Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7)

by Tessa Dawn

  And after that?

  Well, if she still had time, she would try to buy some marijuana at a nearby dispensary and maybe even score a couple bottles of ibuprofen. She would need all the pain relief she could get, and if she had to get through the next few days by remaining high, then she was all for the prospect.

  One way or the other, she had to survive just long enough for Salvatore to convert her.

  And to do that, she had to help the ancient Dark One kill the little prince.

  Unless she appeased her new master, she was as good as dead.

  And there was just no way—no way—she was going out like that.

  Not when she had come this far.

  seven

  “Close your eyes, baby girl.” Ramsey planted both hands on Tiffany’s shoulders, turned her in the direction of the third main-floor bedroom, and gave her a gentle shove forward.

  Tiffany tried not to stiffen in reaction to his touch as she reluctantly complied, taking several stutter steps forward. “Okay,” she whispered, forcing herself to go along with whatever this was: After several fruitless hours of trying to work while utterly distracted, they had just returned from DMV Prime, put her clothes away in closets and drawers, and Tiffany was a taut bundle of anxious nerves, to put it mildly. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but wonder what came next, and if going along with Ramsey’s latest surprise would get her past that hurdle, that ever-present fear of the unknown, then so be it. She was game.

  To an extent.

  As it stood, there was no point in pretending this Blood Moon wasn’t happening, no matter how badly she wished she could remain in denial. And opposing Ramsey Olaru at every turn was a bit like trying to walk an elephant backward when it wanted to go forward. Truth be told, Ramsey was always in control, even when he tried to pretend he wasn’t, which, really, when did Ramsey pretend anything?

  She held her breath, waiting.

  “Open them,” he said gruffly.

  Tiffany opened her eyes and blinked several times, staring into the open room. And then her jaw dropped in genuine surprise. It was no longer a bedroom, but a beautiful, exquisite office. She took an unwitting step forward as she gazed at the luxurious accouterments: Toward the rear of the room, nestled in front of a huge picture window, was the most gorgeous mesquite desk Tiffany had ever seen, with a plush, ergonomic swivel-chair nestled beneath it. To the right of the desk was a high-tech drafting table, and perched atop the desk was a brand-new PC with a sleek HD screen that matched the gorgeous surroundings in artful design. Anchored on the opposite wall, toward the left, was a second flat-screen monitor that appeared to provide both TV and computer broadcasting. Basically, she could access her computer from the desktop screen or the television monitor while she worked, depending upon her mood.

  She turned around in a semicircle, still in awe of what she was seeing.

  On the adjacent wall to the monitor were a series of polished mesquite shelving, housing everything from reference materials to art supplies. There was a soft reading chair with a matching ottoman placed inconspicuously in the forward, right-hand corner, beside a gently flowing waterfall, and an acoustic-wave stereo with Bose speakers at her disposal in the corner shelves behind her desk. And the artwork on the walls—there were three of her favorite paintings: Monet: Nympheas (1926); Greco: Toledo (1599); and Rousseau: Sleeping Gypsy (1897). How in the world did he know? Despite her persistent uneasiness with Mr. Olaru, she spun around to face him. “When did you do all this?”

  She stepped further into the room and began to walk around leisurely, taking meticulous note of the smallest architectural and design details. “You did all of this… for me?”

  The corner of Ramsey’s mouth quirked up in a self-satisfied smile, and for the first time since she’d been taken from the forest, he nearly took her breath away. Good Lord, he was stunning when he smiled.

  “You like?” he drawled.

  She swallowed hard, caught her breath, and nodded faintly. “Well, of course.”

  He followed her into the room. “Brooke told me what you’d like”—he pointed to the three art pieces—“and Saxson brought in a team of contractors while we were in town today to knock out the work.” He ran his hand over an intricately carved design in the apex of the waterfall, a gorgeous baroque garland crafted in lime-wood after Grinling Gibbons’ work, etched seamlessly into the framework of the piece. “This… the definition… Saber did it.”

  Tiffany’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Saber? Alexiares? The Dark One?” She quickly caught the error. “I mean, the guy who’s mated to Princess Vanya?”

  Ramsey nodded. “One in the same.” He eyed the woodwork appreciatively. “He’s pretty damn talented.”

  Tiffany stared at the baroque garland, marveling at the detail in the flowers, grapes, and leaves, and nodded. She couldn’t disagree, but what really surprised her—no, stunned her actually—was the fact that Ramsey Olaru had gone through all this trouble for her, that he’d even had enough forethought to arrange it. When? How? Why? She was utterly speechless.

  He shrugged. “I thought it might make your… imprisonment a little more tolerable.”

  Tiffany grimaced. Geez, she really had been acting like a captured POW, hadn’t she? She wanted to apologize, but she couldn’t. Nothing had changed, at least not in terms of how she felt about being his destiny, how intrinsically she feared him, the way she primarily saw him. Yet and still, he had gone out of his way to accommodate her in something so very important, recreating a beautiful—no, positively magical—work environment so she could at least feel at home. The least she could do was offer an olive branch of her own.

  She took a deep breath for courage, ran her hand through her immaculately groomed hair—and, of course, it just occurred to her that they both had that in common: blond hair—and strolled to the desk to try out her chair.

  Ramsey leaned back against the solid pine doorframe, crossed his feet at the ankles, and folded his arms over his massive chest. He looked like he was posing for a GQ centerfold, maybe one entitled “Dark, dangerous, and decadent eye-candy.”

  Where had that thought come from?

  She shivered and placed her hands, palms down, on the desk to feel the smooth, grain-filled wood beneath her fingers. It was positively exquisite. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it.

  “You’re welcome.” If he was nervous, she couldn’t tell. And then he just continued to stand there, staring at her like she held the secrets to the universe in her eyes, his own piercing hazel gaze penetrating her inner armor like a beacon of light invading the dark.

  She wrung her hands together and shifted nervously in the chair. “So,” she said quietly.

  “So,” he repeated.

  She exhaled slowly. “Am I allowed to ask you a question? Any questions?” She decided to walk it back a bit. “Basic questions?”

  His features tightened a bit, but other than that, he remained calm, cool, and collected, at least on the outside. “Of course,” he said in that typical deep rasp of his, probably not meaning to sound like death in black jeans, although he did. He just… did.

  She shook her head briskly to dismiss the thought. “About anything at all?”

  He cocked his head to the side, and that interminable lock of blond hair that often hung over the corner of his right eye shifted, unveiling his steely gaze like a magician’s revelation. “That’s probably only fair.” His perfectly sculpted nose twitched, almost imperceptibly, and Tiffany couldn’t help but wonder how… why… when had the gods decided to pack all that lethality and brutality into the statue of a Roman god?

  She stared down at her desk to avoid his unsettling gaze. “So… ” She may as well start with something real. Test the waters. See if he was as willing to open up, just a little, as he pretended. “Do your parents still live in Dark Moon Vale?” She bit her lip, only half expecting an answer.

  “My parents don’t still live… anywhere,” he said, so coolly, so distantly, that it gen
uinely surprised her. “They passed away centuries ago.”

  He never even paused before answering, and that brought Tiffany up short. Good heavens, he was so blunt. She swallowed her rising discomfort. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He nodded, and she waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she decided to dive in and ask another question, not at all certain that he wouldn’t just leap across the room and snap her neck for daring to be so brazen, so intrusive. “Do… um… is it okay to ask… what happened?”

  His stunning, evocative eyes flashed several shades darker, but only for a second. “My mother was staked through the heart by vampire-hunters, and five years later, my father was killed by a Dark One when he was ambushed in a cave.”

  Tiffany gulped.

  Oh, heavens. That was awful.

  She opened her mouth to reply and then closed it, completely at a loss for words. She reached up to scratch her ear. “So, it’s just you and your brothers: Saxson and Santias?”

  “Santos,” he corrected.

  “Santos,” she repeated. Well, this was getting more and more awkward by the moment. She was just about to excuse herself to use the restroom, maybe try to kill a couple hours by soaking in the jetted tub, when Ramsey cleared his throat.

  “There are very few families intact in Dark Moon Vale, at least not from the earlier generations.” He paused, and it really looked like he was trying. “While tragic, my story isn’t that uncommon.”

  Despite herself, Tiffany asked the next obvious question: “Why is that?”

  He seemed to settle back into his own skin, as if it required a great amount of shifting to answer. “How much do you know about the history of the house of Jadon?”

  Tiffany softened her voice. “Um, some, I guess. Not much.”

  He nodded then. “How much do you want to know?”

  She laughed nervously, and then she thought about his parents, what he had just told her. No doubt, the history had a lot to do with who Ramsey Olaru was, and if this was her fate, as impossible as it was to reconcile that fact in the present moment, the least she could do was try to understand what had made him who he was. “I’d like to know,” she said, wishing she sounded more like her usual, confident self.

  He nodded. And then he ran his hand through his hair and slowly exhaled. “Back in 800 BC, at the time of the original Curse, things were… a lot different than they are now.”

  Tiffany leaned forward in her seat. “How so?” It was a sort of silly question, but she wanted to keep him talking.

  “The vampires. The culture. Life.” He settled into his stance as if sinking deeper into the conversation, and she waited quietly for him to continue. He sighed heavily; again, as if it were an enormous amount of information to try and organize in his mind, let alone convey, while standing at the threshold of Tiffany’s new office. “Right after the males were cursed,” he began, “there was nothing but chaos, confusion, and bloodlust.”

  Her palms began to sweat.

  She could only imagine.

  “You gotta think about it from the point of view of those who were there.” He reached into his pocket, drew out a small sterling-silver case with the letters RDO engraved in the front, from which he withdrew a toothpick, and stuffed it between his full, sculptured lips. Turning back to the subject at hand, he continued. “For centuries, they had been privileged beings, half human, half celestial, favored by the gods; then just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“they were turned into these supernatural creatures with all these strange and powerful abilities. But mostly, they were just overwhelmed with bloodlust. Absolutely crazed and out of control.”

  Tiffany tried to envision what that would have looked like, been like, but it was hard. “What did they do? I mean, right after it happened?”

  Ramsey chuckled low in his throat. “Oh, they preyed on humans; they destroyed each other; and they died by the hundreds.”

  Tiffany glanced away, slowly shaking her head. What a statement. “I don’t completely understand. I mean, some of it is obvious, but… ” Her voice trailed off, and Ramsey shrugged.

  He glanced out the window and stared off into the distance, as if he was seeing the picture in his mind. “First, it depends on which house you’re talking about, Jadon’s or Jaegar’s, and you have to keep in mind: There were no formal houses back then, just half-crazed men—males—who had pledged their allegiance to one prince or the other. The followers of Jadon blamed Jaegar’s supporters for the Curse, and the followers of Jaegar blamed Jadon’s loyalists for the same. So it was pretty much open season.”

  Tiffany nodded. It made sense. She decided to ask about the house of Jaegar first, perhaps save the best for last. “Tell me about the Dark Ones then. What happened next… with them?”

  Ramsey blew out a short, derisive breath and rotated the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, using only his teeth. “The followers of Jaegar did four things pretty consistently: They murdered as many males from the house of Jadon as they could; they fed on humans, openly and indiscriminately, like the earth was an endless buffet table—which caused dozens of human vampire-hunting societies to emerge—they repeatedly burned in the sun because they forgot they were immune; and they reproduced like rabbits, raping human women with the ferocity of locusts devouring stalks in a field of grass. According to the history, Prince Jaegar wanted to wipe all of Prince Jadon’s progeny from the earth as quickly as possible, but his own followers were too crazed, too out of control to manage… or organize.”

  Tiffany shuddered all the way down to her toes. She rubbed her forehead in consternation and frowned. “So, what did the house of Jadon do? How did they survive?”

  Ramsey rolled his shoulders in a slow, languid stretch. “Well, as you know, both tribes were banished from their homeland, from our homeland, so they slowly migrated to North America—”

  “Why North America?” She immediately regretted this second interruption—she and Ramsey were not that familiar with each other, not by a long shot. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He smiled.

  And it was a genuine smile…

  “Well, I think part of it was the fact that the newly made vampires could fly, so they were able to travel the world in a way they had never done before, and they were drawn to the Rocky Mountains because of the vast similarities with the Transylvanian Alps. They were drawn to an isolated, mostly uninhabited continent. Not to mention, the wizard Fabien had already been here a time or two—think Ciopori and Vanya. I happen to believe the gods were already lining things up, knowing what the future would hold, making sure Marquis would one day be close to Ciopori. Basically, the followers of Jadon came first, and then Prince Jaegar’s loyalists followed.”

  Tiffany nodded, feeling herself drawn in by the history. “Whatever happened to the wizard Fabien?”

  Ramsey shrugged. “No one knows. Apparently, he took the princesses across the sea, placed them in an enchanted sleep to be awakened later by Prince Jadon, and no one ever heard from him again. Perhaps he traded his life for the power and magic he needed… nobody really knows.”

  “And the princes?” Tiffany asked. She just had to know. “Whatever happened to them?”

  Once again, Ramsey shrugged. “Same deal. Nobody knows for sure. Legend has it that they died in an epic battle back in Romania, that both warriors, both vampires, beheaded each other at the same exact moment, but no one has ever found their tombs.”

  Tiffany clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to wring out her hands, release some tension. “Shit,” she murmured. What else could she say? “And the house of Jadon? How did it survive?”

  Ramsey bit down on the toothpick, hard. “One word: Napolean.”

  Tiffany braced her palms on the edge of her seat, angling her body even further forward, riveted by the tale. “Napolean?”

  At this point, Ramsey pushed away from the wall, sauntered to the open armchair, and took a languorous seat. He placed both booted feet up on the ottoman and leaned back, once agai
n crossing his arms in front of his chest. “When Jadon’s followers first got to North America, they were dealing with all the same crap as the house of Jaegar—they were also consumed by bloodlust and learning how to feed for the first time without inflicting wholesale slaughter, and while many of the males came directly to the Rocky Mountains, a lot more scattered from one end of the continent to the other. Over time, as more and more humans migrated to the New World, they also attracted and encouraged human vampire-hunting societies here. Since the house of Jadon’s males had to wait on their destinies”—he eyed her meaningfully—“they reproduced a lot more slowly, and a lot of males were taken by the Blood for failing to complete the requirements of their Blood Moons.” He placed one ankle on top of the other. “Luckily, they—we—had the sun and Napolean, a time to regroup when the Dark Ones couldn’t hunt us, and a leader who would step forward and rebuild all that was once right with the ancient civilization, a leader who knew what that civilization once looked like.”

  Tiffany twirled her fingers through her hair, tugging on several strands behind her ear, enraptured by the story. “So, how did you end up here… together… all in Dark Moon Vale? And what did Napolean do?”

  Ramsey’s eyes lit up with both recognition and respect, and for the first time, Tiffany got a glimpse of why the powerful sentinel served the king with so much loyalty. “The numbers of first-generation males in both houses, the followers of Jaegar and the followers of Jadon, had dwindled down from thousands to hundreds, maybe even less, when Napolean took it upon himself to try and save our civilization. Rumor has it, he was partially influenced by one of the Silivasis’ ancestors after his own father died, and when that male passed away, he got real serious about reinventing the wheel: Apparently, he had made some sort of vow to this guy, Timaos. Anyhow, he slowly began to gather the males from one end of the mainland to the other, relocating them in one central place. He started to compile information, keep track of what worked and what didn’t, what we needed to exist as a self-contained civilization in a new world, and he began to envision a cohesive society where we could function as vampires while still remaining true to our celestial origins. In short, he invented the house of Jadon. He drafted the laws and the covenants. He had the best warriors train the others, and ultimately, he went back to Romania, to the original castle of King Sakarias, to set up the University. While we weren’t allowed to live there, there was nothing in the Curse prohibiting us from going back and forth, as long as we didn’t stay, reestablish our community in Europe. Basically, he saved our species from imminent extinction by carving out a way for us to live, a place for us to thrive, and a code of honor to live by.” He paused, as if wondering how much detail he should go into. “You may have noticed that there are a helluva lot more warriors than wizards, healers, or justices in Dark Moon Vale, right?”