to the formerly glowing church that now stood austere in simple gray stone.
It had been centuries since she’d been inside a church. Would she burst into flames when she crossed the threshold? She imagined walking through the door and catching on fire to the shock and fright of all the assembled faithful. Of course she was being silly, she’d risen inside a church in the arms of her sire. She hadn’t combusted back then. As long as she didn’t touch any crosses or holy water, she’d be fine.
If I have any humanity left, I’ll be fine. She was well aware it was only her human side that could keep her safe, a side she’d spent the better part of the last several centuries suppressing.
She’d just reached the steps when the church clock began chiming out the midnight hour in ominous greeting. She jumped when the door swung open.
“Miss, are you here for the midnight service?”
A deep, graceful baritone. Angeline’s heart almost stopped. He was so damn beautiful. So tall—at least six foot five, and broad. He filled the entire double doorway with his presence. He was the one. She could feel it. Still she just stood there, unable to speak and partially afraid to go in.
He extended his hand to take hers. “I’m Father Hadrian. We’re just about to start. You’re welcome here.” His hands wrapped around hers were so warm.
The invitation took away the last of her fear of the place. Although vampires didn’t need invitations to get into human homes, a church felt more dangerous, as if the demon half of her could condemn her. Surely his invitation as well as her partial humanity would protect her. She glanced up at him through a fringe of lashes, overtaken with a sudden bit of shyness as she stepped inside the church.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t get shy around men. She moved to an empty pew and sat, her gaze moving back to him, tracking his every movement. She couldn’t help it, he was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. Hadrian. She rolled his name over in her mind. She was a great fan of etymology. Her name, of course, no longer fit—she was far from an angel. Hadrian meant dark one.
His looks matched. In addition to being tall and broad, he was swarthy, with dark hair and eyes black as coal. Everything in his image screamed danger, but the kindness he projected was warmth and light. The contrast fascinated her. She wanted to tease out the dark edges, to have a partner in crime, but she also wanted someone she could trust.
In its own way, the church was a welcome retreat—familiar. It was dark—almost sinister—illuminated only by candles. The ornate Our Lady of Guadalupe statue glowed in the candlelight, as did the crucifix over the altar. In the dark it looked like a scene from a horror film rather than a symbol of hope and forgiveness.
Angeline reached absently inside her bag, clutching the beads of the old rosary inside. She let out a sharp hiss as her hand accidentally brushed the cross, leaving a condemning burn in its wake. She quickly composed herself, looking around to see if anyone had noticed a visible change in her demeanor. Had her eyes glowed? Had her fangs popped out? If either of those things had happened, no one noticed before her human mask fell back into place.