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The priest was dead.
Jack slammed his hand against the steering wheel and stomped the gas pedal to the floor, though it only made the jeep sputter and misfire instead of speeding up.
Adam was dead.
Funny how he could think of him as Adam now that he was gone instead of just the priest. His priest. Padre.
If Adam were alive, he'd probably have something smart-assed to say about that.
"Fuck!" He slammed the steering wheel again, pain flaring in his hand.
A possible cure, Cardinal Lamia had said. Think of how many lives, how many souls, you could save, he'd said.
This wasn't Lamia's fault. He'd been thrust into the job after Adam sent Alba to hell. He was enthusiastic. Idealistic. God damn naive. He wanted to save souls.
Jack still hated him a little for ever mentioning the supposed cure for vampirism they'd gone after. Mostly because it got the padre excited too.
"So many souls, Jack. Think of it!" he'd said after the meeting where the cure was first mentioned.
It wasn't that Jack wouldn't have loved some god damn elixir or chant or fucking nasal spray that could reverse the vampire's curse after someone was bitten. But loving the idea and buying it were two different things.
Get too idealistic in Jack's job, too hyped up over anything but saving your own ass, and it was a good way to get dead.
Like the padre.
Thinking of Lamia and his fucking cure caused a flicker of hope to burn deep inside Jack. Deep down, where he hid all the things not strong enough to survive the cold light of day. That pathetic hope flickered and tried to burn brighter.
But there was no chance the master hadn't killed Adam already. He'd taken him, what, three hours ago now? Four? And if he hadn't killed him outright, he'd at least bitten him.
As good as dead.
Jack sped toward the nest, the one he and Adam had cleaned out before the sun went down. Another nest with a missing master, like Valek's, and they'd let their guard down too much, too fast afterward. They should have known better.
Jack should have fucking known better.
They'd cleaned it out, and it seemed like they were so close to the supposed cure that had been their focus for the last six months. The clues they'd followed were starting to add up.
The padre kept saying they were so close, he could almost taste it. And Jack had liked seeing that hope in his eyes. He let himself rest there too often. Took too much pride in it.
He'd gotten cocky, he'd gotten too comfortable, too relaxed, and he'd gotten Adam killed.
All he had left was hope, the only one he was willing to pull from the darkest places inside him, that it had been quick and merciful. That Adam hadn't hated him in the end. Though Jack wouldn't blame him if he did.
And he had one other thing: finding and killing the master. He had, as his sole driving force in that moment, the thought of how much he was going to make that mother fucker suffer before he dispatched him to hell.
Then he'd burn through the rest of the vampire holdouts like a line of lit gasoline until he couldn't take another step from exhaustion. He'd rest, then he'd do it again. And every time, he'd see that shocked, frightened expression on Adam's face before the master had tightened his grip and lifted him into the night sky.
No amount of crispy vampire corpses would be enough to burn that image out of his mind.
After he'd set fire to every last inch of the fucking underworld, set every vampire alight and pissed on their smoking ashes, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He only knew that it wouldn't much matter, and he couldn't really give a fuck.
Jack didn't try to be quiet as he entered the nest. Little point. The fucker surely expected him, so he kicked in the front door of the abandoned warehouse. A door they'd left open when they'd finished with the place earlier.
He stomped over it when, instead of swinging wide, it fell off its hinges and clattered to the concrete floor.
"I hope I'm interrupting your beauty sleep, you ugly mother fucker," he growled. If he'd known the master's name, he'd have screamed it.
He remembered where most of the goons had been sleeping when he and Adam raided the place a handful of hours ago, so he headed through that door into a large room that must have been an area for packing and shipping years ago, later turned into a drug den, and then a home for unholy fuckers to sleep without fear of the sun.
Someone screamed.
The second set of swinging doors had windows on top, so Jack peered through to see a lantern illuminating much of the room.
Every muscle in his body tensed. His breath caught, and his stomach threatened to empty itself.
The padre was alive.
The hulking form of the master stood in front of him with his hands pressed against the padre's to hold them against the wall. The vampire's head tilted, his mouth against the padre's throat.
Drinking.
When he was finished, he stepped back. The padre's head dropped, his arms staying straight out against the wall in a mockery of the crucifixion. His shirt was torn open, dark blood streaking his pale skin to his waist. Darker spots on the padre's chest and stomach showed that Jack hadn't witnessed the first time he'd been bitten.
So it went down the worst way possible, just as Jack had feared. The padre had suffered. He was dead no matter what. And Jack would be the one who had to kill him.
Twin streaks ran down the wall beneath his hands. Jack squinted through the dirty glass and finally pushed the door open for a better view, fury burning out the last whispers of any self-preservation he had left.
The master hadn't erected a wooden cross, or tied the padre's hands into place. He'd driven nails through his palms, pinning him to the wall.
"Jack," the master crooned. "Faster than I expected." He grabbed a handful of the padre's hair and jerked his head up. His nose and mouth were bloody. The whites of his eyes shone bright against the darkness of the rest of his face.
"Come to get your priest, I presume." The vampire puckered his bloody lips in an exaggerated pout. "Too late."
The padre's gaze locked with Jack's. "Save yourself, Jack," he rasped.
Jack grimaced and shook his head. "Shut the fuck up."
"You should listen to him," the master said. When the vampire put his hand on Adam's stomach, Jack started toward them, raising his crossbow.
The bastard licked his lips and grunted, guttural and wet. "Once he turns, your delicious priest will make a fine pet. My master will enjoy such a gift. "
My master? "Get your fucking hands off him." Jack raised the crossbow.
"He'll be hungry soon," the master said, his wet, red teeth shining in his growing smile. "You'll be his first."
The bastard caught the bolt Jack fired with one hand and tossed it aside with a laugh. Then he launched into the air, barreling toward Jack like the ugliest fucking bird he'd ever seen. He threw the crossbow at the master's face and ran toward him, pulling a stake from his belt as he jumped to meet the fucker in the air.
"Jack, no!"
Jack caught a glimpse of the padre, his legs moving like he was in a marching band. He didn't have a chance to say anything back.
He stabbed the master with the stake, none of the wounds in the right place, then the stake wasn't in his hand anymore. The master had his wrist in an iron grip, his other hand around Jack's throat. If his windpipe held out instead of collapsing under the pressure, he figured he had maybe eight to ten seconds before he passed out.
The padre screamed something, a jumble of Latin words Jack vaguely recognized. The master cried out in pain, his grip loosening on Jack's neck and wrist just long enough for him to shove the hand off his neck, suck in a breath of precious air, and grab another stake from his belt. He didn't have room for the momentum needed to drive it into his chest, so Jack settled for the bastard's eye. When the master grabbed the stake, screaming in pain, Jack grabbed his last stake and threw himself at the fucker.
The master's backhand sent him flying through the air. His head slammed into a support beam, and the stake that should have been a killing blow clattered across the concrete floor. Jack squinted, saw two stakes, and rolled toward the closest, hoping it wasn't the false double.
Before he reached it, the master threw him onto his back and straddled his hips, slamming his hands down against the floor. His one eye stared down with hatred, his lips pulled back to show his sharp, bloody teeth.
The padre screamed the Latin incantation again, but the master only flinched.
"My eye will heal. You won't." The master's putrid breath washed over Jack's face as he laughed. Then he dipped his head to growl into Jack's ear. "He's going to be my eternal plaything, Jack. And every time I drain him, every time I hurt him in unspeakable ways, I'm going to remind him that he's suffering because you failed him."
Jack couldn't budge the body on top of him, so he did the only thing left. He growled back and bit into the master's ear. He tore the cold, bloodless flesh from his ugly fucking head and spat it into the air.
The master shouted in surprise, then laughed. "Oh. You will die slow—"
The master spun at the sound behind him, in time for the padre to swing a shovel at his head, hard enough that it nearly knocked him over. He lunged for the padre, leaving Jack free to scramble across the floor for the stake he'd dropped.
Thank fuck he thought when he reached for one of the stakes and his fingers found wood.
The master held the padre up by his throat, laughing as his captive clawed at the hand choking him while he kicked his legs like a pinned bug.
The fucker turned as Jack ran up behind him, but not fast enough. Jack drove the stake home a second before one clawed hand caught the side of his head.
Jack
Adam was dead, and it was his fault. The master's words kept running through his mind, like he was in a car, speeding toward Jack and passing him, the words getting louder and softer, but never gone so far away he could no longer hear them.
every time I drain him, every time I hurt him in unspeakable ways, I'm going to remind him that he's suffering because you failed him
Jack couldn't even fight him. He couldn't see the vampire or his pretty little priest, couldn't get his bearings in the complete void that was only filled with voices that whispered threats. That whispered his name.
"Jack."
He tried to see the padre, but the dark was so pure and endless his head spun. He didn't know whether he was up, down, or sideways, and the uncertainty was turning his stomach.
"Jack!"
Jack's shoulders hit the floor, grounding him. He snapped his eyes open to see the padre above him, shaking him. The back of his head impacted the concrete again. Not too hard, but it already hurt.
"Fuck," he said, getting his hand beneath it in case the padre rattled him again.
"Oh, thank God. Thank God." The padre collapsed into a sitting position next to Jack's hip. He looked the same as he had against the wall: shirt open, blood everywhere, his hands—
Jack grabbed one of his hands and lifted it so he could see it without sitting up. The wound had probably been a simple puncture before. But whatever the fucker had used, probably a nail, must have had a large head.
The padre had torn that through his hands to free himself from the wall and save Jack.
He turned his bloodied hand in Jack's to press their palms together and gently pulled to help Jack to sit up. When Jack groaned, his hand still cupping the back of his head, the padre covered Jack's hand with his.
"Concussion?" he asked, like he was some kind of fucking doctor.
"I've been hit harder," Jack said.
"Can you stand up?" the padre asked, getting a foot beneath him to stand, still holding onto Jack.
Jack let him help him up, and when he swayed on his feet, the padre's hands steadied him.
"You shouldn't have come before daylight," he finally said, his eyes wide and wet. "You could have gotten yourself killed."
"You think?" Jack said with a snort.
The padre's lip twitched, and he looked like he couldn't decide between laughing and crying. That was as bad as watching the master bite into him.
Jack put a hand on his cheek. "Sometimes, you're such a stupid son of a bitch."
The padre's breath burst out then, a sob as much as a laugh, so Jack grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in tight. He wrapped his arms around him and held on, his gaze resting on the wall with its smears of blood, the padre's blood, while he let himself be hugged tighter than anyone had hugged him in years.
Jack turned his head, his lips pressing against the side of the padre's neck. If he was ever going to do that, like he'd thought of doing so often, now was his chance. His last one.
The arms around him tightened, the lean body pressing harder against him, but then the padre let go and stumbled backward. Jack wanted to do whatever he could to take that desperate, terrified expression off his face. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that might fucking be.
He rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the sharp throb in his temples. "Hungry for blood yet?"
Adam cleared his throat. "Not . . . yet."
You will be hung unspoken in the air.
Adam dropped to his knees, and the way he tried not to cry actually pissed Jack off. Now was the perfect time to cry, if ever there was one. But he couldn't bring himself to say that.
What he did manage to say was, "Not here, Padre. Not in this shithole. You deserve better than this." He took a step toward him, holding out his hand. "Let's get to a motel, get you cleaned up. You can make whatever peace you need to make, have the choice—"
"Jack! I can't . . . I can't become this. I've made my peace, I just want to . . . before it happens."
"You've got time, Padre."
Jack watched him scan the floor until he saw a stake, then he picked it up and shoved it into Jack's hand. "Please," he said, nearly crying, finally. "If I do it . . ."
He couldn't do it. Suicide and Catholics didn't mix, not even in those kinds of extreme circumstances. Though he doubted if any God would truly condemn someone like Adam Guiteau who'd done everything in his service and met a horrific end because of it.
"Jack, I want you to know—"
"No."
"Let me say what I want to—"
"Shut up, Padre."
"Jack! For God's sake, I'm trying to tell you how I—"
Jack swung the stake, sideways in his hand, to hit him in the side of the head. His knees buckled, but Jack caught him before he hit the floor.
He groaned and threw the padre over his shoulder to carry him out to the Jeep. "I really didn't want to have to carry your ass deadweight," he growled as he lay the priest in the back.
Jack looked at the padre's peaceful face and stroked his cheek. Then he examined the wounds in his hands again, and mentally cataloged the first aid supplies they had on hand. It'd be enough. His hands would start to heal on their own faster than any amount of peroxide and antibiotic ointment could bring about. But he'd use them anyway. It was the right thing, the human thing, to do.
Jack sped away from the warehouse toward a motel, where he'd make the padre see sense. The master had been about to present the padre to his master as a gift. That was a first for Jack, and a golden opportunity to find that master and end him.
With the master's blood in the padre's body, he might be able to take them directly to the bastard.
What happened after that, Jack didn't know. He thought of his father attacking his mother. Attacking him. And still couldn't make himself imagine the padre, mad with bloodlust, going for his throat.
He'd told himself the priest was dead, braced himself for it, but Jack still couldn't truly make himself believe it.
Jack stood, his arms crossed, waiting for the padre to stop shouting. He lay on the bed, face down, hands tied behind his back. And whatever he was doing with his tongue had almost dislodged the duct tape over his mouth.
Neat trick, Padre. Have to teach me that sometime.
"Would you please shut the fuck up for a minute and let me explain?"
The padre's nostrils flared above the tape. Jack wasn't sure, but it sounded like he said get this off me.
"Don't scream when I do. The last thing you want here is cops. You end up turning inside a hospital or a jail, you're going to take a lot of people with you."
He nodded, inhaling sharply, so Jack tore the tape off.
"Untie me right now."
"It's cute how you think you can boss me around, Padre. Really fucking adorable."
"Jack . . ." The next sound that came out of him was damn near a sob. Jack was tempted to put the tape back on and take a walk just to get away from him. Clear his head. Keep his head.
"Before you say a bunch of shit I already know you're going to say, think about it. We killed the master before you turned. That might be enough."
"Might?"
"It's a theory." Jack didn't think it was true, but he was telling the truth. It was a theory. "There's an outside chance you'll be fine."
"There isn't. I can feel it, Jack. I can already feel it."
Jack sighed and put a hand on the padre's shoulder. "Maybe you're in shock. Maybe—"
"No! It's in me."
Damn it. He could see the truth of it in the padre's eyes. He nodded.
"You have to kill me. Before I turn."
"You think I don't know that? But listen, Padre. We used the hooker to find Valek."
"Katrina," he said in a scolding tone.
"What the fuck ever. We used her to find Valek. So we can find the master of the bastard who bit you the same way. Take down another master and his nest. One last hurrah, what do you say?"
"No," he said, gagging as if the very thought was going to make him lose his lunch. "No, I can't."
"You can. You crave blood yet?'
"No!"
"Then you can be in control enough to do this." He put his hand on the back of the padre's head. "Help me find him. We'll take him out, you and me. Old time's sake and all that bullshit. Besides, we've been chasing a cure for this across hell's half-acre for months. You can't check out right before we find it. What a fucking waste."
The padre scoffed, frowning at him. "You don't even believe it's real."
"You do. Good enough for me."
His nostrils flared again. "Do I have a choice?"
No. No, you don't. "I'm suggesting that it's the best thing to do, Padre. And you know I'm right."
When Jack untied him, he sat on the bed looking at his bandaged hands in a sort of shock. Jack's hand went to the back of his neck again as he stood next to him. "You did good. Saved my ass."
The padre looked up at him and didn't quite nod. But the darkness beneath his eyes seemed to fade a little. "Again," he pointed out.
Jack smiled and kneaded his neck, uncomfortable with how relieved he was that the padre wasn't going to keep fighting him. "Again. Smart ass."
They headed out in search of the master, with the padre unsure of most of the breadcrumbs they followed. He was like a bloodhound with a head cold. It was going to take more time than he had for him to figure out how to use his new senses.
The hooker had been a lot better at it. Maybe it was a woman thing, some kind of feminine intuition, being in touch with her feelings. Jack didn't know. Or maybe this master didn't have some grand plan like Valek. Maybe he was just some rogue dumbfuck bloodsucker they could outwit without too much trouble.
Every time the padre closed his eyes and leaned his head back, Jack's muscles tensed like he might go for Jack's throat or throw himself out onto the road to avoid doing that. But each time, the padre would take a deep breath, open his eyes, and give Jack a near-smile to reassure him that he wasn't done for yet.
They kept going even after the sun came up. Through the afternoon. They were still going when it was the middle of the night, the hours going by far too fast for Jack. The sun was going to come up again soon, and Jack's eyes felt like he'd rubbed dirt into them.
The padre hadn't eaten the drive-thru burgers and fries Jack had bought hours earlier. He'd gone quiet and still except for occasional shudders he tried to hide.
The master should have been nearby, since the one who caused all this mess had planned to hand him Father Adam Guiteau on a bloody fucking platter. As a gift. Jack's teeth ground together. They should at least have an idea of which direction was the right one instead of just chasing their tails.
They weren't going to find him. At least not while the padre was still mostly human.
Jack pulled into a motel that had clearly been abandoned for at least a couple of years. He didn't need anybody around to see or hear anything. Nobody else needed to get hurt or be put at risk.
"What are you doing?"
Jack turned off the Jeep. "We need to rest."
"Rest? Jack, I'm running out of time."
"And I don't think we're any closer to this bastard than we were last night. So we rest. Regroup. And—"
"No," the padre said, his voice as low as Jack had ever heard it. "We're not really here to rest, are we?"
Jack got out and waited for the padre to join him. When he stepped close, Jack put his arm around the padre's shoulders. "We're not."
The shoulders beneath his arm slumped. It wasn't fear or fatigue. It was relief. And it pissed Jack off.
He shouldered his way into one of the rooms. It smelled musty, but it had been left fully made up like it was waiting for someone to check in. At least, after months abandoned, any bed bugs were probably long dead.
"I'm sorry, Jack." The padre stared at him. At his neck. His eyes were red-rimmed, something Jack hadn't noticed in the Jeep. Or maybe that had just happened when he decided to focus on Jack's throat.
"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Padre. The sorry's all fucking mine." Jack's back was to him, and this time he didn't try to stop him when he spoke. He merely closed his eyes and waited.
"You're special, Jack. I want to–to tell you . . . you mean a lot to me. More than I've ever let you know." He let out a shaky breath. "This is okay. It's okay, because I know you're going to be out there, doing what you do. On the side of the righteous. You make it okay, Jack."
The padre took a deep breath. "I'm ready."
Jack shook his head. "I'm almost disappointed. I was sure you were going to say something about me 'fighting the good fight' any second." He turned to look at the padre, who stared at him, wide-eyed.
"You're mocking me? Now?"
"I thought the Rocky theme was going to play out of nowhere. Fucking movie montage moment." He kept shaking his head, then he stepped up to him to put his hands on his shoulders.
The padre laughed, the sound harsh in the hollow-sounding room. "You can be such a bastard."
"Language." Jack cupped his cheek. "You know, I should have offered to take you out somewhere. Let you get your dick wet before you kick it. Want to go find a place? Lots of Katrinas will do priests for free. I think it's a kink."
The padre tried to push away. "What's wrong with you?"
Jack held on. "People say it all the time, Padre, but it really is now or never. I can sniff out places for people like us. Places full of Katrinas. And Christophers. Whatever you like."
The padre gave him such a wounded look, an openly pained look, that it hurt as much as any punch Jack had ever taken.
"It's okay. I know what you like. You think I can't recognize it in somebody else, somebody in the same smelly motel rooms as me night after night?"
Now or never.
Jack cupped the back of his neck and kissed him. The padre jerked backward, but as soon as Jack's tongue slid between his lips, he stopped pushing at Jack's chest and jerked him forward. He chased Jack's mouth, even though Jack wasn't moving away from him.
Nobody had ever kissed Jack with that much eagerness. That much naked hunger and want.
The padre hardened against his hip, so Jack got a hand between them and squeezed. His back slammed into the wall, but he hung onto the kiss and with his hand around the padre's cock through his slacks.
It was fast, frantic, the priest humping against his hand with a desperation that had Jack as hard as he'd ever been. If the situation had been different, he'd have made a joke about wood and sucked the crooked smile it caused right off his face
The padre thrust artlessly against Jack's hand, while Jack waited for him to take what he needed with no thought to his own dick throbbing in his pants.
All too soon, it was over.
The padre panted against Jack's shoulder, then he whimpered. Gasped. Jack knew those sounds. He knew that unnecessary fucking shame.
"It's okay," he whispered, and he pulled the padre into an embrace. "Come on. You're fine. You're good," he crooned, rubbing his cheek against the padre's. Against his neck. "It's okay."
When the padre caught his breath, he jerked away, his eyes wide, shaking his head. "What are—No. Jack, no."
He'd always been so fucking smart. Jack had been hoping he wouldn't figure it out so soon, but he should have known.
"Come here." Jack pulled the padre to him again, letting his lips brush across his mouth. "Shh. Come on. It's okay."
"No," he said, drawing the word out, then cutting it off as he choked on his need. "No, Jack. I won't."
"You will." He stroked the padre's cheek, then he cupped the back of his neck and jerked him forward. Jack clamped an arm around him, hoping that the strength he'd develop within the next day hadn't kicked in enough already that he'd be able to pull free.
"Jack," he said brokenly. He took several heaving breaths. "Please. Please don't. I—"
"Shhh. I know. It's alright." He stroked the padre's hair, then Jack stretched his neck and tilted his head to the side. "Come on, Adam. Come on."
To his credit, he resisted longer than Jack thought most people probably could. He'd remembered the hooker biting Montoya long before she turned, and figured it wouldn't take much to push him into it. The padre put up a good fight, but finally he moaned against Jack's neck. A wet tongue tested his flesh.
When teeth broke through Jack's skin, his dick throbbed. Adam's body tensed as he bit deeper, his tongue working against the burning wound in Jack's neck like it had against the duct tape earlier.
Jack groaned, then hissed as Adam's teeth sank deeper still. He twisted his fingers in Adam's hair and tightened his arm around his slight body. Adam's hand pressed against his cock, rubbing him through his pants.
Jesus, I hope vampires can fuck was the last thought he had before everything went black.
I'm going to remind him that he's suffering because you failed him because you failed him you failed him you failed you failed failed failed
"How could you do this?" The gravelly voice broke through Jack's dream. "How, Jack? I was already dead. Now I–I've killed you!"
Jack pressed his hands to his temples. "God, it's like the world's worst fucking hangover, isn't it?" He cracked an eye open to look at the padre where he sat on the edge of the bed, head in his unbandaged, nearly healed hands. "You wouldn't know, would you? Should have gotten you drunk when you could have enjoyed it."
"Stop—" The padre's voice caught. "Why?"
Why not would have been a shitty thing to say, but Jack was tempted all the same. Most of the answers, they were in that deep, dark place with most of Jack's hope. He wasn't yet willing to dig them up.
He got in front of the padre, surprised that he didn't even mind the sight of his own blood smeared on the pale chin. "Because we're slayers, Padre. We slay. It's what we do. And now we can keep doing it." He tapped his temple. "You and me, we'll kill these fuckers from the inside out, and they won't see us coming. That's why."
Jack put both hands on his shoulders. Then he slid them up to lace his fingers behind the bent neck. "We've got an inside track to these fuckers now."
The padre laughed in disbelief. "You're insane."
"Maybe. But I'm effective." He watched as the eyes in front of him darkened.
"I'm close, Jack."
"I know."
"I don't want to kill anyone. Anyone else."
"I know."
"Stop saying that! I know you think I'm going to be able to lead us to the master, but what if I turn and forget about all that? What if I forget about . . . about God. What if I become just a mindless monster, a killing machine? Maybe it won't happen at first, but over time—"
"Maybe we'll find that god damn cure you and the cardinal keep getting hard over before it comes to that. And maybe you're just good enough that it won't happen that way."
The padre rubbed his hands down his face, taking some of Jack's blood with them. "For God's sake, Jack. I'd barely known you at all when you pointed out that you killed your own father when he turned because he tried to kill your mother! If it can cause a man to try to bite his own wife—"
"I ever tell you he was a piece of shit before he got bit? You're nothing like him."
The padre made a strangled sound. "It doesn't matter! How do you know I won't turn and forget all our plans, forget about slaying, and just want to kill? To feed?" His voice cracked on the last word.
"I don't know that. But I don't think that's what's going to happen." He kneaded the padre's neck. "I have a little faith in you, Padre. Believe it or fucking not."
After a long moment of silence, the padre whispered, "And if you're wrong, Jack? What then?"
He cupped Adam's cheek, sliding his thumb over the man's jaw. "You'll turn first. And I'll know. If I'm wrong, then I'll do us both."
"You promise me," Adam said, standing toe to toe with Jack, grabbing his hand. "You swear to me you won't—"
"I promise, Adam. I swear." The second he saw that Adam believed him, he leaned forward to drag his lips across that frowning mouth. "The first sign you're like a rabid dog, I put you down. And I follow right behind."
A pained look crossed Adam's face. Jack knew what he was worried about.
"I'll find a way. I'll set a trap for myself, make it impossible to get out of the sun or something. I'll make sure it won't count against me."
Adam seemed to give in, unable to muster an argument. He would eventually, Jack knew, but for the moment, neither had much more to say. So Jack kissed him again, soft and slow with none of the urgency from earlier. A kiss to say that it would be okay. He had to make it okay. He pressed their foreheads together.
"Sun's coming up," the padre said.
Jack nodded. "Time to hunt." He pressed his thumb against the padre's lower lip, something he'd wanted to do a hundred times and would do often now that he could. "One last day in the sunshine."
The padre touched Jack's face, gentler than Jack had ever managed to touch his. "I'm not going to make it until nightfall, am I? Not before—"
"Probably not."
They'd gotten close to the supposed cure a handful of times over the last six months. And the way Jack saw it, they still had work to do, work that would be twice as hard without the padre at his side. When they found the cure eventually, if they found it, he hoped like hell the padre could find it in his heart to forgive him. Because Jack wasn't ready for either of them to go until they found the master of the vampire that bit his priest.
Neither of them were going anywhere until he presented Adam Guiteau that mother fucker's head on a spike.
The padre glanced warily at the pale light growing in the window. "Remember, Jack. You swore. You swore to me."
He wouldn't forget, not ever. Not even when a day came that made him wish he could.
He nodded, then he kissed him, tonguing his full bottom lip, hoping that was as good as another I know and another promise he wasn't sure he could keep.
The padre grasped his neck, deepening the kiss for a few bright, perfect seconds, then they walked out together into the dawn.