“My beautiful bloodborn prince,” you said as your fist tightened around me. The calluses of your palm caught the ridge of my crown, scraping in just the right way. You’d mastered me already.
“Henri,” I begged.
“Give it to me, my love.”
My climax rose like a tide this time, saturating me from within and flooding outward from every pore, with the sense of being drowned and rescued all at once. My cock spurted in triumph and splashed your lower lip. You collected it with your tongue and swallowed, staring at me intently. Then your massive body heaved like a groaning ship, and you came with a deep shudder and a moan, thighs trembling, abs rippling. Masculine perfection. The expression on your face was so naked and raw. It said that you needed me. Not just for pleasure or companionship, but for something much deeper. In this life just as much as my last.
“Vincent,” you said, and I nodded, realizing the depth of your commitment and devotion.
“Henri.”
We stared at each other, awestruck, while the spirits echoed our ecstasy in song.
34
Henri
I lay you down on our bedding, your naked body curled against mine, and with our expressions of exaltation still floating on my subconscious, I drifted off to sleep.
I didn’t enter into a dreamscape of the carnal variety, nor had you joined me as I’d expected after such an intimate encounter. But I certainly recognized my surroundings. It was the densely canopied forest in Germania where I’d led my men to slaughter, the Shade Vale of my own making.
It was autumn still, and the battle was over, the smoke from funeral pyres thick enough to choke a man. The trees’ foliage was as red as the blood that stained my hands and tunic. I’d been feasting for days.
Before departing to spread the news of their resounding victory, the Germanic tribes had pillaged the dead Roman soldiers for their armor and weaponry and displayed their corpses in horrifying ways. I’d allowed it. There were so many bodies piled atop one another—waist-deep in some places—men I’d fought with, broken bread with, trained and commanded in the field, men who’d pledged their loyalty to me… all of them dead.
A lone man appeared as an apparition, without armor or weapons, through the black, curling smoke. He navigated the dead with an agility that couldn’t be accomplished in the corporeal world. His face was wisened by a white beard, and he was dressed in a simple, belted tunic that lacked any adornment. Though I’d not seen him inhabit this particular vessel, it fit with his preference—older, male, and representative of the dominant race. He wished to present himself as a quiet authority figure, one so powerful that weapons were unnecessary, and an argument wouldn’t even be attempted. What better way to deliver devastating news?
Azrael had visited me twice before in this particular Shade Vale in the corporeal realm, once to inform me of my penance to the gods, and again, many years later, to offer me redemption.
What would be his proposal this time?
“My lord,” I said and sheathed my weapons so that I might drop to one knee in a gesture of fealty. There was not a patch of land unbloodied.
“Rise, Henri, and face your master.” I stood and Azrael said with quiet disappointment, “You’ve disobeyed me.”
I remained silent. My sentiment toward Azrael had grown cold, and I no longer felt obligated to speak the truth. Nor could he compel it from me.
When I didn’t respond, Azrael continued, “You’ve coerced the Belial demon into escorting you to Lena’s Shade Vale prison with the intent to free her.”
“You’ve been starving her. It’s against angelic law.”
“She brought it upon herself.”
Lena’s state of being when we’d found her was appalling, and she’d likely been suffering the whole time.
“Do you have such little regard for your Grigori brothers and sisters that you would slowly starve them to death?” I asked in an outright challenge. But Azrael only answered the questions he wanted.
“My Imperium forces are gathering as we speak. You are vastly outnumbered. But I’m willing to offer you and your apprentice mercy in exchange for a small sacrifice.”
“You cannot punish my intentions, and there has been no crime.” Lena was not yet free. It was a miracle she was even breathing.
“But there will be,” Azrael said ominously.
“Vincent is innocent in all of this. If a crime were committed, he would not be at fault. After all, he’s only an apprentice.”
“He is the architect of this campaign, and I would make