by Tessa Dawn
Kagen laughed out loud.
By all the gods, he felt complete.
Napolean turned to Kagen, and his face grew all at once serious. “It is with unspeakable joy that I greet you this day, my subject, a fellow descendant of Jadon, an Ancient Master Healer, mate to the daughter of Auriga, father to this newborn son of Ophiuchus, the serpent holder, who makes his home above the celestial equator.” He shook his head in awe, his deep voice resonating with reverence. “As your sovereign lord and an Ancient Master Justice, I must point out that it is not lost on me that this child was chosen by this god: For eons, Ophiuchus has been identified with Asclepius, the Greek god of medicine, who has the power to revive the dead.”
Kagen shuddered, and he felt deep chills pulse all the way down to his toes. Surely, he knew this, about Ophiuchus and Asclepius—he had studied all the celestial deities in great depth at the University—but now, it suddenly made sense. That fateful night in the valley when he had heard a faint voice urging him to fight his enemy, to resist and survive—“Vampire, you are a healer, a magician, a practitioner of unparalleled ability; fight them with what you have left”—it had been the voice of Lord Asclepius, the ancient god of medicine, the one who had the power to revive the dead.
“What name have you chosen for this male?” Napolean’s melodious voice pierced the silence, interrupting Kagen’s thoughts, and he immediately came back to attention.
His eyes alighted with pride, and his heart swelled with love. “Should it please you, milord, and find favor with the Celestial Beings, the son of Ophiuchus is to be named Shelbie Ryder Silivasi. And we will call him Ryder.”
Keitaro shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Marquis and Nathaniel let out a collective exhalation of deep regard. Nachari’s eyes met Kagen’s, and while they glistened with crystalline tears, there was a powerful gleam of gratitude in their depths as he slowly nodded his head.
Napolean reached out to take the baby from Keitaro’s arms. “The name pleases me, healer, and there is no objection from the Celestial Beings.”
As the sovereign lord bent his head to the child’s wrist and his fangs began to elongate, remnants of Kagen’s alter ego stirred; but this time, he recognized it for what it was: an unconscious impulse, one that instinctively reared its head in reaction to any perceived threat to his family, and he did not have to react. He definitely did not have to save the child from Napolean, and he most certainly did not need to kill them all.
He chuckled, took a deep, cleansing breath, and simply watched, dispassionately, as Napolean pierced the child’s vein vertically, along the inner arm, and Ryder’s soft teal eyes blinked open for the first time. The babe did not flinch in alarm, nor did he protest the intrusion or cry out in pain. He simply stared, mesmerized, at the magnificent being before him and cooed when the king sealed the wound with his venom.
Napolean held the child out in front of him and smiled. “Welcome to the house of Jadon, Shelbie Ryder Silivasi. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”
He gave the child back to Keitaro, who kissed him soundly on the forehead and nuzzled his hair with his chin. “Welcome to our family, Shelbie Ryder Silivasi, and to the house of Jadon. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”
Marquis took the child next and repeated the refrain.
Once Nathaniel and Nachari had done the same, the child was handed back to Keitaro, who gestured for Jocelyn, Ciopori, and Deanna to come forward and waited as each of the destinies took a turn holding the baby and repeating the familiar chorus. Braden and Kristina followed last, and the first part of the ceremony was complete.
Napolean cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Kagen and Arielle. “By the laws which govern the house of Jadon, I accept your union as the divine will of the gods and hereby sanction your mating. Arielle Nightsong Silivasi, do you come now of your own free will to enter the house of Jadon?”
Arielle began to sway on her feet, her lean, agile body rocking ever so slightly to the left. She took a hurried step to the right to regain her balance, and then she reached out for Kagen’s hand and squeezed it for all she was worth.
He sent a soft, gentle wave of calming energy into her hand and flooded her body with warmth. All is well, sweeting, he whispered telepathically.
She nodded and relaxed her hand. “I do,” she said fervently.
“Hold out your wrist,” Napolean instructed, the corner of his mouth turning up in a grin.
Arielle held out her arm, no longer bothered by the strange sight of the enigmatic markings and lines, and if Kagen hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she seemed almost eager to give her blood to the king. She was definitely willing to give her life to the Vampyr.
Napolean took her arm with exquisite gentleness. He bent his head, long locks of shimmering silver and black falling in a royal curtain around them, and then he pierced her vein cleanly, his teeth sinking deep, his lips forming a tight, unbreakable seal over the wound. As he took long, dragging pulls from her vein, his mouth working in an easy rhythm, Kagen marveled at the sensation of peace that flooded his body. There was no hint of possessiveness, no impulse to kill them all—
The rivers were finally absent of blood.
Napolean released his hold, removed his fangs, and sealed the wound with deft alacrity, and then he turned to regard Kagen and his destiny. “Congratulations,” he said with a smile, and then just like that, he shimmered out of view.
Ryder was formally named.
Kagen and Arielle were formally mated.
And the noble king was gone.
Arielle stepped back from the crowd, needing to get some air.
She found a comfortable perch alongside the stony wall that bordered the bridge, and leaned back to rest her legs, grateful that the ceremony was finally over.
As she watched Kagen interact with his family, Keitaro interact with his sons, she couldn’t help but feel blessed for having been part of this family’s journey.
Her family’s journey.
It seemed like only yesterday that she had been a child growing up in Mhier, a daughter weighted down by the yoke of a distant and lonely mother; a slave, estranged from her father, with no foreseeable future, save to one day become the bride of a tyrant king; and a rebel, entrenched in a cause that could never be won.
She shivered and ran her hands along her arms to avert the chill.
That was then…
And this was now.
Suddenly, feeling lighter than she had felt in years, she stepped away from the wall, stretched out her arms, and spun around in a wide, dizzying circle. As the crisp mountain air swept through her hair, teased her arms, and fanned her elation, she laughed out loud with abandon.
Her new family might think she was crazy, but she just didn’t care.
How could she do anything but dance—or sing?
If someone would have told her, just two years ago, that this would be her future, she would have told them they were crazy, that heroes only existed in fairy tales, and life was a long exercise in survival, brutality, and pain.
But now?
Now she knew different.
When Kagen approached her on the bridge and held up his hands in question, she had an overwhelming impulse to launch herself into his arms, and she did just that.
He staggered back and caught her, laughing. “I take it this is happiness?”
“Oh yes!” She laughed, burying her face in his chest, and then she just as suddenly pulled away. She gestured at the water, the sky, and the valley; and then she spun around again. “But Kagen, it’s so much more.”
His stunning brown eyes brimmed with joy as the deep, dark pools of splendor narrowed on her face. “Tell me,” he urged her softly. “That is…if you can find the words.”
Arielle struggled to articulate her feelings, to find a way to express the overwhelming lightness of being that was radi
ating in her soul: How could she possibly tell him that the ghosts of the past, the unrelenting hounds from hell, no longer haunted her like prey?
That they would no longer plague her dreams?
How could she possibly express that what had once been corporeal was now as mist, that what had once been ethereal was now…simply gone. That what had always—always—been too ever-constant to outrun no longer nipped at her heels?
There were simply no words…
So she cupped his face in her hands, rose to the tips of her toes, and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you, Kagen Silivasi,” she whispered earnestly, and then she brushed the backs of her fingers along his cheeks, hoping he would understand: There were few things more elemental to the journey of a soul than the ability to claim one’s destiny, than the right to determine one’s future, than the chance to reach one’s potential.
And Kagen had made all of them possible…
For her.
Though the words failed to come, she felt it in every cell of her being—
Arielle Nightsong was free.
Epilogue
Six months later
Tiffany Matthews cleared away the remaining scattered toys from the front parlor of Prince Phoenix’s suite of rooms. She took several steps back and skimmed the wide-planked, hardwood floors, her eyes searching up and down each slat of wood, one at a time, scanning for the missing Bobee, a stuffed purple dragon that Phoenix clung to like glue. The child needed the dragon to sleep—or at least he thought he did—and as of three o’clock that afternoon, Bobee had gone missing.
It was an utter catastrophe in the making.
She furrowed her brow and glanced beneath the formal settee. Nothing there. She spun around and checked beneath the mission-style end tables. Nothing there, either. She got down on her hands and knees and tried to view the room from a child’s point of view—still nothing reared its dragon-head.
She sighed. She had two financial reports to peruse before morning, a ledger full of new accounts to enter into the computer database, and here she was, on her hands and knees like a ninny—or a nanny, to be exact—searching for a purple dragon.
“Still nothing yet?” Brooke asked, stepping quietly into the room. The queen was as tired as she looked, considering the fact that Phoenix had not taken a decent nap all day. “Napolean says he picked up the dragon in Romania the last time he was there to check on things at the University—he can’t possibly get another one here in the States.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance. “Great. Just great. I don’t suppose the child would settle for Barney?”
Brooke drew back, appalled. “Oh gods,” she uttered. “Just the thought of it. I think he would have a royal meltdown.”
Tiffany laughed, and then she clutched at her forearm. “Agreed.” She scratched her wrist and stood up from the floor. “I swear; I have looked everywhere, even in the most ridiculous of places, like the refrigerator, the bathtub, and the pantry, just to rule it out. Where the heck is Bobee?”
Brooke rubbed her tired eyes and slowly shook her head. “You looked in the refrigerator?”
Tiffany squared her shoulders and leveled a warning glare at her best friend. “Don’t go there, Brookie.”
The queen looked off into the distance. “I think Bobee’s dead.”
“No!” Tiffany nearly shouted, spinning around on her heels. “Watch your mouth, milady.” They both giggled at Brooke’s formal title. “To even speak of it is treason.”
Brooke held up both hands in surrender. “Sorry. Hey, why don’t you go ahead and make your way to the guest house. It’s already going on six o’clock, and I know you have a lot of work to do for DMV Prime. I’ll keep searching for the missing toy, and I’ll let you know if I find it.” She breathed a plaintive sigh. “Who knows: Maybe someone will send a ransom note, and we can pay for Bobee’s safe return.”
Tiffany laughed wholeheartedly. “Oh, if only we should be that lucky.” She tucked her arm to her chest, rubbed it against her shirt, and headed toward the front door of the parlor. “Now, if I could only find my car keys.”
“You lost them again?” Brooke asked.
Tiffany moaned. “I swear; I would lose my head if it wasn’t firmly attached to my shoulders.” She squeezed her left forearm with her right hand and began to rub absent, tight circles over her wrist with her thumb.
“What’s with your arm?” Brooke said, frowning. She gestured toward the cradled limb.
Tiffany frowned. “I don’t know.” She held it up and turned it over in order to take a closer look. “I think I must have bumped it against the furniture.” She noticed several red welts, swelling near the junction of her elbow, and winced. “Or maybe it’s an allergy of some sort, a really bad rash. Maybe I came in contact with some dust or pollen, trying to hunt for Bobee.”
Brooke gave her a mock look of insult. “Are you saying my house is filthy?”
Tiffany chuckled. She waved her hand around the room and smirked. “House, Brooke? Your son has a suite of rooms. This is a mansion, not a house.” She angled her chin in a playful, haughty manner.
Brooke sneered at the amusing gesture. “Don’t change the subject. Are you saying my less than humble abode is dirty?”
Tiffany curtsied. “No, milady.” She laughed. “Although I might be saying it would help if you would quit firing your cleaning staff.”
“Who?” Brooke demanded in a surly voice. “Please tell me you are not referring to MaryAnn, the so-called human servant?” She made disdainful air quotes around the words human servant.
Tiffany regarded her with mirth.
“Oh dear gods,” Brooke clipped, “the woman was trying to seduce Napolean.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” Tiffany quipped.
“She was dusting the furniture in the nude!”
Tiffany burst out in laughter and tucked a lock of her short blond hair behind her ear. “Well, maybe she was just being organic.” She snickered then. “Besides, can you blame the poor woman? She’s human. It must have been like being restricted to a really bad diet of celery and tuna, and then all of a sudden, you stumble across a huge chunk of meat, filet mignon: fresh, juicy, and right off the grill. What was the poor woman to do?”
Brooke stepped forward and punched her friend playfully in the arm. “Yeah, more like filet Mondragon.” She winked conspiratorially and laughed. “Besides, Carlotta is still with us.”
Tiffany knew the human servant well. She belonged to a kind, loyal family, one who had served the Vampyr for almost nine generations, and she was an invaluable asset to the house of Jadon. “Yes, but she’s a governess and an all-around magician, not a housekeeper.”
Brooke rolled her eyes, apparently refusing to take the conversation any further. She was just about to turn away, start searching for Bobee again, when she eyed the raised ridges on Tiffany’s wrist again. “Tiff, that is really flaring up. Let me see.”
Tiffany held out her arm and grimaced. Yikes, it did look bad. Well, not in a gruesome sort of way, but there were dozens of little lines crisscrossing along her skin like a cryptic diagram, parallel points that intersected in such a way that it almost looked like two dancing kids linking arms. “Maybe I should take some Benadryl.”
All at once, Brooke’s mouth shot open, and she took an unwitting step back, still grasping Tiffany’s arm.
“Hey, that is attached, you know,” Tiffany protested.
Brooke gazed up at her friend in blank stupefaction, looked down at her wrist once more, and then gulped. “Tiffany…”
“What?” Tiffany’s voice rose in alarm. “You think it’s something serious, don’t you?”
Brooke ran her fingers over the bright, mysterious lines and blanched. “I think…I think…” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“What?” Tiffany insisted, staring down at her arm in concern. Holy crap, there really was something funky going on.
“That’s not a rash or an allergy, Tif
f. It’s a constellation. A celestial deity.”
“What do you mean?” Tiffany said, her voice rising with distress.
Brooke slowly shook her head as she took another look. “Correction. That would be celestial deities, as in plural. That’s Gemini, the twins.”
“Gemini who?” Tiffany shrieked, squeezing her arm with her hand. Her face suddenly felt hot, and her stomach felt queasy, although she didn’t quite know why. Well, other than the fact that she was dying of the plague. “Oh, God. How do you catch Gemini? Is there a medication for it?”
Brooke held both hands out in front of her and toggled them up and down as if to say, Okay, let’s just calm down, and then she gaped at Tiffany’s arm once more. “You are so not following me right now, Tiff.” She began to speak slowly and evenly, measuring her speech as if she were talking to a child, while over pronouncing her words. “The-mark-on-your-arm-is-the-sign-of-a-Blood-Moon. It’s a replication of a deity, one that belongs to a male from the house of Jadon. A vampire. Tiffany, it’s the mark of a vampire’s destiny.”
There was no need for the moron’s version of CliffsNotes, nor the repetitive explanation—Tiffany heard her friend loud and clear—although, the full meaning of the words did not quite sink in. And not because Tiffany was too slow to process the English language. On the contrary, she heard it, understood it, and moved right past understanding to denial.
No way.
No how.
Not today.
Not even tomorrow.
She marched very calmly to the nearest window, pulled back the blinds, and peeked up at the moon. As her eyes struggled to focus on the bloodred orb that hung like a neon sign in the heavens, her mind swirled around in a dizzying maelstrom, trying to dissect the far-too-obvious clues: mainly, the brilliant cluster of stars and meteors, the complex network of lines and planes, all coalescing in a unified pattern to form the image of a set of twins, two young children, linked at the wrist, staring off into space at a blackened sky.