The figure lifted his head at the sound of my voice, forehead creased in disbelief.
“Henri?” Your voice was painfully raw, as though you hadn’t uttered a word in months.
“Yes, my darling.”
I surged forward to pull you into my arms, but they came up empty. Your dream-self had vanished.
“Bring him back,” I bellowed. I was hollowed out with misery at having you right there in front of me, then snatched away again so cruelly.
“No,” Azrael said coldly. “If you want to see him, you’ll release my soldiers.”
“They won’t be willing,” Lucian warned. Thankfully, he was there to handle the details, for I was unable to manage it. “You’ll have to take them by force. They’ve quite enjoyed their taste of freedom.”
“Your captivity is the same as mine,” Azrael said, “only with nicer toys.”
“Nice toys make all the difference,” Lucian said smugly. “We want this agreement blessed by the Thrones and stating there will be no further interference in our lives.”
“But the bloodborn have declared war on the Order of Angels,” Azrael said in a mocking tone, perhaps to remind us of our own futility in the face of such a foe. “Are you surrendering that claim as well?”
“We’re not making any truces,” I growled. “If you’ve hurt Vincent, I will come for you with the wrath my tribe is known for.”
“Your ambition exceeds your means,” Azrael said snidely, though I’d certainly proven otherwise in the past.
“There is a young man in our captivity,” Lucian said, circling back to the negotiation. “One of your blood slaves. I’m keeping him.”
I gave Lucian a scathing look. That damned green-eyed pet of his.
“The spoils of war,” Azrael said idly. “But I expect all of my soldiers to be accounted for.”
“When?” I asked, unable to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“Within the week.”
Azrael turned away. His black form receded until he melted into the crimson horizon. I wished that I could feel relief, but there were too many ways this could go horribly wrong. I hadn’t saved you; Azrael had simply tired of you. Or determined you weren’t worth his diminishing numbers. There was something the Angel of Death wasn’t telling us, and it gnawed at me.
“Time for a shave and a haircut.” Lucian eyed me thoughtfully. “You don’t want to scare Vincent when he sees you.”
I was glad you’d been blindfolded. I didn’t want for you to witness me in my current condition. Even though I’d been diminished by your absence, I would force myself to be strong. Your welfare was my only concern.
“Tell no one about this,” I said to Lucian, “especially not our mother.”
“I won’t,” he said with a pensive expression. At the same time, we scoured our surroundings for the slightest impression of her.
“If she attempts to harm Vincent again, I’ll kill her,” I said, and I might do it with far less provocation.
Lucian nodded but wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I understand.”
For the Nephilim’sfinal day on our lands, Lucian hosted a grand festival with all manner of entertainments. It was both to distract our captives and keep them contained in one area for when Imperium forces arrived. They were unaware this celebration would be their last in our company and that they’d soon be returning to duty. The deception was easy enough to execute for Lucian was known to throw lavish feasts in their honor.
The beastborn hauled heavy objects and challenged the other tribes to grappling matches. The swimming competition was only suitable for the seaborn, and they each took turns outracing one another and retrieving objects from the depths with astonishing speed. An archery range and targets had been set up earlier in the day for contest, and a few of the Nephilim seasoned in combat demonstrated their skills with staff and sword. I watched the games with some interest but didn’t participate. I couldn’t concentrate on anything save for your return.
By the evening, our guests had nearly exhausted our wine cellars, and the banquet tables had been refilled thrice over by Lucian’s bevy of human servants, some of whom had been commissioned to accommodate the revelers in a more carnal manner. I ate very little, for the fist in my stomach would not unclench. A few of the more tenacious Nephilim approached me throughout the day and endeavored to engage me in conversation, but I shut them down with gruff responses and cold stares. Lucian may have been their host, but I was their kidnapper, and they’d do well to remember it. Still, there was one individual who wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
“Enjoying the party?” Lucian’s pet asked, standing closer to me than was wise.
“No,” I said with a glare.
“You are expecting someone?” he persisted, unbothered by my bad temper.
