Blood Ecstasy

by Tessa Dawn

  She snickered. “Then you’ll come to meet my parents in Ohio?”

  “Of course,” he answered plainly. “That should be…interesting.”

  She laughed. “And what if I decide that I really want to live in Denver, at my apartment?” She knew she was being a brat.

  “Then I will wrap my arms around you, wrestle you into submission, and firmly tell you, no.” He bantered in that familiar, dominant tone. “But”—he held up a hand to appease her—“but we can travel back and forth. If you want to keep leading the support group, the weekly meetings, then we’ll find a way to make that work. I can stand in the background and look unobtrusive. Hell, I can be the new VOSU guard.”

  She almost fell out of her seat. “Oh, yeah, that’s just perfect. Because you’re not at all conspicuous or scary as hell or even batshit crazy at times, right?” She immediately regretted the provocative term, hoping he understood her sense of humor. And then, all at once, she fell quiet.

  He eyed her from his peripheral vision. “What is it?”

  She shrugged, tucked a lock of wayward hair behind her ear, and stared absently at the black duffle bag he had set on the living room floor when hauling in their luggage.

  He followed her gaze and sighed.

  She raised her chin, cleared her throat, and spoke quietly but deliberately. “When I first met you, that very first time, you were sitting alone in this great room, in an armchair, shrouded like a mummy, cloaked in the dark.”

  Julien nodded slowly. “Yep. With Shelly Winters, a human woman, lying at my feet.”

  She had to at least give him credit—he didn’t mince words. “Yes,” she said quietly. “And your hands were dripping with blood, and you…you were—”

  “High on heroin,” he supplied.

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  “What do you want me to say, baby girl? There’s little you don’t know or understand.”

  She winced, almost ashamed of her question: “Is that over?” she whispered. “I mean; do you ever think you will be free of the drugs?”

  Julien sank back against the couch, crossed one leg over the other, yet kept his hand on her knee so he could continue to block her sensations. “I don’t know, little mouse. I can’t tell you yes; and I won’t tell you no. I don’t ever care to see another village burn, or to destroy the people I love. As it stands, our warriors are still helping the citizens of Silverton Creek, although at least they’ve stopped the bleeding. Only the gods know if I will ever have a true handle on my rage, or if that explosive thing inside of me, the part so intimately and destructively linked to the earth that rises to such an abrupt and disastrous level, almost in the blink of an eye, can ever be made to heel. But what I can say to you is this: Something is different. Something feels different. Something has…somehow changed. And I don’t know if it burned in that fire, froze on that bridge, or was released in the Valley of Death and Shadows, but the darkness is not as bleak, and it’s no longer eating me alive.” He stared off into the distance, as if searching for the perfect words. “When you reached out to me and took my hand, when your light enveloped that gloom, it was like some part of me, something in my core that was missing, came back to life. I don’t know what to call it. I don’t know how to describe it, other than being wrapped in a cocoon, but whatever goodness you have, Rebecca, whatever’s at the center of your soul—it’s a part of me now, too. And I just somehow think it’s going to make a difference.” He shrugged, although it was anything but indifferent. “But I’m not going to make you promises I can’t keep. We’re gonna have to take it one day at a time. I am who I am, little mouse.”

  Rebecca studied his expression, and she thought his eyes looked much less haunted, much less full of pain. They were crystal clear, as dazzling as moonlight, and stark with both truth and regret.

  She could hardly ask for more.

  At least his answer had been forthright and fair, and she deeply appreciated his candor.

  “I do understand,” she whispered. “More than you know. And it’s not like I haven’t battled some demons of my own. Sometimes we’re lucky, and our demons are vanquished. Other times, we just learn to live with their presence, making the most out of our time in the sun, knowing that they always lurk in the dark. Either way, we do the best we can, one day at a time. No one understands that better than me.” She reached out to take his hand and forced herself to squeeze it—she couldn’t remain intimidated forever. “For whatever it’s worth, tracker,” she gently pointed out, “and just in case you haven’t noticed: Not once, since you were injured or in the clinic, since you wrestled your own demons in that barren hell, or since you came back to Dark Moon Vale, have you had the need to touch the drugs.” She glanced at the duffle bag and smiled, albeit faintly. “I think you’re right—something has changed. And if my light is your beacon in the darkness; if my heart is your shelter in that storm; if my being bound to you is your salvation, then I’m grateful that the gods chose me. Because you deserve to be free, Julien. You really do. And all my life, that’s all I’ve ever wanted—to set other people free.”

  He drew back his hand as if she had burned him, as if his heart had jolted in his chest.

  But he didn’t pull the latter away.

  Rather, he slid his fingers into the fall of her hair, gently massaged her neck, and then reached over with his other palm and tenderly guided her cheek, turning it ever so slightly toward his lips. His thumb swept over her soft, silky skin, and his head fell forward, until he brushed her jugular with a kiss. “I’m falling in love with you, Rebecca Johnston,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “And I can’t remember a single day, not a single moment in my life, when I ever felt this blessed. Thank you, șoarec micuț, my beautiful angel of light.”

  Drawing back so he could search her gaze, he flashed the most innocent yet provocative smile, and then he covered her mouth with his.

  And all the words they hadn’t spoken, all the years they hadn’t shared, all the things they had yet to learn about one another melted away into nothing beneath the passion and the promise in that kiss.

  Rebecca Johnston was in Julien’s arms.

  He was powerful.

  He was brave.

  And he was courageous.

  And as unbelievable as the entire saga had been, there wasn’t a part of her that wanted to fight it.

  As his words lingered in her ear, his touch permeated her heart, and his stunning, magnificent lips claimed hers, she simply let go and lost herself in the utter perfection of the moment.

  Julien watched as Rebecca slept peacefully in his huge—in their huge—iron-and-wood platform bed. The enormous oscillating ceiling fan whirled in soft, lazy circles above her, even as a crisp mountain breeze salted the air, flowing from the open stained-glass windows. The peace and tranquility of eastern Dark Moon Vale permeated the atmosphere as Julien prepared for one of the most monumental moments of his life: the birth of his firstborn son.

  He was grateful that Rebecca wanted no part of the Curse, that she was more than content with meeting the newborn babe, the one they would name and raise after the affair was over, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her for choosing to sleep through the arrival. After all, she had lived through so much darkness, learned far too much about Ian, and endured the aftermath of a soulless evil twin in Kagen’s rustic clinic: What were a few minutes, either way, over the span of a lifetime?

  As it stood, Ramsey and Tiffany had offered their time and their support: Ramsey, to stand guard while Julien made the required sacrifice, and Tiffany to watch over Rebecca and the newborn infant while Julien was away. They would find some permanent help soon enough, perhaps from a loyal human family that resided in Dark Moon Vale, or perhaps through the house of Jadon’s network—there were so many couples with babies these days.

  It would all work out, one way or the other.

  The cycle had repeated for centuries.

  Now, as he glanced at the clock on the end table and registered t
he time—it truly wasn’t necessary; his internal clock told him all he needed to know—he squared his shoulders toward the bed, stiffened his jaw, and began to quietly recite a prayer, an entreaty spoken in the old language that would draw the children nigh. As the elegant, hypnotic words rose like wisps of smoke from a gently banked fire, he allowed the rhythm to soothe him.

  “Veniți înainte.” Come forth, he called to his children.

  And just like that, the bedroom began to fill with tiny prisms of light, reminiscent of a glistening rainbow. It formed a multicolored arc over the bed, directly above Rebecca’s stomach, and shimmered all around her. A familiar sound permeated the room, the soft, insistent drone of rushing water, and what almost looked like an aura made of gold began to dust the covers: rising, falling, and swirling all around Rebecca’s pregnant belly in the form or iridescent sparkles.

  At last, it formed a peak above the apex of the protruding stomach and began to coalesce as waves of light. The transformation—the miracle—was awe-inspiring, even as much as it was frightening. Julien knew all too well that this moment could herald a lifetime of joy or a lifetime of agony, depending on how it was handled.

  As the waves of light undulated, faster and faster, he steadied his resolve—who knew which child would emerge from the womb first to greet…or curse…his father?

  The sound of rushing water grew louder and louder, until it was almost deafening, and then the faint, gentle outline of a baby appeared, materializing slowly into a fully formed child, a child with stark mahogany hair and eyes the color of its mother’s: brilliant, enigmatic topaz.

  Julien gasped.

  He couldn’t help it.

  He placed both palms beneath the babe’s thighs and his back, cradled his son to his chest, and closed his own eyes, just for a moment, in a solemn yet heartfelt prayer. Thank you, Lord Hercules, for my son. His eyes grew wet with moisture, and he quickly blinked it away. The ordeal wasn’t finished, not by a long shot, and he needed to remain prepared.

  Ramsey. He spoke telepathically, and the Master Warrior appeared in an instant, his reassuring demeanor enveloping the room. “The light child came first. Will you hold him for me?”

  Despite his tyrannical size and his pit-bull manner, Ramsey seemed like an old pro with the babe. He scooped him out of Julien’s arms with ease, tickled him under the jaw, and stepped back, never missing a beat.

  The sight gave Julien hope.

  If this ruthless bastard could master the basics of fatherhood, then the tracker might just have a chance of figuring it out himself.

  A shrill, discordant note, like fingernails on a chalkboard, replaced the soothing hum, and Julien immediately drew to attention. A dark, inky outline appeared above Rebecca’s midriff, and the contrast made Julien sick: How could anything so foul come from something—from someone—so pure?

  He swallowed his disdain and straightened his back.

  And then he visibly flinched.

  The infant looked just like Ian.

  He had the same slate-gray eyes, set an equal distance apart, and the same thin, narrow lips, carved into the same wicked slash. Needless to say, his hair was wild and banded, black and red.

  Julien reached out to take him, the infant hissed, and gods be merciful, it reminded Julien of the Blood.

  “Steady, tracker,” Ramsey cautioned in that deep, authoritative voice.

  “I’m fine,” Julien grunted as he secured the soulless infant in his arms. “Call Tiffany.”

  In a flash, the beautiful blonde appeared in the room, and her calm, self-assured countenance was a welcome change to the warriors’ serious energy. “Which one?” she asked in a matter-of-fact voice, her sea-green eyes reflecting compassion.

  Julien gestured toward Ramsey with his chin.

  “Well, hello, little one,” she cooed to the babe as she lifted him from Ramsey’s arms. “And what do we have here? You must be the most handsome little man in the entire house of Jadon,” she added, laughing as the infant gurgled.

  Julien extended the Dark One to Ramsey. “Wait for me in the foyer.”

  The sentinel didn’t balk.

  He took the child, replied with a nod, and they both disappeared from the room.

  “Becca,” Julien said, leaning over his destiny’s slumbering form. “Wake up, little mouse.”

  Rebecca blinked two times and caught at the covers beside her, seeming momentarily disoriented. “What happened?” she croaked in a sleepy voice, scanning the room with a drowsy gaze.

  “The most gorgeous little man, with the most pleasant little smile, happened,” Tiffany interjected. “Would you like to see your son?”

  Rebecca’s eyes shot to Julien’s, and her soft, kissable lips fell open. “Is it over?”

  Julien forced a smile. “Half over, love. I still have to go. But I wanted to be here when you met our son.”

  Rebecca scooted backward on the bed with a quickness, shimmying up against the headboard in order to support her back, and then she held out her arms, and her eyes filled with wonder as Tiffany stepped forward and placed the child in her arms.

  “Oh my gosh!” she gasped. “You’re kidding me!” She stared at Julien and giggled. And then she stared at her belly in awe as it continued to retract, metamorphosing back to its normal size. “This is…impossible.”

  The child reached up, grasped a lock of her wavy, S-shaped curls, and her eyes virtually overflowed with tears. “Oh…my…goodness. He’s beautiful.” She glanced askance at Julien. “He looks like you.”

  Julien nodded. “But he has your eyes.”

  She gazed down into the baby’s bright, wondrous gaze and grinned from the depths of her soul. “Hello, little one.”

  The child sighed, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Julien felt complete, like everything might actually be right with the world.

  He buried that feeling.

  Not quite.

  Not yet.

  He still had something imperative to do.

  Something his father had failed to accomplish.

  He still had to turn the Dark One over to the Blood, and he wasn’t willing to waste another moment. “Baby,” he said softly, “Ramsey is waiting for me in the foyer. I’ve gotta go.” He glanced at Tiffany and nodded. “Ramsey’s destiny will stay here with you, and she brought plenty of…stuff…for the baby”—Tiffany chuckled at the use of the word stuff—“so, everything should be fine. Oh, and Ramsey will watch over you both; so just relax, get some rest, and I’ll see you in a few.”

  Rebecca pressed an instinctive kiss on the baby’s forehead, and then she reached out with her right arm and beckoned Julien forward. When he stepped into her embrace and bent down to nuzzle her cheek, she whispered soothingly in his ear: “You can do this, Julien. Everything is going to be fine. Come back to me, warrior, okay?”

  He nuzzled even closer and reveled in the warmth of the moment. “Nothing in this world—or the next—could keep me from it. Watch over our son, Rebecca.” With that, he pulled away from her embrace, took a determined stride backward, and vanished from the room.

  thirty-three

  Julien made his way down the long, damp, circular tunnel, illuminated by torchlight, that led from Napolean’s manse to both the Hall of Justice and the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement. He barely made a sound as he traversed the ancient cobblestone floor, and all the while, he held the dark twin, the one who would not be named, in his left arm, almost like a football: away from his body; in a distant, unfeeling manner; and cast into the shadows, beyond the reflection of the undulating flames.

  He didn’t even bother to look at him.

  Yes, it may have seemed crass, even cruel, to some…

  But Julien understood, perhaps more than any other male in the house of Jadon, exactly what was resting against his arm, exactly who and what the soulless one was—what he would grow up to become; the countless lives he would destroy if given half a chance; and just how dark and malevolent he really was. />
  And he intended to turn him over to the Blood, without incident.

  While he was firm at his center, resolute at his core, his left eyelid twitched several times in quick succession, reminding the warrior that he was still a bit uneasy about one particular aspect: sharing the same space as the evil apparition; once again, facing the entity that had tried to steal his soul and take him to the Valley of Death and Shadows.

  He shrugged his shoulder in an effort to shrug it off.

  He was alive and well now, firmly planted in his corporeal body—there shouldn’t be a problem, especially when he was there to fulfill the Curse.

  Reaching the end of the long, eerie tunnel, he stared at both arched wooden doors—the one on the left that led to the Ceremonial Hall of Justice, and the one on the right that led to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement—and he took a deep, measured breath for courage. As he entered the room on the right, he immediately elongated his stride, strolling swiftly through the center aisle, navigating rapidly past the wooden pews, and approaching the oval platform bravely, his eyes fixed dead ahead on the granite altar.

  And that’s when he felt Saber Alexiares, standing off to the right, in the room. He turned his head to the side and frowned. “Dragon?”

  Saber pushed off from the wall and took five lazy strides forward, heading for the foremost right-hand pew, where he sat down, sprawled languidly, and leaned back against the bench. “S’up, J.” His expression was absent of emotional cues.

  Julien turned around to face him and cocked his eyebrows in question. “What are you doing here?” Might as well get straight to the point.

  Saber popped his neck, as if the whole scene was somehow trite, and then he took his sweet time coming up with an answer. “You want the party line, or you want the truth?”

  Julien frowned, becoming increasingly impatient. The last thing he wanted was for the Dark One to awaken in his arm, but yeah, he wanted the full story, party line and truth. “Both,” he grumbled, exposing his irritation.

  Saber remained unfazed. “Party line is this: The king wants a sentinel in the chamber when you turn over the kid…just in case. You know, the Blood and that whole crazy trip on the bridge—Napolean isn’t taking any chances.” He smirked. “Gods and demons aside, there’s the whole touchy-feely piece. I’m just here as a precaution.” He flicked an unruly, wavy lock of his black-and-red banded hair out of his face, and just for an instant, it gave Julien the chills—sometimes the dragon still resembled a Dark One.