The way the sirens moved left trails of spiritual energy behind them, which could easily be interpreted as long hair and flowing dresses or perhaps even wings to the very agile eye—the Renaissance painters had certainly thought so. Even so, their voices ranged widely in octave and timbre, as most spirits, were, in fact, genderless.
“Lonely sailors might also see what they wish,” I remarked. “As was my father’s case. Why don’t you sing something?”
“I’m a terrible singer,” you said with a sheepish grin, but with a little more coaxing, you opened your mouth and belted out a pop ballad I recalled hearing on the radio some months ago. The sirens, excited by a new voice, took up your melody with enthusiasm.
“It’s like a concert hall,” you said, still in awe. “I never sounded so good.”
Your pleasure at rediscovering your voice gratified me greatly. When you’d first arrived, you’d hardly said a word and never above a whisper. Other than interrogating soldiers, I doubted anyone had spoken to you during your imprisonment. Or touched you in any way resembling kindness. The sort of isolation left untold scars, especially for a tactile youngblood like yourself. I cursed Azrael yet again for the harm he’d inflicted upon your gentle soul.
I had an idea then. “Come with me.” I led you to a spot where the sunlight pooled and positioned your body at the center of it. Just as I’d predicted, your skin glowed golden and shimmered like scales whenever you moved. It was even more brilliant here than under the artificial lighting of the mine. The sirens reached their crescendo and then, fell silent. I’d never heard the caves so subdued before. Even the waves had settled into an eerie calm, as if to exalt you.
“Sunborn,” I said as you held up your hand to inspect it, your skin as iridescent as a chrysalis. Bathed in gold, you were breathtaking. I thought back to Orlando costumed as the golden idol and wondered if this was a strange twist of fate or if it was your destiny, fulfilled.
“I feel stronger. Why?”
I wasn’t so familiar with the physiology of the sunborn, but I could make some educated guesses. “I’d imagine it’s similar to how we grow stronger with blood. The sunlight and the spiritual energy of a Shade Vale are a potent mix. It was rumored that Ra’s power and those of his acolytes was stronger when the sun was at its zenith.”
Eyes closed, you lifted your head toward the rays of light and absorbed the sunbeams through your golden skin until a cloud passed over us, and a crack of thunder disrupted the quiet. The sirens resumed their song. I glanced back toward the ocean to see storm clouds gathering.
“Let’s seek shelter.”
We swam back to the beach and redressed. As I guided you toward the path that would take us up to my villa, you said to me, “I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again.”
“How’s that, my darling?”
“Hopeful.”
The hiketo the top of the island was strenuous, and by the time we arrived at what I hoped you’d consider your new home, your breathing was labored, and you were leaning on me heavily. I half-carried you to the bedroom, pulled back the fresh bedding, and tucked you inside.
“Stay here until I fall asleep,” you murmured, so I climbed in and cradled you in my arms until slumber overcame you. The tension slowly left your features, until your forehead was smooth and your lips slightly parted. Young again—too young for all of this. My sleeping prince. You’d thrown one arm across my chest, and I took the opportunity to study the jagged marks carved there by a crude hand. I had some theories as to their significance, but I’d heeded Lucian’s warning to let you reveal yourself in your own time. I kissed your forehead, still crusted with salt from our swim. Then, with the steady patter of rain against the rooftop, I drifted off to sleep.
It must have been hours later when I awoke to find the space beside me empty and the sheets cold. Panic flooded me. I threw back the covers and quickly scanned the room to find myself alone.
“Vincent.” My voice thundered through my diaphragm and echoed off the marble walls.
“Just a minute,” you called, and my eyes zeroed in on the bathroom door, closed. I smelled blood—specifically, your blood—and so I counted to ten, then stood and crossed the room. I placed my ear against the wooden door and heard the sounds of running water, not quite loud enough to mask your short, harsh pants. What were you doing in there?
“Vincent?” I said again, softer this time so as not to startle you.
No response, so I tried the door handle. The knob turned but the door wouldn’t budge. There wasn’t a lock, which meant you’d barricaded it shut. I jiggled the handle again.
“Don’t come in,” you said. It sounded like there was something in your mouth.
“Vincent, I’m worried,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone.
“I’m fine,” you said shortly, but I could hear the strain in your voice. Pain or arousal? I owed you your privacy, but after what Lucian had said about the marks, I didn’t trust you not to harm yourself.
“I’m giving you ten seconds to finish what you’re doing, and then I’m coming in,” I warned.
During those few moments, time slowed, and I had to clasp both hands behind my neck to prevent myself from barging inside. I’d hoped you would open the door of your own accord, but what if you were unable? Time was up. I rammed my shoulder against it—once, twice, three times. On my fourth attempt, there was a splintered crack, and I stumbled inside to find you sitting on the edge of the tub, swaying slightly. You were bleeding, and the mess of it waseverywhere.
“What in gods’ name did you do?” I bellowed.
“Cut a little too deep,” you said in a woozy daze, “but I’ll be fine.”
I took in the spill of red splatters, which began at the sink where the water was still running and trailed across the marble floor and past a broken broom handle—the instrument you’d used to keep me out. Bloody handprints were smeared on the side of the tub where you sat cradling your arm in a towel, also soaked through.
“Why would you do this?”
