That day Serapha and Alan did in fact stay at the inn. With the onset of evening she set out to see Father Benton. She wanted to thank the cleric again for helping her, and let him know that everything had turned out all right. Michael had attached himself to her side and was tagging along, uninvited but certainly not unwelcome. Their path led them near the docks and Serapha glanced over at the few ships in port this early in the year. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. “That’s Gabriel’s ship,” she said, a sinking sensation settling into her stomach. She did not want to see the captain ever again.

“You’d think he wouldn’t want to come back here,” said Michael.

“I just hope I don’t run into him,” said Serapha. She hurried past the docks, wanting to reach Father Benton’s house as soon as possible. They were almost there when something hit Serapha from behind. She collapsed, pain shooting through her head. Her last sight as the world went black was of Michael also falling to the snow-covered ground, and her last thought was of concern for him. If he’s left to lie in the cold, he’ll freeze to death… And then everything faded away and she knew no more.

She awoke to find herself in a dimly lit cave with her hands securely bound together. She was dismayed, but not surprised to find that Gabriel was her captor. There was something disturbing in the way he looked at her. She had a sudden suspicion that the captain wasn’t quite in full possession of his faculties just then, and that thought wasn’t a happy one. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Claiming what’s rightfully mine,” he said.

“I don’t belong to you!” she said, tugging at her hands in an attempt to free them. He strength was greater than human, but he seemed to have taken that into account, and the ropes that held her were beyond her strength to break.

“You ought to be mine,” he said. “You ought to be. I ought to be yours. My blood is part of you now, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Serapha.

“Do matters of the heart make sense?” he asked, and then gave a little laugh. “Does it make sense that a little, ignorant thing like you could ruin me like this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought I knew, I thought I knew it all when it came to passion, to pleasure, but you… you did something to me like nobody has ever done before. Now that’s all I want. I need you, Serapha, my vampyress. I need you, and nobody else. I’ve tried, oh I’ve tried, but nothing satisfies me anymore. Nothing!” He shouted that last word, and Serapha was suddenly certain he wasn’t all there upstairs. She shivered. Bad enough to be in the hands of a man like Captain Young to begin with, but now that he seemed to have lost his grip on sanity…

When Michael awoke he was surprised to find himself in a soft bed. A white-haired man with the holy symbol of a cleric around his neck was bending over him, an expression of concern on his kindly face.

“You’re awake! Good! For a while there I was quite worried.”

“Where am I? Who are you? What happened to Serapha?”

“Serapha? You mean the young aerian girl?” The cleric’s expression of worry deepened.

“Yes, she was with me. Then… Captain Young! He hit us from behind.”

“Oh dear,” said the cleric. “This isn’t good at all. I know something of what passed between them, and if that man is deranged enough to kidnap her there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

“I have to find her,” said Michael, starting up out of the bed. The room seemed to spin around him and his sight dimmed around the edges. Father Benton, for so it was, pushed the young man gently back down.

“You’re not going to go anywhere. You’ve had a concussion. I’ve done what I can for it, but you’re not fit to go chasing off after her. If I hadn’t been coming back late from visiting a friend and found you, you might well have died.”

“But I can’t just sit here,” said Michael. “She’s in danger!”

“You can sit here, and you will,” said the cleric. “Meanwhile I shall go after the young woman myself. I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’ve still got some life in me, and I can certainly deal with one man.”

“But…” said Michael weakly.

“No buts from you, my young friend. I know Captain Young’s type. Underneath it all he’s a coward. I doubt he’ll risk his own skin.” As he spoke the cleric was rummaging around in a little closet. “Ah, here it is,” he said, standing up with a small crossbow in his hand. “Back in the day I used to be a crack shot with this thing,” he told Michael with a little wink. “I think I can still remember how to use it.”

“Now, you stay here and get yourself recovered,” he said as he left the room. “I’ll be back soon.”

Father Benton threw on a coat and ran out the door. He came to the spot where he’d found Michael lying in the snow. Sure enough when he took the time to look the imprint of a second body was visible next to the young man’s. There were footprints all around the area, but the last snow had been only a day or so ago, so it was still possible to pick out individual sets, and one set of prints was on top of all the others. It led from the spot where Serapha had lain down the road away from town. Nodding to himself the cleric followed it. In his youth he’d been assigned to assist the city watch, who often needed the healing powers of a cleric. He’d learned a great deal from the watchmen about this sort of thing, and he didn’t doubt his ability to follow the trail. Indeed it was almost too easy, for soon the tracks left the beaten streets of Snowcap and headed for the uninhabited costal area to the west of town.

Father Benton tracked the captain to a spot where a narrow trail led down the seaside cliffs to the beach below. He couldn’t see it from above, but the way the footprints stopped at the cliff face told him there was a cave there. He descended with care, trying to be as silent as possible.

When he reached the bottom he peered cautiously around the corner into the cave. A dim lantern provided enough light for him to see. The captain was there, as was Serapha. She sat awkwardly on the sandy floor, her hands bound in front of her. The lantern also provided enough light to aim, so Father Benton stepped forward with his crossbow raised.

“Let the girl go,” he said simply.

Captain Young spun around. His eyes widened in surprise. Then he laughed, an ugly, unstable sound. “She’s mine, you old coot,” he said. “I’m not going to.”

“Then I’ll have no choice but to shoot you,” said the cleric.

The captain suddenly dropped to one knee and picked up a crossbow of his own from where it had lain hidden in the shadows. “Not if I shoot you first,” he said, and fired.