Almost done with a first draft of BA-3

I can't believe it. I am closing in on a workable first draft of Blood Angel-Three. Right now it's sub-headed Franz Revealed, but that's kind of a wimpy title. And this book gets vicious. For me...

Here's the rest of the first chapter, paring up with what I posted on the 11th.

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Franz was perfect for me. His golden beauty was matched by my dark good-looks, and don’t be surprised I say that. I’m not allowed any lies or false modesty. It’s merely a statement of fact. And we carried the same Blood Angel lineage. Granted, that made him a distant cousin, but it was well out of the range one might consider to be incest. So when I’d sent the telegram, I’d had no doubt the council would agree. 

Now they were enroute to see for themselves...or explain themselves or something, and I had little time to make certain Franz was in top shape to face their questioning. 

Of course, that had already been underway. After I’d laid him in my bed, still unconscious, and before Gregory and I’d had our little sojourn in the pond, I’d asked Tellis to sew the wound in his shoulder closed. While he worked best in his garden and the fields, I had also seen him mend trousers and shirts with a needle and thread, to the point the repair could not be seen without looking for it. 

“My father was a tailor,” he’d said when I’d mentioned it, as he was repairing my cloak. That was back in the time of Francis the first, in France. Of course, we didn’t know at the time he would be the first; we only referred to him as The Father of Letters. 

“I would have followed,” Tellis continued, in our Norman tongue, “as was his command. He thought my love of the fields and grain silly for a gypsy to want. Contrary to our nature. So...” And he’d pulled the needle up in a dramatic gesture. 

“Why do you continue with it?” I’d asked, because I’d seen him wandering through meadows and fields on moonlit nights and even during storms, as if offering prayers. And he never fed there; only in the alleys of villages and towns. 

“This is my contribution to our pack, until we settle.” 

“You think we will? We’ve been more like your gypsy clans, the last few centuries.” 

He’d shrugged. And even after we'd established the chateau as our home and provided him with fields to tend, he’d continued to tailor our clothing. So I brought him to Franz’s room...

Well, my room. I had kept the furniture light, in it; just a four-poster bed with curtains, side tables for candles, chairs, and a desk. A wardrobe held my clothing, carpets from Persia were spread over my floor, and thick velvet draperies covered the windows.

The moment he saw Franz lying under my duvet, he gave me a look of pure shock. I quickly said, “He’s been unconscious so knows nothing of us. He is the owner of the horse you are tending. I want him to heal, as well.” 

He sighed and asked, “What do you want me to do?” 

“There is a wound in his shoulder that should be closed. It might be best to handle now. The less fuss, the better.” 

He looked hard at Franz and said in a voice so soft it almost could not be heard, “I sew clothing, not humans.” Then he cast me another look of uncertainty. “If you’re going to turn him, he will heal on his own...” 

“I don’t know that I will, yet. I need permission and have only just sent off the request. I don’t want his wound to have a chance to fester before I hear from the Oiym.” 

He eyed me, for a moment, then sat beside Franz and lifted the bandage away. “That’s a very neat hole...” He did the same for the gash to his head. “What is this red stain on him? It’s not blood.”

“Bromine.” 

He nodded. “Reyndahl told me of this.” His fingers trailed from the wound in Franz’s head down his face to stroke the artery in his neck, then he looked at me. “I remember the first time I touched you,” he said, softly. “It was an odd sensation, like I was holding someone with blood unbelievably rich and exquisite, far beyond those I’d fed upon, till then. And since. It even held a bit of haughtiness. You don’t forget the first time you touch a Blood Angel.” 

I just drew in a deep breath. “I would prefer silence on that matter.” 

He gave a slight nod of his head. “Will we be departing from you, now?” 

“No!” shot out of me so fast, I didn’t have time to even think of it. “You and all the others, you are so much more than merely my pack. You’re friends. Lovers. Family to me. Why would you think I’d toss that away?” 

“Considering how your sister treats her court...” 

I huffed. “She surrounds herself with idiots.” 

“Not all.” 

“Well...save one,” I said, grinning. 

“Who is another Blood Angel.” 

“You are surprisingly aware.” 

“We talk to each other, Léon. All of us. Even Gregory, who often says more without saying anything. When I woke, this evening, I found him sitting in the corridor, with Meron. The way they held each other...” 

“What’s going on, here? Are all of you lonely? In need of mates?” 

“Léon, I work with animals and plants. I’m easiest with them. That Doric and I have connected in a way that is more than sexual is a surprise, to me. It kept me from loneliness, and Doric, as well. But I sense it in Loronce, who wants Stephane to want him, and Stephane, who wants Reyndahl to love him, and Renydahl, who wants a female mate as well as a male and doesn’t know how to work it out.” 

“I think he wants an outlet for his sexual needs more than a relationship.” 

“Which he gets. He doesn’t kill all of his conquests. But then...men are more prone to evil than women, so their endings are easier to excuse.” He took another look at Franz’s wound and nodded. “I’ll get my thread and needle, soak them in that bromine, and close it as best I can. I doubt it will be much healed before you hear from the Oiym.” 

I’d only smiled at him then gone off to meet with Gregory.