The Altar Binds

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The bodies on the floor hadn’t cooled yet, and already, the walls pulsed with something ancient.

The chapel was still. Sacred in the way that desecration can sometimes be—ritualistic, reverent, reeking of sweat and blood and need. A sacrilege so perfectly curated, even the gods held their breath.

Kook hadn’t moved, even after he shoved Tae against the blood-slick altar. His claws were half-shifted, bone cracking beneath skin, a body caught between forms—between beast and man, between domination and desire. It was always like this with Tae. He brought out the in-between. The unfinished. The cursed.

“You reek of madness,” Kook said, voice deep and shredded at the edges.

Tae licked blood from his own lip. “Good. Then we match.”

Outside, the rain returned—slamming against the ruined stained glass, blurring the grotesque saints that watched from the broken windows. Each face marred. Each judgment erased.

Tae moved again, and Kook let him.

He slid off the altar with grace that belied his nature, trailing gloved fingers across the corpse of a nun whose mouth had been sewn shut. Her rosary was missing. Tae had given it to Kook years ago after ripping it from the neck of a child prophet. Kook had thrown it into a river.

“You could have brought me something more valuable than a massacre,” Kook muttered.

Tae turned slowly. “I brought you myself.”

That was the worst part—because it was true.

Every time they met, Tae unraveled. He spilled himself out, an offering neither asked for nor deserved. He bled for Kook. He begged in silence. But never once did he call it love. Never once did he bow.

And Kook hated that he wanted to be worshipped by him anyway.

“I should tear your throat out and be done with it.”

Tae’s smile returned—slower this time, quieter. “You won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because even your gods need monsters to kneel to.”

For a moment, neither moved. And then the candlelight flickered, casting shadows on the far wall.

A third presence had entered the chapel.

It was subtle at first—like a shift in gravity, or a soundless scream pressed against the ribs of the earth. The corpses twitched. The air grew heavy. And the altar began to weep blood from its edges.

Kook turned sharply, instinct flashing.

Tae only laughed.

“You brought it here,” Kook growled. “The blood-thing. The one you sealed under Verona.”

“I didn’t bring it. I freed it.”

“You insane bastard—”

“You called me a monster,” Tae said, walking toward him again. “So I thought, why not make it official?”

The thing in the chapel was old. Older than their kinds. It had no shape, only hunger. It fed on the blood of sacred things. Priests, oracles, kings. And now, it stirred again—awakened by the scent of forbidden intimacy.

“Are you trying to summon it?” Kook asked, voice suddenly lower. Dangerous. “Or feed it?”

“I want it to watch.”

Kook’s eyes flared gold.

Tae stopped just in front of him. The air between them buzzed. The thing in the shadows hissed its approval.

“I want you,” Tae said, soft now. “And I want to break you where it can see.”

Kook surged forward, grabbing Tae by the throat and slamming him against the wall. The stones cracked. Candlelight trembled. The thing watching from the crypt’s edge purred.

“You want to be destroyed that badly?” Kook hissed.

“No,” Tae gasped, still smiling. “I want to be remembered.”

And then they collided again.

This time, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a war. Tongues like blades. Teeth against skin. Hands hungry enough to tear flesh. And underneath it all, the altar bled.

Kook bit into Tae’s lip hard enough to draw blood. Tae moaned, delighted.

“You taste like ash.”

“You taste like something dying.”

Behind them, the darkness in the chapel shifted. The thing wasn’t just watching now—it was wanting. It wrapped itself in their hunger like a second skin.

Tae pulled Kook close, lips brushing his ear.

“If we keep going, it’ll mark us.”

“It already has.”

At that, Tae faltered—for the first time, the smile slipped. “You let it mark you?”

“I let you mark me,” Kook whispered. “And now I belong to nothing.”

Tae’s grip on Kook’s waist tightened, possessive. Furious. Reverent.

He pressed their foreheads together. “Then let’s give it something worth remembering.”

And they did.

On that altar, surrounded by the dead and watched by the thing that should not be named, the vampire prince and the cursed wolf enacted their own unholy sacrament. Pleasure laced with pain. Hate tangled with hunger. It was not love.

It was something deeper.

The start of ruin.

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