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But I see desire in him.

That’s what I’m good at.

Seeing desire and exploiting it.

He doesn’t want to give in to it because it scares him. That’s why, whenever our encounters sway towards something intimate, he panics. I see it in his eyes, torn apart between his lust and his need for control. It’s as if he can hurt me all he wants, but the moment he actually craves me, that’s when he thinks it’s a step too far.

It’s his weak spot and exactly what I need to manipulate to my advantage.

Seduce, destroy, escape.

Unfortunately for me, the priest takes his time to work on his magic. It’s hard to know what day it is here when there is no glimpse of the outside world. Minutes, hours, days? A good internal clock is necessary when you’re living in the deepest depths of the ocean, where sun and light can’t penetrate, but here, everything blends together. I only know time is ticking away by how dry my tail is getting and how parched I feel from the inside out, like no amount of water could ever quench me.

Priest comes and goes, ever so serious, always with that permanent line between his dark brows that arch over his eyes. Sometimes, he just throws a bucket of water at me, brimming with some simmering anger. Other times, he takes his time, soaking each inch of my tail with a wet cloth.

When he works this way, I can’t help but hold my breath and watch him. His touch is so methodical, thoughtful, even tender. I feel as if I’m getting a glimpse of his humanity, of the man beneath the monster. It’s in these moments that I want to ask him questions about who he was before. He had said he had another name he doesn’t remember, a previous life when he was a mortal man. I want to know more about him.

But I’ve learned that asking him questions works the same way as him asking me questions. It makes him clam up, so I keep my mouth shut and let him touch me. When I feel like putting part of my plan into action, I sink against his hands, or I might moan a little, as if I’m getting some perversion out of it.

He always stops after that, but I want to make sure I have that power over him.

I want him scared of me, feeling desire and lust for me.

Because, eventually, he will have to snap.

I know enough about holy men to know that they take vows, and I will do all I can to make him shred his vows to pieces.

It’s my only means of escape.

“Larimar?” I hear his rich voice ask in the darkness.

I raise my head and open my eyes to see the faint outline of his figure in the black. I didn’t even hear him come in.

He puts a jar down on the table and starts lighting candles, the flickering glow illuminating his face. Darkness pools beneath his heavy brows and slashes under his high cheekbones, making him look more dangerous and otherworldly than usual. His black clothes only add to the effect of a man comprised of shadows.

A man of the night.

It’s always night here.

He picks up the spikes that had been in the cross and comes over to me, sliding them into his pockets.

“In the event that something goes wrong tonight,” he says solemnly, “I’ll need to take as much blood as I can.”

I gulp. “Are you planning on something going wrong?”

He gives his head a small shake, but the hesitation in his eyes doesn’t inspire confidence. “Magic can be tricky. Sometimes, it uses you as much as you use it.” He pauses. “There’s a chance you could die in the process. Do you still want me to do this?”

My brows rise. “A chance I could die?” I repeat.

“I told you,” he says patiently, “I haven’t done a spell of this magnitude before. Certainly not since I turned. I can’t offer you any guarantees. Do you still want to proceed?”

I want him to talk about what turning means, but I suppose I’ll have to save that for after the spell.

If I survive.

I stare into the swirling ocean blue of his eyes, but I can’t see my future there. I know he doesn’t want me to die; if I do, he also loses. But in the end, my life isn’t much to him. He’ll consume my blood until I have none to give and move on.

I nod. I’ve come this far. I can’t give up now. I owe it to my sisters.