by Tessa Dawn
“Wait. Stop. What did you just say?” Saxson asked Kristina, who continued to wax poetic about her beautiful new bracelet, a gorgeous platinum band, dotted with onyx and rubies.
Kristina wrinkled her nose. “What part?” she asked innocently, failing to pick up on the sentinel’s concern. “About the onyx and the rubies? Or how they symbolize a two-toned rose?”
“The two-toned rose,” Saxson clarified. “Elaborate on that.”
Kristina turned toward Braden, her eyebrows raised in question, and the two of them exchanged a knowing glance. Finally, Braden gestured toward the bracelet and shrugged. “Go ahead,” he said casually. “Just leave out the private part.”
Kristina smiled, angled her body back toward Saxson’s, and mimicked Braden’s shrug. “Okay, let’s see…” she mused. “Well, as Braden more or less indicated, we shared a…personal…moment, something that had to do with a crimson-and-black rose.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, rocking on her six-inch heels. “Anyhow, he made this bracelet for me as a symbol of that moment, kind of a thank you for helping him out.”
Saxson frowned, his pulse beginning to throb in his temples. They weren’t getting anywhere with this line of questioning—he decided to be more direct. “Not good enough, Kristina.” He spoke in a firm, no-nonsense tone. Then turning to regard Braden directly, he added, “I’m sorry, son. I don’t mean to pry into your private business, but this might be significant. In fact, very important. I need you to tell me everything there is to know about that bracelet and the black-and-red rose.”
Having overheard Saxson’s statement, Nachari Silivasi sauntered up to the circle of vampires and stood next to Braden. “Son,” he interjected, “this might be the breakthrough we were waiting for...the significance you couldn’t quite intuit. Tell the sentinel everything.”
Braden visibly paled. “Oh…shit,” he said apologetically.
“Oh, shit, what?” Santos Olaru chimed in, appearing at Saxson’s side as if out of nowhere.
Ramsey was right on Santos’ heels, crowding the growing circle with his tense, overbearing energy.
“Oh, damn…” Braden repeated. “I didn’t think…I mean, we were paying attention, but we were never sure…we were monitoring the visions to see what happened next. I’m sorry, Saxson.”
“What visions?” Ramsey snarled, his model-fine features growing harsh.
“Shh!” Saxson held up his hand. “Everyone, just stop.” He seared his gaze into Braden’s innocent eyes and narrowed his vision like a laser. “Vampire, look at me! Tell me about these visions. Tell me about the black-and-red rose. Now.”
Braden shifted gears in a millisecond, going from apologetic youth to burgeoning seer in the powerful house of Jadon, and his voice reflected the shift. “About one week ago,” he spoke clearly, “I started getting headaches, but that’s really nothing new. I’m always picking up on emotions, controversies, you name it…things going on behind closed doors within the house of Jadon. Usually, it passes, and it doesn’t have any deep meaning.” He furrowed his brows in concentration. “Only this was kind of weird: At first, I saw—no, I didn’t actually see it; I more like felt it—a two-toned rose that was crimson and black, and the black petals were swallowing the red.”
Saxson held up one finger, needing a moment to process the fledgling vampire’s words. He ran his hand through his hair, considering the potential implications. “What do you mean by swallowing, son? The black petals swallowed the red?”
Braden shook his head. “I dunno, exactly. I mean…it was just…the black half of the rose sort of took over the entire flower. It swallowed it by eclipsing the red.”
Nachari placed his hand on Braden’s shoulder and gentled his voice. “Tell him about the other impressions, Braden, the words you also heard…or felt.”
Braden nodded, glancing at his boots for a moment, thinking it over. When he once again raised his head, his features were stark with concentration. “Again, I didn’t really hear anything, Saxson. I just…sort of felt the sounds…the syllables… It’s hard to explain.”
“Go on,” Ramsey barked.
Santos shot his younger brother a harsh look. “Ramsey…he’s trying.” He turned toward Braden and nodded. “Just take a deep breath and think things through, son. It’s important that you get this right, that you don’t leave anything out. If you can do that quickly, that’s great; but if you can’t, that’s okay, too.” He gestured with his chin toward Ramsey. “He’s fine. We all are. We just want to get this right.”
Braden nodded with understanding, then swallowed his angst. “Passion, death and foreboding,” he said bluntly. “That’s what I sort of heard. It was like the crimson rose represented passion, and the black rose—”
“Represented death and foreboding,” Saxson cut in.
“Yeah,” Braden said. “Exactly.”
Saxson felt like his world was suddenly spinning on its axis. Oh, gods—this wasn’t good. Why was this psychic kid having visions about Saxson’s rare and secret rose? “You said ‘at first’—this was the vision you saw at first—how did the vision change?”
Braden glanced at Kristina, and she flashed a tentative but reassuring smile. “Oh, hell, Bray…” She shrugged. “I’m with Nachari—tell them everything you can—every vision you’ve had.”
Braden nodded. “So, over time, the rose kind of changed. Instead of being a single flower with two-toned petals, it was a single stem that had split in two: two separate roses, each a different color—one crimson, one black—and the black rose grew stronger and took over, while the red rose wilted on the vine.”
“Son of a bitch,” Saxson muttered, turning to regard Nachari. “Wizard, what the hell does that mean? Trust me, this is very important.”
Nachari shook his head. “No idea, warrior. You tell me. What part of Braden’s words ring true…and why? Maybe we can go from there.”
Saxson was almost desperate to get at the truth, though he couldn’t explain the urgency. Just the same, he searched his heart, trying to find the right way to phrase it: “In the back of my estate, I have a secret garden, something I’ve been building for centuries—it’s a rose garden, erected for my destiny, something I’ve always kept private. To me, it was sacred…special…a way to offer homage to the gods…and to my female.” He quickly pressed on—there was no time for history. “One of the blossoms in the greenhouse is from Halfeti, Turkey, fed by the river Euphrates: It’s half crimson and half black, and the natives of the small village where it grows believe the flowers represent both passion and death and foreboding, depending on its dominant shade. I showed it to Kyla the night we met.”
The room grew ghostly quiet.
“Saxson,” Nachari finally spoke, “have you had any misgivings about this mating? About your Blood Moon—the thought that something might be off?” He held up his hand to delay Saxson’s response because he wasn’t finished talking. “Braden shared his concerns with me, and I even viewed his visons, but we couldn’t make any connections. We did, however, establish a timeline: He started seeing the roses the night of your Cetus Blood Moon, maybe a couple hours earlier. It rattled me enough to say something to Ramsey and Santos.”
Santos nodded, and Ramsey grunted.
“Yeah, that’s why we’ve been stalking you like a couple of love-struck teenagers,” Ramsey said.
“Calling, or checking in, every hour, on the hour,” Santos added.
Nachari repeated his question. “Have you had any misgivings, warrior? If so, there’s no time like the present—don’t hold back.”
Saxson nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “I have. Quite a bit.”
Nachari shut his forest-green eyes, and when he reopened them a few seconds later, they were glowing. “The first vision was describing the origin of your Blood Moon”—he spoke in an eerie, almost disembodied voice. “One rose is one girl—one soul, one secret—a flower with two different faces. And one of the faces, the personas, is far more deadly than pass
ionate. The second vision describes the Blood Moon’s progression—two roses, split from a single vine. Two girls. Two souls. But only one origin. Saxson, your destiny is also a twin. One of their souls is black, filled with death and foreboding, while the other is filled with passion and love, but this one is withering on the vine.” His eyes grew murky and ominous. “Whoever she is, she’s dying.”
“He’s right,” Braden interjected. His burnt-sienna eyes flashed with knowing and he emphatically nodded his head. “Nachari nailed it, but I can take it a step further. When you claimed Kyla, you were very close to both sisters, and that’s why the rose was intertwined. But as time has ticked on, there’s more distance between you…between you and your true other half. Kyla has grown bolder, and her sister has grown weaker. I think you claimed the wrong female.”
Deanna Dubois-Silivasi sidled up behind Nachari, still holding Sebastian in one arm, as she slipped the other around Nachari’s waist, partly to provide him comfort, and partly to bring him out of the trance. “Wizard,” she whispered softly in his ear, although all the vampires could hear her, “I saw her wrist earlier; she has the markings of Lord Cetus etched into her flesh. Are you and Braden certain?”
Saxson brought his clenched fists up to his forehead and grasped at his hair in fury, his body beginning to tremble.
Saxson, can you hear me? It’s Kiera.
The memory of that dim, indistinct voice assailed his consciousness.
“She doesn’t have the markings of Cetus on her wrist!” he snarled. “It’s a fucking tattoo!”
“Nikolai!” Marquis gasped, shimmering out of view.
Deanna spun around in a panic. “Where’s Ciopori?”
Saxson sprang into action. “Santos, get the tracker to the brownstone—call Julien, now!” Saber! he shouted on a community, telepathic bandwidth. Check every door and window—don’t let Kyla leave! And then he turned to Kagen and Arielle Silivasi, who were standing in the background, next to Jocelyn and Nathaniel. “Kagen,” his voice trembled with emotion, “I have a terrible feeling we’re going to need a healer upstairs.”
He was just about to give a directive to Dario and Lily, ask them to sit down with Braden and go over each of his visions, piece by piece—see if they could garner more information—when Ciopori’s bloodcurdling scream shook the brownstone’s rafters.
Everyone froze.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kiera screamed like there was no tomorrow as the vampire-hunters strapped her to the cold, stainless-steel table, looped her wrists through the metallic cuffs at the top, and secured her feet with the leather straps. She tried to plead for mercy, but Owen stuffed a cloth inside her mouth and pressed the archaic dagger to her throat.
“Shh,” he whispered maniacally, sliding the flat length of the smelted iron against her convulsing esophagus. “You wouldn’t want me to slip and slit your throat.”
She gasped, taking in a mouthful of the dirty cloth, her eyes growing wide as saucers in fright. Her arms, stomach, thighs, and calves stiffened in revulsion as he sliced the damp T-shirt and sweats off her body, leaving her clad in her rain-soaked panties.
The vile, abrasive music streamed through the speakers all around her, even as the incense assailed her flared nostrils. When, at last, Owen retrieved the ancient clay basin from the tabletop and rotated it so the bloodred cross was facing forward, she closed her eyes and prayed for death. She heard him snap a pair of latex gloves onto his hands, and her terror gave way to panic.
She bucked and writhed against the table.
She tugged at her arms and twisted her legs, desperately trying to break free.
She didn’t care if she broke her wrists and her ankles—it would be a small price to pay for her freedom.
The chains, attached to the cuffs, moaned like they were being rattled by ghosts; the leather would not give way. And then Owen began to carve a treble clef into her right, trembling thigh—she knew because he was narrating his sadism—and her eyes flooded with tears.
She was helpless.
Unable to move, unable to scream, and unable to stop the torture.
As sound and smell and pain came together in a morose, inevitable dance, Kiera rocked back and forth on the table, giving way to the rhythm of despair.
This was real.
It was happening.
And she could do nothing to stop it.
Her mind searched for an escape, clinging to a twofold image: a bright white light and a dark, embracing tunnel—the moment when her spirit would release from her body.
With all her will and desire, she beckoned to death: Come quickly.
Kyla Sparrow placed the heels of both hands over the heel of the shoe, locked her elbows in place, and leaned forward into the thrust.
And that’s when everything happened at once…
Ciopori screamed in the doorway, like the devil had just assailed her.
An invisible battering ram drove the air from Kyla’s lungs.
And the sharp, pointed spike of the heel skittered to the left before lodging into the child’s pectoralis, rather than his heart.
The baby came awake with a squeal and a howl, and his sharp, tiny fangs latched onto Kyla’s fingers, even as Marquis Silivasi flashed into view, his eyes ablaze with rage-induced crimson. He snatched Kyla by the throat with a powerful, unyielding hand, hauled her off the carpet, and Nikolai’s teeth tore through her flesh.
Ciopori was there in an instant, lifting the babe from the crib and passing him swiftly to Kagen Silivasi, who immediately began to check his injury.
Kyla didn’t have time to watch.
The infuriated Ancient Master Warrior tossed her across the room, slamming her into the wall, and then he lunged like a dark archangel, using a pair of raven-black wings to propel him. His fangs were protruding from his gums; his claws were lethal and extended; and his enormous, muscular body was quaking with the need to…annihilate.
Kyla screamed in abject terror, shielding her neck with her arms, as the feral vampire sprang at her throat, prepared to tear out her jugular.
And then, just like that, Saxson was there, wrapping his powerful arms around Marquis’s shoulders and yanking backward for all he was worth. “No, Master Warrior!” he shouted. “Do not!”
Marquis broke free from Saxson’s grasp, spun around in a whirlwind, and dove at Kyla again.
This time, Ramsey Olaru intercepted the murderous vampire. “Marquis! Snap out of it!” His voice detonated through the room like a hammer striking an anvil, but Marquis could not be restrained. He tossed the powerful sentinel to the side as if he were nothing but a ragdoll and gnashed his canines at Kyla.
She backpedaled into the corner, relieved to see Saxson, Ramsey, Santos, Nathaniel, and Saber all surround the homicidal beast at once.
“Stop!” Saxson grunted, trying to wrench Marquis’s arm behind his back. “She is the only link to my true destiny—if you kill her, my female’s life will be lost.”
“If you kill her,” Ramsey snarled, “Saxson’s life will be lost. Damnit, warrior, stop!”
Kyla’s throat convulsed in terror.
She is the only link to my true destiny…
Oh, shit…
Holy shit!
Saxson knew.
But how?
Yes, she had just attacked a baby, but as long as Saxson believed Kyla was his destiny, his only means of fulfilling the Curse, she did not believe he would kill her—he couldn’t.
But now?
Her mouth grew suddenly dry, and her stomach heaved with the need to retch.
Marquis could not be restrained.
He fought all the other vampires like he was a drowning man and they were the crashing waves standing between his lungs and fresh air.
And then a singular, bone-chilling voice penetrated the mayhem. “Warrior, cease!”
Ciopori Demir-Silivasi sauntering forward, her pupils blazing as if on fire. She raised a trembling, elegant hand and stared daggers through the fera
l vampire. “As long as you are a son in the hallowed house of Jadon, my brother’s hallowed namesake”—her, sweet lyrical voice became frigid—“you will submit to the laws of your king. You will honor the ancients and obey your elders, and I am the eldest living monarch in this valley.” She paused to take a deep, calming breath. “Lest there be any confusion from any male here—and that includes the three of you: Saxson, Ramsey, and Santos,” she eyed each vampire in turn before focusing her icy glare on Kyla, “then I shall say this once, loud and clear: I claim the right to Blood Vengeance.” She allowed the words to resonate throughout the frenetic space, and Kyla slumped on the floor. “Do whatever you must to retrieve whatever information you wish, but you will not kill her. None of you. That honor will be mine.” Raising her chin, she turned her attention to Saxson and spoke regally. “Sentinel, when you are through with this human excrement, whenever that is, you will deliver her to me: conscious and alert. Is that understood?” Without awaiting an answer, she softened her gaze and appraised her mate, yet again. “My love, I must go with Kagen, Arielle, and Nikolai to the clinic now—I would appreciate it if you would accompany me.”
That seemed to do the trick.
Marquis snapped out of it.
He drew back his shoulders, stretched his neck, and rolled his jaw from side to side, retracting his wings and his fangs. The bulging muscles in his arms pulsed in multiple rippling spasms before growing slack, and he backed away from Kyla. But not before staring her down and growling. “You are going to wish I had been the one to end your existence in this bedroom,” he taunted, and then he turned his back, strolled to Ciopori’s side, and left the bedroom with Kagen, Arielle, and Nikolai.