Henri
The prisoner in question was a willowy youth with a mane of glossy brown hair and a beguiling appearance. He must have recently bathed for there was a slight floral scent in the air that I recognized from Lena’s bathhouse. Even with the circles around his eyes and a slightly gaunt appearance, his features were delicate. Pretty.
His slender stature was further accentuated by a white dress shirt, open at the throat, which I assumed was from Lucian’s personal wardrobe. His legs, clad in cotton trousers, were drawn up under him where he perched gracefully on a velvet divan. His slender hands cradled a steaming mug, which he blew on intermittently, and sitting before him on a low table was an assortment of breads and pastries, seemingly untouched. He looked a little too cozy draped over Lucian’s furniture—more like a well-pampered pet than a prisoner—and without him even opening his mouth, I was wary.
“Allow me to handle this interrogation,” Lucian said out of his earshot. “His condition is quite delicate.”
“What condition is that?” I asked skeptically.
“He may be human for one.”
I appraised the youth again. I’d once grabbed a Malakhim inhabiting a human form—he’d fled his vessel soon after my binding enchantment had worn off—but I’d not yet made the mistake of kidnapping a mortal. And yet, I recognized him from the previous night. He’d been silent and sullen, the only one of my captives who hadn’t complained about his restraints or questioned me as to where I was taking him. I’d thought him mute or in shock.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s not listed with any of the tribes, nor does he claim any divine relation.”
“Erosborn, perhaps?” Their Grigori masters, who fed on carnal pleasure, were known for breeding with humans and abandoning their Nephilim bastards across the earthen realm.
“Perhaps.” Lucian assessed me again. “Were you drinking on the job?”
Only a little.
“He has the marking,” I said as my defense and shot Lucian a surly look. The double-diamond brand was plainly visible on his forearm. Azrael had likely marked you as well. The thought only compounded my agitation.
“Azrael keeps humans in his employ, just as we do. Someone has to cook the meals and empty the chamber pots,” Lucian said.
I studied the young man. “I doubt he did either of those things.”
“Maybe heisErosborn. Or at the very least, practiced in the sensual arts,” Lucian mused, hardly hiding his delight at that prospect.
“Don’t let your appetite cloud your judgement.”
“You insult me,” Lucian said haughtily and combed his fingers through his golden waves of hair.
Lucian announced our arrival by clearing his throat, then crossed the room and took up the armchair across from the young man. He settled into an elegant sprawl while I stood a little behind, eyeing our captive’s every move. It took a moment for the youth’s eyes to meet with Lucian’s—a deliberate delay—but when they did, there was a spark of something. Attraction? Recognition?
No, it was defiance.
“Stefan,” Lucian purred, using his seduction to soften the young man’s defenses. The youth’s posture appeared relaxed, but his muscles were rigid. Another deception. “You remember my brother, Henri.” Lucian motioned to me with a graceful turn of his wrist. The youth’s eyes were the color of spring growth, and when they lifted to meet mine, the boldness of his spirit disarmed me.
“As I told you before, our brother was captured some months ago by your master, and we’ve had a great deal of trouble in locating him,” Lucian said.
The youth blinked and wet his lips before speaking. “He’s not my master.”
Lucian’s head tilted. “Oh no?”
“He used me as food.”
That piqued my interest. Had Stefan been kept as one of your blood slaves?
“Food for whom, Stefan?” Lucian asked in a soothing tone.
“For the bloodsucker.” He said the last word harshly, enunciating the consonants as an axe chops wood. I couldn’t place his accent. Eastern European perhaps? “I watched him...” Stefan lowered his gaze to the mug in his hands, jaw tightening. “I watched him kill people.”
I scrutinized the youth, searching for any signs of deceit. It didn’t fit with your character. By the end of our time together, you knew when to stop feeding in order to preserve human life. Unless you’d been starved. Or forced to feed to the death. Was that possible?
“What did he look like?” I asked. “The man you call a bloodsucker?”
