You can never outrun yourself, Mathias, now, can you? And even if you could, the Father would see your pathetic efforts. He looks deep into your soul and witnesses the wretched darkness within.

He knows of your sins.

The chapel bells tolled, their deep dulcet tones reverberating in his brain, echoing in his heart. They should have uplifted him, but their deep resonance only served to remind him of how much he’d lost, how much he’d so willingly, almost eagerly, cast away.

Swallowing hard, Father Mathias made the sign of the cross over his vestments yet again as he strode through the wet grass. He would go to his apartment, drink a little brandy, and try to come up with a plan, an escape.

Coward! You can never break free. You are condemned to hell by your own hand. You are Judas.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement, the slightest shiver of the shrubbery flanking the galilee, the porch at the west end of the church.

Father Mathias felt his heart shudder. He told himself not to be so frightened, the movement was probably caused by a cat out on a nightly hunt, or an opossum hiding beneath the branches or…Oh, God.

He froze.

A dark figure rose from its crouching position beneath the narrow tracery windows. “Father Mathias,” it whispered hoarsely as it drew near.

Mathias was struck by fear as dark as Lucifer’s soul.

“What is it, my son?”

The being, for that’s how he thought of it, was large, a man in a costume, or something otherworldly? Male? Or an Amazon woman? Or sexless? Its features were hidden in the dark recesses of a thick cowl, its eyes seeming to glow bloodred.

Mathias trembled, cold as death.

White teeth flashed in the darkness. Lips dark, as if stained with blood, warned, “Do not betray us. I see it in your eyes, feel it in your expression, smell the fear within you.” The lips curled as if in disgust and for a millisecond he imagined he saw fangs within that shadowy evil countenance. “If there is a whisper of treason, the barest breath of your disloyalty, you will be blamed. And, I assure you, you will be punished.”

Before Mathias could raise his arms to hold his crucifix in the demon’s face, it lunged, grabbing hold of his wrist in a painful grip. Hot breath scorched his skin.

“No!” he cried.

Too late.

Cloth ripped.

Lips curled back.

Fangs clamped down hard.

“Aaaah!”

Pain screamed through his arm as the fiend’s teeth sliced into his flesh. “God in heaven no!” Mathias cried, horror tearing through his body.

The demon wrenched on his wrist and he screamed out again. “Please, don’t!”

“Shhh!” The creature raised its dark head and blood—the priest’s blood—dripped from its horrid lips. “Be gone,” it hissed, spraying Mathias with his own lifeblood, a forked tongue visible through those blood-smeared incisors.