Bertran laid back on the bed, if you could call something ten feet square a bed, and took a deep breath, it occurred to him that he hadn’t done it in so long it felt it was an alien thing to him, a thing he was not supposed to, forbidden and for others who had fewer worries than he. His eyes drifted to the spot next to him where Victoria lay, her body sublime even in sleep, her wings fluttering just a bit with every heartbeat, the colors around her humming with every breath. He knew she was not asleep, she wasn’t particularly trying to make him believe she was, it was just a comfortable and intimate silence between two people who had shared in each other and had known satisfaction for the first time in longer than either of them could remember.

Victoria was glorious in her repose. Her breath deep and slow and the memories of the evening making her heart flutter just a little every beat. She had seen this new God as an equal, treated him as such and gave him power as he always should have been receiving and the rest of the night was a blur of colors never seen by man and noises that only the most ancient of things remember echoing off the cliffs in the dark of the night. Yes there had been sex and it was glorious, but the power, feeding each other like babes at the teat, literally on more than one occasion, it made Victoria feel young in a way she had not felt since there was ice in places there is desert today.

“Bertran.” The single word was languidly spoken through veils of self-decadence. “You have now come into your own, you will now be able to do what you have always been able to and not aware of. It is a dangerous time for those who are not like us to be around you. You need to discover what you can and can not do and be able to control it. That having been said I insist you stay here with me in Montreal or a dozen other cities we can go to together, and I will teach you and you will tell me your story in the pieces you remember and I will gather the information from the sources in the world that know more than the mere folk we walk with.” Victoria’s voice dropped off and her eyes closed and, indeed, she did fall into a light sleep with a man she had never known before inches away from her.

He could no more hurt her than set the moon ablaze. She had given him hope when for centuries of agonized waiting there had been nothing. No chance of the truth, no hope of knowledge about who or what he is and, more importantly, no way for him to repay each narrow mind who had ever shut him away and called him mad. The fury was a thing he easily hid from her because he was in denial about it most of the time, but when the thoughts crossed his mind as they did now, the writings wrapped around him shone like the sun a mere moment before fading, his eyes, a fiery ruby light that burned in hatred, remained bright the longest, only dimming in intensity when he too closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the woman who would be the vehicle of his revenge and the martyr on the cross of his freedom.

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