Blood Redemption

by Tessa Dawn

  Saber Alexiares was the devil’s son, and that’s who he intended to remain.

  Forever.

  “You may as well kill me now,” he snarled. “I’d rather descend into the pit of hell to live as a slave to demons than ascend to this mockery of manhood you call the house of Jadon. I don’t believe you. Not one word. And given half a chance—any chance—I will kill the first of your kind that I can: man, woman, or child. It makes no difference to me.”

  Napolean looked off into the distance before slowly turning back to regard the Dark One. He nodded slowly and then smiled ever so faintly. Smiled. “Perhaps,” he said coolly. “Perhaps. But the hour of your death—or the content of your life—will be up to me, not you.” With that, he reached out and grabbed Saber’s forearm. When Saber tried to wrench it away, his entire body froze, paralyzed; and he was suddenly seized by indescribable pain, racked with an agonizing sense of nothingness, the utter absence of personal power.

  As the infamous king of the house of Jadon slowly released his fangs and bent his head to Saber’s wrist, everything in Saber’s soul rebelled. No! This could not be happening. This simply could not be real.

  Please…

  Two lethal canines sank deep into Saber’s wrist, Napolean’s jaw locking down with such force that the radius bone beneath it split in two, while the unyielding king drank Saber’s blood.

  The room spun in maddening circles.

  The pain brought him up short.

  The power that swirled around him crashed against him in violent waves of nausea, yet he sat there, helpless, locked in the compulsion of the greatest being to ever walk the earth, as the king took his due from what he believed to be one of his subjects.

  When at last the king withdrew his fangs, licked his taut lips, and released Saber’s arm, a scourge like fire burning through a grass field coursed through Saber’s veins.

  “I carry the blood of every child born into the house of Jadon in my veins,” Napolean explained. “And you are no exception.” He leaned forward then, and his piercing eyes flashed with an intensity Saber had never seen before: a clear and unmistakable warning. “Know this, Sabino Dzuna. The sun cannot kill you. Its rays cannot scorch you, but should you harm one hair on the head of one of my subjects, I will destroy you one cell, one strand of DNA, at a time; you will pray for mercy, but none will be forthcoming. You believe you know what pain and suffering are, but you do not. Pray you do not have to find out.” With that, the ancient king rose, nodded his head as if they had just been talking about the weather, and strode to the edge of the cell, without ever looking back.

  Saber watched in horror as the king passed through the bars once more, without bothering to open the door, and then the ancient one turned to Ramsey Olaru. “Get him cleaned up.”

  Ramsey’s head declined in a nod, and the pit bull’s ferocious nature seemed all at once subdued. “As you wish, milord.”

  With that, the king simply vanished into thin air.

  two

  Vanya Demir rearranged the sundry items on her oak writer’s desk and reached for her lavender cell phone. It was late in Colorado, she knew, but her homesickness was getting the best of her. She simply needed to hear her sister’s voice. Dialing the digits slowly and carefully—these modern devices were vexing at best—she waited for someone in the Silivasi household to answer.

  When at last Ciopori picked up the phone, she sighed with pleasure. It was so nice to hear her sister’s voice. “Princess,” Vanya said by way of greeting.

  Ciopori chuckled in response. “Princess,” she said.

  Vanya smiled. “You sound wide awake—I thought you might be sleeping.”

  Ciopori groaned. “No such luck, Vanya. Nikolai has been up all night, bouncing around the house like a beach ball—I think Marquis played with him long past his bedtime.” She sighed. “It is so lovely to hear your voice. How are you, sister?”

  Vanya tried to keep her voice cheery. “I miss you terribly, Ciopori. And Nikolai.” She paused. “I know I’ve only been in Romania for eight weeks, but I fear it is time for a visit just the same.”

  “Have you changed your mind about living there?” Ciopori asked, sounding hopeful. “You know you are always welcome with us. Marquis would be happy to—”

  “No…no,” Vanya interrupted. “My work here is important, as well as fulfilling—it is truly where I belong. But I think I may need to wean off of my family more slowly.” She chuckled halfheartedly. “I see no reason why I cannot travel back and forth and still do what is needed for my people.” Vanya was referring to the decision she had shared with Napolean: the commitment she had made to use her status as a surviving, original female to teach at the Romanian University, thereby restoring the ancient knowledge of celestial magic, a way of life practiced only by the original females of their kind, to the house of Jadon.

  Ciopori’s voice came alive with energy. “Of course! I’m so pleased to hear this. We should get out our schedules and plan something soon then.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” Vanya said. “I have already seen to the arrangements.”

  “What do you mean?” Ciopori asked.

  Vanya tittered softly. “I mean I will be there late Monday, around midnight.”

  Ciopori was quiet, obviously trying to digest Vanya’s words.

  “It’s eight AM here,” Vanya said absently, knowing that her sister intuitively knew the time difference; Ciopori was a celestial princess, after all, intimately connected with the stars and the moon and the planets. “I’ve chartered the house of Jadon’s private plane,” Vanya offered by way of explanation, “and I will be departing within the hour. I can sleep this night on the plane, and I should arrive at the Dark Moon Vale airstrip around midnight tomorrow, your time, of course.” She sighed. “As you can see, my bags are packed, and I’m eager to travel.”

  Ciopori cleared her throat. “Wow…well, that is unexpected. However, it is wonderful news. I trust you will stay with Marquis and me?”

  “For most of the time,” Vanya said. “I don’t wish to interfere with your household—you are still newlyweds, you know.”

  “Yes,” Ciopori agreed, “newlyweds with a five-and-a half-month-old baby, hurricane Nikolai.”

  Vanya laughed wholeheartedly. “Oh, I can’t wait to see him. Is he getting big?”

  “Growing like a weed,” Ciopori said. “Just yesterday, he latched onto a lock of Marquis’s hair with his fist and refused to let go. Marquis could not pry his hand loose without hurting his tiny fingers, and by the time it was over, Marquis had a bald spot at the crown of his head.” She laughed. “It’s already grown back, but it was quite an episode to behold.”

  Vanya giggled conspiratorially, her reaction a bit too appreciative. “What a spitfire, that one.” She regained her composure. “So, it is settled then? I will come directly to your home…for a time.”

  “Of course,” Ciopori answered, and then her voice grew somewhat serious. “Although, you know, Vanya, maybe you should wait a week or two, just to be safe.”

  “Safe?” Vanya asked, her voice revealing her concern. “Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

  “It’s just…” Ciopori sighed. “I mean, it isn’t anything serious, but there is a Dark One in our midst now, and I must admit, the whole thing is a bit creepy.”

  Vanya inhaled sharply, not liking the sound of her sister’s words. “A Dark One? Whatever for? I thought Napolean’s hunting teams were exterminating them whenever possible.” She breathed uneasily. “I mean, I understand that the dynamics have changed considerably, ever since the Dark Ones have become, shall I say…emboldened, but I really don’t think that has anything to do with me or you. Our king will keep us safe. Not to mention Marquis.”

  Ciopori sighed. “Of course. Of course. It’s just this is an entirely different situation. The warriors captured a Dark One two weeks ago—he was plotting against the house of Jadon as usual, trying to use Kristina in order to get to the Silivasis.”

  “Oh
, my!” Vanya exclaimed. “Is Kristina okay?”

  “Yes…well, she is now. He certainly hurt her when he went after both she and Nachari’s destiny.” Before Vanya could ask, Ciopori added, “It’s a very long story. I will fill you in on the details when you get here. Just suffice to say that Nachari is back, he is mated, and he has a beautiful son, Sebastian; and the Dark One who tried to destroy him survived an execution by sun just earlier this morning.”

  Vanya started. She shifted uncomfortably on her bed, and her mind began to race. “Sister! Why haven’t you called me? There is so much going on!”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was going to pick up the phone this week, but like I said, there’s just been so much going on.”

  “And email or text?” Vanya asked, her voice taking on a slight note of chiding.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Still not my favorite modes of communication.”

  “No,” Vanya agreed, “I suppose they aren’t mine, either.” She flashed back to Ciopori’s recent words. “But this Dark One, you say he survived an execution by sun? How is such a thing even possible?”

  Ciopori whistled low beneath her breath, sounding a bit like her brother-in-law Nathaniel. “Because, as it turns out, he wasn’t really born to the house of Jaegar.” She quickly explained all they had discovered since that morning, while Vanya sat in stunned silence.

  “Wow…I hardly know what to say,” Vanya finally said.

  “I know,” Ciopori agreed. “It’s bizarre to say the least.”

  “I imagine Napolean has his hands full then.”

  Ciopori grew silent, as if unsure about how to proceed. They both knew that it was a touchy subject: Vanya and Napolean had shared a brief but very intense…connection …before the king had found his destiny; and there would always be a special place in Vanya’s heart for the ancient male, independent of his position as ruler of the house of Jadon.

  Finally, when the silence had lingered to the point of becoming awkward, Vanya said, “Well, I don’t see how that places either of us in jeopardy, let alone myself. I’m sure I will have nothing at all to do with this…new member of the house of Jadon.”

  “Of course not,” Ciopori agreed. “I just…the thought of us keeping him alive, perhaps allowing him to move in and out of the valley—among our people at some point—it just really causes me concern. I mean, how will we ever trust him? And if we have to kill him…his poor parents. They will lose him twice.”

  “Indeed,” Vanya said, feeling more than a little sympathy for all the players involved. How much hurt, suffering, and pain had been caused by one act of selfishness? “His mother must be so relieved…scared yet hopeful. Appalled.” She closed her eyes and said a gentle prayer to Andromeda, the goddess who had birthed six sons in Greek legend: Please, if it is your will, touch the hearts of this family and redeem the soul of this lost one; surely, his life must still have value…to someone.

  Just then, an odd tingling sensation settled against her breast, and her heart skipped a beat. She shook it off, thinking perhaps the goddess had heard her prayer. “Now then,” she said to Ciopori, “I won’t hear another word of it. I have complete faith in our warriors and the benevolence of the gods. Whatever is happening with this poor, misguided male has nothing to do with me or our family, so I will not hear another word of it. I will see you on the morrow, yes?”

  Vanya could practically envision Ciopori’s smile as her warmth radiated through the phone. “Yes,” Ciopori agreed. “I will have your room ready, and I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Very well, to my uneventful homecoming then.”

  “To your much anticipated homecoming,” Ciopori corrected. With that, she hung up the phone.

  three

  It was late Sunday night, nearly 11:15 PM, when the outer door to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement flew open, crashing into the wall behind it, and a short, diminutive woman with medium brown hair and the most compassionate dark brown eyes Saber had ever seen flew through the threshold. She stumbled into the guard-check area, barely catching her footing as she stopped between the chamber and Saber’s cell.

  Ramsey intercepted her immediately. “Whoa, wait a minute, Lorna. Slow down.” He restrained her by her arms, his broad chest and wide shoulders blocking her view of the prisoner. “This isn’t the boy you remember.”

  The female struggled mightily to break free, rocking back and forth from one foot to another in a desperate attempt to get a glimpse beyond the warrior’s shoulders. “I understand, Sentinel. I do. Let me go.” Her voice was insistent.

  Ramsey slowly released her. “Stay away from the bars,” he warned.

  The woman nodded several times and then immediately headed toward the cell, flanked by both Ramsey and his brother Santos, the long, flowing ruffles of her knee-length skirt rustling as she walked. She stopped just short of the bars, raised her gaze to appraise the prisoner, and then gasped in surprise, both hands flying up to her cheeks. “Oh, my gods,” she whispered, her kind eyes brimming with tears. “It is you.”

  Saber rotated on the cot nervously and glared at the gawking woman. “Who the hell are you?” he barked defensively.

  She smiled, her narrow cheeks softening with joy. “I’m…I am your mother…Lorna.”

  Her voice was barely audible, but Saber heard her clearly. He recoiled and shuffled back on the cot, and then his eyes shifted to Ramsey and flashed with anger. “Get this woman out of my face!”

  The female paled, but she held her ground. “It’s okay,” she said to Ramsey as he held out a hand, prepared to escort her out of the room. “Give us some space.”

  Ramsey eyed Santos warily, and the two took a slight step back, maybe about an inch.

  “Sabino,” she whispered, measuring him quickly from head to toe. “How are you? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

  Saber chuckled loud and haughtily then, his dark, angry eyes narrowing with contempt. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Just to…” She had to stop and collect herself. “Just to see you, to know that you’re really…alive.”

  Saber shrugged and rolled his eyes, amplifying his disgust. “Well, there you go. Alive and well and living above the surface in Dark Moon Vale.” His lips twitched, and he didn’t bother to conceal a hint of fangs. “As for all this mother-son bullshit, let me make this easy on you, okay ? You’re not my mother.” He smiled a wicked, incorrigible grin. “My mother was a slab of meat on a sacrificial stone that gave my father hours and hours of pleasure before he killed her. You are just a scrawny, misguided female who doesn’t belong here. Now get out.” He released his fangs fully and slowly licked his lips. “Before I get…ugly.”

  Lorna drew back in surprise and visibly swallowed her fear. As her face melted with disappointment, she brushed a single tear from her eye and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she mewled, “I just—”

  “Look, woman; what part of get out—”

  The ground beneath the cot rumbled, and the air grew dense with fury, both occurrences cutting Saber off in midsentence; and then a tall, formidable-looking male strode into the guard room with long, measured strides. He stepped all the way up to the bars and glared at Saber with murderous contempt in his eyes. “Watch your mouth, boy!”

  “Rafael, don’t!” Lorna exclaimed, placing her open palm on the male’s chest to restrain him.

  Saber stood up and approached the bars. Far be it from him to retreat from a challenge. If this fool wanted to play, then so be it. He was just about to release his claws and swipe at the warrior’s jugular, certain he could move faster than the old geezer could get out of the way, when he caught a really good look at the male’s face. The visage brought him up short.

  Saber’s jaw parted. And his brow furrowed in disbelief.

  The male before him was about six feet tall. He had cropped black hair and deep, dark eyes the color of coal, but what really stood out were his features: His nose was straight and prominent with an ever so slightly roun
ded ridge on the end, just like Saber’s; and the vicious look of contempt on his face, the snarl that tugged only at the upper corner of his right, top lip, was an exact match to the snarl Saber had seen in the mirror a dozen times before.

  Saber Alexiares was staring into his own reflection, and no one with two eyes in their sockets could deny it.

  He cocked his head to the side and studied the male’s physique next: tall, muscular, but in a sculpted, sinewy way. Strong but lean. And his narrow hips were more square than V-shaped. His knees turned out just barely, as if he had almost been born bowlegged but it hadn’t quite happened.

  Saber straightened his own legs on impulse, trying to hide the identical condition in his own gait.

  What the hell is going on?

  The male’s eyes flashed with anger. “How dare you speak to your mother like that!”

  Saber took the man’s measure. “And you are?”

  “Rafael,” he snarled. “Your father.”

  Despite his cool indifference, the words struck Saber like the grill of a Mack truck, and Saber backed away. Quickly catching himself, he planted his feet and stared the male down. “My father is Damien Alexiares; I have no idea who you are, old man.”

  Rafael sneered in disgust, and then he wrapped his arm around Lorna’s shoulders—she was rapidly coming unglued, tears streaming down her face, her chest shaking with rising sobs. “Just how many women and children have you murdered?” Rafael snarled. “How many females have you raped?” He shoved Lorna behind him and gripped the bars in two angry fists, practically daring Saber to make a move in his direction. “How much flesh have you consumed, Dark One?”

  Saber shrugged his shoulders casually. “Enough.”

  Rafael spat in disgust. “Well, at least we can agree on one thing, monster; you aren’t the child I lost so many years ago—you’re no son of mine!”

  Lorna gasped and nearly swooned, and Santos had to step forward and catch her. “Oh, gods,” she cried inconsolably, “please, Rafael, stop! You don’t know what you’re saying.”