Chapter 7
Betrayal's Bite
Amidst the mounting tension and Bishop's morally grey dealings, Sister Petra seeks him out. Her presence offers a fragile solace, a brief respite from the ugliness he navigates. They share a moment of quiet intimacy, a stark contrast to the violence he perpetrates. But the shadow of her impending vows looms large, a constant reminder of the precariousness of their connection. Bishop feels a pang of something akin to protectiveness, but knows her path, and his, are diverging. Her faith and his damnation are on a collision course.
The air in Whisper still hung thick with the scent of pine and something far more primal, a coppery tang that Bishop Dark had long ago learned to associate with spilled blood and broken bones. He’d slept, if you could call the fitful dozing that punctuated his nights a proper rest, in a corner of the hamlet’s surprisingly sturdy tavern. The ale, blessedly potent and cheap, had done its usual work of dulling the edges of his thoughts, but not enough to erase the unease.
The werewolves, Grimm’s pack, weren’t the monsters the Church, and by extension, he, had painted them. They were territorial, yes, and certainly capable of tearing a man limb from limb, but they hadn’t been the instigators. Not this time. The attacks, the fear, the escalating panic in Whisper – it had all felt too… orchestrated. Too clean, in its own messy way. And Bishop Dark hated clean messes. They always hid something dirtier.
He was nursing a fresh tankard, the amber liquid a comforting weight in his hand, when the tavern door creaked open. A sliver of moonlight, sharp and cold, sliced across the room, illuminating the hesitant figure silhouetted against the night. Sister Petra.
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