Henri
Before her sandaled foot stepped within range of the fire’s glow, the blade of my axe was at Lena’s throat. And a split-second after that, a sharp metal sabre was kissing my prominence.
“Mother,” Lucian called out gaily, ignoring the blatant hostility between us. “You’ve returned home safely. How wonderful.”
With cat-like agility Lucian managed to direct both blades away from tender flesh and place his person between Lena and myself. I wished that I had my sword with me. And my dagger as well. Never again would I be caught without.
“Not the welcome I expected from my firstborn,” Lena said darkly while her glittering sapphire eyes raked over me.
“Perhaps you’ll have more luck with your middle child.” The implication that you’d not receive her warmly was clear.
At that she directed her cold gaze at Lucian. “Where are my blood slaves? My cooks? My bath attendants? My palazzo was completely deserted.”
“We’ve modernized,” Lucian said congenially. “Living wages and labor laws and all that.”
“Those weremyfate demons.”
“And we released them from bondage,” I said gruffly. I cared not one whit for Lena’s extravagant tastes. “As you swore to Vincent you would.”
Her shrewd eyes took in the scene, each of us standing as a united front against her. We’d bonded in her absence and even before then, in the mine. My only question was where Lucian might align himself now that she’d returned.
“And who’s this?” Lena gestured toward Stefan. He’d not moved from his lazy sprawl on an outspread blanket, still cradling his bottle of wine like a beloved toy. He watched our reunion with a mild disinterest, though I suspected the young man’s mind was continuously calculating.
“That’s Stefan Rotoru,” Lucian said. “He’s my…” A puzzled look overcame him, which then hardened into resolve. “He’s my companion.”
“Why is he not bowing before his queen?” Lena asked haughtily.
“Well,” Lucian said with a charming smile. “He’s not really the bowing type. Believe me, Mother, I’ve tried.”
“You must not have given him proper motivation.” Lena took up the staff that one of her henchmen provided.
“There will be no bowing,” you said and stepped toward her, keeping Stefan at your back. The fire lit your face in contrast with the shadows, and a leonine fierceness overcame you. “And there will be no more slaves, not for blood or labor or anything else. Keeping humans as captives while fighting for our liberation would make us hypocrites. Wouldn’t it, Mater?”
Lena faltered for a moment, uncertain as to how to react to the venom in your tone. Which way might she attempt to sway you—wheedle you with flattery, play the put-upon martyr, or make an attempt at establishing her dominance?
“I’m so glad to see that you’ve returned safely, Vincere.”
So, then, she would play the doting maternal type.
“No thanks to you,” I spat.
“Call me Vincent,” you said. “Vincere reminds me of my tormenter, and I wouldn’t want to associate that abuse with you.”
Our kind reveled in subtext—Lucian and Lena were masters at it, but it had never been my strength, much to my own detriment. Despite your youth, you were clearly more adept than I.
Lena focused her hypnotizing gaze on you and purred, “I’m sure that your suffering was great, my son. If I could take it all back, I would, but you see, I was in an impossible situation. I couldn’t lead this revolution from within that wretched mine, and I thought Henri would be able to protect you. But look at you now, home at last. And all of us together as a family. Perhaps things have worked out for the best.”
How dare she blame me for your capture, knowing I hated myself for it already. “The best outcome would be your head on a pike,” I said. It was not an idle threat.
Lena’s eyes flickered toward me. “Revolutionaries are born of strife, Henri, and forged by the fires of injustice. At least now Vincent knows what we’re up against.”
“If that was your goal, then you succeeded,” you said. “I hate Azrael more than I’ve ever hated any being before, or ever will.”
“That fury is what fuels us in difficult times,” Lena said. “It’s what kept me alive during my imprisonment. That and our dream shares.” Her gaze softened to a motherly tenderness that made me want to spit in her eye. For all her charms your expression did not change.
“I’m not going to thank you for handing my ass over to Azrael,” you said bitterly. “That was some cold-ass shit you pulled. Fucking lower than low, especially from a mother to her son.”
Lena’s mouth dropped open, and I nearly smiled. She was going to have a hard time selling you her lies.
