Blood Father (Blood Curse Series)

by Tessa Dawn

  Nachari let out a deep breath of air, but he held his tongue.

  Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath and then mumbled, “Depending upon his mood?” He sounded mildly insulted.

  And Kagen bit a hole through his tongue out of respect for his older brother: Marquis had no intention of harming Arielle—he was simply making a point—but he was also treading on very thin ice where this female was concerned. No one was going to threaten Arielle Nightsong.

  No one.

  Walker, on the other hand, jumped to his feet in an impulsive display of outrage. “What the hell does he mean, Kagen may have claimed you as his own?” His eyes bored holes into Arielle’s. “Answer me, Arielle! What the hell does that mean?”

  Arielle’s mouth flew open, and she immediately turned to gape at Kagen. “It’s not like it sounds, Walker. That’s not even possible. It just means—”

  “It means,” Kagen cut her off, “that you don’t get to put your hands on her anymore.” He was so focused on making his point, so focused on not losing his temper and plucking the male’s head from his shoulders like a ripe banana from a tree, that he took several unwitting strides in Walker’s direction, not bothering to go around the fire pit in order to get there.

  As hot flames licked at the hem of his pants, instantly igniting the flammable material, Kagen continued to advance toward the human. His eyes were as heated as the blaze—he had no doubt they were glowing feral red—and his fangs began to descend even further from his gums, the roots throbbing with the need to draw fresh, human blood.

  thirteen

  “Brother,” Nathaniel drawled in his usual silken voice. “Your pants are on fire.”

  Kagen heard Nathaniel’s voice as if from a distance, but the words didn’t register…at first. And then he glanced down at his pants.

  Noticing the orange and yellow flames wrapped about his ankles, he blew several shards of frosty air over the nuisance and continued along his path, not bothering to stop until he stood nose to nose with the human. Well, more like nose to chest, as Walker was considerably shorter than Kagen.

  The fire went out in an instant.

  Clearly stunned by the obscene display of power, Walker took an unwitting step back, his eyes as wide as saucers. “I was speaking to Arielle,” he said defiantly, despite the quiver in his voice.

  Kagen smiled broadly, but if looks could have killed, Walker would have already been six feet under. He reached out, grasped Walker by the nape of his thin, pale neck, and slowly tugged him forward. The human’s resistance was like that of a child’s: paltry, faint, and insignificant. As the thrum of Walker’s heartbeat pulsed in Kagen’s ears, and the blood in the rebel’s carotid artery swirled like water cascading through a fountain, Kagen slowly bent his head to the human’s throat and his mouth began to salivate.

  He struck with fierce precision and primal hunger, his fangs sinking deep, his lips forming an implacable seal over the wound, and he began to draw blood through the narrow openings in his canines. As a deep, guttural moan escaped his throat, he swirled the viscous fluid around his mouth, allowing it to pool on the back of his tongue, before taking the first robust swallow.

  And then he bit down harder and drank like a demon possessed.

  Walker trembled beneath him, and his lean body convulsed in a natural reaction to those first acute moments, caught in the vampire’s control. His left arm dropped to his side, still clutching his useless battle-axe, even as he pressed his right hand squarely against Kagen’s chest and tried to shove him away.

  Kagen didn’t budge.

  He sent a scorching pulse of heat through his fangs, searing the male’s skin with his bite and causing him to cry out in agony, even as he continued to take his due. His prey would submit like the inferior being he was: Walker would yield to Kagen’s command, willingly, even if he commanded him to die.

  When, at last, the final remnants of resistance drained out of Walker’s body—he still had enough blood left to live, but his will had been utterly dominated—Kagen withdrew his fangs, left the wound open, unsealed, and watched as blood trickled down the human’s neck in two snaking rivulets of red.

  Kagen took a measured step back.

  And the only thing that stopped him from reaching out and crushing the defiant rebel’s windpipe with one powerful flex of his hand was the fact that Arielle was watching, no doubt in utter horror. “Tell me, Walker Alencion…” Kagen spoke in a lethal purr. “Which of these three options do you prefer? Death, quick and clean; to live your life as a vegetable; or to lose so much of your mental capacity that you don’t know the difference either way?”

  Walker blanched, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat, betraying both fear and revulsion.

  “Choose,” Kagen snarled. His voice was an imperious command. “Now.”

  “Death,” Walker uttered helplessly, clearly appalled that he had answered such a debasing question.

  “Kagen!” Arielle cried from the back of the cave; her voice was hoarse with desperation. “Please… Please don’t.”

  Ignoring the female’s plea, Kagen nodded frankly at Walker. “Very well.” He lowered his voice so that only Walker, and likely his brothers, could hear him. “Up until now, you have not crossed the line, but you are wrestling with the decision. When the time comes, if the time comes, and you make the decision you are considering, to take Arielle by force, you will take this battle-axe instead”—he tapped the smooth, wooden handle several times for effect, never losing eye contact with the human—“and you will lodge it deeply into your own skull.” He tapped Walker on the forehead, right between his eyes. “Right here. At least three inches deep.”

  Walker gazed down at the battle-axe and began to tremble. Clearly, he knew enough about vampires to realize he couldn’t resist a direct order, a psychic compulsion.

  “Now give me your word,” Kagen said. The command had been laced in vampiric coercion—Walker could no more disobey the order than he could choose to stop breathing or shaking in his boots. And that meant if he ever chose to violate Arielle, he would commit certain suicide instead.

  Walker choked out his reply. “You have my word.” The syllables came out stilted, rote, and robotic; yet he meant each one to the depths of his soul. It was one promise the rebel would keep.

  “Good,” Kagen replied, his own voice barely audible. “Now then, speak to her one more time this night, and I will end this tiresome game once and for all.”

  Walker’s eyes literally bulged in their sockets. He nodded like a dolt, lowered his body to the ground in an act of spineless submission, and drew his knees to his chest. Then he stared into the fire like a snake charmed into a trance.

  Kagen took a deep breath, reined in his temper, and returned to his place behind Neil. For the briefest of moments his eyes met Arielle’s, and he knew that she found him repulsive. Her cheeks were drawn tight with terror; her lips were pursed together in fury; and her overall countenance was stricken, shocked, and appalled. But it just didn’t matter.

  Marquis was right.

  They were there for one solitary purpose, and that was to bring their father home. The rest was incidental. “I believe my brothers have some questions for all of you,” he said, making fleeting eye contact with each remaining member of the group, one at a time. The implied threat hovered in the air like a low-lying cloud, thick, tangible, and impossible to miss. “Now that Walker has decided to behave, shall we all continue?”

  Neil Potter, the man sitting on the floor beneath Kagen, peered behind his shoulder and raised his hawkish eyes. He clasped his palm absently over his neck, unconsciously shielding his own exposed artery, and his gaze was absent of challenge. Kagen met his stare head-on, and Neil quickly turned away. He clutched his dual daggers in his hands, as if for reassurance, but he didn’t brandish them in a threatening manner. “What would you like to know?” he said, turning his gaze to Marquis. His voice only trembled slightly.

  Marquis squared his massive
shoulders toward the group. “Tell us all you know about Tyrus Thane and the organization of the lycans.”

  Nathaniel descended into a squatting position, so that when he spoke, his voice reverberated in Walker’s ear, even as it carried to the rest of the group. “We already know the layout of the Royal District and the slave encampment from the information Arielle has shared with us, but what we’d like to know from you is the efficacy of past strategies: raids, rescues, and forced retreats.” He began to gesture with his hands. “Assuming your resistance has prevailed from time to time, what do you perceive as the king’s greatest weakness? And what are his implacable strengths? Tell us about his alpha generals.”

  “When and where do they patrol, when and where do they rest, when and where do they take a shit,” Marquis clarified.

  Nachari spoke up next. His voice was characteristically moderate, but it still held an iron resolve in its depths. “If any man here has intimate knowledge of the arena, then we need that information, too. Not just a description, but an accurate underground blueprint—can one of you draw this?”

  Although terrified, the rebels waited quietly.

  Apparently, they assumed the vampires were going to ask more questions, and not one dared to interrupt.

  When the cave remained quiet for more than a few seconds, Neil was the first to speak up. “I can tell you all about the generals,” he said, his keen eyes narrowing with focus. “I can even draw you a map of the arena, the seven tunnels underneath, and the passageway that leads to the animal compound, where they keep the beasts.”

  “Good,” Marquis grunted in approval. “Nachari, get a pen and some paper.”

  The wizard was already on top of it, heading for his pack.

  “I know a thing or two about how they run the slave encampment,” Echo offered grudgingly. Apparently the hot-headed rebel had made a wise set of calculations: Living was better than dying, and if the vampires were willing to cull their enemy’s numbers, then why not let them. “Schedules, routines, weaponry—that sort of thing,” he added.

  “Do tell, wolverine,” Nathaniel purred, rising back to his full height and winking at the male.

  Echo stirred uneasily. “What does that mean, vampire?” His courage was impressive, however ill-advised.

  Nathaniel chuckled low in his throat. “Oh, I think you know, deep down inside. I think your sense of smell and your ability to track vampires simply by sniffing the air speaks volumes about your mixed heritage, human.” Before the angry young man could object, Nathaniel added, “And there is no greater asset for a warrior to have than inside knowledge of his enemy. It doesn’t make you one of them—it simply makes you better equipped to confront them. Use it, soldier. Share it this night, and we may all benefit from your lineage, however distant.”

  Kade shifted nervously against the ground, rocking forward onto one knee. “As the oldest member of the resistance, I know the military history of Mhier like the back of my hand.” His voice was steady and deliberate. “I can tell you what military tactics have succeeded and failed in the past. I can even tell you the strategies the lycans have chosen to employ over time against various enemies…against their own kind. What they might be likely to do in the future.”

  “We would welcome that information,” Kagen said graciously, no longer feeling the need to intimidate the visitors. Apparently, the point had been made. He turned to regard Arielle once more, hoping she could see that, while his and her tactics may have been at odds, their goals were in harmony; and on two points, they were unified: They both hated the lycans with a passion, and they both wanted to see Keitaro get out of Mhier alive. The Silivasis would not do anything to her friends, to her rebel family, that they didn’t have to do in order to achieve that goal. “Will you join us?” he asked, holding out his hand in an offer of friendship, however undesired. He avoided making any reference to what had just happened with Walker, as he knew it would only push her further away: The male was still staring blankly into the fire; and truth be told, Kagen’s compulsion had been so strong, so invasive, that it had probably burned out a section of the human’s brain. The rebel was incapable of participating in the conversation in a meaningful way at this juncture. Perhaps tomorrow, he would be in better shape, when it no longer mattered.

  Kagen dismissed the thought.

  He wasn’t going to dwell on it.

  He had done what he had to do in order to protect Arielle, to see to her safety amongst the rebels long after he and his brothers were gone.

  For a moment, the thought unsettled him, and he had to put it out of his mind: The last thing he wanted to think about was that unconscionable moment when the Silivasis would have to leave Arielle Nightsong behind…in Mhier. “Miss Nightsong?” He repeated his request.

  Arielle glanced cautiously around the room. She swallowed hard—perhaps she was swallowing her anger or her pride—and then she slowly nodded. She took several unconscious steps in Walker’s direction, a behavior most likely born out of habit and misguided trust, and then she stopped abruptly and quickly turned around. “Sorry,” she whispered. She strode deliberately to Kagen’s side and took a seat at his right, avoiding any further eye contact.

  As the warriors began to speak once more, she leaned in toward the fire to listen, and then, when it was clear that everyone was focused intently on the conversation, she risked a glance at Kagen through the corner of her eye. “When this is all over,” she whispered, ostensibly believing only he could hear her, “will you feed from me and scrub my memories as well? After all, I’m just an inferior human.”

  Kagen’s heart constricted in his chest, and his airway felt suddenly tight. He took a moment to steady his composure, and then he reached out and took her hand. He rotated his thumb against the center of her palm in an absent, reassuring motion. “No, sweeting.” With his free hand, he gestured toward the circle of men in general—and Walker, specifically—speaking with conviction. “This is only a means to an end, Arielle.” He raised her wrist to his lips and slowly lowered his head to press a soft kiss over her radial artery. “But you? You are much, much more than that to me.” His eyes swept over her hair, her face, her strong yet elegant shoulders. “So much more than you know.”

  Arielle stared at him blankly as if at a loss for words. Her face grew impassive, and she closed her shadowed eyes. “Why?” she whispered softly, even as she withdrew her hand and placed it neatly in her lap.

  Kagen shrugged, wishing he had the answer she was looking for. “Why, indeed.” He spoke with regret. “My heart is far more vulnerable in your hands than these rebels, here, are vulnerable in our presence.”

  And then he repeated the question once more to himself:

  Why…indeed?

  Arielle tried to listen to the warriors’ words, to the rebels and the vampires alike, as they exchanged vital information. After all, it was critical to the success of their mission, critical to saving Keitaro—if, in fact, he could be saved. But her heart was beating too loudly in her chest; her throat was far too constricted; and the skin on her wrist, where Kagen had pressed that soft, gentle kiss, would not stop tingling.

  Her mind would not stop wandering.

  Time and time again, her attention came back to the impossible male sitting so closely beside her: the vampire who had insisted upon her compliance, while trying to offer her friendship; the creature who had subjugated Walker with the strength of a lion and the cruelty of a tyrant, while speaking to her in a voice full of compassion; the man who walked through fire, yet wore his heart on his sleeve, who professed vulnerability…as if anything could lessen his power.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Kagen Silivasi—Keitaro’s healer son—and those mesmerizing, penetrating eyes. And, truth be told, a part of her wanted to jump up and run, to do something so blatant and unforgiveable that he would be forced to see her as an enemy.

  To abandon their unified cause.

  And it wasn’t because she no longer cared about Keitaro—she cared mo
re than she could ever say—but a part of her was just so afraid of everything.

  Of all of it.

  Of Kagen.

  And she wanted him to cast her away, to send her home with the other rebels when the vampires were finally through with them. Still, she didn’t dare provoke him, and that was the greatest enigma of all: Why couldn’t she just simply oppose him and be done with it?

  Arielle sighed in confusion. She stared into the fire, noticing the haphazard way the flames flickered and cascaded about in the dimly lit atmosphere of the cave, the way it dipped, danced, and inevitably cast shadows against the craggy earthen walls, and she bit her bottom lip, considering her predicament. In the interest of being completely honest, she had to admit there was something else going on, that a part of her soul, however remote, was inexplicably drawn to the vampire’s intensity and his feral, carnal need.

  A spark flew up from the center of the flames, sizzled a bright, glowing red, and then it popped like a piece of corn, before plummeting back into the dancing flames. She rubbed her hands together anxiously. On one hand, the vampire made statements he couldn’t possibly mean—even Arielle knew that every male in the house of Jadon had a destiny, just one destiny, and they didn’t go about claiming random human women in a careless, arbitrary manner. Heck, the celestial gods themselves had to decree their pairings.

  So whatever was happening to Kagen Silivasi—whatever was happening between her and Kagen Silivasi—was something entirely forbidden.

  Something illicit and unnatural.

  And it didn’t make any sense.

  Perhaps he did harbor a dark alter ego, after all.

  She only knew that the more possessive he became, the more she felt like a trapped animal. The more he ordered her about, the more she felt like opposing his will. And the more he stared at her with those eyes, the more he touched her with those hands, the more she felt like drowning in his arms, giving in to his contradictory, infuriating nature, and allowing it to take her where it may.