The nearer she got to the altar the more the padre grew curious. This man was ancient, replete with silver hair, black-rimmed glasses, and an impeccable garb. Those blue eyes shined with experience, and Clara guessed he knew how to read people.
While she was an expert at hiding her true intentions, he knew she was not here as a tourist, interested in a confession, or here to pray. Fuck, I’d be in there confessing for hours. How many Hail Mary’s would I have to do for fucking a vampire? So, what now?
Disclaimer: This excerpt from The Van Helsing Impetus is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. The image is sourced from Pexels.