The Saintess' Savage Puppet

​The metallic tang of fresh blood choked the air around the sacred altar, yet not a single priest dared to draw near. In the center of the hall, Elenor, the wielder of the greatest holy power, stared blankly at her chest. It had just been riddled with stabs from a silver dagger. Only five minutes ago, her heart had been torn apart, but now, it beat once more. ​The sickening sound of knitting flesh and mending bone echoed through the silent hall. The gaping wound closed slowly until her skin was smooth again, leaving behind only a white gown drenched in thick, crimson fluid. ​"Failed again," she whispered, her voice hoarse with resignation. "When ... can I finally end this?" ​Suddenly, the great hall doors shattered into splinters. A bone-chilling cold swept inside. In the ruined doorway, a red-eyed man stood with such chilling arrogance that he eclipsed the moonlight. ​"Nineteen years, seven months, four days." His voice resonated, a volatile mixture of fury and yearning. "Did you think you could simply die before I found you, Saintess?" ​Elenor felt the breath hitch in her chest—not from her closing wounds, but from the presence of the man who carried the scent of damp earth and death. Killian. The nightmare of humanity, and the very definition of eternal beauty. ​He strode forward, the wind seemingly dying in his presence. The priests who had rushed in after the crash fell to their knees in terror. They were witnessing the bloodthirsty monster who had breached the very place supposedly protected by God. ​"Stop right there," Elenor commanded, her blood-stained hands trembling violently. ​"Why should I stop? I spent years searching for a soul that keeps drifting between bodies, only for you to do this? You tried to die in this filthy place without my permission." ​"I don't need anyone's permission." ​"Do you truly hate me that much?" ​"Deeply." ​The black-haired man reached out, his cold fingers brushing against Elenor’s chin. A flicker of madness danced in his crimson gaze. ​"You should have let me die, Saintess. If you hadn't interfered and saved me back then, you wouldn't have to face me now." ​"I never saved a monster like you!" “Yeah, it wasn't you, but you in the previous life." ​Elenor closed her eyes, her heart racing far too fast. Killian pulled her roughly into his embrace, his own cloak becoming stained by the fresh crimson on her gown. ​"Ah ... this scent. I have waited hundreds of years just to breathe you in again. And if you truly hate me so, why is your neck turning so red? Your body misses me too, doesn't it?" ​"Get away from me!" Elenor groaned faintly, trying to push against his broad chest. ​"It doesn't matter if you've forgotten me. Your soul remembers its master." "Get lost, Demon. Where do you think this is? It's holy place!” “The only holy place is by your side, Saintess.” ​Killian’s fingers traced her jawline, sliding down toward the stained collarbone. His touch was icy, yet it left a trail of fire on every inch of her skin. He gripped her waist firmly, pulling their bodies flush against each other. ​"Stop hurting yourself and wasting this blood. I am the only one who has the right to spill it." Killian tilted his head, his lips grazing the racing pulse in her white throat. ​"Tell me, Saintess," he whispered against her lips. "Can you still call me a monster when your body is begging for me to touch you deeper?" ​Elenor didn't answer with words. She could only clench the fabric of Killian’s black cloak as he began to sip the remaining blood from her neck. ​"What is it that you want?" ​"I only want to enjoy what is mine–you," the vampire replied, tracing the path of her blood. "But there are too many eyes here, and you wouldn't like it if I tore them out." ​With a glance at the trembling priests, Killian gripped Elenor’s waist. In a sudden blur of motion, they arrived in her chambers at the peak of the building. ​"I’ve warned you countless times. Lock your door, Saintess. You have no idea what kind of creature might come for you while you sleep." ​"The only wretched creature that comes for me is you." ​"But doesn't that mean you wanted me to come inside by opening your door?" ​He laid Elenor upon the bed. With a wave of his hand, he extinguished every candle, then began to clean the blood from her chest with his tongue. ​As if hypnotized, the brunette woman stopped struggling. In this hollow temple, only this vampire could make her feel this intoxicated. Her body, acting on a will of its own, craved every touch. ​"How long will you keep chasing me?" she asked softly, the gentle tone of a Saintess returning to her voice. ​"I told you, we are one. I will only exist where you are, Lily." ​"My name is Elenor. You have the wrong person." ​"No. No matter your face or your name, you are still my Lily. You are my only reason for living through these hundreds of miserable years. This is your twentieth life anyway. That’s why you’ve forgotten who we are. But as we stay together, the memories will return." ​"But all I remember is my hatred for you." ​"True, this Lily hates me. Is it because I slaughtered half of this temple? Or because I force you to accept my love every night?" ​"What answer do you want, Killian?" She forced herself to meet the sharp crimson eyes in the darkness. "Go ahead. Take this body as you wish. Drink my blood until you are satisfied. Then let me die in peace." ​A bitter smile touched the lips of the woman who had spent nearly twenty years serving the temple. Killian went still, his brow furrowing as he witnessed the sheer depth of her despair. ​"Does this life sicken you that much?" ​"I would be grateful if you could free me from this world." ​"I have kept my word and granted your every wish in every life, but this time, I cannot." Killian felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if struck by lightning at the sight of her helplessness. "You may die and be reborn a thousand times, but know this: even if you crawl to the depths of hell, I will be the one to bring you back.”