by Tessa Dawn
“Something like that,” Nachari answered, hating that he had to lie. He knew that the human was too distraught to question him…to check his background. Besides, his position was irrelevant. What mattered was his information.
He extended his arm, holding out an open, beckoning palm. “Come to me, Jolie.” The words were a magnetic compulsion laced with compassion, his voice as deep as the ocean, as compelling as the night sky.
She swallowed hard, some primal part of her beginning to recognize that she was in the presence of a dangerous being—a predator—but his coercion was undeniable: an effortless feat for a five-hundred-year-old vampire and Master Wizard. She moved toward him, her eyes open wide and transfixed on his. Cautiously, she took his hand. “Where is Janie?” she whispered through trembling lips. “What’s happened to her?”
Nachari gave her hand a gentle tug, pulling her slightly off balance. As she fell into his enormous frame, he gently spun her about so that her back fell against his broad chest, and his heavy, muscular arm encircled her from behind, holding her tight to his body. She fit inside of his large frame like she had been molded to him. Her heart raced, and her legs quivered.
“Shhh,” Nachari soothed, his lips just above her right ear. He tightened his grip with his right arm while stroking her hairline with his left hand, all the while soothing her with his rhythmic voice. He hated this coercion, this ruse, knowing that in the breadth of one moment—the blink of an eye—Jolie Anderson’s world would change irreversibly. She would go from cautious hope—a life filled with her cherished sibling’s love and friendship—to deep, unrelenting grief. She would go from together to alone. From sharing a life to remembering one, lost. Her world would be forever, tragically changed.
Nachari’s amulet began to glow softly at his chest, and he felt a flood of reassurance envelop him. His own sibling. His own twin. Reaching out from the Valley of Spirit and Light to remind him that death was not a permanent separation but an entry into another realm. To assure him that the love between souls lived on.
Nachari inhaled Jolie’s scent, just above her jugular, and then he carefully coaxed her head to the side: Erasing a human’s memories was so easy, too easy; it required nothing more than a strong mind probe, psychic invasion. But to replace memories in a matter this complex—to create what was never there to begin with, rewrite the neuropathways—required a deeper connection, one that could only be forged through the exchange of blood and venom: her life force into him, his life force into her. The first would be painless and simple—feeding was an art form to a full-grown vampire—it could be accomplished in seconds, if desired, the prey never realizing what had occurred. But an inoculation of venom was always painful. Luckily, she would only require a few drops.
“Relax,” he whispered into her ear. “Lay your head against my shoulder, Jolie…and relax.”
Her head lolled back, and her eyes fluttered closed, even as her body grew limp against him. It was no effort, whatsoever, to hold her up with one arm; she couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds.
Nachari tuned into the alluring sound of her pulse, a slow, steady thrumming in her neck. He parted his lips and let his canines lengthen into two sharp points. Jolie shuddered—as if she sensed his intention, but a soft nuzzle to her neck brought her quickly back to submission. Nachari struck with aged precision, sinking both fangs deep into her jugular in one smooth, flawless motion, his mind circumventing her fear—and her pain—before it could register through the complex somatosensory cortex of her brain.
She twitched violently and her body began to convulse, but that was a normal reaction, one that would subside in as little as thirty seconds.
Nachari drew several deep, heady gulps of the warm, rich substance from her vein and analyzed it as it slid down his throat: her character, her needs, her hopes, and her fears, the current DNA—as well as the timeless genetic memories—that made Jolie Anderson the distinctly unique person that she was.
And ultimately, what it would take to implant memories that would be real to her senses—to her distinctive way of being and knowing—that would stick. When he had taken enough, he gently retracted his fangs, allowing his incisors to lengthen in their place. The two drops of venom that leaked out sealed the puncture wounds, but there was no way to inject a larger dose that would be equally gentle or painless. Knowing that her suffering would cease the moment he erased the memory, Nachari chose to just do it—get it over with quickly.
He clamped both arms around her waist and held her tightly like a vise, seizing her vocal cords so she couldn’t cry out as he struck swiftly above her collarbone at the base of her throat. He pumped the venom out quickly—there was no point in prolonging it—and she began to struggle in earnest. Her eyes betrayed her panic, and her arms flailed, betraying her pain.
“No…stop…” She groaned the words, a stark look of desperation etched into her features.
Nachari closed his eyes and focused.
Just a little more…
He felt for the threshold—that magical place of bonding where his essence was intertwined deeply enough with hers to begin creating in her reality. Not only were human beings endowed with freewill by their creator, but their physical laws enabled them to create with their minds…with their thoughts and their words. Though they rarely knew they were doing it, they literally thought and spoke things into being over great periods of time; however, the ability to do so was limited to one’s own circumstances: Since a human could not create in any reality other than their own, a merging of essence—of souls as it were—was necessary to create in Jolie’s mind.
As the pain became unbearable and her resistance severe, Nachari felt a sudden surge of energy: the imprint of the soul that was Jolie flowing freely through his own DNA. He swiftly retracted his fangs, wiped the pain from her memory, and clutched her mind—her full consciousness—in his psychic grip. Like the Master he was, he began to weave new branches along old dendrites, imparting vivid memories of an accident, a horrible loss, a funeral, and a new life constructed without her beloved sister. He made it real, impressing each memory upon all five senses, weaving the essence of it into her soul.
Jane Anderson’s remains would be buried in the local cemetery, and when her family went to visit, they would remember several such trips that didn’t truly exist. Fortunately, the final resting place and the connection would be real from this moment on. Nachari appeased his conscience by reminding himself that the Dark Ones had taken Jane’s life—not him or his brothers—that she could not be brought back to life, and it was necessary for the safety and anonymity of his kind to continue cleaning up the Dark Ones’ messes…at least until they could be hunted to smaller numbers.
When he was done replacing Jolie’s memories, he erased any knowledge of his visit and actions, gave her a soft command to sleep, and carried her to her sofa, where he covered her with a nearby throw blanket. Tucking her in, he mouthed the words I’m sorry against her temple and slowly backed away.
It took less than five minutes to make the necessary changes in the apartment—to make it appear as if Jane had not lived there for months.
Ramsey, he reported telepathically to the sentinel in charge of the house of Jadon’s clean-up teams, I am done with Jane’s family.
Good, Ramsey replied. I’m afraid we have found two more bodies. Your work this night is not yet done, wizard.
Nachari sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired of all the death and grief; it still hit too close to home. His mind flashed back to the earlier warrior’s meeting with Napolean—and the king’s bizarre behavior. There had been something unseen—unspoken—in that room, a subtle taint of black magic…of evil. Whoever the practitioner was, they had tried to cover up their murky fingerprints, so to speak, but Nachari had felt…something…so amiss. And whatever this thing was, it was after their Sovereign. It was being used against Napolean.
And it was working.
Nachari had more questions than answe
rs, certainly not enough information to go to his brothers with…just yet, but of one thing he was certain: If he continued to dilute his own blood and energy with the blood of so many humans—so many sad, grieving, and confused humans—his power would be diminished at the very time it was needed most.
Ramsey, he said, his voice thick with resolve. It has become too much for me to handle the difficult cases on my own. I cannot explain right now, but energetically, there is a growing danger to the house of Jadon with each human I bite. Let Napolean know that I wish to make an appeal to the Council of Wizards at the Romanian University. I wish to request the presence of two more Masters—my classmates Niko Durciak and Jankiel Luzanski—to assist me in serving until this crisis is over.
Damn. Ramsey’s tone reflected the gravity of the situation. Are you sure? The sentinel had to know Nachari would not request assistance unless it was absolutely necessary.
Yes…I’m positive.
Very well then, Ramsey said. I will advise our Lord of your decision. Can you take care of the other families tonight? Until your colleagues get here?
Nachari glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping female on the couch. He clenched his eyes shut, stroked his amulet, and then slowly headed out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. Of course; I will do whatever is required of me.
Raising his eyes upward to the beautiful night sky, he added a prayer to his divine guardian, Perseus: Grant me wisdom, Lord, to understand what is going on with Napolean. And until then, please—bring my fellow wizards soon!
eight
It was early Sunday evening, two days after Napolean had taken Brooke from outside the Dark Moon Lodge—two days since she had discovered her fate as the predestined mate to an ancient vampire king. Napolean rotated Brooke by the waist until her shoulders faced squarely east, and then he took a quick step back, wanting to give her ample room to breathe.
He had been doing just that ever since she had relaxed enough to take a shower at the manse: allowing her space to maneuver and silence to think. Beyond that, he had also given her full access to the annals of his people, the complete records in the Hall of Justice, recognizing that she was analytical by nature: Brooke Adams would do better reading the history of the house of Jadon than sitting through a detailed lecture. She would make more sense of the Blood Curse by sifting through the vital statistics records of marriages and births—of destinies and sacrifices—than listening to Napolean try to explain a strange and ancient people. It was a lot to take in all at once, and Napolean had gambled on the belief that Brooke would understand the story of Prince Jadon and Prince Jaegar best by reading a full account herself.
And being left alone to do so.
She had needed to process such a vast quantity of information, and Napolean had given her the peace, quiet, and space to do just that.
It seemed to have helped.
Brooke had digested, or at least consumed, more literature than Napolean had ever seen any human read in the space of two days. Donning an endearing pair of designer, black-rimmed glasses, she had nestled into his study beside a quiet fire and devoured every piece of literature he had brought her. It was almost as if reading the truth had kept her at arm’s length from having to face it. As long as she held it in a book, it might remain fiction.
But it wasn’t fiction.
And the beautiful human’s sporadic tears, occasional gut-wrenching pleas to be released…allowed to go home…to call her best friend Tiffany had tugged at Napolean’s heart-strings. A few pieces of furniture had been dented and a few priceless artifacts destroyed when the overwhelming urge to flee had struck her on two separate occasions, causing her to struggle valiantly for her freedom; but all and all, Brooke had handled the distressing situation with as much grace and civility as Napolean could have asked for.
“Are you ready?” he asked, gently removing her hands from her eyes, still surprised she had allowed him to lead her into the canyon without her sight.
“As ready as I’m going to be.” She blinked several times, slowly raising her head, and then she drew in a crisp breath of air and her mouth fell open.
Napolean smiled, pleased at her reaction. “It’s beautiful, no?”
Brooke spared him a glance over her shoulder and then turned back to gaze at the magnificent two-hundred-foot waterfall cascading out of a deep crevice of a red cliff. The water fell in rushing waves, each spray surging harmoniously, one after the other, in a hypnotic rhythm as it splashed brilliantly into a deep pond at the base of the cliff. “It’s…amazing,” she answered, absently taking a step forward as if drawn by the enthralling sound.
Napolean kept his distance. “This canyon”—he gestured toward the jutting rocks all around them—“is my own private sanctuary of sorts.” He leaned back against a large, smooth stone and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “There’s a ward around it—”
“A ward?” Brooke asked, staring up at the looming mountaintops, completely unaware that she was beginning to freely ask him questions.
“Yes,” Napolean answered. “A protective spell—a very subtle but powerful boundary that warns others away.”
Brooke turned toward him then, her deep sapphire eyes cloudy with consternation. “Do you mean the...Dark Ones?”
Napolean shrugged. “Well, yes, but not just them. I mean the house of Jadon as well. The ward keeps all explorers away. Until now, no one has seen this particular ravine but me. It’s my private stronghold.”
Brooke swallowed hard, and Napolean could hear her throat work alongside the steady pulse beating at her neck. He steadied his breathing. “I wanted you to see a…softer…side of my world.”
Brooke frowned. “Softer? Sacrifices … Dark Ones … curses … hmm.” She turned around and took several steps toward the waterfall, planting both hands inside her blue-jean pockets. Her soft, silky hair sashayed as she moved, swaying high above the graceful arc of her back. She was truly beautiful, and Napolean watched her with growing appreciation. Staring out at the water, she cleared her throat. “So, it’s okay then…now that we’re here…for me to ask you some questions?”
Napolean didn’t move.
Not one muscle.
He was too afraid of frightening her…or dissuading her. He had told her he was taking her someplace peaceful so they could talk—someplace where she could ask all the questions she wanted—and it appeared as if the setting was encouraging just that. Between the roar of the waterfall, the ample distance between them, which allowed her to keep her back protectively turned to him, and the innate serenity of a warm autumn evening in one of the Rocky Mountain’s most beautiful valleys, there was nothing imposing about the environment: In fact, it offered both power and peace to the observer.
If Brooke was willing to take advantage of the moment—whether because she felt less trapped and was running out of time, or perhaps because she knew this was as good as it was going to get—Napolean would eagerly welcome their first, truly open conversation. “Yes.” The word was but a whisper.
“Okay,” she responded, removing her hands from her jeans and tightly folding her arms against her waist. “What I—I don’t really understand…” Her words trailed off, and she shivered as if her courage was already waning.
“You don’t understand what, Brooke?” His voice was gentle yet encouraging.
“I don’t understand how…how did you manage it? I mean, my coworkers? Tiffany? Aren’t they going to miss me? Come looking for me?” There was a note of hope in her voice, and although Napolean regretted her loss, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. No one would come to her rescue. Besides, he couldn’t bear to lose her now.
He kicked a small pine cone that lay at his feet and rested further against the rock, surveying the uneven rows of evergreens and quaking aspens that littered the ravine, the wild rye grass growing around the circular pond. “Ramsey implanted memories in Tiffany’s head so that she would alert your colleagues at PRIMAR.” He made the explanation short and sweet. “As far as
they are concerned, you stayed an extra few weeks at the lodge to…de-stress…enjoy the spa, take in some horseback riding, perhaps recharge your batteries before returning to the day-to-day grind.”
Brooke ran her hands up and down her arms as if it were cold, though it was blissfully warm. “Tiffany knows me better than that. She knows I wouldn’t stay here by myself…not that long…there was too much going on at work. She’ll wonder, and she’ll come looking. I know she—”
“Brooke…” Napolean had no intentions of playing games with this woman or misleading her. Her fate was with him, and he would never release her. He would not encourage her to maintain false hope. “Tiffany will believe whatever Ramsey suggested because that is the power we possess as Vampyr. I’m…sorry. She will not search for you—neither will anyone from work.” He sighed because the truth was not what she obviously wanted to hear, and he so desperately wanted to win her affection. “And you must know by now, there is not a human alive who could successfully take you from me.”
Brooke spun around then, her stunning eyes flashing with anger. “And you would take that from me, Napolean? My best friend? My job? My career. All that has been my life up until this moment?”
Napolean advanced forward, and Brooke took a startled step back, her eyes darting back and forth across the ravine as if searching for an escape route—a place to run.
“Do not,” Napolean instructed, holding out his hand. “I am not going to hurt you.”
Brooke held her thumbs up to the corners of her eyes in an effort to block her tears. “Damn you, I don’t want to cry anymore.”
“Then don’t,” he implored, stopping several feet in front of her so she would quit backing up. “It is my hope that you will keep your dearest friendships, especially Tiffany. I have seen your memories: I know what she means to you. Once you have stopped searching for a way out, accepted your fate—our fate—we will welcome her into our lives.”