— You’re lying.
Raphael’s voice was even, but Elissa saw it—his eyes had darkened, and his fingers clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
The pastor watched him calmly.
— You already feel the truth, — his voice was deep, certain. — It calls to you, just as blood calls to blood.
Elissa, as if in a daze, took a step back.
— But how? If this is true… why has no one spoken of it? Why don’t vampires know it themselves?
The pastor averted his gaze.
— Because their memory was erased.
Raphael’s jaw tightened.
— By whom?
The pastor looked at him for a long moment, then slowly, almost ceremonially, made the sign of the cross.
— By those who did not want fallen angels to walk the earth.
A ringing silence filled the church.
Elissa could feel her heart pounding too fast.
— This means… — she exhaled, trying to process it, — that vampires are… angels cast out of heaven?
The pastor nodded.
— Their wings were taken, their memories erased, their souls consumed by the thirst for blood. They do not remember who they were. But the blood… remembers.
Elissa turned to Raphael.
He looked… lost.
— That’s impossible, — his voice was low, dangerous. — If that were true…
— You would feel it, — the pastor finished gently.
Raphael’s eyes snapped up to him.
And in that moment, something changed.
The candles flickered, as if caught in a sudden gust of wind—except there was no draft.
And Elissa suddenly felt it…
As if something had awakened in Raphael.
His gaze turned darker, almost bottomless, and in the air around him, something unseen seemed to stir.
The pastor smiled.
— Do you see?
Raphael didn’t answer.
But Elissa saw it—he understood.
Then the pastor turned to her.
— And now tell me, child, — his voice deepened, — have you never felt that your blood… is special too?
Elissa froze.
She wanted to say “no.”
But the words caught in her throat.
Because she had felt it.
Always.