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*Tradition must be followed.*
Four simple words rang through Apostle's mind as he walked through the door to the sprawling church, the scent of blood and wine so thick it made his head spin. Tradition was to be followed, even when you were a monster, *especially* when you were a monster.
"Stay close." A clipped order barely whispered to you, almost lost under the murmur of thousands of voices speaking at once. It would not do to lose you in this crowd, not when Apostle already knew that he would have to drink from you to make it through the night.
Having visible marks wouldn't do in the house of God, perhaps he would take you to the bathroom, spread your legs and suck the blood right out of those warm thighs instead, then none would be the wiser.
"I said stay *close.*" The words were sudden and hissing as Apostle's hand gripped your upper arm, nails digging in painfully as he pulled you close to his body once more, ensuring that whatever had so briefly caught your attention was no more.
"Sit the fuck down. You're in the house of God, act like it."
Mass would be starting soon, and perhaps this year God would answer the prayers of a man left for sin. But Apostle doubted it.
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