tried, when possible, to preserve human life, and beyond that, Azrael demanded discretion. As for myself, I much preferred blades. They allowed for a certain intimacy that sufficiently quenched my bloodlust.
Along with those weapons were several tranquilizing darts and throwing knives, in case I wasn’t able to get close to my target. And I’d recently acquired something for you, a utility knife crafted from Damascus steel, known for its ability to pierce through even the toughest materials. There was really only one purpose for this blade. I hoped you wouldn’t have cause to use it, but I wanted you to be prepared.
I was fastidious with the care and maintenance of my weapons, but my pugio was given special consideration, for its potency was directly linked to the devoutness to my cause. As with most mornings when I was preparing for a hunt, I placed its bone and iron hilt against my forehead and recited a paean in Latin.
“Henri?”
I twisted from my kneeling position to catch you eying me sleepily from the bed. Your silver hair was sticking up in all directions, and your eyes were half-lidded.
“Good morning, darling.” I carefully sheathed my weapons—all but my gladius—on my person. Your eyes widened.
“So that’s why we can’t fly first class,” you remarked, eying my various hiding places with some trepidation.
I shook my head. “Look who’s already so clever first thing in the morning.”
“It’s a gift.” You yawned and stretched one arm high above your head. “I guess this means no cuddling?” You glanced longingly at the empty space on the bed beside you.
“I let you sleep in, but we must be going. We have a lot of errands to run today.”
“We?” You perked up.
I’d weighed the pros and cons that morning. Leaving you behind might better ensure your safety, but if anything went sideways, we’d need to make a speedy getaway. And if you were truly to become my apprentice, I couldn’t shield you from the more unsavory aspects of my work forever.
“Yes, Vincent, we. It’s time to try out the leather and chains you brought with you.”
You threw a pillow at my head so swiftly that I didn’t have a chance to dodge it.
You used the bathroom, then rifled through your duffle bag, retrieving a pair of moth-eaten black denim jeans and a cut-off t-shirt with the word SLAY across the front. So much for not drawing attention. You started to remove your nightshirt, and I dropped my gaze to study the dried blood still caked under my fingernails from last night’s feed.
“You don’t have to look away.” You were shirtless and wearing only your underwear. The soft white cotton was a sharp contrast to your dark skin. I drank in the tops of your thighs, lightly dusted with hair. Your slender waist fanned upward to a tapered torso that was rapidly gaining definition.
“I’ll wait for you in the car.” I promptly grabbed my keys and wallet and left the room.
When you finally emerged, you resembled a young movie star strutting along the balcony toward the stairs with your carefully styled silver hair, dark sunglasses, and unconventional choice in clothing. The top you’d chosen was somehow more revealing than if you were shirtless. Your jeans had tears all over them.
This was a special kind of torture all its own.
Your easy gait as you galloped down the stairs reminded me of what it was like to be so young and carefree, when the world seemed one adventure after another with so many possible fates laid out before you. I couldn’t help but recall how you’d embodied this same spirited potential in your last life, before I took it from you so abruptly.
Do not dwell, I chided myself.
In your arms, not surprisingly, was your cat. I was about to warn you against bringing her when you whispered something in the animal’s ear and set her down in a patch of sparsely vegetated sand. It looked like we’d all be hunting that day.
“I hope you didn’t pay too much for that outfit,” I teased when you climbed into the car. “I believe they were trying to cut corners on the material.”
“Don’t hate, Henri. I finally have abs.” You flexed your muscles and slid one hand along your ribbed mid-section. My eyes zeroed in on the sparse trail of hair above your groin, one that led to forbidden pleasures. I glanced up to see your sly smile. I’d been caught, again.
“Hungry?” I asked, not trusting myself to say anything more.