Page 1 of Bane of Hate and Silver (Primordial Inheritance #1)

Tap tap tap.

The parish was located down the hill from the small country church. The crumbling building of brick and stone was a sacred place where the aging priest held mass and took confession. The holy man was determined to atone for the demons he knew roamed the earth, one Hail Mary at a time.

Tap tap.

Even though it was the middle of the night, the aging clergyman shuffled to the door. One of his parishioners could need his guidance. His candle flickered as he walked, shifting in the stale air around him.

“Yes?” he asked as he pulled the door open.

“May I come inside, Father Laurence?” The voice was vaguely familiar, but the priest couldn’t quite place it. Like it was from a dream that his mind couldn’t hold onto in the waking hours. The figure was cloaked and stood in the darkened doorway, his face hidden in shadow and wool.

“Yes, yes. Of course.” The old man shifted aside, unknowingly granting access to a demon, like the ones who plagued his nightmares.

The visitor almost glided into the small human home. Father Laurence saw a flash of pale white skin. The demon pulled the hood from his shock of red hair and spoke as the door was shut behind him. “You’re looking quite rough, old friend.” The visitor turned to face the priest.

He grabbed his chest, clutching it through, what he assumed was a hallucination sent by the devil. “Nicholas. It’s not possible.”

“Although highly improbable, I assure you the possibility is proven with my existence in your…” he sucked his teeth, “home.”

“B... but you’re dead,” Father Laurence stuttered.

“Yes,” the one called Nicholas replied. “For decades now.” His shrug of nonchalance was followed by a too graceful plop into the priest’s rickety kitchen chair.

With a shaking frame, the priest rushed to the cupboard he kept near the door. Inside were relics of his faith that he hoped could save him from this hellish ghost.

“Down to the depths of hell, creature of darkness!” The priest cried, thrusting an ornate cross in front of the visitor’s face.

The patronizing chuckle that burst from the demon almost reminded him of the boys they had been together.

“I cast you out, demon!” He emptied a bottle full of holy water on the monster, splattering him across the face.

“Now that was just rude.” The visitor wiped his face with the back of his shirt's sleeve.

“You should be dead,” the priest’s voice wobbled along with his ability to remain standing.

“I think we already established, old friend, I am dead.”

The priest’s mind struggled, as if struck down with unbelief and fear, “You died and she…she’s dead…”

“She’s not supposed to be.” The visitor moved with an incomprehensible speed.

Before Father Laurence could even shriek in terror the demon’s hand gripped his throat, shoving the old man into the wall.

“You were supposed to protect her.” The creature said through the fangs that slid from their sheaths inside his mouth.

“But you didn’t. You let her die in that fire with no one to save her. ”

“Nicholas…” the priest grunted out. “She…” he choked.

“And now, there’s no one to save you.”

The priest would have screamed if he’d had the airflow to do so. The vampire buried his fangs deep into the old man’s carotid artery.

The moment Nicholas’s fangs pierced Laurence’s skin the memories invaded his mind. Monotonous amounts of penance. Nicholas rolled his eyes while he drank. Self-righteous prick, even in his own mind. Laurence’s memories gave themselves over to the vampire draining his life force.

Flashes of memory began to reveal the priest’s darkest secrets.

The evidence that he had spent his life coercing widows and manipulating altar boys to serve his own perverse, sexual pleasures.

This pestilence to society had already marked himself for death through his own misdeeds.

Upon his arrival, Nicholas had determined this man’s fate for not doing his sworn duty and protecting her .

His death was originally desired to satiate Nicholas's need for revenge, but now he claimed the life in vengeance for all those abused by this holy man.

Nicholas tugged at the memories, digging deeper. Doing so could tip a human into madness. But that was no matter, Laurence wouldn’t live to see ten minutes from now, let alone tomorrow.

He saw them as boys, with her trailing behind them.

Her smile matched his in every way as he ran from her.

He saw her grieve over his death and almost pulled back, but wouldn’t stop now.

He saw a moment of love and then right as the heartbeats slowed, near the end of its ability to fight, Nicholas saw what he had not been searching for.

A strong and fearful feeling of hatred as Laurence looked upon one who was supposed to have died.

He had looked upon her living dead, immortal face with disdain.

Nicholas retracted his fangs and let the body hit the worn wooden floorboards. That couldn’t be right. The proof was overwhelming. She was dead. He must have seen the old monster’s nightmares. Nicholas didn’t look back as he walked out the door and into the night.