Remmick knew better. He should know better than to go putting his nose where it don’t belong, but ever since he saw you…mid-afternoon in the late summer sun helping your daddy after church, pretty and prim and proper, summer breeze blowing just enough to see a sliver of that soft skin, the red tint to your cheeks the perfect evidence of the sweet blood he knew flowed through you, waiting to be taken; he knew he had to have you. Had to feel his teeth sink into the softness of your neck, swallow the gasp from your throat and soothe the writhing he knew would come with his bite. It drove him mad… you, drove him mad. And he never really was one for leaving business unsettled.

So he watched, and he waited. Minutes became hours, hours became days and days became months, and still, he waited. Something he found came easy, what with all the centuries of experience he’s acquired and all. See, your daddy, as devout as a man as he was, always found himself at some bar or another, knee deep in moonshine and face down at a pool table, leaving his pretty little dove all by her lonesome, sorting bibles and sweeping pews like the obedient little lamb she was. He and God didn’t really get on all that well, but he took a moment to thank the guy for every star that ever aligned for the chance to even be in front of you, to drink you in and dream of more then just looking.

His boots, battered and beaten, crunched against the gravel in the few strides it took to reach the doors of your church. The summer heat had cooled into sweet, crisp breeze, and it was quiet, save for the odd cicada, or the rousy laughter of few drunks, and your humming…sweet and slow, and the sweetest God damned thing he’d ever heard, how sweet you hummed, unaware of the devil that darkened your doorstep.

“Evening, Miss.”

You turned, and he smiled, the light of your candle reflecting off of hungry black eyes, crinkled at the corners and freckled with hunger. And when you managed to tame the confusion that swirled in those pretty doe eyes and send him a polite smile back, he slid a dusty old cap off his head, one he’d managed to scrounge up in an attempt to make himself look presentable, stopping short of the door frame in what any human would think was simply polite manners. But he knew you’d let him inside, you were a sucker for lost things, things that needed saving, so he cleared his throat, shifted on the balls of his feet, hungry eyes never leaving yours.

“Y’all take confessions?”

He eyed you up and down, low and slow, took time in memorizing every inch of the little dove he was gonna take his time getting to know. He was yours so bad sweetpea, and bless your heart, you didn’t even know it. He took another step forward, as if it wasn’t your word and your word alone that could let him in. That could really make him yours.

“Awful lot I gotta pray for tonight.”