Page 7 of Corruption
For just a few moments, Tenrael felt as if he were flying.
When he came back to earth, he was sagging in Charles’ arms.
Charles eased him to the floor and stood looking down at him, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down. On impulse, Tenrael took his hand and licked it clean. His own spend tasted different from that of all the human men who’d used him, and he liked the way Charles shivered at the touch of his tongue. He wondered what Charles’ come tasted like.
Almost gently, Charles withdrew his hand. “I came here to kill you.”
“All right,” Tenrael said. And it was. A better end certainly than he’d hoped for. He moved to his knees and let his head fall in submission. Even from that position he could see Charles retrieve his shirt and jacket and put them on before reaching into a pocket for a small iron brand and a lighter. When Charles came closer, Tenrael saw the shape of the branding head: a stylized sun with a single letter in the center. The letter was from an alphabet invented millennia ago for a language long since dead, but Tenrael knew what it stood for: the beginning of the Highest God’s name. Burned or carved into his body, it would destroy him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, not looking up.
But Charles didn’t heat the brand. He stood looking at it for a very long time; then he tucked it back into his pocket.
“Give me your feet,” he ordered gruffly.
Tenrael was deeply confused and wanted to question him, but he’d been commanded and his will was not his own. He lay on his back—uncomfortable due to the wings—and raised his legs.
“Watch me,” said Charles, and of course Tenrael did.
Tenrael saw Charles produce a switchblade and flick it open, saw him heat the knife in the flame of his lighter. Then Charles grabbed Tenrael’s right ankle, lifted the leg a little higher, and cut repeatedly into the sole with the burning blade.
Screaming, Tenrael tried to move away, but Charles held him fast. “Be still,” Charles growled, and Tenrael was. He’d been branded on his feet before—each new owner marked him to seal the incantation, to make Tenrael his own—but this was worse, because he was being both burned and cut. And he didn’t understand.
With a grunt, Charles dropped the foot, reheated the blade, and took the other foot. The trailer had already smelled of Tenrael’s blood, but now it also reeked of scorched flesh.
Charles cut a few more careful marks before releasing Tenrael’s ankle. He muttered several sentences so quietly Tenrael couldn’t understand them. They weren’t in English, and they had the feeling of incantations.
“Look at it,” Charles said.
It’s an awkward thing to examine the bottom of your foot while lying flat on your back, but Tenrael had to obey. When he did, he saw the Davenport mark was gone. The new wounds were already healing, but the scars were vivid—two overlapping arcs, the bottom one with a small line intersecting the lower end.CandG, he realized. Beside them, a few red strokes forming a rudimentary feather.
All the breath left his lungs in a longwhoosh. “Y-your sign.” Even though he spoke the words aloud, he couldn’t believe them.
“My sign. Kneel, Tenrael.”
Tenrael clambered clumsily to obey, and his heart—for so long dead in his chest—hammered so hard he was almost deafened.
Charles’ face was grim, but his eyes were soft. “You’re mine now. Do you feel it?”
And yes, Tenrael did. He didn’t have a soul—no demon did—but there wassomethingdeep inside him, something that had once soared high but had long since festered in chains. It had hurt him even when his body was whole, and it had made him feel ill, as if it were rotting. But now... now the chains were still there, but the putrefaction was gone. Instead, his not-soul felt cool and clean and good.
“Master,” he said.
Charles closed his eyes and gave a brief shudder. When he looked at Tenrael again, he seemed to be in the midst of some internal struggle Tenrael didn’t comprehend. Then Charles took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.
“You belong to me now. But....” Again he mumbled a spell, all harsh consonants mixed with liquid vowels. He nodded when he was done. “I command you to retake your will.”
The invisible chains within him flamed, melted, disappeared. Tenrael cried out and fell onto his side, convulsing as his skin burned and his wounds bled and his mind whirled.
When the storm subsided, Tenrael rose shakily to his feet. He looked at his hands, turning them over as if he’d never seen them before. Realizing that, like the rest of his body, they were once again his instruments to use as he wished.
“Why?” he asked, the word almost a sob.
“Don’t know.” Charles opened his mouth as if he might say more, but then closed it again. He licked his lips. “Wouldn’t blame you if you killed them.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. “But if you do, the Bureau will send someone after you.”
“Not you?”
“No. The Bureau won’t send me next time.”
