in my bloodborn body. I’d need my wits about me for whatever ritual you had planned. When I returned to the main room, you rose and offered me the chair with a princely turn of your wrist.
“I’d like you to strip,” you said.
“Why?”
“Redemptio per sanguinem.”
That sounded awfully ominous. My mind flitted back to one of your fantasies where I was covered in cuts that bled faster than they could heal. The dream itself wasn’t that disturbing—most of my fantasies from when I was your age were something similar. But your energy at the moment wasn’t imbued with arousal; it was cold and calculating. The fulcrum had shifted, and I found myself on shaky ground.
“Where did you get all this?” I asked in an attempt at conversation while slowly unbuttoning my shirt. I noticed a couple of leather belts laid out as well.
“Susan,” you said. Susan was the concierge who provided our bottles of blood and whatever other provisions we might desire.
“Have you eaten?” I asked to gauge the nature of this redemption.
“Soon,” you said, still tracking me with your glittering black eyes.
“Vincent, perhaps we should—”
“No perhaps,” you interrupted. “You’re not in charge now, Henri. There’s only one choice you need to make, repent and earn back my faith in you. Or don’t.”
Was this some version of your father’s punishment, modified to fit my crimes? Could it be that simple?
“I know you’re upset—”
“Yes or no?” you said imperiously.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Yes.” I resigned myself to whatever madness you had in store. My body would surely survive, and if it gave you some reassurance, then I would endure it.
I finished stripping and sat on the hard, wooden chair. The back was retractable, so that it could be adjusted from fully erect to lying flat. The slats of wood were solid and sturdy enough to hold the restraints as you bound my wrists and ankles with leather belts. I studied you while you worked and tried to predict your next move. Your fury from last night’s encounter was still present, only instead of a raging fire, it was a condensed, cold flame. You went over to a table and picked up the blade I’d given you, then returned to me with a determined look in your eyes.
“Are you sure this is necessary?” I tested my restraints. They were tight against my joints and did not allow for much give.
“Absolutely necessary.”
You straddled my lap with an easy elegance. The soft globes of your ass against my upper thighs sharpened my awareness, as did your knees digging into my waist. Now, I was hungry for more than just blood.
“It might be hard for me to concentrate with you sitting on top of me nearly nude,” I said, trying to bring back some of the levity that normally colored our conversations.
“I’m sure it will be easier than you think.” You draped your arms over my shoulders and absently played with a lock of my hair. The innocence of that gesture reminded me of when you were much younger. However, that was quickly dashed away when you glanced up and ensnared me with your gaze. The more skin-to-skin contact between us, the harder it would be for me to resist your seduction, even more so when I was aroused and hungry. Surely, you were exploiting your advantages.
“I want my memories back,” you said.
I nodded solemnly. It was your right.
“Mater said it could be accomplished in dreams.” You glanced at me with uncertainty. “She said it would be better for both of us if you were willing.”
“I’m willing,” I assured you. I certainly didn’t want to experience the alternative.
You displayed one of your palms and slashed through the pit of skin with the blade, then dipped a forefinger into the palette of blood and used it to paint a shape on my chest. An elegant loop with a jagged slash through it, a Latin sigil for memory.
“Our blood must be mingled,” you said, and I nodded, breathing through my mouth so that I’d not be tempted to bite you when you drew too near.
You cut into my pectoral and used the drippings to mark your own skin with an identical design, then pressed your palm to my mouth so that I might sample you.
“Feed from me, Henri,” you said with the command of a god. You edged forward and dropped your mouth to my chest, drawing my lifeblood with vigor. I moaned involuntarily and shifted underneath you as you clamped your hand