by Tessa Dawn
“It’s painless, Arielle. We don’t even need to touch you.” He leaned in a little bit closer. “Although, considering that we wish to…procure them all…it would probably be more expedient, easier for the one who takes your blood, to absorb your memories as well, at the same time. Whoever takes them can share them with the others, so you only have to experience it once.”
Arielle nodded with understanding. “And all of you are equal at doing this?”
Kagen appeared to consider her words carefully. “No, not really.” He seemed to be searching for just the right way to explain things. “I am a healer, so I can enter your mind with more precision—and more speed—than most, but Nachari is a wizard. He is not only adept at absorbing one’s thoughts, but he is expertly trained in all matters of the mind, in manipulation. He can retract memories or implant them. He can read the finest nuances of thought as well as the soul of the one he is reading, so that his work is a masterpiece of both pragmatic skill and intuition. I would say Nachari is our most advanced practitioner.”
The Master Wizard looked up from his lone perch, cattycorner from Kagen and Arielle, and smiled that warm, breathtaking grin of his, and Arielle’s mind was immediately placed at ease. “Nachari then,” she said, deciding to just hurry up and get it over with. “The sooner this is behind us, the sooner you can all begin to ask your many questions.”
“Very well,” Kagen said, rising gracefully from his seat on the cave floor, almost as if his body didn’t rise at all, but unfolded in an upward, fluid motion. “Wizard,” he called, glancing at Nachari and nodding.
Nachari rose with the same graceful ease and poise, and as he padded across the cave, approaching them from behind, his soft gait had the unmistakable stealth of a wildcat about it.
Kagen quickly stepped aside, and Nachari closed the distance, sidling up to Arielle’s back, dropping into an effortless crouch behind her, and immediately encircling her shoulders with one large arm. “Be at ease, sister,” he whispered in her ear, at once imparting her with both peace and tranquility. He tightened his hold on her shoulders and ran the backs of his fingers along the nape of her neck, just below her hairline, as if he had done it a thousand times before.
Despite the fact that she hated to lose control, Arielle felt her lashes flutter, her eyelids grow heavy, and her muscles begin to relax, even as her body sank back against his. “Nachari,” she whispered in alarm, afraid of what was happening.
“Shh,” he whispered dreamily, continuing to stroke her neck. “Lean into me and just…let…go.”
Arielle, indeed, felt euphoric, and he hadn’t even pierced her skin yet. His warm presence, his hypnotic voice—even his powerful stature—somehow commanded submission and coaxed trust. She moaned softly as he drew his fangs along her jugular, and her breathing grew shallow the moment he nicked the outer layer of her skin.
And that’s when Kagen growled.
Not like a brother.
Not like a healer.
Not like a vampire simply clearing his throat—if that’s what vampires did—but like a wild, hungry animal defending a piece of raw meat.
Through the corner of her hooded eyes, Arielle watched as Kagen’s supple lips grew taut and retracted from his gums, as they drew back to expose a lethal set of elongating fangs. His eyes burned suddenly crimson, and his skin seemed to practically glow with ferocity.
Nachari froze in mid-bite.
“Healer?” Marquis’s voice resounded from across the cave. “What are you doing?”
Kagen snarled, and he dropped into a low crouch, almost as if he were about to pounce—on Nachari.
Nathaniel flew to his feet. “Whoa there, Dr. J. What the hell?”
Kagen’s head tilted slowly to the side, and the motion was eerily serpentine in nature. His lips twitched in feral spasms, and he had trouble forming his next word: “Mine.” He spoke in a harsh, guttural rasp.
“Excuse me?” Nathaniel said softly, his tone a measured, even drawl.
Kagen rocked on his heels, the powerful muscles in his thighs flexing with the desire to spring forward, and by the savage look on his face, it was evident that the vampire was beyond reasoning or control.
Nathaniel caught the healer just as he pounced.
He wrapped him up in midair, locked his muscular arms tightly around his chest, and jerked him away from Nachari, just before his fangs could sink home. “Get a hold of yourself, Kagen!” Nathaniel shouted. His voice was no longer gentle.
The tussle that ensued was monstrous to put it mildly.
The vampires somersaulted across the cave. They slammed into an adjacent stony wall, kicking up dirt, rock, and gravel in their wake, and the mountain beneath them began to groan. They snarled, bit, and traded punches, the unholy blows far more violent than any human could have ever endured.
Finally, Marquis stood up, took one hard look at the twins rolling around on the cave floor like feral animals, and barked an imperious command. “Nachari! Back away from Arielle.”
Nachari immediately released her and teleported to the back of the cave, his enigmatic green eyes bulging in their sockets as he watched the scene unfold with horrified shock and disbelief.
“Kagen!” Marquis barked next. “Look. He’s gone. He let her go.”
The healer looked up, glancing beyond his twin’s shoulder, and he seemed momentarily disoriented and confused, at an utter loss as to what was happening, or what he intended to do next.
“He’s gone,” Marquis repeated, rolling his angry eyes in disgust.
Kagen stumbled to his feet. He stared at the empty space where Nachari had just been, then across the cave at Marquis, as if for confirmation.
“By all means,” the Ancient Master Warrior snarled, “you may be the one to do it.”
Arielle recoiled. She turned on her heels and started to run, not at all sure where she was going.
Nachari looked utterly exasperated as his pleading eyes met hers. “Don’t run, Arielle,” he called after her. “You’ll only make it worse.”
Kagen stepped swiftly to the side, blocking her retreat with his formidable body, and in that rare, pregnant moment, Arielle knew that the instinct that drove him was not hunger or the need to save his father, but a fierce, animalistic need to undo whatever Nachari had done.
To claim the other vampire’s territory as his own.
She shrank back, and then she nearly fainted as he reached out to take her, swept her up in his arms, and cradled her to his chest like a weightless child.
Before she could scream or protest, he bent his head to her neck, his thick brown locks fanning out like a preternatural veil to give them some privacy, and sank his fangs deep into her throat.
“Damn!” Nachari cursed from the back of the cave.
Nathaniel dusted off his clothes, whistled low beneath his breath, and took a tentative step toward them—but he didn’t interfere.
And Marquis? He just snorted with derision and turned his back on the whole primitive scene.
And that was the last thing Arielle saw.
Swept up in the intensity of the vampire’s emotion, in his fierce, unyielding need to dominate her will, she felt her body go limp in his arms; and then a pleasure she could only describe as unconscionably erotic swept through her body like a firestorm, blazing across a dry, wild prairie. Despite the fact that she had no experience with such things, her body tingled from head to toe, like the two of them were making love.
She shuddered and grasped at his arms for purchase, afraid that she might just spiral into the cosmos, forever lost in a heightened state of unimaginable bliss.
“Gods,” she moaned inadvertently, embarrassed to her core by her carnal reaction, yet knowing all the while that the vampire was wringing it out of her, immersing her in pleasure, all in some primal need to prove that he could. When at last her body splintered in his arms, fracturing outward from her womb to her hips and thighs, traveling down her torso to her knees and then her toes, she thought she might j
ust die of shame.
It hadn’t been an orgasm, so to speak—at least she didn’t think it had been—rather, her soul had come apart, her heart had fractured into a thousand little pieces, and her body had wept for mercy beneath the unrelenting onslaught of sensation. It had been a command, a directive, an imperious yet desperate plea.
A prayer, for lack of any other description.
And Kagen would not have stopped until it had happened.
As the vampire slowly seemed to regain his senses, Arielle held her breath. She could feel his touch—it was much more gentle now, much more controlled and deliberate—snaking through her mind, slowly reaching back in time, farther and farther, until at last, he arrived at the beginning, the memories she herself no longer had access to. And then, one by one, he slowly moved forward, absorbing each one into his own consciousness.
Finally, when Kagen had consumed all that she was—as a child, as a warrior, and now, as a woman—he withdrew his fangs and set her gently down on the earthen floor.
She immediately cowered and covered her body with her arms—she felt positively naked before him—and the look on his tortured face was one of absolute regret and utter humiliation.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice a barren whisper. His mouth dropped open and his arms fell to his sides. “I don’t know what happened to me, Arielle. I…I…” He raised a trembling hand, ran it through his hair, and glanced up at Nathaniel. “Brother…” His voice was hoarse with regret.
Nathaniel held up both hands in question, as if to say, Yeah, please; explain this one, if you dare.
“There are no words,” Kagen said softly. The anguish in his eyes was real. Raw. Guileless. He turned toward the back of the cave, and when his eyes met Nachari’s, he slowly shook his head. “Wizard…Nachari.”
“Mr. Hyde?” Nachari echoed warily. “Are you good?”
Kagen momentarily shut his eyes. “It wasn’t that, Nachari. I don’t know what it was… and yes, I’m fine now.” He turned back toward Arielle and visibly cringed. “Daughter of my father’s heart, please…don’t cover yourself like that.”
Arielle averted her eyes in humiliation and shuffled a few steps away.
“Just what the hell was that?” Marquis demanded, taking a bold stride in Kagen’s direction.
Kagen looked at Arielle and studied her closely. “Show me your arm,” he commanded, albeit in a much gentler voice. It was as if he were trying valiantly to maintain his dignity, to repair a hopelessly awkward moment.
“Pardon me?” Arielle asked, even more uncertain.
“Your wrist,” Kagen clarified. “Show it to me.”
Arielle turned her right arm over and held it up to his gaze.
He quickly shook his head. “No. Show me the other one.”
She reluctantly held it forward.
Kagen stared at the smooth, unmarred skin for what almost felt like an eternity, although just what he was looking for, Arielle couldn’t say. She followed his gaze as he studied her perfect flesh more closely—one line, one contour, one vein at a time—his face a mask of sweeping emotions, from expectancy to confusion…to blank resignation. And then, as if he didn’t have a clue, he simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Then…I don’t know.” He seemed to be speaking primarily to Marquis. “I just…don’t know.”
Arielle averted her gaze. The contact was far too intimate, and she felt like there was something so much deeper going on… She was almost sorry she had been a part of the whole sordid episode—it was almost as if she had caused it somehow—although she couldn’t possibly imagine what she might have done wrong.
Much to her chagrin, Kagen took a cautious step forward and cupped her face in his hands. He touched her with such exquisite gentleness and care that a lump formed in her throat. “I swear to you, Arielle Nightsong,” he said in a whisper, “in a thousand years, I have never harmed or forced myself upon a woman.” He reached into his cloak and withdrew a thin, sharp dagger, the perilous blade polished to a dazzling shine, and then he placed the pommel in her hand. “If I ever do anything like that again, use this to defend yourself.”
Arielle drew back, appalled.
She shook her head adamantly, refusing to take the weapon, and her voice quivered with the strength of her resolve. “I could never do such a thing, not to one of Keitaro’s sons.” She cleared her throat and somehow found a steadier tone. “You didn’t harm me, Kagen. I’m not injured. I’m just….just so terribly embarrassed.”
He nodded, as if he truly understood, and then he pulled her into the most tender embrace she had ever felt. “Never, sweeting,” he whispered in her ear. “Never.” He nuzzled her hair with his chin and crooned to her in a lyrical voice, almost as if she were a child, cradled in his arms. “Arielle, I have seen your memories…your soul…and you are incomparably beautiful. A rare and unblemished jewel. What you have done for our father…what you have meant to Keitaro…” His voice faded into silence, and his eyes clouded with pressing tears, a well of emotion he would never release. “I am honored that you took my passion and returned it, and I will spend whatever short time we have here in Mhier trying to earn your forgiveness. I am so sorry, little warrior. I am…so…very sorry.”
Nachari cleared his throat and strolled cautiously forward, emerging reluctantly from the rear of the cave. “I guess no good deed goes unpunished,” he quipped, eyeing Kagen sideways. He seemed to be trying for humor, but it fell just a little bit short.
Kagen looked at him with abject apology burning in his eyes. “Nachari?”
The wizard smiled, however faintly, and then he slowly shrugged his shoulders. “That was bizarre, Master Healer,” he said. And then he threw up his hands. “Next time, just ask.”
Nathaniel sauntered back to his place on the other side of the fire, as if the matter were simply and indelibly closed. He turned his attention back to Marquis and the map. “Never too old to get into an old-fashioned scuffle with your twin,” he mumbled beneath his breath. It was clearly his way of dismissing the entire episode.
“Perhaps,” Marquis said circumspectly. “However, I think the healer is the one who needs therapy now.” If Arielle didn’t know better, she would have thought the rigid vampire was trying to make a joke, perhaps an inside jest, but his husky voice lacked the requisite humorous intonation; and she had no desire to ask what he meant.
Nachari and Nathaniel laughed just the same, and the sudden merriment broke some of the tension. Even Arielle tried to brush it off at this point. After all, the deed was done. Kagen had her blood—that fact was indisputable—and he also had her memories. They had much more important things to get on with now.
Still, she couldn’t help but think of the white owl and the omen that had occurred just twenty-four hours before at the ternary streams: a song of blood beneath the moon.
The white owl had come for her, and whatever the omen meant, Kagen Silivasi had everything to do with it.
She had felt it as clearly as she knew her name to be Arielle.
When his soul had joined with hers.
And hers had responded in kind.
Napolean Mondragon, the ancient king of the Vampyr, strolled onto the veranda at the front of his regal manse and stared at the enchanting sky. His eyes were filled with wonder and trepidation—he could hardly believe what he was seeing—what was happening before his ancient eyes.
The canvass was as dark as pitch.
The moon was as sanguine as blood.
And the northern region of the Milky Way was a virtual cornucopia of intersecting stars and lights, each element blending into a celestial tapestry that reflected a singular, ancient constellation: Auriga, the Charioteer.
Kagen Silivasi’s ruling Blood Moon.
Napolean tried once more to reach the Master Healer with telepathy, but the communication would not go through. It was as if he were trying to push a feather through a solid brick wall—there was simply no momentum, no power behind the prod, and the realization
was unsettling to say the least.
Turning his attention to the goddess of his birth, he chose to say a prayer for his faithful subject instead: “Great Andromeda, keeper of my soul, protect our native son as he travels through foreign lands. Do not let him die as a result of this Blood Moon. Do not let him perish for failing to claim something he doesn’t even know he has.”
eleven
Mhier
The silence was nearly deafening in the cave as the Silivasi brothers took their respective positions on their individual bedrolls, surrounding the central fire, and Kagen, at last, shared Arielle’s memories with his brothers.
As Keitaro’s years in the slave camp finally came into full, vivid view.
As the horrors of the arena played out in real time, up close and personal.
As each of Keitaro’s sons finally understood just what life had been like for their beloved sire in Mhier, the horrors King Tyrus Thane had visited upon him out of nothing but sheer cruelty and malice.
It was odd for Kagen, to say the least, being able to see his father’s face after so many years—and through the exclusive, unique memories of another person, filtered through Arielle’s own distinctive and caring perspective. And it was haunting at best to realize just what this precious daughter of Keitaro’s heart had meant to him: the joy and the relief, however slight, she had brought into his endless, monotonous life.
Kagen stirred restlessly on his bedroll, eyeing the entrance to the cave for the twentieth time, watching Arielle as she stood with her face uplifted toward the moon, soaking in the lunar rays, almost as if in prayer. He still felt abominable for what had happened earlier, and he knew that she still felt ashamed, vulnerable, and exposed.