by Tessa Dawn
She looked at him quizzically, not understanding.
Place your right hand on his left shoulder.
Hesitantly, Brooke did as he said.
Now simply nod your head.
She nodded and both men stood with a polished grace, their bodies rising in perfect synchronicity. Brooke gulped, clearly overwhelmed by the casual show of animal prowess before her.
Indeed, Napolean thought, the Silivasis were a sight to behold.
When Brooke actually took a step back, inadvertently drawing closer to Napolean as if for protection, he immediately slipped his arm around her and smiled…inside. It is done, he explained, nuzzling her hair—it was so soft, so beautiful—the transgression has been forgiven and will never be spoken of again: While it may be acceptable to discuss the events, to hash out further details if the information proves important, the transgression itself—the actual fact that my subjects caused injury to you through their mistreatment of your friend—has been unconditionally forgiven…and thus, irretrievably forgotten.
Brooke nodded, demonstrating her understanding, and Napolean kissed the top of her head. Although everything in him wanted to keep her in his arms, he gently stepped away. “Brooke, would you mind leaving us alone to talk for a while? I’m sure Tiffany is anxious to see you.”
Brooke bit her bottom lip; her eyes lit up; and her stiff shoulders relaxed with relief. “Sure, no problem. Kristina said she’d be happy to take me to Tiffany’s room whenever I was ready.” She turned to Marquis and Nathaniel and smiled. “It was nice…meeting you both.” Although her rapidly beating heart betrayed her underlying disquiet with the males, Napolean knew that it would come in time.
“Nice meeting you,” Nathaniel said in his usual, relaxed, charming voice.
Marquis grunted what sounded like an affirmative, forced a half smile—which, for him, was a social milestone—and nodded.
Napolean could not have asked for more.
“Okeydoke,” Brooke exhaled, holding Napolean’s gaze a little longer than she needed to.
Are you all right, my love? he asked her then. Do you need me to go with you?
“No,” she answered out loud, immediately catching the error. She turned toward Marquis and Nathaniel and shrugged. “I don’t quite have the whole talking-to-each-other-in-your-heads thing down yet.” She cringed. “I mean, I do—I can do it—but I just don’t remember to do it…” She turned to Napolean and blanched, her eyes ripe with apology, as if she had just embarrassed him horribly.
He laughed out loud then and pulled her into his arms right in front of his warriors.
Stunned by the outward show of emotion, they both looked away.
“You, my love, are perfect,” Napolean said.
Brooke’s answering smile lit up the room.
As Brooke made her way out the door, Nathaniel and Marquis turned back around to face Napolean. “Wow,” Nathaniel murmured beneath his breath, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you—”
Napolean gave him a cross look, cutting his words off mid-sentence. “Do not forget your place, warrior,” he warned. “She is my mate—you are not.”
Nathaniel nodded. And then he bit down on his bottom lip, trying to contain a smile. “Yes, my love… I mean, milord.”
Napolean chuckled. “Okay…okay. If you’ve had your fun, let’s move on.” He turned to Marquis and gave him an expectant look—waiting to see if the Ancient Master Warrior had any teasing of his own to add. “Marquis?”
The large vampire frowned. “What?”
Napolean just shook his head—of course Marquis had missed the joke.
Napolean’s manner became all at once serious as he changed the subject: “What happened here today—in the basement of this clinic—is a wake-up call we can no longer afford to ignore.”
“Agreed,” Marquis grunted.
“Since the moment I heard of what happened, I have been able to think of nothing else,” Napolean continued. “And we all know that the only reason the women still live”—he eyed both males with deep concern and empathy—“is because of Jocelyn’s former training with the police department.” He nodded his appreciation to Nathaniel. “Her reaction to the attack was exceptional—and instinctual. She managed to neutralize two enemies before she was—” He was about to say gunned down but caught himself; fortunately, he pulled back the words before they were uttered. “Before she was hurt.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Her actions bought the time the women needed for reinforcements to arrive—I can’t even allow myself to think of what would have happened otherwise.” He slowly shook his head and regarded each male in turn with a somber stare.
Marquis growled low in his throat, and Nathaniel’s eyes flashed briefly red before settling back into their normal, dark hue, yet both males remained quiet. No doubt, they understood the grave implications on a level far deeper than Napolean.
“That said,” he continued, “the best course of action—that which any one of our warriors would have taken instinctively—would have been to immediately cloak her appearance the moment Ciopori was injured. Having rendered herself invisible, she might have eliminated the humans one by one, or at the least, she might have been able to construct a protective holding cell around the two of them while calling for help. She might have been able to begin administering healing venom to Ciopori immediately.” He sighed. “And she would have never been shot herself.” Sharpening his tone, he added, “I believe it is time to provide our women with much more training in the use of their powers. It is no longer enough to accept the basics: Our enemies have become too bold.”
Marquis sighed and Napolean felt his frustration: All male vampires were hardwired to be the protectors of their women and their families. It wasn’t sexist so much as it was a genetic trait of the species—just as a female lioness hunted while the male protected the pride, so did the male Vampyr protect what belonged to him.
The need to defend was as inherent as the need to possess.
Far beyond a value judgment or a narrow-minded gender assignment, it was a deep-seated instinct, one that had been programmed into the very DNA of the species. Like it or not, Vampyr were not human, and as much as their forms—and even some of their traditions—mimicked their human counterparts, their primary characteristics more closely mirrored the various predators of the animal kingdom.
“Perhaps, milord…” Marquis clearly weighed his words carefully, “but how many thousands of drills does a warrior go through before such instincts become automatic? Before life-or-death decisions are made on a dime—encompassing the full range of our powers?” He turned to Nathaniel. “How many centuries did it take before you were able to construct a perfect holding cell in less than five seconds, one with no energetic leaks or inherent weaknesses, that could be easily taken apart by your enemies?”
Nathaniel frowned. “I agree with Marquis. Take the ability to stop a bullet, for instance: It is one thing to discern the difference between a subtle energy shift and a slightly harsher disturbance—say, a finger flexing back on a trigger versus the vibration that occurs a fraction of a second later when the bullet is actually leaving the chamber—yet it is another thing altogether to get ahead of the bullet and intercept it before it strikes.” He paused. “When I think of what I went through, all of the years and trials—not to mention the excruciating injuries I sustained in the process of learning such things…” His voice trailed off.
Napolean strode across the room, listening. He leaned back on the exam table, crossed his arms in front of him, bent his left knee, and rested his right foot on the floor at the ankle. “The way I see it, the problem is our women inherent all of our powers—there are few abilities we possess that they do not also possess—however, without the benefit of the same extensive training, they rarely learn to wield them as we do. We concentrate on telepathic speech, tracking, feeding—perhaps enhanced speed and strength—and travel: the ability to move, seen or unseen, through objects. We want them to thrive as vampires, t
o speak to us and our children with their minds, to enjoy their enhanced senses, and to materialize and dematerialize; but that’s as far as we take it because we know we cannot put them through what we have been through.” He waved his hand through the air as if to dismiss an obvious, yet unspoken, argument. “And not because they are too weak or because we wish to control them. On the contrary, I shudder to imagine our females—one such as Kristina—after four hundred years at the University. Good gods—”
“We would all have to move,” Nathaniel offered, smiling.
Marquis nodded. “Ciopori would be…frightening.”
Napolean smiled. “Suffice to say, they are our equals—if not our superiors—in every way, but the Curse is as it is; and within thirty days of being claimed, they become mothers…they bear our sons. And that is an added responsibility, even a liability if we are to look at it logistically in terms of warfare, that we do not have to deal with during our initial training. Consider how much higher the stakes are for our mated males, even the warriors, once they take on a mate and are gifted with a child. I have seen even the most instinctive warrior think twice about his next move because his death may leave a widow—or his mistake may cost him a son. It is not the same carefree, independent mindset our unmated males enjoy throughout their training. The stakes are simply higher with a family.” He shrugged and held up his hands. “But what we can give them, we must.” His voice dropped to a low, throaty purr and practically vibrated with focused intent. “Never again will I place any female in the house of Jadon in such danger—surrounded by an enemy, facing life or death without her mate at her side—armed with anything less than her full potential.”
Both Nathaniel and Marquis nodded.
“Four hundred years is not an option,” Napolean added. “But six months to a year is.” Marquis raised his eyebrows. “At the University, in Romania?”
“No,” Napolean answered. “Of course not, but we have the necessary facilities right here in Dark Moon Vale. We can utilize the gymnasium and the outdoor training fields at the local Academy.” He turned to face Nathaniel then. “Nathaniel, Marquis, and Ramsey are already overseeing the hunting expeditions, our new initiative to find and eliminate Dark Ones, to ultimately seek their full extermination. You will oversee the creation of a new program—a self-defense program here in the valley—for every female inducted into the house of Jadon. They may not be able to get in front of a bullet after only six months of training, but they can learn to deflect one. If a complete holding cell is too tall an order, a temporary wall is not. They are stronger, faster, and far more keen in their senses than any human on this planet; they should be well trained in hand-to-hand combat, in the most efficient and lethal ways to kill, maim, or disable at will using their preternatural abilities. Telekinesis is no longer optional: A gun can be removed from an enemy’s hand from a great distance away, and while the total invasion of a human’s mind is an energetic feat of enormous ability—what is it now, the junior year before our males are even allowed to attempt such a thing?—the ability to influence, nudge, or even put a human to sleep is doable. It’s hard to fire a gun when you’re lying unconscious on the ground. Do you see my point?”
Nathaniel nodded. “Absolutely, milord.”
Napolean relaxed his shoulders, unaware until now that they had been tense. “Very well. Work with Mateo Devera on this. Create a six-month training program to maximize every gift our women possess, and see that it is started immediately.” He paused then. “Train your destiny first, Nathaniel. I know Jocelyn was interested in getting back into some sort of PI work soon, but I believe this is something she will willingly sink her teeth into. And the females will be more comfortable with a male-female training team. She can teach beside you or Mateo, depending on time constraints.”
A low growl of disapproval escaped Nathaniel’s throat, but he quickly reined it in.
“I cannot afford to tie up any of the remaining sentinels,” Napolean said by way of an explanation, brushing off Nathaniel’s territorial behavior. “You will learn to live with the arrangement, warrior—and I will hear no objections or alternative solutions.”
“It’s a good plan,” Marquis added.
“I believe so,” Napolean agreed. He then glanced at Nathaniel. “See it done.”
“Yes, milord,” Nathaniel said.
Satisfied, Napolean turned to leave the room. As he grasped the handle on the door, he stopped, glanced back at the Silivasi brothers, and spoke in a soft, almost reverent tone of voice: “We have already discussed what took place these last days—the indescribable sacrifice Nachari made on my behalf—so I will not beat the drum unnecessarily, but I want you both to know that there is not an hour that goes by that I do not intercede with the gods on his behalf.”
Nathaniel turned away and rubbed his jaw, suddenly seeming weary.
Marquis met the king’s stare, but his eyes were vacant, carefully concealing whatever pain was buried behind them.
“I would not have chosen this for him…for your family,” Napolean said quietly. “Nathaniel, Master Warrior, look at me.”
Nathaniel looked up.
“No matter how old or proficient Nachari becomes, both you and Marquis continue to see him as your little brother, and this I understand. But you must each recognize that he is far, far more powerful than you know. Nachari did not choose wizardry—it chose him—because of his gifts…because of his spirit. His story is not over.”
Nathaniel held up his hand to stop the king from speaking, and Marquis finally looked away. “I know you want to help,” Nathaniel mumbled, “but we are not children to be patronized. Please, just—”
“Hold your tongue, warrior!” Napolean commanded, his voice rising with a heat so intense that the room reverberated from the surge in energy and the lights blew out. “You are not in an ordinary state of mind, so I will forget what you almost said.”
Nathaniel looked away, clearly apologetic.
Napolean sighed and released the door. He strode toward Nathaniel, quickly closing the distance between them, and placed a gentle hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “Nathaniel…”
Nathaniel stood unerringly still…listening.
“Nachari’s—story—is—not—over,” Napolean repeated, carefully emphasizing each and every word. He waited for Nathaniel to fully process what he was trying to convey before going on. “I do not know what has happened, but on several occasions, I have sensed his life force…somewhere…surviving. Kagen is right to keep his body viable. If there is any soul in the house of Jadon that possesses the raw talent—the absurd command over the laws of nature and the unseen world—necessary to beat this thing, it is your little brother. You must not give up hope.”
The silence in the room was tangible, raw…edgy. What had been laid out was too weighty for words.
“Your presence is not required at my son’s naming ceremony,” Napolean whispered as he steadily returned to the door. “I have already given Kagen leave to remain at the clinic—I understand that he must maintain the life-support effort, and I am in full agreement with that decision. However, there will be no insult taken if your entire family chooses not to attend, your children and your destinies included.”
Marquis started to speak, but Napolean held up a hand. “That said, to see you both there would do my heart good.”
Marquis frowned. “Why?”
“Because it would mean that you’ve finally reclaimed your faith.”
“What faith?” Nathaniel asked.
“Faith in Kagen to remain vigilant in your absence…faith in Nachari to fight this battle as he now must—on his own.” Opening the door once again, the sovereign king sighed. “There is great love and loyalty in your family, and I would always see it so—but sometimes love requires faith, and faith, in turn, requires acting like you believe in someone. Believing in them as deeply as you love them.”
He didn’t turn around to see their reactions.
He simply whispered a silent
entreaty to the gods—praying for peace and understanding—and then he let the door shut softly behind him.
twenty-nine
“Hey, you,” Brooke whispered, her voice warm with tenderness. Smiling from ear to ear, she slowly entered Tiffany’s room and sat on the edge of the bed.
Tiffany sat up gingerly, adjusted the large, fluffy pillows behind her back, and carefully studied Brooke’s face. Her entire body relaxed with relief, and then her beautiful sea-green eyes clouded with tears. “Brookie…” She forced a smile, and the dark circles that rimmed her eyes brightened. “Come here, you,” she said, slowly lifting her left arm to attempt a hug. Her right arm remained closely tucked to her body, encased in a hard plaster cast. “I can’t believe you’re real.”
Brooke embraced her best friend, careful not to jiggle her injured arm. “Yep, it’s me.” She almost giggled from the joy of being reunited. “And I’m real.”
They held each other for a long time, neither one wanting to be the first to let the other go, and then Brooke finally pulled away. She smoothed the thin cotton blanket resting over Tiffany’s lap and reached for her hand. “Are you comfortable, Tiff? Is there anything you need?”
Tiffany sniffled and raised her casted arm in a token show of exhibition. She glanced down at the fresh plaster and shrugged. “I won’t lie—I’ve been better. But now that you’re here, I’m not complaining.”
Brooke laughed then. She couldn’t help it. “Ah, Tiff…” She sighed. “What happened in that basement? Can you tell me?”
Tiffany shook her head and her eyes grew narrow. “Hell if I know.” She blinked several times as if bringing a mental moving picture into focus. “In a nutshell? Some redheaded girl beat the stuffing out of me.”
Brooke shut her eyes and frowned. “Kristina…but why?”
Tiffany shrugged. “Oh, God…” She paused to steady herself. “Because she thought I played a part in attacking those two beautiful women.” She shivered then. “OMG, Brooke—it was awful! David staked one of the women right through the heart, and the other guys—they shot this brown-haired lady like she was nothing…like a dog.” She shut her eyes as if she could also shut out the memory. When she opened them, they were wide like saucers, and her voice rose in pitch: “It was so crazy after that! You wouldn’t believe all the things I saw, Brooke.”