You nodded slowly, your eyes never leaving my face as I kept on—slow, easy tugs that drew pleasure from my body like blood from a vein. My gaze flitted to your crotch, which mushroomed right in front of my eyes. I wanted to put my mouth on you—anywhere on your skin would do—but my hands were occupied, and you were physically restraining me with one hand on my sternum and the other still tugging at my hair. Maybe you were afraid of my teeth. I forced my scalp deeper into your grip, rutted into my fist, and moaned from my core. My orgasm poured through me like spilled paint, and I shuddered from the rush. Some primitive part of my brain had completely taken over when my teeth broke your skin. Stunned and satiated, I sat there in a daze.
Semen cooled in my fist. I’d dribbled on the carpet as well. I placed my free hand over your erection and palmed it.
“Is this natural, too?”
You nodded, then brought my hand to your mouth and kissed it reverently. I heard a groan behind me and turned to see that Dalvin had gotten off as well. It was a little strange to share this moment with an audience, but I supposed the three of us were bound by blood, at least for the night.
I cleaned up in the bathroom as best I could, still trying to register everything that had happened between us and what it might mean.
When I came back, you were checking Dalvin’s pulse and seducing him to stay in and get a good night’s sleep. You thanked him for his blood, and I wished him safe travels. He asked us to stay and have a beer with him, but it was after midnight, and we still needed to find a place of our own. You decided to check with the front desk and see if there were any rooms available at that complex. I was too tired to care. A little while later, we had transferred our stuff to a second-story room. Spooky must have been successful in her hunt because she didn’t ask to be fed.
I showered, then got ready for bed while you took your turn. I’d delayed brushing my teeth because I wanted to savor the taste of your blood. I breathed in your soapy musk and snuck glances at your naked shadow behind the thin, plastic curtain. What would you do if I climbed in there with you?
My bedtime meditations were pretty pornographic. When the lights were off, and we were lying in our separate beds, I felt the distance between us like never before. It made me physically ache, like my energy was being drawn away by a tidal force, so I crawled into your bed and wrapped your arm around me. I wanted to wear you like a cape.
“I want us to be like this.” I whispered it into the dark like a prayer and hoped you might answer.
Your head dipped to kiss the top of my crown, and just when I thought you might pull away, you hugged me closer and said softly, “Okay, Vincent.”
17
HENRI
After a night of restless sleep in a rather cramped bed, I awoke to find you still nestled in my arms, soft and warm in slumber. As I drank in your every pore and eyelash, the curvature of your muscle and geometry of your bones, I recalled the abandon with which you’d fed from me last night, your raw passion and enthusiasm. How I longed to draw you nearer, caress the gentle curve of your spine, and have you surge against me in supplication. I was both grateful to have this closeness and terrified of its repercussions.
I quietly disentangled myself from your embrace and retrieved my weapons, which I kept in an indestructible container that outwardly resembled an instrument case. Stored inside was my gladius, a heavy two-foot sword with a curved blade and a fine point. I rarely carried it with me in public because of its size, but I never traveled without it. I had with me another friend from antiquity, my pugio, now an enchanted dagger with the power to temporarily bind a spirit—demonic or angelic—to their host body for the purposes of capture and interrogation.
When dealing with humans, we seldom dealt in guns, neither the Imperium nor mercenaries like me. Guns were loud, easily traced, and often resulted in the fatality of the host body. We tried, when possible, to preserve human life, and beyond that, Azrael demanded discretion. As for myself, I much preferred blades. They allowed for a certain intimacy that sufficiently quenched my bloodlust.
Along with those weapons were several tranquilizing darts and throwing knives, in case I wasn’t able to get close to my target. And I’d recently acquired something for you, a utility knife crafted from Damascus steel, known for its ability to pierce through even the toughest materials. There was really only one purpose for this blade. I hoped you wouldn’t have cause to use it, but I wanted you to be prepared.
I was fastidious with the care and maintenance of my weapons, but my pugio was given special consideration, for its potency was directly linked to the devoutness to my cause. As with most mornings when I was preparing for a hunt, I placed its bone and iron hilt against my forehead and recited a paean in Latin.
“Henri?”
I twisted from my kneeling position to catch you eying me sleepily from the bed. Your silver hair was sticking up in all directions, and your eyes were half-lidded.
“Good morning, darling.” I carefully sheathed my weapons—all but my gladius—on my person. Your eyes widened.
“So that’s why we can’t fly first class,” you remarked, eying my various hiding places with some trepidation.
I shook my head. “Look who’s already so clever first thing in the morning.”
“It’s a gift.” You yawned and stretched one arm high above your head. “I guess this means no cuddling?” You glanced longingly at the empty space on the bed beside you.
“I let you sleep in, but we must be going. We have a lot of errands to run today.”
“We?” You perked up.
I’d weighed the pros and cons that morning. Leaving you behind might better ensure your safety, but if anything went sideways, we’d need to make a speedy getaway. And if you were truly to become my apprentice, I couldn’t shield you from the more unsavory aspects of my work forever.
“Yes, Vincent, we. It’s time to try out the leather and chains you brought with you.”
You threw a pillow at my head so swiftly that I didn’t have a chance to dodge it.
You used the bathroom, then rifled through your duffle bag, retrieving a pair of moth-eaten black denim jeans and a cut-off t-shirt with the wordSLAYacross the front. So much for not drawing attention. You started to remove your nightshirt, and I dropped my gaze to study the dried blood still caked under my fingernails from last night’s feed.
“You don’t have to look away.” You were shirtless and wearing only your underwear. The soft white cotton was a sharp contrast to your dark skin. I drank in the tops of your thighs, lightly dusted with hair. Your slender waist fanned upward to a tapered torso that was rapidly gaining definition.
