‘But I was tired of my parents’ fear that I’d make the same mistakes they had. And furious, out of patience, I pointed at Papa and shouted, “I’m not him! I am nothing like him!”
‘And Papa looked up at me then, once so handsome, now sodden and soft with drink. “Damn right you’re not, you little bastard.”
‘“Raphael!” Mama shouted. “Do not speak so!”
‘He looked at her, and a bitter, secret smile twisted his lips. And it might have ended there if the lion in me hadn’t been too enraged to let it lie.
‘“I thank God I am a bastard. Better no father at all than one so worthless as you.”
‘“Worthless, am I?” Papa glowered, sliding to his feet. “If only you knew the worth I’ve shown, boy. Fifteen years, and I’ve breathed not a word, raising such a sin as you.”
‘“If I’m a sin, then I’m yours to own. And just because you were fool enough to seed a son in the girl you ploughed out of wedlock, doesn’t m—”
‘I got no further. His fist flew as it had hundreds of nights before. Mama screaming as she’d always done. But that night, Papa’s fist never found its mark. Instead, I caught it but a few inches from my face. I was taller than him, but he had arms thick as a baker’s wife. He should’ve been able to swat me like a fly. Instead, I shoved him backwards, his eyes wide with shock. My blood was pounding, and as my papa’s skull struck the hearth, that pulse began roaring in the shadows behind my eyes. As he fell, I saw he’d split his scalp upon the mantel. And from the gash spilled a slick of bright and gleaming red.
‘Blood.
‘I’d seen it before, of course. Smeared on my broken fingers and smudged on my swollen face. But I’d never noticed before how vivid the colour, how heady the scent, salt and iron and flower’s perfume, entwined now with the song of my thundering heart. My throat was dry, my tongue like old leather, my stomach a yawning, clawing hole as I reached out with one trembling hand towards that spreading stain.
‘“Gabe?” Celene whispered.
‘“Gabriel!” Mama shouted.
‘And like a spell broken at cock’s crow, it fell away. That ache. That dust-dry longing. I stood on shaking legs, looking Mama in the eye. I could see secrets there, unspoken. A horror, a weight, growing heavier every year.
‘“What’s happening to me, Mama?”
‘She only shook her head, kneeling beside Papa. “It’s inside you, Gabriel. I’d hoped … I prayed God it would not be so.”
‘“What’s inside me?”
‘She said nothing, staring at the shadows on the floor.
‘“Mama, tell me! Help me!”
‘She looked into my eyes. This lioness who raised me, who taught me to wear my name like a crown. I could see it then; the desperation of the mother who’d do anything to protect her cub, realizing she’d only one thing left to do.
‘“I cannot, my love. But perhaps I know someone who can.”
‘I’d no idea what else to ask. Didn’t know the answer I needed. Mama would speak no more, and Celene had started crying, and so I saw to my sister as I’d always done. Things were never the same after that night. I tried to talk with Papa, God help me, I even apologized, but he wouldn’t even look at me. I watched him pounding his anvil, fist upon his hammer. Great and terrible things, his hands. I could remember them closing around mine when I was a little boy, big and warm, showing me how to set a snare or swing a sword. I remembered them curling into knots and falling like rain. He built things, and he broke things, my papa. And I realized that perhaps one of the things he’d broken had been me.
‘My only refuge was the circle of Ilsa’s arms. And so, I sought it often as I could, sneaking out at all hours and climbing through her window. Meeting in that place where words have no meaning. We were both raised in the One Faith, and ever the spectre of sin hung over us. But not even God Himself can come between a girl and a boy truly in want of each other. No scripture or king or law on earth has that power.
‘One night, we were close. So close we both burned with it. Her nightclothes cast aside and my britches unlaced, my lips almost hurting from the press of her mouth. The feel of her naked body against mine was dizzying, and the want of her was a thirst, welling inside me. I could smell her desire, filling my lungs and making me ache, her long chestnut tresses tangled between my fingers as her tongue flickered against mine.
‘“Do you love me?” I whispered.
‘“I love you,” she answered.
‘“Do you want me?” I asked.
‘“I want you,” she breathed.
‘We rolled across her bed, and her breath came quicker, and her eyes saw only me. “But we can’t, Gabriel. We can’t.”
‘“This is no sin,” I pleaded, kissing her throat. “You have my whole heart.”
‘“And you mine,” she whispered. “But it’s my moonstime, Gabriel. My blood is on me. We should wait.”
‘My belly thrilled at that. And though she spoke again, the only word I heard was blood. I realized that was the scent, that was the want, roaring now inside me.
‘I couldn’t have told you why. There was no why in my thoughts at the time. But my mouth drifted lower, over the smooth hills and valleys of her body, and I could feel her heart hammering beneath my fingertips as my hands roamed her curves. She shivered as my tongue circled her navel, murmured the softest protest even as she parted her legs and dragged her fingers through my hair. And I sank between her thighs and pressed my mouth against her, feeling her tremble. And a part of me was just a fifteen-year-old boy then, nervous as a spring lamb, begging only to serve and wanting only to please. But the rest of me, the most of me, was filled with a hunger darker than any I’d known.
‘Ilsa pressed her fingers to her mouth, clamping her thighs about my head. And as I pressed my tongue inside her, I tasted it, God, I tasted it, and it almost drove me mad. Salt and iron. Autumn and rust. Flooding over my tongue and answering every question I’d never known how to ask. Because the answer was the same.
‘Always the same.
‘Blood.
‘Blood.
‘I felt complete in a way I’d never known possible. I knew a peace I’d never have believed was real. I felt this girl, writhing against the sheets and whispering my name, and though a moment before I’d promised her my whole heart, now she was nothing, nothing but the thing she could give me, the treasure locked behind the doors of this silken temple and calling to me without speaking a word. I sensed a stirring in my gums, and running my tongue across my teeth, I felt they’d grown sharp as knives. I could hear the pulse in Ilsa’s thighs, pressed tight against my ears, struggling to turn my head as she sighed protest. And then, then God help me, I sank my teeth into her, her back arching, her every muscle taut as she threw back her head and pulled me closer, trying not to scream.
‘And I knew the colour of want then. And its colour was red.
‘What am I? What am I doing? What in the name of God is happening to me? These are the thoughts you might have expected to be rushing through my head. The questions any sane person might have asked himself. But for me, there was nothing. Nothing but my lips against Ilsa’s skin and the flood of that punctured vein into my mouth. I drank like parched desert sand, one thousand years wide. I drank as if all the world were ending and only one more mouthful of her could save it, save me, save us all from the grand finale waiting in the darkness. I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.