UNHOLY BLOOD

The storm had been howling for hours. I hated it so much. If I were God, I wouldn't even let it ever rain again.. We'd have just 3 seasons instead of 4.

It rained heavily against the windows of The Salty Anchor, the only bar in town still open at this hour. Not that anyone was drinking. The whole place was tense. Half the fishermen were crammed inside to escape the wind, the other half praying their boats would survive.

I wiped down the counter for the third time in ten minutes, the rough cotton rag a familiar anchor. My nerves were too heightened to stand still because storms always did this to me. It wasn't the thunder or the lightning. It was the noise, the constant, unpredictable violence of it.

It reminded me of another life.

Of a cramped Portland apartment where the shouting was just as loud as the weather, and a lot more personal. Jared used to hate the rain. He said it made people stupid and melancholy. He blamed it for his bad moods, which usually meant I spent the night trying to be invisible. Polishing glasses. Keeping quiet. Pretending not to exist.

I shook the memory away. Wrong place. Wrong time.

The Salty Anchor smelled of wet wool and cigarette smoke. Boots thumped against the wooden floors. No one spoke above a murmur. Outside, the wind screamed like it wanted to rip the town apart.

BANG.

The door slammed open, nearly ripped off its hinges. A blast of cold air shoved into the room, spraying rain across the floor. I clenched my jaw. If someone broke that door again, I was going to kill them.

But then he walked in.

Father Daniel.

Dripping wet, black shirt plastered to his chest. Dark hair slicked to his neck. The usual hum of conversation died in a heartbeat.

He never came in. Not once in the five years since he'd arrived, taken his vows, and buried himself in that church like a ghost no one could touch.

What the hell was he doing here?

I gripped the rag harder, forced a smirk. My voice came out sharper than I meant.

"Well, hell froze over. What brings you in, Father? Finally here to preach about my sinful margaritas?"

His eyes flicked to me. Dark as the storm outside. He didn't linger, only looked for a second before moving on.

"The church roof collapsed."

Silence spread like spilled beer.

I blinked. "...Shit."

"The rectory is flooded. Uninhabitable." His voice was flat, like he was reading a grocery list.

"So, you need a place to stay?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Three seconds passed. The longest three seconds of my life.

"If it's not an inconvenience."

Inconvenience? I almost laughed. Try torture.

Because Father Daniel standing in my bar was one thing.

Father Daniel sleeping under my roof?

That was a whole different kind of sin.

The rain slowed to a miserable drizzle by the time we stepped outside. He walked a steady three feet behind me the entire way, like I carried the plague.

"You don't have to act like I'm contagious," I muttered.

"Habit."

"What, staying five miles away from women?"

"Yes."

I snorted. "Wow. Really selling the whole holy man thing."

He didn't answer. His footsteps stayed steady, too controlled, like he was marching toward something he hated.

My house sat on the edge of town, half-hidden behind crab traps and a rusted truck that hadn't run in years. I fumbled with the keys at the porch, aware of him behind me, tall and silent as a shadow.

"You can take the guest room," I said once the door opened. "Bathroom's down the hall. Towels under the sink. Don't... pray at me or whatever."

A pause stretched between us. Then, low and even: "I won't."

I turned. For the first time, his gaze met mine. Not long. Not intense. Just long enough to make my stomach flip.

Then he looked away, brushing past me with that calm detachment, vanishing down the hall.

Oh, this was going to be hell.

I busied myself in the kitchen, pretending I wasn't counting every sound he made upstairs. The creak of floorboards. The soft click of the bathroom door. The rush of water through the pipes. Each sound made him more real. Not the ghost in the church. Not the untouchable Father Daniel. Just a man in my house.

My phone buzzed.

Maggie: Wait. HE'S STAYING WITH YOU?!

Of course, she already knew. News in this town traveled faster than lightning.

Me: Church got wrecked. No choice.