Blood Father

by Tessa Dawn

  Kagen took a deep, centering breath and slowly closed his eyes. “Brace yourself,” he whispered. And then he began to send a steady stream of images, thoughts, and feelings to his brothers. He replayed the entire horrific night from front to back like a video streaming in high-definition on a big-screen TV, right down to the very last moment when the lycans removed his heart, the vultures returned it, and he awakened absent of memory, with zero knowledge of what had happened before.

  Marquis took three angry paces back, his shoulders heaving in fury and surprise.

  Nathaniel placed his fingers in his mouth and bit down hard to stifle a brutal, inappropriate reaction. He wanted to murder every living creature in sight, and since there were only woodland animals and his brothers nearby, it was highly ill-advised. “That night…you came home so late, and you looked so haggard, so lost. So exhausted. We thought it was grief. We thought something bad had happened, like maybe you had been in a fight, but I, for one, was in no place to dig deeper, to ask questions. I could barely function myself. We were all consumed with grief and sorrow…and rage. If I thought you’d had a chance to take it out on an enemy, I would have simply envied you. I would have never suspected…” His voice trailed off.

  “But why didn’t I make the connection?” Kagen asked sadly. “Several days later, when it started to become clear that father wasn’t coming home, that something had happened—why didn’t I make the connection then?”

  Nachari wiped a tear from his eye and cleared his throat. “Grief has a way of catapulting the living into a place of altered perception: The grieved are neither in the spirit world, with the deceased, nor on the earth, with the living, but somewhere in between. That’s why individuals always say that it seems so strange, so wrong, that life can continue to go on all around them, that the sun still shines and others continue to go about their menial, everyday tasks: Don’t others know that the earth has stopped spinning on its axis? That nothing is as it was before? That life has, in fact, stopped moving?” He sighed. “I believe the mind shuts down in grief in order to allow the survivors to heal in their own time…and at their own pace. We were not in a position to accurately perceive your turmoil, and you were not capable of maintaining the memory of what occurred in that place of limbo beyond the threshold of death. It’s not unusual for someone who dies”—he stumbled over the word but pressed on—“to have no recollection of the events that occurred right before their passing. Perhaps it has something to do with the mind, the brain, that suspended time when there’s no oxygen flowing to the cells.”

  Marquis waved his hand in angry dismissal of the whole conversation. “You survived!” His powerful voice clashed like a symbol, resounding in the night. “You killed four alpha lycans; you orchestrated your own resurrection from inevitable death; and you survived! That is all.” His harsh, implacable features were drawn tight with fury.

  Kagen slowly released his fists. He opened and closed his hands several times in a row, as if trying to gain a grip on the unfathomable. “I walked away from that entire encounter with nothing productive retained. Just enough of my memory left intact to know that a part of me needed to save…to heal…to fix something so fundamental…so valuable. And another part of me, absolutely splintered, broken, and destroyed, emerged with an insatiable urge to kill. A burning instinct to forge endless rivers of blood.”

  “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” Nathaniel whispered softly. “Your need to save the world. Your inexplicable desire to destroy…”

  “Well, no wonder,” Marquis muttered.

  “I shattered,” Kagen said disgracefully. “I came out of it damaged.”

  “No,” Nachari insisted. “You came out of it alive. And I, for one, am grateful.”

  Just then, Nathaniel shuffled in front of him, still on his knees. He grasped Kagen by both shoulders and gently angled his body to face him, and then he cupped his twin’s face in his hands with exquisite tenderness. “Look at me, brother,” he whispered. He felt as if his heart might just break into a thousand pieces and become one with his twin’s anguish.

  Kagen looked up him obediently, his benevolent brown eyes almost pleading for absolution.

  Nathaniel’s spine stiffened. “When the spark of life that is you—and the spark of life that is me—first came into being, we were together in our mother’s womb.” He dropped his head forward until his silken mane of blue-black hair fanned out about his face, and his forehead rested on Kagen’s, endearingly. And then he spoke in a voice so pure, so intimate, that Nachari and Marquis took several steps back to give the two some privacy. “And we have been together ever since: except that night.” His voice trembled from the depth of his emotion, and he had to steady his hands, which were now firmly planted on both of Kagen’s arms. “The night that my twin died at the hands of the lycans, yet came back to me…somehow. And you have carried this burden, alone, for nearly half a century.” He tightened his grip on Kagen’s arms until his fingers cut into his skin in an effort to maintain his composure. “If anyone has failed anyone, I have failed you.” His voice trembled, he felt a fine mist settle in his gaze, and he looked away. When, at last, he had steadied himself enough to continue, he cleared his throat and pressed on. “But I say to you now: You are my brother, you are not to blame, and you are not alone. You. Are. Not. Alone. Never again.”

  Kagen clutched Nathaniel’s wrists and held on for dear life, even as Nathaniel continued to grasp his arms.

  “We will enter that arena tomorrow, together.” Nathaniel gestured with his hand to indicate all of them, Marquis and Nachari included. “And we will finish what you started. We will save our Blood Father; and then we will find Arielle. Together.” A deep, primal growl reverberated in his throat, and Nathaniel did nothing to restrain it. “And by all that is holy, I make you this solemn vow, as your brother and as your twin: We will kill them. We will kill them all. And the rivers will run crimson with their blood.”

  twenty

  Later that night

  Arielle stumbled into the gaudy bedchamber, trying to catch her balance.

  Lieutenant Jacob Tansy flung her into the oversized room with all its garish red furnishings, silk-covered tapestries, and strange, occult-like symbols displayed as tasteless artwork on the tiled walls. It had taken them at least seven hours, running at full speed, to reach the royal castle; and they were still a good three hours away from the arena.

  But Thane was on his way.

  His soldiers had sent him word through a carrier falcon, and from everything she gathered, he would be coming back to retrieve her. He wanted her beside him tomorrow…for the games.

  Arielle grit her teeth and spat in the lieutenant’s face as he snatched her by the arm, dragged her to one of the four bedposts on the raised platform in the center of the king’s room, and struggled to bind her arms to the column.

  “There!” he snarled, his wicked delight barely concealed. He wiped the spittle from his face and sneered at her. “Enjoy your solitude while you can, Miss Nightsong.” He grasped her by the jaw and squeezed until his thumbs pressed the walls of her cheeks into her teeth. “I have no doubt our king will break your defiance…and your will.”

  Arielle glared at him with abject hatred, no longer caring what he said or did.

  She had no doubt that Thane would try. But she knew something none of them knew: There was an enemy of equal power and superior cunning in their midst—a band of vampires in Mhier—that would give the haughty king and all his detestable minions a run for their money.

  Soon.

  Very soon.

  The Silivasis would be arriving at the arena. They would begin to dig their tunnels, to hide their caches of weapons, to plot their final attack.

  And hell would be unleashed in the land of the lycan tomorrow at noon.

  The heavy door to the bedchamber swung open with a fury, and King Tyrus Thane Montego stormed in, his thick golden robe flapping behind him like a dark angel’s wings, all six feet six inches of his muscular fra
me approaching with arrogant swagger. His copious golden-blond hair hung about his shoulders in loose, honey-combed waves, and his piercing amber eyes shone with a fury that could only be described as unholy.

  He took several long strides to the platform, leapt the narrow row of stone steps in a single bound, and glowered at Lieutenant Tansy. “Get out!”

  Jacob Tansy bowed his head and immediately backed away, careful not to turn his back on the angry monarch as he found his way unerringly to the door and shut it softly behind him.

  Thane stared at Arielle like she was a mystical creature from another planet. He paced back and forth in front of her, scrutinizing every hair on her head, every feature on her face, every curve on her body, and then he finally stopped in front of her and reached out to stroke her cheek with a malevolent hand. It was almost as if he had to prove to himself that she was actually there…

  She was actually real.

  “Arielle Nightsong,” he muttered in a harsh, gravelly voice. “The prodigal slave returned. I trust you have enjoyed your years as a member of the rebellion?”

  Arielle swallowed her retort. She glared at him with an equal measure of hatred and derision but continued to hold her tongue. What was there to say to a being so foul, so repulsive? Words were pointless when actions could say so much more. No, Arielle would wait until tomorrow. She would let the Silivasis’ actions say it all for her. And she would rejoice when Keitaro was freed.

  She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the ancestors: Please, by all that is sacred, go with the sons of the father of my heart, and see that Keitaro is freed. Do not let my sacrifice be in vain.

  “I will dine with your friend Echo tonight,” Thane said, apparently hoping to get a rise out of her. When she kept her eyes closed and simply listened, he snarled. “Mmm, that’s not quite accurate,” he amended. “I meant to say, I will dine on your friend Echo tonight. The warrior Walker is already dead, and so is your companion Kade. We know where the rebel encampment is located now, so it is only a matter of time before all are captured…and killed. You are alone, Arielle Nightsong, save the benevolent whims of your king.”

  Arielle kept her eyes closed and her mouth shut. Just the same, she began to tremble. She couldn’t help it. Tyrus Thane Montego did not speak words that were not true. She felt as if the ground had just opened up and swallowed her whole, swallowed her hopes and dreams, and she held her breath to keep from coming apart, to keep from breaking down and giving full vent to an ocean’s worth of tears. Dearest Ancestors, Kade, Walker, and soon Echo…were gone.

  The room grew deathly quiet as she internalized the full meaning of the king’s words.

  In fact, the silence became so glaring that she had to open her eyes once more just to make sure Thane was still standing in front of her. While she could feel his breath on her face, sense his malevolent presence all around her, they were both so incredibly quiet that she hardly believed he was there.

  “You have nothing at all to say to me?” he finally bit out through clenched teeth.

  Arielle took a deep breath and held her tongue.

  “Ah,” he snarled. “Then I suppose you may listen, instead.”

  Arielle gathered her courage and tried to find a center of calm.

  “Tomorrow, you will accompany me to the arena as my soon-to-be bride: the new queen of this realm. You will bathe this night in scented oils, and you will soften your skin in a milk and rose-petal bath. You will dress in a gown made of silk, and you will appear beside me on the dais more beautiful than you have ever been. I will provide you with several maidservants to see that this is so.” He flashed a wicked smile. “But know this, Arielle Nightsong: The only thing beautiful about your life will be its appearance.”

  Despite her determination, Arielle faltered. She swallowed convulsively, choking down her sorrow.

  King Thane raised his angular jaw and peered down at her like she was nothing more than a gnat buzzing about his face. “You will indeed be my slave in every way. You will grovel at my feet; you will beg for my forgiveness; and you will worship me until the day you die—at my hands.” He reached out, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her head back so he could plant a harsh, unyielding kiss on her mouth.

  There was nothing tender or amorous about it.

  His lips were laced with hatred. His tongue was intrusive and foul. His breath was rancid with the desire to commit violence. When he finally pulled away, Arielle had to struggle not to vomit.

  “Is that all?” she asked defiantly, immediately regretting the words. Why—oh why—couldn’t she just control her tongue?

  Thane smiled then, a wide, maniacal, wolfish grin, and the visage was illogically grotesque on his deceptively handsome face. He threw his shoulders back, leapt down from the platform, and began to stroll away in a regal, dismissive manner.

  And then he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. “Oh, there is one more thing.” He prowled back to the dais like a lion in his prime, the king of the jungle asserting his claim. He climbed the steps one at a time, slowly placing each foot on the narrow stone steps, as if to menace her with his very approach.

  Arielle stared at him, transfixed and waiting. What more did he have to say?

  And then he drew back his massive arm, clenched his fingers together in an open palm, and struck her across the face with what felt like the full brunt of his fury.

  The full brunt of the last ten years.

  She didn’t have to respond.

  All the lanterns dimmed.

  And the world went black.

  twenty-one

  Sunday ~ the arena

  Kagen Silivasi tried to settle into the eye of the storm, to ignore all of the pounding waves, swirling winds, and clashing thunder rattling in his head. He narrowed his focus, instead, into a pinpoint of light: the immediate situation, the conditions directly before him, and the present moment.

  All four of the Silivasi brothers perched outside the arena walls, careful to remain invisible. They peered through several tiny holes they had drilled into the stones and waited for the optimal moment to enter the dome.

  The high, stone structure was more oval than circular, and raised above each supporting column was a lit torch, the golden fires burning like macabre lanterns in a creepy cavern. The day was overcast; the ever-present sun and moon were eclipsed by clouds; and the sky was an unusual shade of deep, cobalt blue—it was almost as if the realm itself had prepared to witness the deaths of the combatants.

  Kagen heard Marquis grunt as he shifted nervously where he crouched. Now that the crowd had taken their seats, the guards had taken their posts, and the juxtaposition of the players inside the stadium had become definitively clear, it was up to the Ancient Master Warrior to make any final adjustments. Despite the fact that he spoke telepathically, Marquis still cleared his throat. Nachari, it appears as if all the spectators have been seated on the eastern, northeastern, and west-eastern side of the arena—some in the corners above the pits that will release the beasts, some in the center with the clearest view of the…main event. He was careful not to say “the execution of our father.” I note four sentries in the stands by the rails and one positioned in front of the northeastern gate. The former are probably there to control the crowds, and each appears to be a Beta. The latter looks like an Omega from here, and he is more than likely poised to open the gate and release the beasts. You will take all five sentries out as quickly as possible, and then you will turn your attention to whatever beasts are released from the northeastern gate.

  Nachari leaned closer to the wall, no doubt scanning for each of his assigned targets, and then he sent an affirmative charge of energy to Marquis across the common wavelength. I understand. His voice was as serious as it was calm.

  Marquis continued soberly. Nathaniel?

  Yes, warrior?

  You will take the southern end of the arena, parallel to the main entrance. Again, whatever beasts come out of the southeastern gates, you will dis
patch; but not before attending to the three omega guards on the ground floor of the arena.

  Nathaniel purred deep in his throat—he probably didn’t even know he was doing it. There is a guard posted outside the southeastern gate, probably to release the beasts, as you’ve indicated, and two flanking the main-floor entrance, one on either side. They are Omegas, and I will kill them as easily as I would slaughter a calf in a field.

  Kagen tilted his head back and forth, ever so slightly, thinking, Well, that was succinctly put.

  Indeed, Marquis responded to Nathaniel. But your responsibility does not end there: From the way the rebels described previous games, the king will most likely position our father on the far southern end of the arena, with his back turned toward the royal dais, which means that his opponent, Cain Armentieres, will enter on the southern end with his back turned to you. Needless to say, you will not allow this alpha lycan to execute our father—no matter how compromised or weakened they have made him. While your instinct may be to go for Keitaro first, do not. It is possible that he can hold his own for a time, despite their machinations. We must eliminate the Alphas, or we will never escape with our father.

  Kagen let out a slow, feral hiss, struggling to contain his emotion: Ever since he had absorbed Arielle’s memories, he was able to connect Cain’s name with his face. Now that he had his own memories back—he could recall that fateful night in the valley, the night Keitaro had disappeared—he also knew that Cain Armentieres had been there. The lycan had virtually eviscerated Kagen’s hamstring and his throat.

  Nathaniel placed a reassuring arm on Kagen’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. Do not lose your focus during the battle, Kagen. Your enemy is my enemy. And there will be no vultures to return his heart to his body when we are through.

  Kagen gave Nathaniel’s hand a crisp pat and slowly nodded his head, even though his brother couldn’t see the gesture.