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My feelings for Baldur had indeed changed. In the ten years since my Anointment, little by little, the haze of blind adulation that plagued me since I crawled from the grave had cleared from my mind. To disobey Baldur no longer tore at my heart, and I could feel uninhibited anger for all I’d lost because of him. I once worshipped Baldur, but no more.

And yet, his trollish countenance still filled my heart with warmth. “Are … are you sure I’m no longer enthralled?”

Baldur brushed my hair back behind my shoulder. “I am certain. If you were still enthralled, you would not want to go back to your family.”

I leaned in as I’d done so many times over the preceding ten years—moved my lips closer to his—but Baldur didn’t hold me back like he’d done every time before. “I’ll never see my loved ones again because of you,” I whispered. “I should hate you for that. In fact, I think a part of me does hate you—will always hate you for that.”

Baldur winced at those words. “I acknowledge your hate, and I would understand if you never forgave me, but is there not a part of you that still has love for me as well?”

I pressed my lips to his, and Baldur received my kiss with no resistance. My chest heaved, and I sobbed into the kiss. “Yes, I love you. Heaven help me, I still love you, Baldur.”

“Oh, Ezekiel!” Baldur pulled me into a fierce hug and kissed me back.

To love Baldur now felt so different from when we first met. The night I rose from the grave, it felt as if my entire being—body and mind—were being pulled toward him on an ever-taut chain. My initial adoration was unearned—alien—nothing like when I’d been attracted to others in life. Now I no longer felt that nebulous pull. I was free and could truly see Baldur. There were facets of his character I found repellent—his arrogant belief in humanity’s inferiority, his pitiless delight in torturing his victims, his initial disregard for how losing my family would affect me—but he had appealing traits as well. He was brave, protective, and oftentimes amusing. Baldur was no longer a faultless paragon in my eyes, but he’d guided me, defended me, nurtured me—loved me.

Though far stronger, Baldur didn’t resist as I shoved him up against a wall and pressed my body against his. I kissed his cheek and neck, and his gloved hands caressed the back of my neck and shoulders. His lips found mine again. “I love you, Ezekiel,” he rasped between kisses. “I will always love you.”

We spent several moments lost in that passionate embrace, then Baldur halted our fervent kisses and asserted we return to the privacy of our home. The journey back was a frenetic blur. It seemed as if only minutes passed in the time it took us to reach the mansion—reach the bedchamber—and fall upon the mattress, still clothed for the moment. Baldur lay on top of me, his cape settling over us like a blanket. He held my wrists against the bed, devoured my lips again, then fixed me with eyes blazing red with lust. “Our companionship came at a significant cost to you,” he said in a husky voice. “I am sorry for that. There is nothing I can offer in recompense for the loss of your family.”

I ran my gloved fingers through his scruffy hair. “What if I lose you too?”

“You won’t.” Baldur gave me a deep kiss. “Not ever.”

Then, with gentle fingers, we undressed each other. Baldur’s visage was unpleasant to most, but his powerful body was magnificent. He smiled in self-satisfaction as my fur-covered hands explored the contours of his broad, battle-hardened muscles. My talons nicked his skin a few times, but he purred as if pleasured by the tiny wounds and shushed me when I tried to apologize. He likewise explored my physique, and we succumbed fully to our longing, making love for the very first time.

I grieved the departure of my family in the ensuing months, hiding away in our mansion and sinking into despondency. I took solace in Baldur’s company, and he only ever left my side to feed or lure home an unsuspecting villain for me to feast upon. One evening, he came into the bedchamber where I languished and sat on the bed beside me. I lay curled on my side, and Baldur brushed some of my hair from my face. “I must go out for a few hours.”

I gripped his wrist, not wanting to be left alone. “Why? We fed just a week ago.”

“I’m not going out to feed. There’s a task I must deal with.”

I sat up and encircled Baldur in my arms. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Baldur hugged me back. “I know, but I must attend to this errand.”

“If you won’t tell me what this errand is, then I won’t let you leave.” It was a pathetic threat. I was nowhere near strong enough to detain Baldur.

“Then I’ll tell you.” Baldur petted the back of my head. “Have you ever wondered how we afford our opulent lifestyle—our apparel, the mansion’s upkeep, our outings to the theatre?”

I loosened my hold on Baldur to look him in the eye. “I already know. You’re a noble—a baron. You inherited your stepfather’s wealth and estate after you murdered him.”

“I was a baron, but that was over a century ago, and my family’s capital was not limitless. Tobias and I spent our wealth some time before you and I met. Since then, I’ve had to earn new funds to pay our expenses.”

“But what exactly are these errands you do to pay for our expenditures?”

“I offer my services to affluent benefactors.”

“Doing what?” I persisted.

Baldur sighed and caressed the back of my neck. “At the risk of upsetting your Puritan scruples, I purloin valuable objects for my clients … or dispatch their enemies.”

“So you’re a thief and an assassin?” There was no censure in my weary tone. If not for my dejection, perhaps I would have reacted with more alarm or disapproval. Still, after ten years together, only now did I find this out? Then again, it made sense Baldur wouldn’t share his profession with me, what with my lingering religious sensibilities and judgmental outlook.

“Do you disapprove, mein kleiner Heiliger?”

I moved out of his arms and curled back into bed. “What right do I have to approve of or disapprove of anything you do?”

Baldur gave me a concerned look. “I promise I won’t be gone long.”

I turned my face into the pillow. “Go if you must.”

Baldur leaned down and kissed my cheek. He stood and made for the door, but he stopped halfway and looked back at me. “Damn it all,” he grumbled, returning to the bed and drawing me up onto my feet. “Get dressed. We’re going for a walk.”

I stared at him in confusion. “But what about your task?”

“It can wait.” Baldur threw open our wardrobe and picked out an outfit for me. “I won’t leave you while you’re in this state.” He dressed me, draped my knee-length cape about my shoulders, and placed my plumed hat upon my head. “Come. You’ve been cooped up here for months. A walk along the river should lift your spirits.”

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