by Tessa Dawn
They both knew that Braden Bratianu—bless his little human-turned-vampire heart—would have been strung up in a tree somewhere. And that would have been the best possible outcome.
Nachari dropped the head, held his hands out level to the ground, and closed his eyes...then frowned. “Unless his mother named him Bruce Lee, aka, Doc Holiday, Marquis didn’t know him, either.”
Nathaniel chuckled then. “Marquis always did enjoy his battles.” Although clearly, this had been more of a slaughter.
Nachari kicked at some metal. “He ruined some really nice bikes, though. My guess is that Dirk’s riding buddies decided to come lend a hand.”
Nathaniel winced. “Poor souls. Are you getting anything else?”
Nachari closed his eyes again, held out his hands, and made a funny face.
“What?” Nathaniel asked.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Nachari looked annoyed then. “Trust me, it’s nothing.”
“Nachari...”
Nathaniel pulled rank with the mere tone of his voice, eliciting a harsh glare from the young wizard. Even though Nachari had recently earned the title of Master for his four-hundred years of study at the Romanian University, Nathaniel was both a Master and an Ancient. And he was also Nachari’s elder—which meant that if Nathaniel decided to exercise his rights by hierarchy, Nachari had to answer, whether he wanted to or not.
Nachari threw up his hands. “You are so completely inappropriate, brother. You know that?”
Nathaniel chuckled. “Perhaps. Never-the-less, I’m waiting?”
“The Star-Spangled Banner,” Nachari snapped. “That’s what I’m getting.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Nathaniel growled then. “I think you need to go back to school for a while, little brother. Your divination could use some work.”
Nachari flipped him off. After several minutes had passed, he swept his hand over the yard and asked, “So, what do you want to do with all of this, elder?”
Nathaniel stood up and eyed the mess. Then he turned to look at the porch again. “Ah, hell...Marquis is going to have his hands full for a while. Let’s incinerate the bodies and move the remaining garbage back to the shed until we can send someone to haul it off.”
Nachari nodded, and then he hefted up two mangled Harleys, one in each hand. He released his spectacular black-and-emerald wings and flew to the shed with such amazing speed that the metal in his arms left a buzz in the air like a small jet flying overhead.
Nathaniel made quick work of incinerating the bodies. Although he couldn’t gather molten red fireballs the size of boulders in his hands like Marquis, he had no problem generating fire or lightning from his fingers, and the scalding heat left nothing behind, not even teeth.
Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate on the connection all Vampyr—whether light or dark—had with the earth: the power of union through emotion. He concentrated on a light rainstorm, just enough to wash away the smoke and ash, to cleanse the scent of death from the air, and tried to visualize the feelings connected to the phenomenon: gray …wet… contentment. Cleansing.
He pictured Jocelyn giving Storm a bath and allowed the simple emotion to swell within him until the earth responded to the focused intention and began to create matching clouds and moisture, at last, letting loose a gentle rain.
Nachari materialized at his side. “The rest of the yard is clean.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Good.”
He turned to look at the couple on the porch. Kristina was awake now, her eyes as wide as saucers, a look of pain so intense etched on her face that Nathaniel had to turn away, stunned that she wasn’t crying out. He cloaked his appearance so that she wouldn’t see him, not wanting her to believe that he could be so callous as to refuse to help her when, in actuality, there was nothing he could do. Not without endangering both her and Marquis’s lives.
“What must she have done to provoke him like that?” Nachari asked. “To make him go that far?” The wizard immediately cloaked his own appearance as well.
Nathaniel just shook his head. “I’m not sure, but something is really wrong here.”
Nachari nodded. “I agree.”
Kagen Silivasi’s voice resounded loud and clear on a common family bandwidth that both brothers could hear: Are you two going to stay and watch over him through the night—at least until he finishes the conversion?
We could, Nathaniel offered, responding quickly to his twin.
Kagen’s voice was congenial. Go home to your wife, brother; I will come and stay with Nachari in your stead. Nachari, is that all right with you?
Before either of them could answer, Marquis drew back his lips and let out a snarl so menacing that it shook the leaves on the trees and hung in the air like electricity. His next growl was even louder and more feral.
I don’t think he wants us here, Nachari said, pointing out the obvious.
Agreed, Nathaniel retorted. And the last thing we need to do is rile him up with Kristina lying in his arms.
Kagen sighed. Wow…this has been one crazy night, hasn’t it? What in the hell were the gods thinking…to do this to him?
A third growl ripped through the night, and the earth beneath them began to shake.
I’m out, Nachari said, unwilling to ignore any further warnings. He bowed his head slightly to Nathaniel. Be well, my brother. Catch you later, Kagen. And then he dematerialized.
Kagen sighed as he addressed Nathaniel. Call me if you need me, my twin.
Nathaniel didn’t respond, although he knew his silence was easily understood.
He turned one last time to regard his Ancient brother and just shook his head: Indeed, why had the gods been so cruel? It wasn’t just that Kristina was a mere child, or that the two of them were about as compatible as oil and water; it was the fact that no one had served the house of Jadon more valiantly over the centuries than Marquis. The warrior had lived for his family, for his people, and for the earth. Yes, he was rigid, and even difficult to get along with sometimes, but underneath all of it was a fierce love and protectiveness.
A love that had only been returned with loss.
His feelings for the princess, Ciopori, were no secret. Hell, the energy between them was palpable, and the Silivasi brothers were far too close to evade one another in matters of such deep emotion.
It just didn’t make sense.
And after all that had happened with Shelby and Dalia...
With Joelle...
So much loss.
Nathaniel was not at all sure that Marquis was going to make it through this with his usually impenetrable grit and endurance. He had lived so long. He had waited so long. He had seen so much tragedy.
His brother deserved more: He deserved better.
Heck, Kristina deserved better than this union as well.
Letting out a deep breath of frustration, Nathaniel placed a shield of comforting energy around the two beings on the porch and said a silent prayer to the gods, beseeching them to bless and watch over his beloved older brother.
Be well, Marquis, he whispered in his mind, and then just like Nachari, he faded away.
ten
Ciopori woke up in a cold sweat, the image in her mind too incredible to be real.
Marquis was sitting on the front porch of his beautiful, farm-style home with both of his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Kristina, his mouth latched firmly on her throat. His eyes were the color of dark rubies, and his brow was etched with exhaustion. The look on Kristina’s face was one of shock and agony. Utter despair. And they had been like that for hours.
Marquis was converting Kristina. Bringing her into his world against her will. And what was done could never be reversed.
Ciopori sank back into a large, fluffy pillow in the lavish, guest bedchamber at Napolean’s manse. She rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the disturbing image from her mind, her heart still racing like it wanted to leap out of he
r chest.
Was this to be her fate, then?
To continue to see Marquis in her dreams for the remainder of her life...with another woman? If so, then she couldn’t bear the thought of falling back asleep.
Ciopori threw back the covers and sat up once again; this time, tears ran down her cheeks. How could the gods be so cruel? For over two-thousand years she had lain in a suspended state of animation—neither dead nor alive—with nothing to sustain her outside of her dreams. Dreams of a dark, handsome lover who had worshipped her, waited for her, existed for her from the moment he was born.
The instant she had looked into Marquis’s dark eyes, she had remembered everything about him: his masculine scent, the timbre of his voice, the feel of his touch…the familiar, steady beat of his heart. They had already shared eternities together, and great celestial gods, when they had made love, the earth had stood still as if no one and nothing existed outside of the two of them.
Ciopori stood up and shrugged into the long, silk robe that was lying on the edge of the bed. She had to get out of there. Quietly opening the door to the veranda, she stepped into the brisk night air and looked down at the ground. She might not be able to materialize and dematerialize like the Vampyr, but she could move herself small distances with magic. “Ancestors, Great Ones, I humbly beseech you...
Beneath the stars and moonlit sky,
the gentle breeze that passes by—
Beyond the threshold of this door,
place now my feet on nature’s floor.”
All at once her feet touched down on the cool damp earth, and she sighed. It wasn’t as if she was tired anyhow. She had only gone to bed as a means of escape: to quiet her thoughts of Marquis and Kristina. It was a pitiful attempt at buying a moment’s peace.
Peace.
What was peace anyway?
Ciopori began to wander into the forest, hoping to get lost in the giant pines. Did she really believe she would ever know peace again? Without her parents, her brothers, her familiar civilization? Without Marquis? Why had the gods even allowed her to awaken?
She wiped her eyes as she continued to wander, flashing back to that fateful night that had changed everything, when her brother Jadon had shaken her awake in the middle of the night.
“Sister! Sister! You must wake up; we haven’t much time!”
Ciopori shot up from her sleep, her heart racing in her chest. “What troubles you, brother? Why are you here?” She looked around the large, stone chamber searching for her sister. “Where is Vanya?” The panic in her voice rose quickly. “Vanya!”
“Shh!” Jadon placed a firm hand over her mouth. “You mustn’t make a sound, Ciopori. Vanya is just outside in the hall with my men. We must make haste. Please, heed my warning. You must leave Romania at once!”
Ciopori climbed out of bed, disoriented and confused, reaching out to accept the simple blue gown Jadon extended to her.
“Dress quickly.” He turned around, his pitch-black hair shimmering in the reflection of torchlight from the walls. His body shook with urgency...and fear.
“What has happened, Jadon?” she asked, as her fingers fumbled to clasp the dozens of buttons on her bodice.
Jadon hung his head, and the chamber became deathly quiet.
“Jadon?”
“Please…just hurry, sister.”
“Jadon, what has happened?”
He cleared his throat, obviously gathering courage. “You and Vanya are no longer safe.”
Ciopori inhaled sharply, her throat suddenly constricting. “What do you mean—no longer safe? How...how is that possible? We are...the monarchy.”
Jadon turned around then and simply shook his head. “No, you are the only remaining females. Virgin daughters of the King. The most valued sacrifice of all.”
Ciopori clasped her hand over her heart and tried to ease her trembling. “Yes...” She swallowed hard. “But…you and Jaegar...the men respect you; they obey you. They dare not take us without your consent.”
Jadon’s eyes bored into hers, the truth revealed before he could speak it.
“No!” Ciopori cried, taking a step back. “Jadon!” Her voice was racked with sobs. “Tell me it isn’t so.”
Jadon shut his eyes. “It is Jaegar who leads the men to the castle.” He shook his head. “My loyalists are few, but they would die for me. They are willing to die for you, but we must get you out of Romania if we are to have any chance at all—there are not enough of us to fight Jaegar’s men. He commands the whole of our father’s army.”
Ciopori staggered back. Dear gods, she and Vanya were to be sacrificed along with the others! Captured like common criminals—murderers and thieves—made to kneel before the executioner’s stone with their hands manacled to the sides, their heads turned to face the east, the direction of newness and rebirth. They would be held down against the cold, rough surface as the men chanted and cursed—and slit their jugulars—causing them to bleed out over the stone, spilling rivers of torment onto the barren ground.
And as they lay there dying, the remaining vestiges of their lives pouring out upon the crimson earth, the high-priest and her brother Jaegar would drink the first of their spilled blood.
Ciopori clutched Jadon’s arms, finding it hard to breathe. “Oh gods, Jadon! Do not let us die like that.”
Jadon’s eyes glazed over, but he squared his chin with defiance, his shoulders held firm with resolve. “Never, Ciopori. You have my solemn vow.”
Ciopori caught her brother by his strong, angular chin and turned his head to meet her gaze. By all the gods, her brother was as handsome as he was kind. “Tell me, do you carry your blade?”
Jadon declined his head in the proud manner of the aristocracy.
“Then promise me: Should Jaegar find us before we reach safety, you will take our lives, yourself, with honor.”
Jadon recoiled. Then he grabbed his sister by the arm and gave it a hard tug. “It won’t come to that, Ciopori. Come now. We must hurry!”
All at once the chamber lit up with an eerie glow from a powerful bolt of lightning. A piercing clash of thunder shook the castle walls. The whole world seemed to be coming apart. “Promise me, Jadon. Swear it. Now!”
Jadon looked incredulous.
Lost.
Horrified.
His deep, sad eyes dimmed before her gaze, and his words were a mere whisper. “I promise.”
She watched him finger the hilt of his blade and knew that he was imagining the act he would have to perform, making certain he could carry out his vow. Retrieving a torch from a sconce on the wall, he ushered her out of the chamber.
Ciopori stood quietly, staring up at the moon from beneath the small clearing she had wandered to in the forest. The memory of that night would never leave her. The sting of Jaegar’s betrayal would always be fresh. The grief never far behind.
She had thought that nothing under the sun could ever hurt her worse, but she had been wrong. The gods were crueler than Jaegar had ever been. At least with Jaegar, there would have been an end to her suffering.
With Marquis now bound to Kristina, her anguish had only just begun.
Ciopori put her face in her hands and wept.
Salvatore could not believe his good fortune. He had to blink several times to convince himself that he was actually seeing what he thought he was: the princess Ciopori—one of the original celestial females—standing all alone under the night sky, less than a mile from Napolean’s compound, with absolutely no escort or protection.
Incredible!
A wicked laugh rose up from his throat and echoed through the night. His appearance already cloaked, he landed noiselessly just beyond the clearing in a thick grove of trees and crouched low into the stance of a predator.
His taut, lean muscles rippled as he moved, the thrill of the hunt rising with every step he took toward his unsuspecting prey. His feet glided over the ground with graceful ease, his eyes never straying from his quarry. She was weeping. And completely unaw
are of her surroundings.
Completely unaware of him.
Now, less than ten feet away, he crouched even lower, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, his powerful arms dropping to his side. His body twitched as he readied himself to spring.
Dark Lords, what a prize she would be.
As a princess and a woman.
His shaft hardened at the mere thought of touching her, taking her, the sweet taste of her royal blood. But he would have to be careful: This woman was a rare artifact, and one of great significance to the sons of Jaegar. The possibilities were endless. Too much was unknown to simply use her to feed...or breed...to risk killing her prematurely in the process.
No, he would need to consult the Darkness. Study the Blood Canon—the ancient book of black magic. Princess Ciopori might very well be the bridge to a new future for his kind. Lord Jaegar’s very own sister!
Not wanting to waste another fortuitous second, Salvatore sprang into action like the dark predator he was, grasping the princess by the waist, covering her mouth with his hand, and pulling her tight against his chest before she even registered his presence. His body shook from arousal—the scent and feel of a celestial female in his arms—and his fangs exploded in his mouth as he took to the skies, hefting her like she was no more than a feather in his arms.
A golden celestial feather from the time of antiquity.
Ciopori shook from head to toe. Her mind spun with confusion. As she soared across the sky at unbelievable speeds, her stomach turned over, and she fought the urge to vomit. She looked beneath her and eyed the distant ground. Dear gods, she was going to die.
Instinctively, she clutched at the neck of the male that held her, her arms encircling his broad shoulders in a death grip, and then a feeling of unbelievable darkness swept through her. The feel of his cold flesh against her hands made her skin crawl, and the air suddenly became dense. It was hard to breathe. Something was missing in his soul. She was in the presence of…evil.
Without thought or deliberation, Ciopori recoiled from the darkness, drawing back her arms and pushing hard against his chest. Caught off-guard by her reaction, he loosened his grip, and she tumbled out of his arms.