Chapter Ten

Thus, order is restored according to the precepts of our brotherhood. And love shall ever triumph over hate and we shall ever cherish and protect the fragile beauty of mortal mankind...

——Rahuael, First Chronicler, Viadine Secretorum

CARNE STOOD BEFORE the mirror in Fabienne’s rooms. He had learned Fabienne’s body intimately, but now he was inside it in a different way. He’d thought it would simply be a question of transference of souls trading shells. But there was more to it than that. He had witnessed the transformation in Fabienne. Echoes of memory still attached to this shell, a lingering presence of the previous inhabitant. He knew these scars; when he touched them they were familiar. He felt echoing twinges of painful memory when he stroked across them.

Yes, he was taller, his cock longer, the absence of testicles caused a strange sensation to pass through him. He learned his body, became accustomed to the new shell—the longer legs, a body now devoid of hair.

And then there was his face—not his, not Fabienne’s—a stranger’s features. Now his face. The mask made flesh. White as new fallen snow, smooth as a newborn baby’s flesh, not even a hint of shadow at his jaw. And then there was the tattoo that encircled his face—an intricate pattern drawn in black that had marked the edges of the mask. He’d tried to wash it off when he returned to this room—the white, the black tattoo marks—but they were now apparently a part of his flesh.

He traced the nightingale sigil at his hip—mark of the brotherhood, his protection. He was no longer Carne Geraint, but he wasn’t Fabienne either. And he was now immortal.

“And that makes you? Ah yes. Natanael, one of the exalted.” His focus went to the image of the nightingale emblazoned across his chest.

“Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible.” He moved farther into the room.

His face, like Carne’s, and yet not. Burnished gold with an edging of blue intricate tattooing. “We are marked and joined forever.”

“What happens now...Natanael?” The name sounded strange on his tongue. He suddenly recalled that moment when their two souls merged as one. It was just for an instant, but it was enough to bind them together. Natanael.

“Whatever you want to happen.” Natanael cupped his face. “Goel. My redeemer.”

“Goel. A new name will take some time getting used to. Just like this body.” He placed a hand on...Natanael’s chest. His flesh was warm to the touch, smooth and...substantial. Such a large chest, very different from when he’d inhabited that body.

“Yes. Reborn.” Goel smoothed a hand over Natanael’s bald, shiny pate. “Will it grow back?”

Natanael chuckled. “I have no idea.” He cupped the back of Goel’s head. “I think I like it though. I find you very attractive. I wasn’t certain—I didn’t know what to expect. Annatoly told me that particular ceremony hasn’t been performed successfully in more than a thousand years.”

“Thank you. They seem such inadequate words. But they’re heartfelt. I’m finally free of the past.”

“I feel your loneliness,” Natanael said. “I feel your strength and determination to rise above what you thought was your fate. I feel your sorrow for Dandrae’s death. I feel your love for me, for Annatoly.”

“We’re one, Natanael.” It took effort to use the name. But he would get used to it. He loved this man.

Natanael cupped his face and Goel leaned into the touch. He closed his eyes and felt Natanael kiss his temple. “We’re one in eternity.”

Natanael followed him. Goel closed his eyes and began to play. When the aria played across his senses he was transported. As the notes dwindled away, he turned to Natanael.

“You’ll make more music for us?” Natanael lifted Goel to his feet. He pressed his mouth to Goel’s and Goel’s passion burned far brighter than it ever had before. He wrapped his arms around Natanael and leaned into him.

Natanael was right in that Goel had always felt a certain level of loneliness all his life. His mother had been an opera singer having little time for him. She had turned him over into the hands of her latest lover when he was twelve. A vocal teacher who taught him to use his voice, among other things. But then he had discovered his true passion was for composition. He’d hit the stage at seventeen as a bit part actor, without the maestro at his side, finally breaking free of his hold. He’d taken a vow of abstinence, at least in alcohol and gambling and the tantalizing allure of opium. He’d taken lovers out of the pain of his loneliness, not because he’d loved them. He hadn’t known what love was until he met a masked stranger in Paris so long ago. And then he was never free of his yearning to be with him. And then he’d been introduced to Fabienne.

Even his time with Dandrae was simply a diversion. Each of them had given him something, made him want more. Helped him find his destiny.

Even though Natanael had a higher calling to the brotherhood, and Goel was merely protected by them, by virtue of Natanael’s transmuted blood, he still felt connected in a way he’d never felt before. His life had a purpose and he was committed to a destiny he’d had no inkling awaited him. Finally, he was at peace, there was order and purpose to his life.

THAT THE THIRST FOR revenge could have blossomed into something so very sweet was more than Natanael could have ever thought possible. He kissed Goel. Using his new name felt right. His host redeemer, his lover, his soul. He pushed him down onto the bed and pressed close. The surge of arousal made him breathless; it had never been this intense before. He leaned down and tugged at a nipple. He licked his way down, past the scars. The memory of how they’d been administered was growing dimmer. He tracked down to the tiny nightingale affixed to Goel’s hip. Connected forever more. He kissed his way down Goel’s leg, reverently and then back up his other leg.

Then he moved up and thrust his tongue deep into Goel’s mouth, claiming him masterfully as a man would claim his lover. This was tentative in a way, and new. He found the ghostly white of his face appealing on a different level. And the baldness and lack of hair particularly arousing. He smoothed his hand over Goel’s chest, tracing the scars as though learning them for the first time. It seemed that with each moment, more and more of his memories as Fabienne evaporated as though eaten up and replaced by new thoughts. His brain shifting like puzzle pieces, reshaping and forming someone knew.

But Goel was at the center, always. Yes, Goel. There was another name, a name he was known by, but Natanael couldn’t remember what it was. He was just Goel. Only Goel.

“This is odd,” he said. “My past. I—I can’t remember. Things are shifting, changing.”

“I know,” Goel said. “I can’t remember either. You had a name, a different name. Not Natanael.”

“The ceremony. Annatoly calling me Natanael. And Annatoly, I know him, I know who he is, but not how we met.”

He inhaled Goel’s scent, memorizing the newness of it. He stroked over his smooth, shaved head, down over his shoulders. He kissed him above his ear, then nipped at the curve. Goel shuddered. There wasn’t an urgency to their intimacy.

He sat up, cross-legged. Goel did the same. They stared at each other for a long time.

“Something’s different. I still want you, I still need you, but something’s changed,” Natanael said.

“It was too short. There should have been more time.” He reached across and gathered Goel into his arms. They fell back onto the bed. Natanael stroked his hand over Goel’s head. “I have to leave here. Come with me.”

Goel’s arms tightened around him. “I can’t. You know the way it has to be.”

Natanael smiled, although there was a bittersweetness to the moment. “I think I saw it, too. Your destiny. You weren’t just brought here for me.”

“I know. And you’ll leave as you are destined to do—to do great things.”

“I have to go.” Natanael got up and walked over to a basin and poured out cold water meaning to clean himself before he left. The compulsion was still not that strong.

Goel took the wet cloth from him. “Let me,” he said. He dropped to his knees and stroked it across Natanael’s skin.

Natanael felt the compulsion turn stronger. He turned away from Goel. He stepped toward the blue robe and put it on. It’s all he needed. He turned to look at Goel. “I would ask again, but I know the answer.”

“I don’t know. Tell Annatoly...tell him I loved him always. Tell him thank you. Listen for me, compose the most beautiful music for us. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“We’ll find each other again.” Goel strode across the room and cupped Natanael’s face. He kissed him. “I’ll be here...we’ll be here whenever you return.”

And then Natanael left. Darkness and stars raced by faster and faster. He felt the movement of air, he felt himself falling, and then suddenly he was in a chamber and the others were there, waiting.

And then they began to sing. A composition created just for them. The song threaded through him, calling to him and he could not deny its melody. As his voice rose to join the others, through the windows he saw the gray dawn just beginning to break. And his voice lifted higher, sweeter, in thankfulness for those who had called him. In song he thanked Annatoly for his perseverance. And lastly he sang of his love for Goel. This was his music. This was where he was meant to be. His song lifted and spread and he felt their presence. The beautific, the wounded, the Viadine. Those earthbound, wingless immortals he now willingly served. Thanks to them all and the sacrifice of his beloved.

ALL WAS SILENT IN THE castle as Goel walked down the hallway to Annatoly’s apartments. As he opened the door, he noted the room was cloaked in shadows. At first he didn’t see Annatoly, but then spotted him, standing near the window, staring out.

Annatoly looked at him as though he might be seeing a ghost. “You’re still here. I thought you left with Fa—I mean Natanael.”

“I seduced you—I brought you here for him not for me. He’s the one who needed you,” Annatoly said. He shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and moved away from Goel.

Annatoly spun toward him. “What did you say? How can you say those things—to me of all people? Monstrous?” His laugh was bitter. “You have no idea.”

“Did you love him?” Goel strode across the room. “Was it Dandrae that you loved then? Was I wrong?”

“He was...” He looked into Goel’s eyes. Goel saw the truth, but he needed Annatoly to put voice to the words. Annatoly looked away. Goel cupped his face, forcing Annatoly to face him.

“I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you here. In Paris, I saw everything that I—” He tried to break free of Goel’s hold on him. Goel gripped his shoulders.

“No more running away, dearest. No more. I cared for Dandrae, too, but I didn’t love him—at least not the way I love you. I love Natanael, but my relationship with him is a blood bond—it’s a love different from what I feel for you, but not more. I want you, Annatoly.”

As though the walls surrounding his heart finally shattered, Annatoly crushed Goel to his chest. Goel tilted his head back and Annatoly kissed him with all the passion that he had kept leashed until now.

“If I keep you now I won’t be able to let you go later,” Annatoly said, then kissed Goel again. “You’re not like the others—the gios.”

Goel leaned up to kiss him. “I don’t want you to let me go. You and I will make the most beautiful music together. I can’t make the music for him unless I have you.” He kissed Annatoly, then tugged off his shirt. He reached for his trousers, but Annatoly stopped him.

“I don’t want you to see it. The scars are...” his voice trailed away. “I-I am a monster.”

Slowly, Goel dropped to his knees and he unfastened Annatoly’s trousers. They dropped around his ankles. He pressed his hands to Annatoly’s abdomen, to trace the scars and shiny flesh and then he leaned forward and kissed that which was the source of Annatoly’s absolute pain and shame. And courage.

“I love you, Annatoly. I love you. Whatever you need, whatever form our love must take, I’ll do it. But don’t send me away.”

Annatoly cupped him close. His body trembled against Goel. And then he lifted Goel up, kissed him, stripped him, and somehow they found their way to the bed.

Bodies of scars and shame and denial and brutality. Pleasure claimed in new discoveries. Hard, bare flesh fused together, mouths possessing, and healing. Fangs penetrating, fingers probing, groans of ecstasy and consummation filled the close atmosphere of the canopied bed.

Love and yearning at last fulfilled. Whispered words of devotion. And as the silvery fingers of dawn slipped across the room, the nightingale sang, followed by that earthbound choir of castrati, voices raised in perfect welcoming clarity to a new day.