Blood Web

by Tessa Dawn

  Keitaro’s heart constricted in his chest. “Zayda, no one here is comparing your worth to Arielle’s.”

  Marquis Silivasi turned his back, and Keitaro knew he was biting back a calloused retort. Son, he spoke telepathically. Do not. The female is already terrified enough.

  Marquis grunted so that all could hear, but he answered his father on the private, family bandwidth: I know that you are invested in this female, and I know that you wish to see her unharmed. But we are vampires, one and all, and blood is thicker than water. Blood is life. Blood is honor. It is everything we hold dear. If we can save Zayda, we must, but none of us will trade Kagen’s mate, the daughter of your heart—and now of your blood—for a half-human, half-Lycan girl. The very prospect is unthinkable.

  The fact that Nathaniel, Nachari, and Kagen remained silent told Keitaro all he needed to know—his sons would go to war for Zayda; they would go to war to honor and serve their father; but their loyalty between the females was squarely with Arielle. He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. So be it. He had raised the boys to put family first, to be loyal to one another unto death.

  “Zayda,” he spoke aloud, “you are right; we cannot make any absolute promises. This thing we’re about to do is full of untold risks, but you do remember the plan, correct? You do know that it could work out?”

  The slight, wild-haired female nodded slowly, displaying all the courage her frail frame could muster. “Yes, I remember,” she whispered. And then she raised her chin. “I can swim. Very well. Like a fish. So, the moment I am lowered to the bottom of the well, the moment I see Miss Arielle, I am to dive down into the water and swim toward the earth…keep going…keep swimming…keep diving as deep as I can go.”

  “Yes,” Keitaro said. “From what Nachari explained about the portal my sons once opened—the energetic nature of the previous door—it would be difficult for any opening to encompass the entirety of the well. It may not function as easily under water; and Xavier will only have a fraction of time. You are half-human, so I can read your thoughts. You must signal me in your mind the moment you see Arielle—and prior to midnight, I will also ingest your blood so I can track you anywhere in that well. Marquis and Nathaniel will be hiding underground, albeit several miles away. Nonetheless, they can tunnel very quickly to the bottom of the well and pull you out from beneath the earth’s clay.

  “Nachari will be as close as possible in the form of a panther, and Kagen won’t be far away from the wizard, should any other lycans show up. Indeed, Napolean Mondragon, our venerable king, will be tuned in and waiting, following events…ready to travel through space and time in an instant. If Xavier doesn’t come alone, all bets are off.” He paused to collect his thoughts and to say a silent prayer—they would need one. “I swear on my honor as a warrior in the house of Jadon, we will do all in our power to keep you here in Dark Moon Vale, to return in the morning with both you and Arielle.”

  Zayda smiled weakly, trying to appear as brave as she could, and all four of Keitaro’s sons regarded her with compassion, if not a hint of pity…as well as respect.

  “I can traverse three miles underground in sixty seconds, Zayda,” Nathaniel said in a soothing yet authoritative voice.

  “And I can keep you breathing with magic,” Nachari offered. “Even under water. Even underground. Do not forget the technique we practiced—you can trust me to remain in control.”

  “It will not take my father another five minutes to draw Arielle up from the well,” Marquis added. “If she’s in that harness, he’ll have her in less than five seconds. The moment you dive down into the water, we will be on our way to retrieve you.”

  Kagen was hard-pressed to say anything reassuring to Zayda—or anyone else. He was far too concerned about his mate. Just the same, he made a valiant effort to join his brothers and at least honor the girl’s bravery. “If there was anything else we could do for you, Zayda, I hope you know that we would…” His voice trailed off as he considered the ominous statement and made a piteous attempt to repair it. “If nothing else, please know: We appreciate your bravery and your willingness to give up your freedom, more than words can express.”

  Okay, so that probably wasn’t helpful, Keitaro thought.

  In fact, that definitely wasn’t helpful.

  At all.

  But all things considered, Keitaro understood—his son was doing the best that he could.

  Zayda linked her hands in front of her and twiddled her thumbs like a little girl, looking wretchedly vulnerable and hopelessly lost. She batted her impossibly long lashes, trying to hide the tears that were gathering in her luminous, silver-blue eyes. And then true to her open, often unrestrained nature, she blurted, “If this is to be my last night in Dark Moon Vale, my last night of freedom—or maybe even my last night alive—perhaps your father will have pity on me and take me to his bed.”

  Both Nachari and Kagen visibly recoiled: the former barking a harsh, feline cough; the latter covering his mouth with his hand in a failed attempt to hide his disgust.

  Nathaniel just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

  “What the hell!” Marquis bellowed, staring angrily at Keitaro. “Fifty freakin’ faces of Zayda! Dad?” He posed the last word as an incredulous question. “You wouldn’t…you haven’t…what the actual—”

  “Marquis!” Keitaro held up his hand. “Warrior…son…stop! Now.” He shook his head sternly before turning to face the guileless female. “Zayda, that’s not appropriate, and either way, it’s a private conversation.” He pressed a finger to his lips as if silencing a child, and then he turned his attention back to his sons. “We meet back here tonight at eleven. Until then, ask the celestial gods for their assistance…and their mercy. Ask Lord Auriga, The Charioteer, to watch over his daughter, Arielle.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Braden Bratianu stepped out onto the front porch of Nachari and Deanna’s brownstone. “Hey, Red,” he greeted Kristina Riley-Silivasi.

  She held up a slender, well-manicured hand in protest. “Stop. Just don’t.”

  Braden frowned. Stop? Just don’t?

  Kristina didn’t want him to say…hello?

  She ran an anxious hand through her curly red locks, the bracelet Braden had given her about a month ago—a sleek platinum band peppered with onyx and ruby gemstones, jewels he had crafted with his own two hands—catching the noonday light of the sun and shimmering. “Is she still here?”

  Braden sighed. Ah, so that was it. “Of course.” He tried to keep his tone neutral, if not indifferent.

  Kristina nodded curtly, then crossed her hands over her chest in a blatantly defensive posture. “And have you figured out why?”

  “Why what?” Braden scrunched up his nose.

  “Seriously?” Kristina asked. “Never mind.” She turned on her heel and started to stomp off the porch, heading in the direction of her pink Corvette.

  “Whoa,” Braden called after her, taking two generous steps forward, grabbing her just above the elbow, and spinning her around to face him. Now that he’d grown several more inches, she barely came to his shoulders, yet it didn’t make her any less intimidating. Kristina was a hot-headed spitfire with a mind and a will of her own, and she could pack a whole lot of attitude into that feisty little body. Braden released her elbow and held up both hands in an ingratiating, submissive gesture. “I thought you didn’t think of me…like that,” he teased, trying to make the situation more playful. “Last I checked, you still thought of me as a youngster.” He smirked, feeling a bit too self-satisfied. “So why do you care if Gwen is still here?”

  Her hands shot to her feminine hips, and he immediately regretted the question. “Do you think this is funny?” she snapped.

  “Uh, no,” he murmured.

  “Do you think you’re cute?” she posited.

  He cocked both eyebrows. “Kind of.” He smirked. “Little bit?” He smiled. “Especially when my hair is laying back…just so.” He brushed his hand over
and around his ear, following the fall of his chestnut-brown locks.

  She frowned, and he instantly felt guilty.

  After all, their situation was a bit sensitive and confusing…

  It was a long story, but many years ago, at the age of twenty-one, Kristina Riley had been brought into the house of Jadon by accident: She had been a homeless runaway when Kagen Silivasi had saved her from a Dark One, given her a job as a waitress at the Dark Moon Casino, and brought her in on the truth of the Vampyr. Many years later, the Dark Lords had played a terrible trick on the red-headed female—well, they had played a terrible trick on Marquis as well—manipulating the Ancient Master Warrior’s Blood Moon to make it look as if Kristina was the vampire’s destiny. Under the black magic protection of a tainted omen, orchestrated by the Dark Lord Ocard, Marquis had converted Kristina to their species rather brutally. And only after Braden and Nachari had unraveled the spell and uncovered the plot had the truth come out just in time: Ciopori Demir, an original princess from the time of Prince Jadon and Prince Jaegar, was Marquis’s true destiny, and Kristina was more or less a casualty of a manipulated Blood Curse. The Silivasis had basically adopted her, and she would forever be a part of the house of Jadon.

  Braden’s story, on the other hand, was wholly different, but just as convoluted.

  He was the only vampire in the house of Jadon who hadn’t been born to a vampire sire, a natural descendant of the original curse. He had been made by his stepfather, Dario Bratianu, under the protection of the celestial god Pegasus. Again, a really long story. Suffice to say, Braden’s mother had been married to an abusive human, Braden’s biological father, before she’d been claimed by Dario, and the gods had allowed the male to convert Braden, due to Lily’s trace celestial blood—all the destinies had it. Once Nachari learned that Braden was exempt from the Curse—it had been cast upon the direct blood lineage of the original males, the sons of the sons…and their sons…forever—the king had made the call: Braden and Kristina were to one day be mated. For all the king knew, they could even produce female offspring. And so, the cat-and-mouse, chase-and-retreat, wait-for-Braden-to-grow-to-adulthood dance had begun between them.

  And it wasn’t easy on either one.

  Still, Braden was more than a little surprised that Kristina had reacted so strongly to Gwen’s presence in the brownstone: She almost seemed jealous of the human captive he’d brought back from The Fortress.

  He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders, deciding to take another tact. “I’m sorry, Red. I guess it’s not funny. But no, I still have no idea why I felt so compelled to bring her back to Nachari’s brownstone, to keep her close to the Vampyr and the house of Jadon.” He tilted his head to the side, presumably looking as confounded as he felt. “It’s just…it’s just…I swear; there’s something deeper going on, something almost paranormal about her ending up with Luca Giovanni, crossing paths with the warriors…surviving the slaughter in the northern quadrant. There’s something running through her that also runs through the heart of the house of Jadon. I dunno. Like a synchronized pulse. Don’t know how else to put it, Red.”

  Kristina pursed her lips and averted her eyes, her hands tightening on her hips. “You sure it isn’t all that pretty blonde hair, or maybe it’s those sexy green eyes—or just maybe”—she drew out the word—“it’s that cute, curvaceous body that’s making your pulse speed up? Maybe you took one look at her while she was huddled and naked in the ductwork, and something far more basic than the house of Jadon thrummed in your veins.”

  Braden laughed aloud—he couldn’t help it. “Kristina…”

  She slapped his well-defined bicep and shuffled back a few inches. “Don’t mock me, Braden. It’s a legitimate question.”

  His cheeks warmed, and his mood brightened. “Red…”

  She scoffed.

  “You like me, don’t you?”

  “You’re obnoxious.”

  “Maybe,” he drawled, keenly aware of the deep, masculine brogue creeping into his voice. “But you still drove all the way out here to see me…to question me.” Without consciously thinking about it, he stepped into her personal space and used his much broader, more muscular shoulders to herd her like a sheep: to turn her around, back her up, and corner her against the bricks on the brownstone. It wasn’t an intentional maneuver; it was just that every week—every day—his vampiric instincts grew stronger, including those subtle, dominant, alpha inclinations that came so naturally to his species.

  She rolled her eyes, appearing more than just a little bit flustered.

  He reached for her wrists, admiring the fall of the bracelet; gently raised them above her head; and pinned them against the building. Then he bent to her mouth and hovered about an inch and a half above her heart-shaped lips. “Gwen is still terrified,” he whispered. “She’s confused, defiant, and she basically hates all of us. Not even Deanna, with her pure heart and easy nature, has managed to get through to her. You want the truth? The situation sucks. The female has already been terrorized, and here we are, still holding her hostage…” He shook his head, revealing his inner conflict. “No, I’m not objectifying the poor, terrified human, or keeping her here because I think she’s attractive.” His gaze swept over Kristina’s eyelids, her cheekbones, and the pouty contours of her upturned mouth. “Besides, my veins and my pulse are attuned to a very different…frequency.” He nipped her bottom lip, swirled his tongue over the bite, and then pulled back, released her wrists, and smiled.

  She just stood there.

  Mouth draping open and panting.

  “Would you like to come inside?” he asked, sidestepping toward the door.

  Kristina blinked three times. “You know what?” she said, her voice a bit hoarse and breathy. “Everyone in the house of Jadon thinks you’re so innocent, naïve, and compliant, but I know better—you’re wicked, Braden Bratianu. They don’t see that evil, sinful nature, but I do.”

  He leaned against the doorframe, crossed his foot over his ankle, and extended a lazy, roguish hand in her direction. “Kristina…are you coming inside or what?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Santos Olaru strolled noiselessly over the uneven terrain in the central valley, clutching the soft, feminine hand that was placed so trustingly within his own. He gave it a familiar, comforting squeeze and glanced askance at his destiny. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, referring to the lush, green wild grass and tall Douglas firs that flanked the Dark Moon Stables. Off to the right, a cluster of quaking aspens rustled in the breeze.

  Natalia smiled.

  She looked content.

  At least, as content as anyone could be in her strange new circumstances.

  Somehow, giving herself to Santos, making love to him earlier that morning—not once, but twice—had solidified something between them. It had given her permission to hold onto his hand, to walk next to him in silence, without any emotional resistance…to allow him to show her the valley and her new home, without so much fear.

  Grateful that Ramsey and Saxson had seen to this small but important detail ahead of time, Santos tried to hide his excitement.

  “It is lovely,” she said, taking a deep, cleansing breath of breezy mountain air. “So this…these stables are yet another business run by the house of Jadon?”

  “Yes,” Santos replied. “It’s part of the house of Jadon’s tourism industry. At least half of the stables are used for commerce.” He pointed at a gorgeous set of log buildings in the distance, in front of a meandering creek. “Those stables over there—they’re private. The king keeps his horse, as well as his sons’ horses, in those stalls. Many vampires do. But this one—” He gestured toward a larger group of buildings. “This one is simply part of our industry: trail rides, private rentals, and the like. The whole of the equestrian range is run by a human named Kevin Parker. He lives about four or five acres behind the private stables with his wife, Lou Ann. Their family has been loyal to our house for generations.”


  Natalia released Santos’ hand long enough to press her thumb and forefinger to her forehead, while she appeared to adjust her newly enhanced vampiric vision to see into the distance. “And you said Nachari Silivasi, one of the Master Wizards, often breaks new horses?”

  Santos chuckled aloud. “It would seem Nachari has a penchant for all things Mustang, whether cars or animals.” A ray of sunlight shined into Natalia’s eyes, and a glimmer of honey-brown alighted in those dark, mocha depths, causing his heart to constrict in his chest. By all the gods, Natalia was supermodel gorgeous, only she had a quiet confidence, a stately, almost regal bearing that accentuated her beauty like a golden crown. She was simply sublime.

  And smart as a whip.

  She remembered every single detail he’d told her—her mind was like a steel trap.

  She hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to reclaim his hand, and he folded her beneath his arm, wanting her close to his heart.

  They walked in companionable silence past the first set of stables toward the house of Jadon’s private facilities, and then he reached for the rustic handle on a large, cross-beamed door. “Come,” he entreated. “I think you will really like this.” He led her down the central hall, past a half-dozen glorious horses, including Prince Phoenix’s beloved Percheron, to the last stall on the right. It was meticulously clean, incredibly roomy, and flooded with fresh air and sunlight.

  Natalia stopped dead in her tracks; her impeccable features came alive with joy; and both hands shot to her cheeks. “Midnight!” she exclaimed, padding confidently toward the stable’s railing.

  The proud stallion tossed his head back, whinnied a bit, and pranced in place. Then he ambled in her direction.