by Tessa Dawn
As he’d promised, Marquis had done it all with his teeth.
He snapped the spine in half with his molars and spit out the remains on the man’s torso, and then he spun around, noiselessly, and leapt across the room, landing in a low, feral crouch in front of the petrified woman, who still sat tightly huddled in the corner.
He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “And to think they call you the fairer sex.” He reached out to stroke her cheek with a bloody finger. “You didn’t think we forgot you, did you?” He held out his hand in front of him, lifted the gory finger to his mouth, and slowly licked off the blood. “Time to face the music, human.” Eyeing her from head to toe with disdain, he grunted, snatched her by the front of her shirt, and roared, “Get up!” And then he plopped her into a chair, slid it across the floor with a kick, and laughed when Nathaniel halted the careening motion with his bent knee and pulled up a chair of his own to take a seat in front of her.
“Alas, we meet again,” Nathaniel drawled wickedly, waiting for Marquis and Braden to join him in front of the woman.
Braden Bratianu stifled a gasp and quickly shuffled over to Nathaniel’s side. “Hey…but…but…she’s a—”
Marquis turned to glare at Braden, his eyes flashing a stern warning. “But what?”
Braden shook his head and averted his eyes.
Marquis nodded and sighed. “You are right, son; she’s a woman. And unless we are directly threatened or in imminent defense of our females, we don’t ever hurt a woman.” He threw back his head and bellowed toward the ceiling: “Kristina!” The sound ricocheted off the walls like thunder—shaking the building for several seconds before it was replaced with an equally frightening silence.
The five-foot-six redhead materialized instantly in the outside hall.
Her sharp heels could be heard clicking against the tile floor as she promptly made her way to the supply room and opened the door. To her credit, her eyes swept the entire room in an instant, yet she didn’t react.
At least not in response to the woman and the decapitated body. “What—the—hell—was—that—thing—out—in—the—hall?” she asked, incredulous.
Nathaniel frowned. “What thing?” Had they overlooked another attacker? He started to move toward the door but was stopped short by her wild gestures and bulging, bright blue eyes. “That pile of feet…and knees…and an arm!”
“Oh that,” Nathaniel said. “Is he still alive, by the way?”
Kristina’s eyebrows creased in consternation, and her mouth dropped open. “Uh…that would be a no. He’s still got a machete in his hand, but…yeah, I’d say he’s…passed on.”
Marquis shrugged. “Nathaniel has always been the…creative one.”
“Yeah, well, remind me never to make him mad,” Kristina said, shaking her head with disbelief.
Marquis gestured toward the seated woman with a sweep of his hand. “This is why I called you.”
Kristina looked down at the terrified blonde in the chair, and then she paused—almost as if her mind was trying to process the details. With a sudden start, she strode across the room in four, long measured steps, as graceful as they were powerful, drew back her arm, and slapped the woman so hard that she flew out of the chair. As the blonde slammed into the nearest wall, clearly breaking a bone in her arm, Kristina shouted, “You bitch!”
The woman cried out in pain, and then, clutching her arm to her chest, she scrambled to turn around and face Kristina. Her words were scarcely audible beneath her heart-wrenching sobs. “Please…please…I didn’t do anything.”
Kristina closed the distance between them. “Didn’t do anything? Didn’t do anything! One of my sisters is in surgery right now, and the other one had to have a stake pulled out of her heart! What do you mean, you didn’t do anything?” Her fangs shot out of her mouth, and she lunged at the woman’s throat, literally flying through the air toward the floor.
Nathaniel caught her by the waist, pulled her away, and sat her down slowly in his chair. “Hold on, Kristina,” he whispered as he squatted in front of the woman. “Talk. Now.”
The woman opened her mouth, cleared her throat, and stuttered. She opened it again, this time swaying so hard that Nathaniel had to steady her shoulder to keep her from falling over. The moment he touched her, she began to throw up, heaving over and over while clutching her arm—trying desperately to talk the entire time. “I promise…I didn’t…didn’t do anything.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at the floor, too afraid to look any of them in the eyes. “I didn’t come here to hurt your sisters, and I swear, I didn’t do anything to either one of them.”
Nathaniel leaned back on his heels and stared at her. “She’s telling the truth.” He leaned forward again. “Then why are you here?”
She lifted her head, met his gaze, and started to hyperventilate.
Nathaniel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Breathe,” he whispered.
She gulped air, furiously trying to take it in, but it only made matter worse.
Sighing, Nathaniel placed the palm of his hand over her lungs and slowed her breathing for her. “Just breathe,” he repeated.
The woman sat there for almost sixty seconds doing just that. When she finally caught her breath, she looked up at Kristina with pleading eyes. “I didn’t come for your sisters.” She turned to Marquis, then Nathaniel. “Or your wives. I just wanted…I just wanted to find Brooke! I swear that’s all. A…a…vampire…took my best friend—he kidnapped her—and I wanted her back.” She was sobbing uncontrollably now. “I found the vampire-hunting militia, and they said they could help me. I don’t know…I don’t know what I was thinking. I just want Brooke.” She looked up at Kristina before collapsing on the floor. “She’s like a sister to me, too. The only one I have. I just want Brooke.”
“Oh, gods,” Nathaniel said on an exhale, standing up.
Kristina took a step back, and Braden looked like a kid who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Marquis blanched. “How do you know all this—about Brooke?” He stared pointedly at Nathaniel. Why is her memory intact, brother?
I don’t know, Nathaniel answered. His psychic voice revealed his frustration. He called out telepathically to the warrior who had been with Napolean the night of his Blood Moon—the one who had also been charged with erasing the memories of any witnesses: Ramsey!
The dangerous sentinel answered the summons immediately: Nathaniel?
Nathaniel didn’t waste any time getting to the point: The night Napolean claimed his destiny, did you not see to her friend—her coworker in the backseat? Did you erase—and replace—her memories?
Of course, Ramsey answered, sounding slightly irritated. Why?
Because she’s sitting right here in front of us in the basement, and she remembers everything.
Silence hovered in the air.
Finally, Ramsey Olaru growled deep in his throat and swore in Romanian. I’ll be right down.
No! Marquis interjected. Stay with Ciopori. We will let you know when we have more information. What is the woman’s name by the way?
Ramsey paused for a moment, and then he said, Tiffany…Tiffany Matthews.
Nathaniel closed the communication and watched as Marquis brusquely helped a stunned Tiffany up from the floor and led her back to the chair. After righting it, he helped her sit down. “Tiffany,” he said in a low, soothing voice—well, about as soothing as Marquis could get—“how is it that you can remember what happened to Brooke? At any time, did you ever experience a…lapse in your memory?”
Tiffany looked up then, as surprised to hear her name as she was at the sudden gentle treatment. She choked back her tears and cleared her throat. “I…yes…I…that guy…the blond man with the chin-length hair, he erased my memory that night. I know because—”
“Because what?” Nathaniel asked, not waiting for her to finish.
“Because I saw it all in a dream.”
Marquis raised
his eyebrows. “You saw it in a dream? What does this mean?”
Tiffany swallowed then, her eyes cautiously lighting with a faint spark of hope. “I have like…what you would call a gift…dreaming…dream weaving. I can see the future and the past—anything really—in my dreams. They come to me to give me information whenever I need it. I didn’t remember what happened to Brooke until I went to sleep on Friday night, and then I saw it all replay clearly in front of me: The vampire that took her, the one that tried to erase my memory…all of it.”
“How did you know we were vampires?” Marquis asked.
“My dream—”
“Told you,” Marquis supplied. He shook his head and walked away.
“Shiiiiit,” Braden said, whistling.
Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and regarded the youngster appreciatively. “Well said.”
Marquis crossed his arms in front of him. “Brother, have you ever heard of such a thing—humans dreaming with that much psychic accuracy?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “No, I have not. Wizards? Yes. But humans?” He sighed, and then he placed his hand gently on Tiffany’s arm and began to absorb her pain, drawing it slowly into his own body until her suffering diminished. “Is that better?” he asked.
The blonde looked up at Nathaniel with both apprehension and wonder in her eyes. She was clearly confused by all the sudden changes in behavior yet far too afraid to question the meaning of it. “Yes,” she whispered timidly. She appeared to be holding her breath.
Marquis cleared his throat. “Nathaniel, do you know if Kagen has another medic on call? Katia is still with Nachari; Kagen is with Jocelyn; and when he does finish, he will need medical attention himself.”
Nathaniel thought about it.
There were plenty of males studying Healing at the Romanian University, but the revived interest was new—something that had just cropped up over the past several centuries. Less than a handful of males had actually completed their schooling and returned to Dark Moon Vale to apprentice. He thought harder. “Navarro Dabronski,” he finally said. “He’s back on break to celebrate his parents’ anniversary. He’s a competent medic, at least as long as Kagen is present to supervise.”
Marquis nodded, his anger having somewhat abated. “Good. Call him.” Let’s address the human’s wounds first—then contact Napolean, he added privately. We do not dare manipulate her mind—or erase her memories—until we hear how our king would like to proceed.
Very well, Nathaniel replied. He turned to Tiffany and crouched down slowly in front of her. “Tiffany,” he said, lifting her chin to get her attention.
Her teeth chattered but at least she was breathing. “Your friend Brooke is alive and well.”
Her eyes lit up and she appeared to momentarily forget her predicament. “Oh, thank God!”
Nathaniel smiled, surprised by her resilience. “Kristina is going to take you upstairs to one of the medical rooms so we can treat your arm and check you for other injuries, and then we will call Brooke.”
The look of surprise on her face was utterly priceless. She exhaled slowly and nodded. And then she turned to look at Kristina. “No,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “Please, not her…” She pointed at Marquis, thought better of it, and then changed her selection to Braden. “Him. I want him to take me upstairs.” She paused as if all at once remembering her place. “Please…”
“Oh, so it’s like that,” Braden said in frustration, “like I can’t do any damage? Like I can’t even bite or slap—”
“Braden!” Nathaniel chastised. The poor woman was likely to be irreversibly traumatized as it was.
Braden shrugged. “Just sayin’.”
“Shut up, Braden,” Marquis growled.
Braden huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
Marquis gave the kid a stern, unyielding glare.
“I mean, yes sir,” he said, looking down at the floor.
Nathaniel turned back to Tiffany. “The boy will take you upstairs—without incident—you have my word.” He turned to look at Marquis then, and an unspoken thought passed between them: By all the gods, what would be the fallout when Napolean’s mate learned what had been done to her friend? As two mated males, they both understood implicitly just how precarious the beginning of a relationship with one’s destiny could be.
Not to quote Braden, Nathaniel muttered on a private telepathic line, but shiiiit!
Indeed, Marquis responded.
twenty-eight
Although Brooke was eager to get to her best friend, Napolean needed her to stand by his side as he observed protocol with the Silivasis before she attended to Tiffany: There was still much she needed to learn about his duties as the sovereign leader of the house of Jadon—a life where the good of all of the people sometimes came first. They had looked in on Jocelyn first, and Brooke had handled the delicate situation with both poise and grace: Her light-hearted manner and gentle spirit had been deeply appreciated during those sensitive moments when Jocelyn had recounted the details of the attack…what had taken place…and in what order they had happened.
Jocelyn had been the most critically injured of the two, yet she had come through surgery nicely and was healing at a very rapid pace. There were no words adequate to thank the ex-detective for what she had done down in that basement—in effect, Jocelyn had saved Ciopori’s life as well as her own—yet Brooke had managed to express Napolean’s sentiment perfectly. In fact, she had expressed it better than Napolean could have expressed it himself.
They had met with Ciopori and Kristina next: Thanks to Marquis’s powerful venom—as well as his bull-headed determination—Ciopori had already fully recovered from the heinous injury she had suffered at the hands of the vampire-killing militia. Though seriously shaken up, Napolean knew Ciopori had been through far worse in the past. Still, the idea that something so grave, so unthinkable, could have happened to one of the original females—right in the basement of Kagen’s clinic, right under the noses of two of their strongest warriors—was more than a little unsettling. Napolean had decided right then and there that something substantial would have to be done to further protect all of the destinies—something far more permanent than posting guards or sentinels, something that rose above the innate guardianship of their protective mates.
He had used his time with both women as a sort of debriefing—gathering enough information to begin smoking out the vigilante members of the so-called militia and ascertaining the nuances of their tactics well enough to combat future attacks. Satisfied with what he had learned, he and Brooke had stopped to offer a few words of encouragement to Braden Bratianu, and then they had headed to an empty examination room where Marquis and Nathaniel waited to speak with their leader—and his new mate—in private. Having been treated for his own nasty injuries by a medic, Kagen had excused himself from the intimate meeting in order to return to Nachari: a request Napolean could hardly refuse. After all, gods knew, Napolean would have healed the Master Wizard with his own hands if he could have.
Pushing aside that ever constant concern, he knocked lightly on the door to the examination room and then swiftly opened it without awaiting a response. Marquis stood leaning against the far wall at the back of the room, while Nathaniel leaned against a high countertop containing a sink, a soap dispenser next to a jar of small cotton balls, several unopened syringes, and suture materials. Both men immediately stood up straight and declined their heads, averting their eyes to the floor, as Napolean ushered Brooke in before him. She seemed unusually nervous to Napolean—maybe because she remembered the role the Silivasis had played in rescuing him from the dark lord Ademordna—maybe because she remembered the role they had also played in rescuing her. Regardless, he reached out and took her hand in support.
“Greetings, warriors,” he said solemnly.
“Milord,” both males answered in unison.
Napolean nodded his approval and placed a firm hand on the small of Brooke’s back. She shifted nervously from
foot to foot but stood her ground. “I would like you to formally meet my destiny.” He took her left arm and gently turned over her wrist, displaying the complex set of markings that clearly revealed her as his. “A daughter of the goddess Andromeda, the mother of my son—who is heir to my throne—and your queen: Brooke Adams.”
To Brooke’s utter surprise—and seeming embarrassment based on the way she suddenly blushed and shot an inquisitive sideways glance at Napolean—both warriors bent to one knee and bowed their heads.
As the eldest of the two brothers, Marquis reached for her hand first, and then he reverently kissed the back of her ring-finger—the one displaying a braided platinum band with the royal crest from the house of Jadon on it. It was a solemn acknowledgment of her relationship to Napolean. “It is an honor, milady,” Marquis said.
Brooke drew in a quick intake of breath.
Still averting his eyes, Marquis released her hand and continued to bow his head.
Nathaniel took it next. “I am also honored, milady.” His kiss was equally reverent, and then, being the youngest male before them, the burden of an apology fell to him. “I speak now for myself as a servant of the house of Jadon; for my twin, an Ancient Master Healer; for my sister, who is newly converted to our race; and for my eldest brother Marquis, also an Ancient Master Warrior: We would beg your forgiveness for the offense we committed against your friend, Tiffany Matthews.” His eyes met hers and they were brimming with conviction. “Milady, our wives had been attacked. We did not know the reason for the attack, the origin of our enemy, or what relationship the female was to you. Nonetheless, it does not erase the injury, and we deeply, deeply apologize.”
Brooke’s brilliant sapphire eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open in astonishment. As silence hovered in the air like a mist, she turned to Napolean and raised her eyebrows. “What—”
Shh, Napolean whispered in her mind, no doubt surprising her with the easy, intimate communication. They were mated now, linked for eternity in mind, body, and spirit: Even their thoughts could be effortlessly shared. What he does is a great act of humility. It is best honored with silence.