sadistic ballet instructor, the abuse that inspired me to interfere in your life, yet again. And your resulting negotiation with Lena.
“I don’t know exactly what transpired between you,” I said.
“Mater showed me already.”
The Lena I knew would admit to nothing. Did she offer you a fair representation, or did she skew the events to show herself in a favorable light?
“And what did you think?” I asked.
“She was wrong,” you said shortly, protecting her still. “And now you have to show me the end.”
I dreaded revisiting it, those precious few hours before dawn, when my heart was stricken with guilt and grief, and I knew the only way to save you was to destroy you. My fury at Azrael and Lena for coercing me into doing the one thing I swore I never would. There was no honor in that sacrifice, and my shame had not lessened in the years that had passed.
But I took you back to that opulent bedroom in Lena’s manor and shared with you my ultimate sin. Because you deserved the truth, however ugly.
When it was over, you turned to me and said, “I made you promise to find me.” I nodded. “And you held up your end of the deal.”
“I thought you’d come back as a human.”
“But I’m a god.”
“Yes, you are.”
Another vision came, not drawn from memory but something that had not yet come to pass. You were dressed in scarlet and gold with a crown upon your head. All around you, an assembly of Grigori and Nephilim alike, bowed in reverence. In the air, a whispered prophecy of Parousia. You saw it too, and your eyebrows drew together in deep reflection.
“I want to go home,” you said.
When I woke, you were lying on top of me with your smooth cheek pillowed by my chest. Your breathing was soft, regular. My restraints had been unbuckled, and my arms wrapped around you instinctively.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” you murmured, still drowsy from the effects of the drug. Or perhaps it was from the weight of remembering.
“I wanted to tell you, but I kept delaying, thinking I should wait until you were older.”
“How would that be any better?” you asked, so very astute.
“It wouldn’t,” I admitted. “But you’ve always looked up to me, and I didn’t want you to know my dishonor.”
You stilled and seemed so vulnerable in that moment. “Am I a burden?” you asked, peering up at me with those puppy eyes, the ones that just want to be loved and adored.
“You could never be a burden, cucciolo. I’ve never felt so much joy as the day you were returned to me, knowing that I’d have the opportunity to get to know you again. I meant what I said last night. You are the only thing that matters to me in this world.”
“You made me think I was going crazy,” you said with an edge of bitterness.
“I’m so sorry.”
You glanced away, then returned my gaze with renewed intensity.
“Do you resent Mater for bringing me back as a bloodborn?”
These were clearly the questions that you’d grappled with all night, alone. I wished you’d trusted me to tell you the truth without the restraints and seduction, but then, why would you?
“I did at first,” I said honestly. “She was not kind to you in your last life, and I resented her for putting me in that impossible position—I still do. But she was right in that she gave me a gift.”
“What gift?”
“When you were human, I worried constantly about your health and well-being. Your mortality. Human bodies are so very fragile, and their lives so tenuous. In the blink of an eye, I could have lost you.”
You stared at me for a long while. Calculating. Wary.
“Would you do that again? Sacrifice me to Azrael?”
“Never,” I said solemnly.
“Why not?”
The rules were different for beings like us. “You’re a god now. Your body and soul are everlasting. You’re stronger in this life than you were in your last. And you have powerful allies—me, Mater, a whole demon army if you wished to summon it. Lucian too, I’d imagine. I would sacrifice myself before I let any harm come to you.”
“Then why do you remain loyal to Azrael? If he made you murder me, how could you serve him still?”
“I serve him because it’s what I must do in order to keep you safe. But he’s not my master anymore.”
Your look was disbelieving. “Then who is?”
“You are, Vincent.” I teased a lock of your hair. Your chin was