“Lucian, please know that I have regretted our time apart, and if there had been a way for us to be closer, I swear to you I would have pursued it.” The sentiment was true, and now more than ever, I needed an ally.
Lucian rested a hand on mine. His skin was flawless, and his nails were impeccably clean. Not even a trace of dried blood on them.
“I feel the same, brother, but you must trust that we know what’s best for you.”
That did not encourage me at all.
Lucian led me inside a large, open-aired mansion, Spartan in its design, with exterior and interior columns adorned by several white diaphanous curtains that billowed elegantly in the sea breeze. The effect gave the room an ethereal feeling, as if mounting the steps to Olympia herself.
Lena was barefoot. A long, amethyst robe curtained her form like a stola with a gold rope knotted at her waist—our tribal colors. Still inhabiting the body of the Hollywood starlet, she carried herself with the utmost grace and poise. Her hair was only a little bit in disarray, and her smile was positively radiant upon seeing me. She greeted me in a cloud of floral-scented perfume. My pulse sped up, worried she was trying to mask the scent of your blood. She had the flush of a recent feed, and when she leaned in to kiss my cheek, I caught a whiff of her breath. The blood was not yours, some small reassurance.
Sure enough, when I pulled back from her embrace, I spied a young man trailing a few feet behind her as if tethered by an invisible leash. He was still bleeding from a deep gash on his right pectoral. The blood formed a crimson trail down the man’s bare, hairless chest and stained the waistband of his silken trousers.
“I’m sorry, darling. I’m afraid you’ve caught me just finishing my lunch. Care for a bite?” She gestured grandly at the young man who had a look of deadened resignation in his eyes. Still, his gaze followed Lena’s every move as if seeking any small scrap of attention. No doubt he’d once thought Lena to be his saint and savior, only to discover his faith sorely misplaced. I knew the feeling well.
Even though every sinew in my body cried out for a sampling of this young man’s heme, I resisted. I didn’t want to be so easily pacified at this stage of our encounter.
“No thank you, Lena. I just ate.”
She shrugged and gave a miffed little sound at my refusal. “Lucian?”
My brother took the man’s hand and led him to a nearby divan where he laid him down gently, pausing to caress the man’s cheek and tuck his hair gently behind one ear. The young man’s countenance brightened a bit under my brother’s influence. His face even flushed with color, but my brother was no more merciful in draining the man’s lifeblood. The man cried out in a mixture of anguish and ecstasy as my brother pleasured him with his hand while slaking his thirst.
Lucian was a tender monster.
When they’d finished, a man dressed in nurse’s scrubs tended to the youth, taking his blood pressure and vitals, offering him a bottled elixir meant to revitalize him, and cleaning and bandaging his wounds.
“You know there are more sustainable ways to go about procuring a blood source,” I told Lena. The few bloodborn I kept in contact with made regular visits to their local blood banks or hunted humanely. It didn’t take much work to pilfer a few bags of blood or feed from a stranger. To keep humans in captivity was an unnecessary extravagance and not without risk of retribution. Though these humans had likely forsaken their souls, which meant they were outside angelic jurisdiction.
“Consider me old-fashioned,” Lena said glibly, “but I like to know where my food comes from.”
My brother, having tidied up his face, rejoined us where we sat at an elegant settee on an open balcony that overlooked the glittering waters of Biscayne Bay. One of the servants brought us drinks in glass goblets. I took a small sip of what tasted like guava nectar mixed with rum.
“This is a lovely view,” I remarked, still trying to mask my worry over your condition. “Are you planning to relocate?”
“There is some business which has brought me to Miami,” Lena said evasively. “Something of a more personal nature.”
I didn’t ask. Anything she told me would compromise my allegiance to Azrael and by extension, the Potestas as well. The only thing that mattered was your safety, and I’d play whatever games necessary to ensure it.
“Well, this is the nicest time of year,” I said conversationally. “The weather is quite mild.”
“And the humans,” she said. “So many alluring bodies to choose from.”
I nodded despite my unease, hoping yours wasn’t one of them.
“Tell me, Henri, I heard you’ve had some personal troubles of your own. That bewitching dancer of yours, did the two of you have some sort of falling out?”
I stiffened in my chair.
“You know how fickle humans can be,” I said lightly. “He fell into a relationship with his ballet instructor. Who am I to stand in the way of his passions?”
My brother shot me a warning look, but I didn’t know what he was intending to convey.
“His passions,” Lena echoed. “But I thought you two werein love?” Her voice sounded sinister and the sentiment as lifeless as a corpse.
I shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand the complexities of the human heart.”
“Nor do I,” she mused, not taking her eyes off of me. “When you and Lucian were boys, there was a striking difference between you. Do you know what it was?” She raised her eyebrows and when I didn’t take the bait, she continued, “With you, I always knew when you were lying.”
