by Tessa Dawn
Marquis seemed to hesitate then, as if he were thinking his next words over carefully. There is one more thing, Master Warrior, he said, still addressing Nathaniel.
And that is? Nathaniel asked.
Marquis sighed. It would appear that these repulsive lykoi intend to launch their ceremony by lighting their own version of an Olympic torch.
Nathaniel breathed a revolted sigh. Queen Cassandra, on the raised platform.
The beautiful yet tortured human was already bound, gagged, and strapped naked to the two enormous posts jutting out of the raised podium at the southwestern corner of the arena; and her quivering body was coated in tar in the most vulgar of places. The fire pit at her feet had been arranged with highly flammable logs in a v-shaped manner in order to sweep the fire upward as quickly as possible.
Are we going to let that spectacle ensue? Nathaniel asked.
Marquis snorted. Any diversion is a good diversion, but even I have my limitations. If it is at all possible, put the fire out as soon as it is feasible to do so. Whether or not it will be in time to save her, I cannot say. But know this, warrior: You have only one goal today, one priority, one yardstick by which you will measure every choice you make and every action you take, and that is to save our father. If you can spare this evil woman such agony, then do so; but if it interferes with saving Keitaro, then let her burn.
“Damn,” Nachari uttered beneath his breath.
Kagen shifted anxiously on his knees, but he said nothing. The woman had been a power-hungry witch according to Arielle, or at least her memories. She was as evil as her husband, and she had chosen to commit adultery with Thane’s top alpha general, one of his best friends, knowing exactly who and what her husband was. While it went against all decency to allow any female to perish in such a harsh manner, to risk Keitaro’s safety in favor of hers—well, as far as Kagen was concerned, Marquis was right: If necessary, the bitch could burn.
As for you, Master Healer, Marquis went on. You will enter the arena on the northern end, directly beneath the royal dais. I am giving you King Thane himself because to give him to anyone else would just be futile and a constant distraction. If Arielle is nearby, then she is also your charge.
Kagen sighed, a breath of relief. He absently patted the custom leather case at his hip, the pouch containing his silver-tipped scalpels, and he ran his forefinger over the outline of the largest blade: a polished handle made of ivory, with a four-inch precision tip. As a surgeon, he could wield it with uncanny dexterity and accuracy.
However, Marquis added, do not forget, the vile king may be the least of your immediate concerns; on top of dealing with an alpha monarch and trying to save a woman who may—or may not—be your destiny, you will be faced with five other immediate challenges.
Kagen peered through the peepholes in the weathered stones and watched intently as he listened.
There are four beta sentinels posted on top of the dais—do you see them?
Kagen’s eyes swept swiftly over the platform. Oh yes, he saw them. In the center of the elevated platform were two garish, enormous thrones, and on either side of the pair were four guards, dressed in military finery—there were two on the right and two on the left. I see them, he snarled.
Good, Marquis said. Then you also see the two alpha lycans posted on the ground floor of the arena, just beneath the dais—they are probably extra security for the king.
Kagen nodded instinctively. I see them, too.
I will take the Alpha on the western end, just as I will dispatch both of the beta sentinels posted on either side of Cassandra’s platform. All will be closest to me on the western side of the arena, but you will need to dispatch the Alpha toward the east before you even attempt to seize the actual dais and dispatch its occupants.
Kagen nodded again, this time, for himself. Understood.
And then Nathaniel said what Marquis could not. Then you will take Keitaro?
Marquis grew deathly quiet. When, at last, he spoke, his voice was grave with determination. I will bring our father out of the arena and protect him from whatever occurs around us.
Nachari shifted where he crouched. You do know… He started to speak, but his voice trailed off.
Nathaniel picked up where Nachari left off. We all know that the best laid plans of mice and vampires often go astray.
Things might get even uglier than we anticipate, Kagen chimed in, and one or more of us may get hurt…rather severely. Or worse.
Just the same, Nathaniel said. You stay at your post, Master Warrior. You protect and defend our father…at any cost. It is why we are here.
We all have each other’s backs, Nachari cut in, but we are far more likely to succeed with our individual assignments if we know that, come what may, you have Keitaro’s.
Marquis grunted in an affirmative fashion. There wasn’t much more he could say.
The Silivasis had chosen him for such a critical mission because he was the harshest and most dispassionate of them all, at least when it came to approaching war as a lethal tactician—without emotion and without compassion. Marquis would fight like a wild beast for their father, and he would let the spectators die, the sky fall in, and the stadium burn to the ground—with everyone in it—if that’s what it took to accomplish his goal. If anyone could bring Keitaro out alive, it would be the Ancient Master Warrior who had led their family with such honor and courage for the last 480 years.
We are ready, Marquis said by way of a reply, and to a degree, it was true:
Not only had they planned, prepared, and surveyed every possible inch of ground the night before, but they had moved in and out of the temporary, pre-game encampment, feeding on the abundant human prey all around them. Each male had taken more than his share from an unsuspecting merchant, a carnival peddler, or a soon-to-be onlooker. They had primed their bodies for an epic battle: Their muscles were twitching, and their adrenaline was flowing.
They had waited 480 years for this moment.
Kagen stilled his thoughts and reached out one last time to his brothers, telepathically. Then this is it, he said solemnly.
Nathaniel purred like a satiated cat. Indeed, it is.
Marquis said nothing, but Nachari reached out and felt for the hands of the males beside him. Brothers, take my hands. Without hesitation, each of the Silivasis linked arms with the sibling beside him as Nachari bowed his head in prayer: To Perseus, the Victorious Hero, god of my reigning moon; to Cassiopeia, the keeper of Nathaniel’s soul; to Draco the Dragon, Marquis’s eternal guardian; and to Auriga, the Charioteer, protector of Kagen’s heart: We offer you homage, even as we kneel before you in supplication: Give us, this day, the strength, the wisdom, and the power to defeat our enemy. Bless our hands, our weapons, and our minds that our every decision will be correct, our every action true. This day, give us back our father, return Arielle to our care, and make us victorious against our rivals. And to Libra, the celestial god of balancing scales and of meting out justice, we ask for this single, supreme blessing: May the rivers run crimson with their blood.
All four males consummated the prayer by drawing a solitary blade, slicing their wrists, and leaving a joint offering of blood on the ground between them, and then they healed their wounds with venom and stood.
Ready for battle.
twenty-two
The trumpets blared.
The crowd rose to their feet.
And King Tyrus Thane entered the dais, announcing the opening of the games.
He read the final decree for each execution, and then he introduced the realm’s newest, soon-to-be queen: Arielle Nightsong.
Kagen’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.
He leaned forward to peer through a narrow hole in the wall, and practically came unglued. Dearest goddess of mercy, Arielle was dressed like a high-class courtesan, standing next to the lycan king, and her face was mottled with bruises. He felt his demon stir and struggled to hold it at bay. Not now…
Not yet.
Soon.
Very soon.
He held his breath and waited as the heavy set of wooden doors on the southern end of the arena swung open and Cain Armentieres entered the auditorium with a crescent-shaped throwing axe in his right hand and a crude, iron stabbing knife in his left, the weight nestled snugly against his palm. A gold medallion shone at his chest; the circular handle of the blade encased his wrist like a cuff; and Kagen couldn’t help but take notice—the last time he had seen that face, the male had stood over him in the northern Dark Moon Vale Forest, wearing that same golden medallion around his neck. Kagen blinked twice to clear his vision. An eerie stillness settled inside him as his senses grew sharper and his muscles grew taut. Every cell in his body was itching to fight.
And then a hushed silence swept over the crowd as several lycan guards exited the doorway, leading a tall, sinewy male—a vampire—by the arms.
Kagen drew in a harsh intake of breath.
He practically swayed where he stood.
It was him.
Keitaro.
Their father.
And the male looked like nothing he had remembered: His once shiny black hair was dull and matted; his eyes were narrow with purpose but devoid of life. His frame had to be at least fifty pounds lighter, and his once luminescent skin was scarred with dozens of pocks and blemishes. He walked more slowly than Kagen remembered, and his gait seemed to drag rather than amble, as if he carried the weight of the world on his enslaved shoulders.
He was indeed nosferatu—the walking undead.
But not because he was a vampire, because he was a shell of a warrior, forced to endure the unendurable for longer than most beings lived.
Kagen sucked in air through his front teeth and purposefully regulated his breath. He watched with barely restrained fury as a second set of guards approached the raised platform where Cassandra struggled futilely against her rawhide bonds, and casually lit the fire. The gag was removed from her mouth, and she screamed like a woman possessed.
Kagen dialed down the sound. He turned his attention back to the raised dais and studied King Thane and Arielle, and then he simply held his breath waiting for Marquis’s command.
Now! The warrior spoke gruffly, even in their minds, and in an instant, all four Silivasis leapt the formidable walls of the arena and landed on the stadium floor, quietly taking their respective places on the circular battle field, primed, invisible, and teeming with adrenaline.
Without delay, Cain charged at Keitaro, and everything seemed to happen at once: Keitaro and the general, who was still in human form, met in a clash of sound and fury in the middle of the stadium, their brutal blows and lethal maneuvers a dreadful sight to behold. For a frozen moment, Kagen watched in stunned fascination as his father and Cain Armentieres lunged, trapped, and parried like swordsmen of old, only Cain wielded an axe and a blade, while Keitaro marshaled his fists and his fangs.
And then, Cassandra’s fire went out: Nathaniel had blown icy wind over the conflagration, and the two platform sentinels were struggling to rebuild the blaze as the king glared at them angrily from the royal box. Nathaniel turned his attention on the two omega lycans at the main entrance of the arena floor, and although his assault could not be seen, it was swift and lethal just the same. Both males doubled over, and their bodies slumped lifelessly to the ground.
At the same time, Marquis literally twisted off the head of the nearest beta lycan, wrenching the trophy right off the male’s shoulders, even as the soldier continued to add accelerant to a dying log.
Nachari struck next.
The Master Wizard sent two blazing streams of blue lightning from his invisible fingertips out toward the crowd, up into the stadium, each bolt searing directly into the heart of a beta guard. Two sentinels clutched their chests and staggered backward, yet Nachari did not let up. The streams grew hotter, more intense, searing through flesh, blood, and bone until, at last, the guards fell to the stadium floor, nothing more than a combined pile of sweltering ash. And that’s when Nachari leapt into the stands, his curved sickle clutched tightly in his right hand—it was a bizarre sight to watch, as if the sickle moved of its own accord—as Nachari went from one remaining male to the other, clutched both by their hair, and slit their throats from one ear to the next, leaping back into the stadium before their blood hit the ground.
The wizard finally shimmered into full view.
And it seemed like the crowd would have noticed—should have noticed—but they were so caught up by the action in the arena, the epic battle between Keitaro and Cain, that they didn’t see the bloody vampire or the fallen sentinels.
At least not right away.
Nachari took the opportunity to stalk toward the omega guard, posted at the northeastern gate. The lycan caught sight of him, threw open the hatch, and then started to shift into his wolverine form. Nachari lunged at the lycan. Still brandishing his blood-drenched sickle, he gutted the male from stem to stern and dropped him to the arena floor, booting him out of the way.
The crowd began to scream.
Kagen watched in macabre horror as two enormous beasts, which could only be described as a cross between a rhinoceros and a velociraptor, stormed through the open northeastern gates, charged into the arena, and pointed their horns at Nachari.
Before he could see what happened next, a loud, thunderous crack drew Kagen’s attention to the center of the arena.
Cain had just landed a violent blow against Keitaro’s skull, and the vampire had fallen forward onto his knees—it was obvious that Keitaro’s ribs had all been broken, long before he entered the battle, and Cain took full advantage of the unfair odds: He shifted into lycan form and lunged for Keitaro’s throat.
Marquis was there in an instant: enraged, determined, and no longer invisible.
He hurled his massive warrior’s body onto the wolf’s back; pounded him three times in the back of the head with his wicked, spiked cestus; and then thrust the same hand, like a dagger, through the wolf’s thick haunches, burrowing deep beneath his wiry fur in an effort to tear out his heart. Marquis looked positively rabid as the lycan somehow managed to dislodge his murderous hand.
A shrill horn-blast resounded from the royal dais, a formal sounding of alarm: as if the people didn’t know they were in peril…by now.
And once again, Kagen was forced to turn away.
The alpha lycan beneath the dais, along with the remaining beta guard who had been tending Cassandra’s platform, rushed to the center of the arena to aid Cain in the sudden, unexpected battle, to assist in the execution of Keitaro. At the same moment, the omega guard at the southeast end of the arena opened the gates before Nathaniel could get to him, released two more of the hideous beasts, and joined in the maniacal fray in the center of the arena. Nathaniel shimmered into view and dove into the mix; Nachari shifted into panther form and sprinted toward the beasts—apparently, he had escaped the first attack—and Kagen was left to take on the remaining Alpha beneath the dais, all four Betas on the top of the royal platform, and King Tyrus Thane himself. Not to mention, he still had to rescue Arielle.
In short, he could not stop to watch his brothers.
There was no time to play spectator in this life-or-death sport.
Luckily, he was still invisible.
He turned his attention toward the alpha guard who was making his way toward the center of the arena, wholly unaware that a vampire stood less than ten feet in front of him. Kagen immediately recognized the loathsome mongrel: It was Teague Verasachi, the male who had killed Arielle’s mother and given her to King Thane as a slave, the male who had broken his arm as well as his clavicle, kicked him in the side, and ripped out his heart so many years ago in Dark Moon Vale.
The male who had murdered him beneath a waning moon.
Something wicked, buried, and too-long controlled swelled up in Kagen’s soul, something that had waited 480 years to be released: the fury, the rage…
The rivers of blood.
; “Here, puppy,” Kagen whispered in a sadistic, disembodied voice. He snapped his fingers two times. “Here, Fido. Come!”
Teague spun on his heels and sniffed the air. He was immediately aware of Kagen’s presence, although he still couldn’t see him. “Who are you? What are you?” He dropped low to the ground in a defensive posture.
Kagen moved like a bolt of lightning, striking out of a clear blue sky. He lunged for the general’s arm and tore it out of the socket, tossing the offensive limb into the middle of the arena as he swiftly retreated to his original position. “Bad doggy. Very bad doggy.”
Teague snarled in pain and fury. He grasped at the space where his arm had just been and howled in outrage. His eyes flew open with shock, and he started to shift into his superior, lykos form.
Kagen withdrew a silver-tipped scalpel from his belt, sliced sideways across the lycan’s chest, then downward along his sternum, before the male could shift or even sense it coming. And then he took a generous step back, sliced the palm of his own hand crosswise, and slowly dripped blood along the arena floor. “Come, Fido,” he taunted wickedly, “follow the blood. Use that canine nose.”
Teague howled in fury. Despite his serious injuries, he shifted as fast as Kagen had ever seen a lycan shift and rose to his full ten-foot advantage. Spittle dangled from his fangs as he snarled in the direction of the invisible attacker.
Kagen toyed with him.
He flashed quickly in and out, displaying his human form before the enemy like a matador parading a red cape in front of a bull, and then once again, he disappeared into the overcast day.
The lycan lunged, just as Kagen expected, and as he flew in midstride through the air, in the vampire’s direction, Kagen careened like a batter sliding into home plate, landing right beneath his outstretched form, directly beneath the beast’s hind legs. He slashed at his jewels, neutering him in midstride, before landing once again on his feet and spinning around to face him.
“What’s the problem, lycan? Can’t you face your death—and your superior enemy—like a man?”