Page 9 of Vows of Sacrifice

I smiled. Was becoming a bloodthirsty homicidal maniac considered a disease?

“Not in the way you think. Can you bring me the clean shirt in the bag on your right? Yes, the one on the floor.”

She obeyed and as she approached me, I noticed she was discreetly observing my tattoos. Ashana cleared her throat.

“These drawings, on your, uh, well, you know. Do they mean anything? Are they magical? Protective spells?”

I blocked her access to the door to prevent her from returning. Her perfume was subtle, floral, and sweet, altogether quite appetizing.

“I think you’re very curious about me,” I deflected with a smile.

It was a cold, predatory smile, I knew. A smile that was supposed to scare her. I thought she was beautiful. Really beautiful, in truth. Beneath her delicate features, one could sense a rare inner strength. Her breasts seemed generous, perfect for my hands. Her waist was marked, but not too slim. As for her hips, her dress gave a glimpse of their seductive curves.

When our Father had locked us up in a man’s body, I had the vaguest recollection of having to deal with sexual urges. Impulses that I satisfied rather crudely in the early days. As much as it annoyed me to admit it, it took me several centuries to master the art of sex to my satisfaction. I enjoyed this facet of human life.

Ashana stepped back a little to create some distance between us.

“Or . . . Yes. It’s only natural, you’re my husband now.”

I squinted as my smile deepened.

“Your husband? No, not quite,” I articulated sweetly.

I saw her pupils dilate and her complexion turn pale. I sighed inwardly. It wasn’t even funny if she took my behaviour literally. I stepped aside, just enough to allow her to move away, which she eagerly did. For good measure, I took another puff on my cigar.

“Don’t panic. I’ve never forced myself on a woman, and I’m not about to start with my wife,” I said sarcastically.

I beckoned her to approach me. She hesitated, which only irritated me further.

“However, since we’re united spiritually in the eyes of our Father and the Source, I’d have to link you to me on a more . . . physical level,” I continued.

She became downright livid. I wanted to explode with anger. Had she not just heard what I’d said about my relationships with women?

“Come closer. It’s not what you think.” I felt obliged to clarify.

“And naturally, you know what I’m thinking?” she snapped.

“It’s written all over your charming face. Come closer, I say!”

I was getting impatient. Ashana finally complied. I grabbed a letter opener from the desk and swiftly took hold of her wrist. She struggled instinctively, but one cold look from me calmed her immediately. I lightly slashed her palm; she stifled a small cry of pain. I performed the same operation on my own hand before pressing it against hers.

“May my blood protect you and bind you to me forever. May your blood nourish mine and bind me to you forever,” I said in a low voice, so low in fact that she was unlikely to have understood the meaning of my words.

“Why?” she asked.

“To give you time to come to my bed of your own accord.”

My blood now flows through your veins. You belong to me more than you know. More than a wife belongs to her husband.

Of course, I refrained from telling her that.

Ashana looked down at her wounded hand, from which a little blood was still seeping.

“As if a woman had that kind of choice,” she murmured.

“Well, you do. Wedding night or not.”

She raised her head and her emerald eyes locked with mine.

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