I stopped to gaze into your warm, brown eyes, a little watery from the wine. I would tease you for being a weepy drunk if I didn’t know how serious you were.
“I know you do, Henri, and I love you for it. But you have to learn to trust me when I say I can handle some things myself.”
“These demons want to do terrible things to you,” you said with a dark look.
“Then we’ll have to convince them it’s in their best interest not to,” I said patiently.
“I didn’t want this for you. Or for us. I wanted a quiet life. Just you and me and my islands.”
“I thought they wereourislands.”
“They are,” you insisted with a scowl. “Yours and mine and no one else’s.”
I wondered if your hurt feelings weren’t only about my safety, but also because you had to share me—parts of me at least—with the other tribes.
“You don’t like sharing,” I said.
“No, I don’t. And I don’t like the way they look at you.”
Instead of arguing, I told you to lift your arms so that I could remove your armor. I tried soothing you with my words.
“We’ll win the other tribes to our cause, we’ll take out Azrael, and we’ll figure out a way to tame Mater. And after all of that, it will be just you and me, fucking and frolicking on your islands, for the rest of our lives.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
Your arms encircled me where I stood and you gripped me passionately, burrowing your face into my leathers. I cradled your head and stroked your long hair.
“It’ll be all right, Henri. I promise you.”
You let out a grieved moan and swayed a little where you sat. Then you fell back into the pillows with your long hair fanned around you.
“I need to take off your belt.” God forbid you roll over in the middle of the night and accidentally impale yourself.
“No,” you said petulantly and closed your eyes as though about to fall asleep. I laid a hand across your chest and reached out with my seduction. “I know you’re tired, Henri, but what if you startle in the night and accidentally stab me with your big, bad sword?”
I chuckled at your aggrieved groan as you turned so that I could unbuckle your belt. I imagined us like this, growing old together, or whatever the Nephilim equivalent was. You getting grumpy about something and me seducing you to do small tasks like wash the dishes or take out the trash. It sounded so nice and peaceful that I got a little wistful thinking about it. I set your weapons on the floor next to our bed, still within reach since I knew that’s where you liked to keep them.
“Lie down,” you grumbled, already half-asleep. Once I had, you threw one arm over me as if attempting to trap me underneath you.
“Still mad at me?” I asked and licked the tip of your nose.
“Yes,” you snuffled and held me tighter. Soon after, you were snoring. I wished that I could join you. If only I didn’t have to worry about assassination plots and hostile takeovers. I slipped out from underneath you and arranged the pillows and blankets so that it looked like I was still lying by your side. Then I grabbed your dagger from your sword belt and waited for my attacker to arrive.
I didn’t haveto wait long, thirty minutes at the most. The door was locked, but I heard the handle jiggle. The deadbolt turned and then the knob, both with very little effort, which meant my attacker had a key. The figure wore a purple silk robe, bloodborn attire. Mater? Or perhaps Lucian on a dastardly errand. Maybe they didn’t intend to harm me.
Then I saw the knife, blade glinting.
The figure approached the bed, and I gripped your dagger tightly in my sweaty fist. In my other hand was a leather belt. If they made any attempt to harm you, I’d stab them, but it was clear from the angle of their approach, it was me they were after. When the robed figure was within striking distance, they angled the blade and jabbed directly into where my gut would have been. There was no hesitation and hardly any noise. I was stunned by their cold savagery. The figure withdrew the knife, confused by my deception. I maneuvered the belt around their neck and drove my knifepoint into their back. I was about to press farther, when they gasped, and I recognized the elegant spill of glossy brown hair.
“Stefan?” He cleared his throat and froze, waiting for my blade to press deeper. “Put down the knife. Slowly.” He did as I asked, and I instructed him to turn away from the bed so that I could collect it. “We’re going to the wine cellar. No sudden moves.”
With the leather around his throat and your dagger at his back, Stefan led me along the hallway and down two flights of stairs until we reached the dimly lit cellar. I used the belt to secure his wrists behind his back and pointed at a rough wooden chair for him to sit, then took up one across from him.
“Who was he?” I asked. This was about the blond man I’d murdered. It was the one and only time I’d ever seen a true show of emotion from the chronically aloof Stefan.
“My brother.” Stefan’s eyes were red and swollen as if he’d been crying. I didn’t believe it was to gain my mercy. I think he hated showing me this side of him.
