1
Henri
You returned to me in a torrential downpour that blurred the world like a smudge of paint on an otherwise orderly canvas. The type of storm that made me wonder if the gods were conspiring against us, as if a bit of bad weather could keep me from you.
Santiago had phoned only hours before with a frustratingly brief message to announce your arrival.
He’s here.
The roads were already flooded when I landed at the Miami airport, having abandoned my duties in Las Vegas prematurely. I ignored my checked baggage and hailed a taxi but was forced to desert it when the driver entered into floodwaters that reached the tops of the tires. I slogged through the deluge of rushing water, mindful not to get sucked down a drain, and sprinted the last few blocks to Santiago’s cigar factory. I arrived soaking with my hair plastered to my face and water blinding my vision, both terrified and desperate to see you again.
I exploded through the shop’s flimsy wooden door and was greeted by the howls of an infant. A good cry. A strong cry. Like a warrior. Your sounds tuned my every instinct to a fine point aimed toward one primal urge…
Protect him.
Santiago was present and Xavier as well, but there was no one else—no mother, no father. It would seem, no human relations whatsoever. Xavier cradled the cloth-wrapped bundle and the source of those vibrant, wondrous cries, the utterances that said you were alive.
“Is that him?”
At the sound of my voice, you quieted, and my preternatural hearing detected your small, hiccupping breaths, as though your body was trying to regulate itself after such an explosive outburst.
Tiny lungs circulated oxygen, a network of threadlike veins pumped your blood, and I imagined the synapses in your brain firing, making new pathways as you experienced the world around you. I scented the tang of placenta still upon you, which meant you were quite new to this world. You smelled familiar to me, and I assumed it was because of the bond we’d shared in your previous life. You’d come back to me so quickly—little more than a year we’d been apart. I hadn’t expected you so soon, but I was overjoyed this day had arrived.
“Is he well?” I asked. The two men exchanged a glance while Lena’s words came back to haunt me.
What if he comes back… changed?
“He’s fine,” Santiago said briskly.
“Just hungry,” Xavier added. “Santi, why don’t you take Henri’s coat?”
Xavier would have offered himself had his hands not been occupied, but one look at Santiago’s face told me he did not wish to play host to me.
“I’ve got it.” I removed my saturated suit jacket and hung it across the back of a chair to dry. I slicked back my hair so that it was out of my face. My shirt, having been mostly shielded from the rain, was only a little damp.
“Come closer, Henri. Don’t you want to meet him?” Xavier smiled. Perhaps it was because we’d once shared a body or it was simply his generous nature, but having Xavier there put me a little more at ease.
I took a tentative step toward you, unsure of my worthiness in your presence.
“Where are his parents?” I wished to express my gratitude.
Another worrisome glance was exchanged between them, not one of two lovers sharing an intimacy, but two conspirators withholding information.
“Azrael will be here soon enough to explain,” Santiago said stiffly. I took it to mean your parents had abandoned you, for what other reason would find you in our present company and not secure in the arms of your mother?
No matter. I would find you suitable parents who would love you and raise you well. There were plenty of human families who could offer you a good home.
“He’s adorable,” Xavier said and gazed down at the bundle like a proud parent.
Of course he is, I thought arrogantly, then chided myself. I stood, paralyzed, while a torrent of emotions assaulted me. Did I even deserve this opportunity to meet you? Would it be better for you if I kept my distance? Would you even want to know me? And my greatest fear… would you ever forgive me?
“Henri,” Xavier said. He gestured with a subtle tilt of his head.
I breathed deeply and approached you with my heart hammering against my ribcage. Xavier tugged at the corner of the blanket to reveal an apple-faced cherub with a whorl of inky black hair like a dollop of whipped cream atop your head. Your owlish eyes were so dark it was difficult to distinguish the irises from the pupils. You stared at me intently, and I wondered if you were attempting to memorize my features already.
“Is he very old?” I asked. Your level of attention seemed advanced for a newborn. Different in a way I couldn’t articulate.
“Only a few days,” Santiago said quietly as his gaze shifted away again.
“Do you want to hold him?” Xavier asked.
He offered me the bundle of blankets, and I cautiously took you in my arms. I drew you close to my chest—such a small, warm comfort. Mine, said the primitive part of my brain. My soul, which had felt like a lead ballast for so many months, began to lighten at last. This was where you belonged, with our hearts so near they could beat in time.
“Hello, cucciolo,” I whispered as my eyes stung with tears. “I’ve missed you.”
Your solemn eyes tracked mine faithfully. You squirmed a little in your swaddling clothes, and I loosened the wrap so that you might stretch your limbs. Your tiny lips bowed as though searching for a breast to suckle.
“Has he been fed recently?” I asked the two men. If you were only days old, you would need to eat frequently.
“We’re working on that,” Santiago said. I hadn’t expected them to be quite so doltish. If I’d known they were ill-prepared to accommodate you, I’d have secured provisions myself.
“You knew this child was coming, and you did nothing to make him more comfortable?”
“We did what we could, Henri, but this baby—”
“Xavier,” Santiago silenced his lover with a sharp note.
My attention returned to you, not wanting to stray too long for fear that you might vanish or expire right there in my arms. Of all the animal kingdom, human babies seemed most frail. But you appeared to be healthy, your heart and lungs fully functioning. And your sensory abilities were exceptional. Your skin had a slightly yellow pallor. A bit of jaundice? Or was there some other malady I could not readily identify?
You blinked. Your long, black eyelashes framed your big eyes, making them look like a doll’s. Funny that was the first time I noticed you blink, so intense was your concentration. Was that normal?
“He’s not sick, is he?” I felt your forehead. No fever. You wiggled your arms free from the blanket and stretched them above your head in an adorable pose before settling down again with a little yawn. I put my finger to your mouth so that you might have something to suckle until your nourishment arrived.
That’s when you bit me.
Tiny teeth pierced the thick calluses of my finger, and your expression was suddenly bright and alert. Your puckered mouth sucked with an insatiable pressure. Threads of amber blazed in your wide eyes, their starburst pattern alerting me to a physiological response I knew all too well.
“How…”
I studied your angelic face as your pursed lips extracted my lifeblood with inhuman strength. Your rounded cheeks blushed pink, and your skin darkened to a more robust shade of brown as your swallowing increased in fervor. You shouldn’t be able to get so much heme from only my finger, and yet the sensation of losing blood only strengthened as my pulse thundered in my ears and my head fogged. A small spool of blood mixed with saliva escaped the corner of your mouth.