sweet mourning lamb | remmick
summary: remmick wonât stop until heâs made you in his image.
tags: Stockholm syndrome, gothic horror, Preacherâs daughter inspired, Remmick is not nice in this, Biting, Blood and injury, Religious trauma, Unhealthy relationships, Emotional manipulation, Typical canon/vampire stuff, No use of y/n, Heavy religious themes/imagery (prayer, bible verses, sin, virgin Mary mentions, etc), Gothic/classic lit references all over the place (Nosferatu, Wuthering Heights, Pride & Prejudice, Dracula), Remmick has a serious God complex, Ethel Cain references, Blood drinking as intimacy, No happy ending
You will always be the preacherâs daughter.
Even as you try to run from it.
The Mississippi Delta was a strange place. The sun shone down almost aggressively, each ray that hit your skin akin to a harsh kiss. But there was nothing sunny or celebratory about this town. It was filled with faces of the enslaved, the doomed, and now, you. The preacherâs daughter.
The humid air clung to your skin like a sheen of sweat even after the sun went down. Even the absence of the sun would not grant you freedom from the heat, which seemed to crawl under your very skin and nestle there, declaring your cold, unfeeling soul its home.
Your long white dress trailed along the hard earth and dried up grass behind you, collecting dirt on its hem, staining the pure white satin with your insolence and sin. You wondered what your daddy would think; what your mama would say. Whether there was a crumpled missing poster pinned to every lamp-post in your dreary Kansas town yet, some perfect picture of you smiling out at passersby, unaware of whatever fate awaited her a few states over.
This was never how you pictured your exile. It was never glamorous - dimly lit motel rooms, a speeding truck, hitching rides from a stranger and using the cash you had stolen from your father to eat in whatever run-down, roadside diner you came across. But here you were, walking barefoot on blistered skin, underneath the moonlight that illuminated your discretion.
You listened to the dulcet tones of the crickets and the cicadas, the occasional glimmer of fireflies in the distance and wondered whether they felt as punished as you, thrust into the sweltering, overwhelming heat with nobody to care for them and no Gods to hear their prayers.
Seven Hail Marys and you might be saved.
You collapsed into the dirt on the side of the road, hands clasped together in one last ditch effort to find the salvation you never could in Church. If God was always absent from Godâs house when you tried to call for him, maybe it was because he was out here, soaking up his freedom, looking for lost children to save.
âHear my prayer,â you begged into the open, suffocating air. âAn Angel of Freedom. A spirit of Salvation. The Son of GodâŚ. Anyone.â
You are still the Preacherâs daughter, lying sprawled in the Mississippi dirt, praying to anything that may save you from this exile.
Whatever was out there, whatever was listening - you hope they heard you.
You drifted in and out of consciousness in the dirt, your body finally catching up to its lack of sleep, food, or water. Was this where you would die? Where the flies would find you?
Would your Mama ever know where youâd gone or how far youâd gotten? Would she resent you?
Would your Daddy keep you in his prayers?
You will always be the Preacherâs Daughter, even in death.
A whoosh of cold air ruffled your hair, passing over your face at lightning speed. A soft thump sounded out on the ground you laid your head on.
âOh, darlinâ, you been through the wringer, ainât you?â
A voice pierced the silence - a Southern drawl, speaking to you. You lifted your head ever so slightly, bleary vision showing you what could have been the truth or a dying hallucination of salvation - you werenât sure which would have been better.
Cold hands met the tender skin of your face, pulling your chin up gently so your eyes met his. He was dark haired and dark-eyed, lips slightly parted as he observed the state you were in. His eyes seemed to glow golden in the moonlight, like dancing fireflies. He wore a pristine white vest, suspenders hung loose from his hips, and trousers that looked far too clean for a man walking in this dirt. Stubble lined his sharp jaw, the arms that pulled you almost gracefully to your feet seemed to be sculpted to tempt.
And Good Lord, he was beautiful.
Maybe he was the Angel you had prayed for.
Would an Angel send run chills through your entire body?
Maybe. The Virgin Mary had been afraid when she encountered The Angel Gabriel.
As if the handsome stranger could hear your inner turmoil, he shushed you soothingly, crooning, âDonât be afraid, darlinâ. Iâm here to help.â
Your prayer had been heard. Not by an Angel or a creature of comfort, but by something more sinister - something just on the brink, just clutching onto being human.
By Remmick, who liked to play with his food.
You were still the Preacherâs Daughter - that was what you told yourself, a reminder of your true identity and not what he tried to make you. The Preacherâs Daughter, lured in by a beautiful stranger who transcended what it meant to be human, before he locked you in an isolated cabin and threw away the key.
Remmick sat upon the couch, fingers plucking idly at the banjo he loved so much. You observed him, hoping for any sort of sign of vulnerability, of humanity within him. You couldnât quite place your finger on it. He seemed so human. His love of music, his habits and mannerisms that slipped into his physical motions and even his speech. But there was something about him that wasnât, that couldnât be, human.
His deep, captivating eyes held years, maybe even centuries of pain behind them. His eyes, when caught in the right light, seemed to have a red tint to them that you caught on a few occasions but convinced yourself was a trick of the light. And his spirit, his presence, his energy⌠He was charming, but abhorrent. He drew you in and caged you there, completely at his mercy. You did not want to leave. You wanted to know him in every way possible - what he was, and most importantly, why he chose you. Why it was he who answered your prayer and what use he had for you here. You needed to know it all.
âYou look lost in thought over there, sweet thing,â Remmickâs low Southern drawl interrupted your thoughts as it always seemed to do. It was like he could read your mind. You turned to him from where you sat at the wooden table, a bead of rosaries wrapped around your fist. His eyes flitted down towards the cross that dangled on the table and for a moment, you thought you saw the tinge of red.
Remmick carefully set down his banjo on one side of him, patting the space of the couch on his other side, just once, as if that was the only command he needed, knowing you would obey. âCome.â
You rose to your feet, as though you were pulled towards him by a magnet. You smoothed out the white sundress that Remmick had brought back for you one day after one of his nightly wanderings. You had the sense not to ask what he got up to on these nights, or where the gifts he brought back for you came from.
The way he watched you as you moved over to him - it was not with hunger, not with the eyes of a predator eyeing his pray. It was deliberate, unblinking. Almost with tenderness, as if you were something precious and graceful for him to enjoy.
You sat down at his side. His eyes never leaving your face, he gave a polite smile, his hands resting on his knees. He turned his body towards yours as if you were equals. Somehow, you felt like a deer in the headlights, but you did not entirely hate it. Something about it intrigued you. Everything about him intrigued you.
âWhatâs on your mind, little dove?â
Remmick waited patiently for your answer. He was not in a rush. It reminded you of the first time you awoke in this cabin, when he questioned you about what had happened to you, where you were from. But you were sure that somehow, he already knew.
A months-long awaited question slipped past your lips before you could stop it. âWhat are you, Remmick?â
He didnât seem surprised by the question. He pondered for a moment, as if he himself wasnât even sure. âI know youâre smart enough to figure that out for yourself. You know what I am, darlinâ.â
You did. You werenât stupid. It all made sense; he never left the cabin in the day. The years of wisdom and pain in his eyes, beyond the years he appeared. How he needed permission to enter the cabin when he came back from his nightly endeavours.
Remmick leaned closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. âI wanna hear you say it.â
You did not. Instead, you challenged him. âWhy havenât you made me like you? Trapped me here with you forever?â
Remmick smirked, a chuckle clawing its way up his throat and out of his mouth. âBelieve me, darlinâ, I thought about it. More times than I care to admit. It was always about the thrill of the hunt⌠But it ainât just about hunger with you. I didnât hunt you. I found you. You called me to you.â
âFear makes people honest in ways even they donât understand. You knew you were callinâ for me, even if you didnât understand it.â
Tears threatened to push past your waterline. Seeing you cry, Remmick tutted disapprovingly, brushing away your tears with his thumb. His hand cupped the side of your face, while the other ran slowly through your hair. If you did not know better, you would say his touch was gentle, almost loving.
But Remmick was not gentle, nor was he loving.
âI called for help from God,â you whispered.
âYou wanted help from your God, then whyâd you leave your little church and your preacher Daddy?â Remmick challenged. Another chuckle bubbled in his throat. âYou know why. You wanted this. You left to answer the call of sin, and here it is.â
âI know sin. Youâre not it.â
âThatâs right,â Remmick sneered. âI am an appetite, nothinâ more. Your appetite for sin was what called me to you. You canât hide that from me, darlinâ.â
Remmickâs lips peppered soft kisses to your cheeks where your tears had spilled, exchanging your anguish for his intimacy. âShh, donât cry.â His voice was lower now, touched by empathy.
âWhat if I left?â you wondered aloud, your voice lower than a whisper as Remmickâs head nestled in your neck. âRan out into the sunlight and never came back? You couldnât follow me.â
âIâd find you in the night, just like I did before,â Remmick told you, but it was not a threat - it was a promise. âYour soulâs tied to me, even if you didnât know what you were tyinâ it to. Whatever souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. Iâd find you wherever you ran to.â
âBecause youâre mine. You think itâs so black and white, baby. I am no good nor evil. Simply I am. And I came to take whatâs mine.â
You swallowed hard. âThen just kill me. Take my blood.â
Remmick sat up, removing his head from the soft flesh of your neck. His eyes met yours. He didnât bother to hide it now; the red ring around his pupils flared, deep as crimson blood. A trickle of drool was running down his chin. He wiped it away, but not hastily. He wanted you to see that he was hungry for you - that he could do anything, take what was his, at any moment. Making you aware of it but doing nothing was part of the torment, part of his game. âThis ainât about killinâ you. I donât want your blood, sweetheart. Not yet.â
âThen what do you want?â
His thumb ran across your lips. âYou.â
He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like the body wanting the blood. Like Eve wanting the apple.
âYou called for freedom,â his soft voice crooned in your ear. âFor salvation. Itâs here. Itâs me.â
The grain from the television screen lit up the room. The static was interrupted by a man speaking passionately into a microphone in black and white. Your head turned towards the illuminated television screen.
It was your father, speaking a sermon like he always had.
âJesus died for our sins, for us to turn our backs on the life of sin once and for all.â
Your tears intensified. Remmick did not wipe them away this time. He watched you, as if your tears captivated him, intrigued him. As if crying was something deeply human that he had forgotten about in the centuries he had been inflicted with this curse.
Your own photo flashed up on the screen, one emboldened word above your face: MISSING.
âMy beautiful little daughter was lost to a life of sin. We hope to find her one day and bring her back into our community. I know God will find her and welcome her back with open arms.â
Remmick laughed cruelly. He took to kissing away your tears once more. âYour Daddy thinks you can still be saved. That your Godâs waitinâ for you,â he murmured against your soft skin. âAinât no savinâ you from this. Ainât no God waitinâ for you out there. Itâll just be me. I am your God, darlinâ. Iâm the only one who can save you. Thereâs a reason you let me back in here every morninâ before the sun comes up. Ainât that right?â
Pearly tears continued to roll down your cheeks, and you nodded. You could not deny it. He had you caged, exactly the way he wanted.
No one was coming to save you here. Your father would not see you through the grainy television screen. He would not take your hand through the screen and lead you away from Mississippi, away from Remmick. Life had and would continue on without you while you were stuck here.
âAnd what are you, darlinâ?â Remmick asked you, his voice low.
âYours, Remmick. Iâm yours.â
Youâre still the Preacherâs Daughter. At least, back home in Kansas you are.
Here, you are his. You are doomed.
Days blend into months, months into what could well be years. Time seems to move differently in the sheltered cabin. Unlike Remmick, though, you can leave it. You can wait for the sun to rise. You can feel the sun assaulting your skin, beating down on your tender flesh to your heartâs content.
But you donât, because he canât.
Somehow, it had become easier to lock yourself inside where he was, than be outside where he was not. He was your only source of comfort, your only hope for salvation. He had been right that day.
But he was not inside. He was outside, and the sun was threatening to kiss the horizon.
Orange and pink hues danced in the sky as the sun slowly rose, your heartbeat rising with it. Your leg bounced as you sat on the front step of the porch. He was still not back. He always came back. He had promised you.
Just for a second in Remmickâs absence, you allowed your mind to wander. Maybe, just maybe, if you ran fast enough, you would escape.
As soon as the thought of liberation crossed your mind - there he was.
He flew like it was natural, like it was something simple and easy, and that was just another thing that captivated you about him. He landed gracefully around ten feet in front of you. There was still something akin to feral in Remmickâs eyes as he approached, the thrill of the hunt that he once talked of just now wearing off. Crimson blood was smeared around his mouth and on his shirt, his hands stained with it, too.
âMove on aside, baby, let me in,â Remmick purred, having played this game with you many times before. His exhaustion was evident in his tone as he stopped before the front step. You knew he would never touch it unless you gave him permission.
You rose to your feet, and just for a moment, said nothing. Your eyes darted towards the amber that was now painting the early morning sky. The sun was almost up. If you hesitated a few more seconds, he would burn and you would be free.
âBaby,â Remmickâs eyes flashed red. A warning. âDonât go doinâ anythinâ youâre gonâ regret.â
Both you and Remmick knew that he had you too far in his corner to let that happen. You stepped aside. Remmick smirked, a gesture which never failed to run a brisk chill through you. It gave you a thrill every time.
Just for a moment, Remickâs expression turned from a smirk to a smile, one of genuine sincerity. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb, leaving a crimson smear behind in the wake of his touch. âCome on inside now, darlinâ.â
The rays from the sun began to pierce through the clouds above you both. Remmickâs skin began to sizzle, the sound almost threatening. The burn was tantalising - if he was to stay out here and let the sun take him, it would be a slow process. Painful.
Remmick did not miss the momentary panic that flickered across your face before he stepped across the threshold of the cabin. His smirk was back. âAw, darlinâ, you goinâ soft on me now?â
You stayed silent, but the silence said more than any words you possibly could have. You followed Remmick inside wordlessly. He pushed open the door to the bathroom, rolling his neck and savouring the momentary peace deeply.
His blood-soaked hands moved to unbutton his shirt, but your hands got there first, pushing down his suspenders and undoing his bloody shirt for him.
âMiss me?â Remmick crooned, his voice thick and smooth as honey.
âYou know I did,â you replied, your voice smaller and weaker than you had intended it to sound when you opened your mouth.
âFunny, I coulda sworn you were about to let me burn up out there.â The venom in his tone made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
âRemmickâŚâ Your voice trembled as you spoke. âIâd never do that to you.â
âThatâs right,â he breathed, the tip of his nose brushing against your temple as he breathed in every inch of you. Drinking in the scent of you that lingered in the cabin like sweet wine, a drug that he had missed even in his few hours away from you. ââCause you need me, donât you, little lamb? You donât know what youâd do without me.â
When you had finished unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugged it off his shoulders and then pulled his blood stained vest over his head. You hated how everything about him, even the darkest parts, was beautiful. His chest was toned as though sculpted by someone, someone who lived long ago. A body moulded by time, not perfect, but real, and all the more beautiful for it.
You ran the tap, allowing the warm water to dampen a cloth just for a second before you began to clean Remmickâs face of the blood of some long deceased creature. Animal or human, you dared not ask. He sank down, eyes never leaving your face, to perch on the edge of the bathtub. He moved as if he was about to kneel before an altar and confess his deepest of sins.
You were his sin, and the blessing that came after.
You cupped Remmickâs face, wiping at the blood on his cheeks so gently it was like he was made of porcelain and he may break if you touched him too harshly. Remmick was not delicate, and barely even a man anymore. He was chiselled by decades, hardened by centuries of loss and killing and who knows what else.
You finished cleaning his face and rang out the bloody cloth in the sink, before beginning to wipe the few droplets of blood from his neck and chest. The cloth ran over a raised part of his skin, a scar that trailed just beneath his collarbone. It looked like a bite mark.
You rested your hand flat against it and, to your surprise, felt a heartbeat under your palm. Remmick having a heartbeat, despite being what he was, was one of the many things about him that surprised you. It seemed to reaffirm to you that Remmick was almost human. He had been human once. A human, just like you, with hopes and dreams and fears. Now he was just this; a shell of a man who sought out blood like he was Jesus in the desert being tempted by The Devil.
âWhere do you come from, Remmick?â
His expression seemed to soften for a moment. âI come from a different place and a different time. Long before your bloodline was even being dreamt of.â
You took the softening of his features as incentive to prod at him more. âWho made you into this?â
Remmickâs breath hitched. The heartbeat below your palm began to hasten. His expression twisted into one you could not quite read - anger? Bitterness? Devastation? You saw a flash of red in his eyes for a moment and a part of you knew you should draw back. An even smaller part of you, somehow, for some reason, trusted Remmick. Trusted that he would not hurt you. He sighed and you thought you heard a tremble in his breath as he did so.
âLong ago, the man who stole my fatherâs land tried to force the same words on me and my people that your Daddy forced onto you. I hated those men, but the words still bring me comfort. Like you, I prayed for salvation. And salvation came.â
Remmickâs hand clutched your own that was still pressed over his chest, over his heart. His grip was firm, begging you without words not to remove your hand. His eyes were glassy, tears threatening, daring to spill. With your free hand, you slowly reached up and dared to delicately press your palm against his cheek. Remmick leaned into your touch, his eyes sliding closed as if he was content to just stop time and live in this moment forever.
âThatâs why you found me,â you whispered, fearing that raising your voice even slightly would push Remmick over the edge. âWeâre alike.â
Remmickâs eyes opened and met yours. âI been around for centuries, darlinâ. Just existinâ like this. And in all those years, I ainât never met nothinâ as sweet as you. I smelled your desperation. I felt your desire. I needed to take it for my own. You bewitched me, body and soul. You were made for me to save you, werenât ya, darlinâ?â
Remmick lifted himself from the edge of the bath, his palms pressing on the side of your neck, as if daring himself to see how far he would go. His fingers curled around your throat and jaw, pressing not rough, but not gentle. âYou were made for the takinâ. Made for me to shape you in my image, just the way I want you. I travelled oceans of time to find somethinâ like you, little lamb. You donât need no God. You only need me, donât ya? Just me.â
âJust you, Remmick,â you sighed, savouring his touch, no matter how demeaning it was.
âYou know now, donât ya, little dove? You know who you belong to. You know where you were meant to be, huh?â
Remmickâs nose brushed against yours; his lips hovered near yours, not kissing, just breathing. Like he needed to inhale you before he could kiss you.
His thumb brushed over your plush lips, as if preparing them for his kiss. âAnybody ever kiss you before, sweet thing?â
He grinned like heâd known your answer before you gave it, flashing his fangs at you momentarily; dangerously. A reminder of what he was - what you were about to submit yourself to. âGood. I wanted to be the first.â
His lips met yours like heâd been waiting for this for years, kissing you as though he had all the time in the world. In a way, he did. Remmick was immortal, a being that transcended human. He would never die. You would. Maybe here, today, with him and by his hand. But for now, you were alive, and you were his. A monsterâs human girl. His choice of sin for however long until he wanted to repent.
He was nowhere near repenting now, though. His kiss deepened, drinking in every inch of you, one territorial hand still wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to feel your breath fanning against his mouth.
âAinât never tasted nothinâ so sweet before, yâhear me,â he groaned into your mouth.
The groan of a man using all his restraint to hold himself back. From what, you werenât sure you wanted to know.
You pulled him closer, directing his lips back onto yours like pinning the wings back onto a Fallen Angel. His kiss was gentler than you had ever expected Remmick to be; as though you were something sacred, something Holy.
A gasp pushed past your lips when you felt Remmickâs sharp fangs bite down on your bottom lip. Hot blood spilled down your chin and Remmick lapped up every drop, like a good Christian drinking wine on Sunday.
Every instinct in your body screamed for you to push him away. To run screaming out into the sun where he could not follow you.
Instead, you let him taste you, and you marvelled in it.
He pulled away, a trickle of your blood at the corner of his mouth. ââM sorry, baby,â he murmured, though his eyes flared with not shame, but hunger. A longing for more. âYou tasted too perfect, I couldnât resist you.â
You said nothing. Instead, you wiped the droplets of blood dripping from his mouth with the pad of your thumb, and then you pushed it between his wet lips. He held your gaze, unblinking, and sucked the rest of your blood off your thumb like it was chocolate off a strawberry.
You watched, breath caught in your throat.
His grin was evil. âSweeterân sin.â
Day became night; the sun surrendered to the moon. The single bedroom in the cabin was stifling despite the old, rickety fan that whirred in the corner facing the bed. Moonlight spilled through the gap in the moth-eaten curtains, illuminating the peeling wallpaper and the dusty floorboards.
Remmick lay on his front, one arm draped over your stomach. The other acted as a pillow beneath your head. Every so often, his fingertips brushed against your temple almost rhythmically. His head lay on your chest, his ear pressed over your heart.
âI like listeninâ to your heart,â Remmickâs voice punctuated the silence in the room, that before now was only being broken by the fanâs consistent buzzing. âI like feelinâ it. Reminds me youâre still human. That thereâs still more of you I can take.â
âYou canât possibly take anymore.â Your voice was barely a whisper and your hands were still tangled in his hair, holding his head protectively to your bosom like a mother would her baby.
Remmick lifted his head, smirking now, half-lidded eyes looking down at you. âOh, yes I can, baby. I ainât even started to destroy you yet. See, Iâm bidinâ my time. Iâm defilinâ you so slowly and gently youâll be begginâ for me to finish the job soon enough.â
A single tear trickled from the corner of your eye to your temple. You didnât respond, partly out of pure stubbornness, but partly - mostly - because you knew that he was right.
âYou ainât never gonâ leave me, are you, baby?â
Your bottom lip trembled. You stayed silent. The incessant droning of the fan the only sound now.
âAre you, baby?â It was not a question posed in insecurity. It was said with malevolence.
âNo.â You whispered, a tear dripping onto Remmickâs hand that rested beneath your head. âIâm never gonna leave you, Remmick.â
Remmick eyed you with uncertainty, with doubt. To hide your shaking hands, you raised them and took his face in them, pulling his lips down to meet yours.
This time, his kiss was far less gentle. He talked of you smelling of desire, but he did not hide his own. He kissed you like a man starving, as though your lips were a lonely, winding road he had to take to find his way home.
âGo to sleep, little lamb,â Remmick soothed, pressing one last kiss to the pulse point on your wrist before his body relaxed, face tucked into the crook of your shoulder.
Remmick slept, though you knew he did not need to. Maybe it was the comfort of your presence, or maybe it was one of the simple delicacies of being human that he missed. He slept regardless.
You lay awake, listening to Remmickâs steady breathing, the sound of cicadas humming outside, and the constant droning of the fan in the corner. You tilted your head upwards to look at the wall the bed was placed up against. Above the headboard, there was one singular cross hanging on the peeling wallpaper - but it had been turned upside down.
You thought of your father, what he would think of you now. His life went on, he preached the word of God to his congregation, to the next generation of Godâs children, while his own flesh and blood lay caged in the arms of a monster.
That was what Remmick was. A monster. A monster who killed you over and over again, a million times a day. Who ripped your very soul out with no regard and then kissed it lovingly.
You thought of your life before, the life you had fled. It seemed like your only option at the time - to see the West. Love was out there waiting for you and you couldnât leave it be.
It wasnât love you found.
You wished you could be in Church listening to your fatherâs sermon. Singing with the choir. Repeating his verses back to him. Repenting for all of this.
You gently sat up, taking every care not to wake the sleeping Remmick. He did not stir. He looked normal like this, almost peaceful. He was as beautiful as ever, and you resented him for it.
Your journey towards the living room was tedious, excruciating. It felt as though the house was extending itself to draw out your torture. Every step on the freezing cold floor board was another skip in the beat of your heart, another risk that he would wake. You almost felt the house watching you, breathing with you.
After what felt like an eternity, you reached the living room, switching on the television and hastily turning the volume down. Remmick rarely turned on the television; he liked to have you isolated, locked in with no company other than him, no connection whatsoever to the outside world. The grainy static moulded into the face of a man; the Preacher.
Your shaking hands intertwined in a desperate prayer as your Fatherâs voice poured into your ears.
âForgiveness is a gift from God. He offers you Eternal life in exchange for your devotion.â
Just like Remmick. Maybe he was your Saviour after all.
âTo know God, you must know love. Know forgiveness and penance.â
You had long ago lost track of what day it was in the confines of the cabin, of Remmick. The days melted into one another, becoming one. One long, endless day that would last for an eternity.
But as you closed your eyes in prayer, it was a Sunday. Your dress flowed in the crisp breeze. Smiling faces of your Fatherâs congregation beamed at you. A choir of voices joined together, serenading the Lord. The sun shone down upon you through the stained glass windows, and, even if just for a few seconds, you felt free.
You opened your eyes to stare at the screen, finding comfort in your Fatherâs face, less lined on the grains of the screen as you recalled in your memory. For a moment, his eyes met the camera, and you thought just for a second that he was talking to you. âGod loves you.â
But not enough to save you.
âYouâll always be the Preacherâs Daughter, huh?â
Remmickâs voice was lower and more menacing than you had ever heard it.
You stood slowly, turning your face to meet his eye. He leant against the doorway, his hands in his pockets, almost casual. But you could tell by the way he carried himself, the tension in his shoulders and neck - there was a deep, deep fury bubbling up inside of him and it was directed towards you.
âRemmick, I swear I was just-â
âWhatâre you prayinâ for, baby? You got everythinâ you could possibly need right here.â
He took a step closer. You stepped back.
âI just wanted to hear his voice,â you pleaded.
âYou left that life to find me. Now you wanna go runninâ back? You told me you ainât never gonâ leave.â
âIâm not leaving. You know I would never leave you, Remmick.â
âLiar.â His eyes flashed red in the moonlight. You shuddered. âAinât no use lyinâ to me, baby. I know you better than you know yourself. I know youâre gonâ try runninâ now. Run then, child. You canât hide from me forever.â
Goosebumps rose to the surface of your skin. Your blood ran cold, and by the way Remmickâs eyes lit up, you were sure he could sense that. You stumbled backwards, further away from Remmick, and closer to the door.
The door you knew he kept unlocked.
An ache tugged at your heart as your fingers found the handle. It was unlocked because he trusted you; because he thought you wouldnât leave him.
Remmick grinned. His fangs seemed to glint in the moonlight. âIâll give you a head-start if you want it. I told you I like the hunt.â
You finally turned your back. You fled.
The evening wind whipped across your face as you sprinted over the hard, dried up ground that surrounded the isolated cabin. Every step sent a fresh chill through your body despite the overwhelmingly hot air around you.
You didnât dare look back, and another fresh wave of fear surged through you when you heard Remmickâs running footsteps start chasing after you. You could have sworn you heard him yell, âRun, little rabbit, run!â into the stifling air, though maybe it was just your imagination.
Adrenaline surged through you, so much so that you did not register the thorns and stones sticking into the soles of your bare feet with every thud of your feet against the ground. You had made it into the woods. Thick tree trunks and branches obscured your vision. Branches slashed at your face and arms, cutting your skin into ribbons, but you did not stop. Your legs carried you as far away as they could, but you knew deep down in your bones, you would not make it far.
Remmick stalked you like a predator, eyes red and crazed. He did not waste his energy running after a while, knowing you did not stand a chance. His eyes never left your retreating figure in the distance, the gap between you becoming larger and larger.
He could not risk you escaping.
He could not let you leave.
Just like that fateful night in the dirt when Remmick had first found you, a whoosh of air above you ruffled your hair, followed by all of the force in Remmickâs body ramming into the back of you. His arms wrapped around your stomach, the impact knocking you both to the leafy ground.
The force of the fall caused you both to roll for what felt like an eternity, all while you desperately tried to throw Remmick off of you. Your nails scratched at his skin, your hands tugging at any part of him you could reach. Limbs flailed and eventually grew tired. Remmickâs grip on you tightened as the lengthy battle for dominance was won. He straddled you, pinning your arms to the ground, a horrible grin making its way onto his face.
âTold you Iâd find you wherever you went, didnât I?â
The red was more prominent than ever in Remmickâs eyes. It terrified you. One hand that had been pinning one of your wrists slammed down upon the space of the dirt beside your head. Both hands pressed firmly either side of your head, he caged you in, hovering above you so you were trapped from all angles.
âI can smell your fear, darlinâ. You donât hide it well. I can smell your desire, too. You look so pretty, all at my mercy like this. I could just eat you up.â
A string of drool dripped onto your cheek.
Remmick lowered his head to the crook of your neck. âYou ainât never gonâ leave me again.â
Your bottom lip trembled. You opened your mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out.
âYou know what I could do to you, baby,â Remmick whispered against your skin. âYou ainât stupid. I could take everythinâ that makes you human right now, make you my little sacrificial lamb. Make you mine for the rest of time.â
âYou said you didnât want my blood,â you whimpered.
âI said not yet. I have you now, donât I? And now Iâve tasted your blood, Iâm gonâ taste more. You already gave yourself up to me, darlinâ. Now youâre gonâ let me taste whatâs mine.â
Remmick dipped his head slightly lower, listening to your heartbeat once more. âYour heartâs speedinâ up. Your bodyâs screaminâ for me, ainât it? Your blood⌠Itâs begginâ. I can feel it.â
He latched the flesh beneath your collarbone between his teeth, teasingly, a taste of what was to come, what he could do.
You raised your shaking hands, cupping his face between your palms. Your thumb swiped over his cheekbone. You lifted his head up, forcing his eyes to meet yours.
âDo it. Take me. Make me in your image.â
You tried to make it sound like a challenge. Like you believed he would not actually do it. But the truth came through - in your eyes, your face, your voice. Deep down, you wanted him to.
You wanted all the things he had just said; you wanted to be his. For all eternity.
You knew by now that there was no one coming to save you, not even God.
So you would let Remmick save you instead.
âBe with me always. Take any form. Drive me mad,â you begged. âMake me yours.â
He moved his head towards your neck once more, mouth hovering just above your pulse-point. âYou poor thing. Sweet, mourninâ lamb. Youâre already mine.â
And then he sunk his fangs into your neck.
The pain was blinding, hot white lights bursting across your vision. But only for a second. Your body began to tremble before warmth flooded through it, spreading to the very tips of your fingers and toes, filling up your very heart.
Remmick moaned against your neck, the primal sound of a man starved who had just tasted the sweetest thing of his life, and now he wanted it all to himself.
He lapped up your blood as though it was cherry wine, but not like a beast. It did not seem like hunger. There was something more there with the way he fed. It was slow, deliberate, almost intimate.
Remmick pulled you off the ground, into his arms, holding you like something delicate. Blood bloomed from the wound in your neck, your heartbeat stuttering, breath leaving you in short bursts. The pain spread throughout your whole body, but none of it seemed to matter when you looked at him.
Remmick looked down at you like you were his altar and he was a sinner begging for forgiveness. His eyes were no longer red. Instead, they were tear-filled and vulnerable, replaced with his usual deep brown; an Unholy devotion and vulnerability gazing out at you through his dark hues. Your blood was smeared around his mouth, and like this, somehow, he looked more handsome than ever.
One of Remmickâs hands pressed flat against your beating heart, the way you had done to him only a few hours ago. The same hand then caressed your cheek, wiping away your tears. The way he loved you so gently in the midst of all this bloodâŚ
It made you want him forever.
âIt wonât hurt for much longer, darlinâ,â Remmick soothed you. âI promise.â
You grabbed his face, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. You pulled him down, crashing his lips against yours. You tasted your own blood on his mouth; it was as sweet as he said.
âFinish it,â you begged with your dying breaths. âLove me and feed.â
He did. He drank more desperately this time, savouring each and every drop.
Your body stopped shaking. You went limp. The warmth that had flooded you was flushed out, replaced with an icy cold that you had not the energy to even react to.
In your head, you tried to pray, but the words did not reach your brain.
Because God has stopped listening.
Maybe he was gone all along.
Maybe Remmick had been right. It was just him now. Only him who could save you.
This was your salvation. You had found Heaven.
Your Daddy would be proud.
You will always be the Preacherâs Daughter.
Your vision began to blur. Your breath weakened. Your heartbeat sputtered like the last ashes on a dying fire.
Until everything came flooding back.
Your heartbeat fluttered. And then it synced with his.
Your eyes opened. The first thing you saw was the stars above you. And God, they were singing. Their light shone brighter than anything you had ever seen before. Everything around you somehow seemed richer, more colourful. More beautiful.
The air was purer, gentler on your lungs as you breathed in your first breaths of being this. Being his.
Remmick hovered above you, lips stained with your blood. He was as ethereal as ever, his face, his body, his everything, your own personal religion.
You sat up slowly. The breeze that hit your face was no longer irritating; it was beautiful. Your hair barely even moved in the wind, as though that was a small, inconvenient part of being human that you no longer had to deal with.
Remmick gazed at you for what felt like a century. Time seemed different now; slower, more fluid, more meaningless.
And then, he smiled. âHey, baby. How you feelinâ?â
You hesitated for a moment, not answering straight away. âTired,â came your reply. Even the movement of your throat as you spoke felt different.
âTakes some time to get used to.â He spoke from experience. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers along your cheekbone, your jaw, and then brushed them over the mark he had made that was already beginning to bruise. âBut you got forever now.â
âForever for what?â you questioned.
âTo eat. To love. To be with me.â
You smiled. âThat sounds good.â
Remmick smiled, too. âDonât it.â
Remmick pondered your question for a moment as if he hadnât thought that far yet. âTonight⌠Iâll take you home. Make you mine in every way you ainât already. Love you til the sun comes up.â
You shuddered at the idea of it; not with fear, with need. With desire.
âAnd then after⌠I ainât never thought that far with anyone before. But everythinâ about youâs different. You make me want more than just feedinâ. And Iâll make you want moreân that, too. This is God, baby. You found him.â
You tilted your head up towards the night sky, as though the stars contained your fortune. They shone, they sang, no fortune found within them. But you did not need to know anymore. You did not need to know what the future held for you, or who, if anybody, was listening to your prayers.
âTake me home, Remmick.â
He scooped you up into his arms in one swift motion, as though you were his bride, promised to him for eternity.
You are no longer the Preacherâs Daughter.
You no longer pray to God.
Youâve already been saved.
Remmick had been right. He was your sin. He was your sermon. He was your Saviour. Your penance and your temptation.
And, Lord forgive you - you loved him.
