Your Dark Gospel

Chapter Three

Sceleritas Fel watched as the pale elf slipped out of the shadowy alcove where his mistress stood. The rest of the ballroom may have been oblivious to the couple lost in the shadows, but Sceleritas had eyes only for her.

This was dangerous business she was embarking on.

This elf, this vampire spawn, was not worthy of sharing the air she breathed. He watched as the vampire spawn made his way through the crowd of revelers, licking at his lips as he snatched a glass of champagne off a tray before rejoining the party— The hunt.

Yes, he knew all about the vampire spawn’s nightly activities. He had been spying on him for some time from the shadows, reporting his movements back to his mistress. He was an abysmal choice if you asked him. But his mistress did not ask him, as she reminded him time and again.

The spawn mingled with the masked party goers, wasting no time charming and seducing the clueless guests as if he hadn’t just been in a corner pressing his vile self against his mistress, touching and licking that which he had no right to. Though, the spawn did not raise the crystal glass he held to his lips. He seemed to be savoring something.

His mistress’s blood, no doubt.

Most unworthy elf scum!

He did not deserve to taste the blood of the most divine. The blood of the God that ran through Elira’s veins. Sceleritas would take his time with this one. Severing each limb with slow, deliberate care. He'd feed the pieces to the rats while the wretch watched. What a fine time the two of them would have together!

But his mistress had forbidden him from bringing any harm upon the spawn. She had chosen him to help her succeed in taking back her rightful place as their Lord's most faithful. A task Sceleritas intended to see succeed. Though, he had his doubts in the manner in which she chose to accomplish it. There were others more suitable for the role which she needed him to perform. He had tried to persuade his mistress, to lead her down a less perilous path, but she was young— stubborn. Perhaps he should eliminate the elf himself, force her hand in choosing one of his siblings. After all, wasn't it better to ask forgiveness than permission?

Oh, how low his mistress had fallen, and all for one moment of weakness, orchestrated by her vile sister Orin. Sceleritas could not watch his mistress be led astray from her birthright again, not by the cunning spawn with his silver tongue and centuries of practice in seduction.

Sceleritas Fel would see this wrong righted. He would see his mistress regain her birthright. And he'd damned before anyone got in the way.