Blood like light itself, liquid fire. Our blood. And my arms gathering incalculable strength, winding round his shoulders, my face pressed to his cool white flesh, the blood shooting down into my loins and every vessel in my body ignited with it. How many centuries had purified this blood, distilled its power? It seemed beneath the roar of the flow he spoke. He said again: “Drink, my young one, my wounded one.” I felt his heart swell, his body undulate, and we were sealed against each other. I think I heard myself say: “Marius.” And he answered: “Yes.”
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