Angelic voices lured him into the cathedral from several blocks away. He heard them on the wind, the church choir. Every Sunday morning he came to listen to them sing. It wasn't often he returned a second time to listen to them in the evening, but that night the lure was too powerful to ignore. Winter was too quiet. Days ago he had tried to smother the silence by drowning himself in the sea. Drowning himself hadn't been his intention to begin with, but once he'd started bleeding the lure of letting it all drain out of him had become too powerful. Luckily for Salvador, he hadn't been alone.

Now he was alone, however. He was alone and feeling the weight of that knowledge bear down on him significantly. Last year it wouldn't have bothered him, but this year had changed his perspective on the world drastically. This year he had met his mother. He knew her. He knew now the reason why the silence was so overwhelming. He felt empty inside. He felt lost without her. It was as if she had died all over again, though she had never been dead at all. That had been a lie. Despite the fact that he knew those memories were false, the impact was very much the same. He was alone.

He could have spent the night with Mara, but for some reason he was certain her company wouldn't have brought him any comfort. So, he wandered the streets aimlessly, searching for a whisper of any random reassurance. The only whisper he heard was the alluring chant of the church choir in the evening. Yes, he thought. Tonight he would find comfort there. Tonight, he decided, he'd embrace his humanity.

He knew there was a sense of irony in finding comfort in a church. Salvador didn't belong in the world of Christ's religions. His father had abandoned that faith long ago. His father found it odd that his son went to church. The boy never wasted his time in confession, however. There would have been no point to it. What would he have said to the priest? Forgive me father, for I have sinned. Over, and over, and over again. Many times he had laughed at the very idea. Likely the priest would have treated him as Padre Benedicto had treated him. No. As Padre Benedicto had treated Juan. Or, at the very least, the priest would have prohibited him from visiting.

Salvador had acquired a certain amount of wisdom from his mother. The most logical course of action, he had concluded, was to never speak to the priest. Though he had felt the questioning glance nearly every time he visited, he had never bothered to speak to the man. He did as always did. He stepped into the cathedral and slid onto the seat of the very last pew. He folded his arms across his chest and relaxed on the bench. At the front of the chapel, the choir droned on in their melodic chanting. Salvador closed his eyes and let the music soothe him. Little did anyone know, it was the most peaceful sound he had ever heard. The voices wrapped themselves around him, smothered him in serenity, and slowly lulled him to sleep...

A woman moaned. Red hair spilled across black satin sheets as she writhed in the throes of ecstasy. Her body was slick with sweat, and so was his. He had a sense that they had been at it for hours. Looking down at her sun-bronzed flesh, he found himself instantly enamored. He loved this woman. He knew this woman. Her body was glorious. Her body was glorious simply because he could see her colors clearly. Not the colors of her aura, which were the only colors he ever saw, but the actual true to life colors of her flesh. She was the only color in the room that he could see, and she was the only thing in the room he bothered to look at.

He swelled inside of her, and she swelled around him. "Oh, Salvador," she moaned. She reached up and slid her fingers into his hair. Her nails were painted red, as were her lips. Her lips tasted like cinnamon. He knew that the moment he leaned down to kiss her. She moaned against his lips. He moaned against hers. He pushed into her and purred with delight. Her nails scraped against his scalp, and he rumbled like a wild tiger anticipating the kill. He dug his fingers into her glorious flesh and reveled in the rising scent of blood. She tipped back her head, severing their kiss, and cried out. The cry was a pleasured sound. She delighted in the feel of him tearing at her flesh. No woman of his should find displeasure in it. She was perfect.

They continued for hours more. He turned her over and took her from many angles. He fucked her where it was proper and fucked her where it wasn't. He made her skin slick with sweat and blood. She quivered with ecstasy each time he tore into her. Her golden bronze skin paled as the hours passed. When he was finished with her, he left her as an ivory goddess statue doused in blood. She fell against the sheets and panted desperately. He filled her with his seed and rumbled one last time. He gasped and struggled for breath. She had orgasmed many times throughout the night, and finally he had achieved his own.

When he was finished with her, he collapsed against the mattress beside her. The sheets were soaked with blood and sweat and covered in bits of flesh. She quivered beside him. Her flesh was white and cold under layered smears of red. She had surrendered herself to him and now she lay as a developing corpse. He could hear her heart beat. It was a slow and hollow sound. She would die soon. "Te amo," he whispered to her. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. He kissed her blood-soaked hair. "Lo siento."

"This is what I wanted," she said to him. Her words were so very quiet. Her mouth was dry and he could hear how difficult it was for her to speak.

"Shh. Don't speak now, my love. We should get you stitched up, no?"

Her laughter was hoarse and weak. Her ribs pressed through her tattered flesh and raked against his side. "I only need to sleep, darling. Give me a moment's peace and I'll be fine."

How could he have worried? He knew this was true. She surrendered herself to him every night and endured his vicious love. She welcomed it. She reveled in it. He loved this woman. With a satisfied grin, he kissed her brow and settled with her on the mattress. She lay her head to rest on his chest and listened to his heart beat calm down slowly from the adrenaline rush of sex. She would fall asleep before him. She always did. But he was not far behind her in succumbing to slumber...

A warm hand touched against his shoulder. Salvador woke with a start and sat bolt upright on the church pew. His shout had startled the priest at his side. "Are you quite all right, child?" he heard the man inquire.

The cathedral swirled into focus all around him. How long had he been sleeping? He wondered this while rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Passionate visions faded out of his mind. He was only vaguely aware of the dream he had just had, which was odd. Red hair and bronze skin flickered out of focus. The scent of sex lingered in his nostrils. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue.

"Are you injured, son?"

What a curious question for the priest to ask him. Pulling his hands away from his face, he realized why. His hands were covered in blood. Likely his face was coated in blood now as well. "I'm fine, Padre," he mumbled. "This isn't mine." That probably wasn't the wisest thing to say to a priest, but it was the truth. The blood on his hands was fresh and it was red. It smelled of copper, like human blood. It smelled like her blood, her glorious blood. How strange. It had been a long time since he had had a dream so real, so real that it followed him into the waking world.

The priest wavered in his stance. Salvador knew the man was having a mental argument with himself just then. Should he stay and tend to the boy? Or should he go and call the local authorities? The boy had said it wasn't his own blood, which only meant it belonged to another and that likely violence had been involved. But this priest was a good priest. The church was a sanctuary, even for criminals. Jesus preached to judge not let ye be judged. He should not be hasty in drawing conclusions. Salvador smirked when the man settled to sit on the bench next to him. "Is there anything I can do for you, my son?"

"No, Padre," he said. He lowered his hands to his lap and tilted back his head to examine the ceiling so high above. Even in the back of the cathedral the ceiling was high. He drew in a deep and calming breath. He released it as staggering exhale. "I'm fine. Gracias."

"Are you quite sure?"

The man was annoyingly persistent. Salvador wondered about this. He detected a note of confusion and uncertainty in the priest's voice. He tipped his head to look at him, brows furrowed. "Sí, Padre. Why do you ask?"

"It's only that," he began, but he paused a moment to gather his thoughts. Something didn't make sense to the man. That much was evident. "I see you come here every Sunday. You come to listen to the choir." Observant, Salvador thought. "You don't often come in the evenings. I've noticed." Truth be told, the priest had become rather curious about the boy ever since he'd first seen him. But he did not tell Salvador that. For a moment he only smiled. "So I've learned to keep an eye on you, wondering if you would come to speak with me." Of course. All priests expected people to confess.

"And?" There had to be a point to all of this. A flicker of impatience erupted inside of him.

"And," the priest continued. He was unaffected by the tone. Typical, Salvador thought. In his opinion, all priests were self-righteous bastards. "I thought you had left hours ago. After the choir was finished singing, I looked back to see if you were still here after you came in this evening. When I looked, you were gone."

Gone? Salvador twitched up a brow and stared at the man. He couldn't think of anything to say, but his mind swarmed with a billion questions and concepts. He had come in to listen to the choir. He had fallen asleep here on the pew. He hadn't gone anywhere. He had only fallen asleep and then dreamed. He had dreamed... He looked down at his hands and turned them over to observe the blood on his palms. The blood was beginning to dry. "I've been here all night, Padre," he said. "I fell asleep."

"Perhaps it was only a trick of the eyes then," said the priest. "But I'm quite sure when I looked back here that you were gone. So I went about my business. I had just come back here to refill the holy water stoup, and I saw you here. Sleeping as you were before."

Odd, Salvador thought. One part of his brain argued that he should agree on it being a trick of the eyes. Maybe he had inadvertently activated his invisibility ability before drifting off to sleep. But that didn't explain the blood. No matter. As he recalled, it wasn't the first time he had woke up with blood on his hands. He decided, however, that it wasn't something he wanted to discuss with a priest. "I'm fine, Padre," he said again. He pushed up to his feet, then, and stretched languidly. "Thank you for your concern."

The priest nodded and got to his feet as well. "Very well." He shuffled a step to the side to avoid brushing up against the boy. Likely he didn't want to soil his robes with blood if he could avoid it. "If you'd like to speak some time--"

"Gracias, Padre." Salvador interrupted him. He knew very well what the priest was going to say. They all said the same thing. He eyed the man through the corner of his eye and fashioned up a faint smile to indicate his appreciation. "Gracias. I will." It was a false promise, but he knew it would appease the man.

With a faint nod, the priest left it at that. He stepped out from the pew and walked the length of the cathedral toward the front of the church. Salvador watched him idly and actually found himself considering taking the man up on his offer. Don't be stupid, he chided himself mentally. Once again he imagined what a confession would have amounted to. It amused him. With a quiet chuckle, he took one last look at his hands and then sighed. He shook his head and moved. When he stepped out of the church the sky was gray. It was sunrise.

Odd, he thought again. He realized he needed a shower. So, he hurried down the street to take care of that before heading home to fetch Mara and get to school.