Vincent
I’d been praying to hear your voice for so many months, but now it was frantic and scared. It reminded me that even with you at my side, we weren’t truly safe. So long as Azrael was strong, we both were in danger. Even this reunion was false hope. Azrael could shatter us at any moment.
What did he do to you?
How did you get all those scars?
When was the last time you fed?
Why won’t you talk to me?
You had so many questions. Questions I couldn’t answer. I was confused and disoriented. I’d been isolated for so long, only interacting to interrogate or feed. Since losing my sight, I’d withdrawn even farther into my own personal hell. A part of me still wanted to die because hurting you was the obvious effect of living.
“Too much,” I whimpered. Sensations bombarded me—scents of soil and grass. Campfire smoke. Fish and cooked meat. I tried to hold onto the tenor of your voice, but I was so overwhelmed. And helpless to navigate this new place on my own. I knew every inch of my prison cell, but here, I felt like I was falling through time and space. And you’d gone silent.
“Henri,” I said, terrified that you’d left.
“I’m right here.” Your arms encircled me again and I flattened myself against your broad chest. You’d lost weight, too. I could feel your ribs through the fabric of your shirt.
“I want to lie down.” Sleep forever and never wake up.
“Lucian should examine you for injuries,” you said gently. “Perhaps a bloodmeal? Or a bath?”
I smelled like sour rot. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bathed. I hated what I’d become, inside and out. Revolting. There were too many tasks I must accomplish in order to rejoin the living, and if I weren’t so exhausted, I might have had the energy to cry.
“Sedate me,” I said. “Do whatever you must but make sure I’m unconscious for it.”
“Vincent.” Your voice was ragged with pain.
“I can’t…”
I didn’t finish, and you didn’t say anymore. I clung to you and you murmured, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” You lifted me and carried me—to where I had no idea—then laid me down on a pillowy mattress. My fingers curled against the soft fabric. I hadn’t touched something so soft in months. One of your hands splayed across my chest as if to hold me, down but I had no intention of moving.
You whispered soft curses at someone else, then I felt a pinch in my upper arm. A soothing warmth followed, accompanied by Lucian’s purr in my ear, “Sleep now, little brother. We’ll take care of everything.”
