Blood Harvest (Blood Curse Series Book 12)
Page 9
“Yet?” Pegasus queried, crossing his powerful arms in front of him.
“Mm.” Cygnus sighed. “Yet here we are, the winged horse, the unicorn, and the swan, celestial deities who rule the heavens, helpless to do naught but await the fate…and the free will…of our beloved children—knowing that the forest has been made ready, realizing the dark lords will bolster and entice their own—yet hoping we have taught and led our scions well.” She swept her hand in the turquoise-blue water, and all three divine beings gazed at the ensuing ripples, watching as the water cascaded, rose in subtle waves, and finally settled into a brilliant, still, translucent pool, reflective like a mirror. “Ah,” she breathed as she leaned forward to peer into it, “alas, it begins, history revisited.”
“Aye.” Monoceros squeezed her shoulder, and then the mirror began to shimmer, to coalesce, as faint, distant images became more and more vivid: a desolate mountaintop rising over 8,000 feet high in the Transylvanian Alps, festooned by two massive, jagged boulders; thick, swirling, low-lying clouds descending in an unholy blizzard; a swelling storm chilling the air with unforgiving winds and bitter vortices of ice—the land, the gloomy moonlight, the pungent scent of rotting corpses and burning juniper, all living manifestations of rage, fear, and strife.
Cygnus shivered as she waited. “Two thousand, eight hundred and seven years past,” she mumbled absently, grasping Monoceros’ hand and gently squeezing it before dipping her forefinger back in the water.
“Aye,” he said again.
Pegasus seemed to be holding his breath, and Cygnus wondered if he was aware of the silence, the deafening quiet, left in the absence of his usual breathy exhalations. For truly, the stillness between the three deities was unsettling.
And then the liquid mirror filled with faint, swirling images from the past, began to churn more urgently, and at last, came to life in full, vivid, living color…
“So, it has finally come to this.” Prince Jadon’s baleful words echoed from antiquity as he placed the toe, then the heel, of a high, stiff black boot on the top of a ragged, dark gray rock and shifted his weight to mount the boulder. He squinted into the blistering snow, ignoring the rising howl of the wind as he set his deep, dark brown eyes—no longer placid but determined and fixed dead ahead—on his twin brother, Jaegar. “Did you think I wouldn’t show?”
“Gah,” Jaegar grunted in a guttural clip, his own cold, stark onyx glare boring into Jadon’s. “I knew you would come—the stakes were much too high to play possum.”
Prince Jadon swept his right hand down to the top of his scabbard, even as his cold, bare thumb brushed along the hilt of his blade, moonlight reflecting off the burnished iron, and cold, moist air blistering his unclad chest. His nostrils constricted as he breathed in and out, steeling his resolve, and his mouth turned down in a frown. His eyes swept the valley below them. “The storm,” he observed, “you do realize we are the cause of it, don’t you?”
Beneath a heavy cloak of finely honed wool, Prince Jaegar shrugged his broad, muscular shoulders in indifference, snorting as he displayed his apathy. “Amazing, isn’t it?” he said. “Still coming to terms with all the side effects of being a…vampire?” He licked his bottom lip, lapping frost with his tongue. “Vampire. That’s what they’re calling it—the change, the Curse, this new way of life.” He cackled, a sinister sound. “Vampyr, Nosferatu, creatures of the night—I rather prefer it to celestial progeny. It’s more masculine, don’t you think? More bloodthirsty. More powerful.”
Jadon shook his head in disgust. “After all this time…” His voice trailed off, and his heart grew heavy—there would be no reasoning with his twin, no changing Prince Jaegar’s ingrained contempt. “Our civilization is in tatters; our loyal servants, cursed; our women, slaughtered, gone like the long days of summer, warmth giving way to cold. And yet you maintain your stubborn arrogance, continue your reckless defiance. You stand on this mountain and gloat, eager to reign over a graveyard.”
Cygnus couldn’t help but admire Prince Jadon’s self-control—with every breath in the prince’s weary body, he wanted to blurt out a curse of his own, reveal an arrogant secret he had kept for so long…for too long: Foolish as ever, my ignorant brother, despite this night’s outcome, let it be known forever—may it reside in what’s left of your soul—that our sisters still live. Yes, Jaegar; Ciopori and Vanya still live.
But he dared not…
He did not.
On that hallowed eve, October 31st, in the season of the Autumn Equinox, 795 BC, Fabian Antonescu and his two female wards, Ciopori and Vanya Demir, were alive and well on the other side of the world, in a new land upon a rich, abundant continent. Yea, it had been five years and five months since the monstrous Curse, since the males of King Sakarias’ monarchy were splintered, immutably divided, and changed into a species as base and instinctive as animals. Yet and still, two original females lived because Prince Jadon Demir had stolen them out of the castle six years hence, sent them deep into the Carpathian Mountains, where they might flee—and survive—with a band of rebel warriors and mercenaries, and seen to their lives…to their care…along with the wizard Fabian, until passage upon the seaworthy vessel had been procured.
Moreover, he had given the powerful wizard a vial of his blood.
He had instructed him to keep it safe but to only use it in the direst of circumstances. Should Prince Jadon never arrive in the strange new world, should another soul need to protect the princesses, then Prince Jadon’s blood—and thus, Prince Jadon’s awareness—could be used to preserve this most critical mission. The elixir itself would act as a beacon.
And now, if the prince could only prevail in this battle—one last tempest—their great civilization might yet live…
Brother against brother.
Prince against prince.
Vampire against vampire for the whole of the race.
One soul marred by evil, one soul redeemed through mercy, two souls engaged in a final mortal contest so that legions of souls might live…so that armies of cursed males, many of whom still crawled on the ground and writhed in the frozen mud, stricken with dreadful bouts of bloodlust, would be spared eternal conflict, war without end. As Prince Jaegar had once said on the eve of that most fateful of days: Lasa pe cei puternici sa mosteneasca pamantul.
Let the mighty inherit the earth.
“If I fall,” Prince Jadon said solemnly, “you must swear to keep your word. You will rule, uncontested, over the survivors of our kind—my soldiers, my loyalists, my Vampyr—but should any soul in my fellowship refuse to yield to your rule, refuse to bow before a new master or offer his eternal fealty, you must give me your word: That soul shall receive a swift and honorable death.”
Prince Jaegar rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Of course I will.” The corner of his cold, bloodred lips turned up in a smirk. “And if I fall,” he countered, shrugging facetiously, “which is never going to happen, you may co-opt, lead, or slaughter my minions however you see fit.” He chuckled, seemingly impressed by his own barbarous cruelty. “No need to display hypocrisy at the end.” He held out both arms as if embracing the sky, the storm, and the upcoming battle, then drew in a deep, heady breath. “Do you smell that, brother? Immortality! The gods gave us favor after all.” He thumped his chest with vigor. “We don’t die like we used to, so I hope you’ll at least aim for the heart.” He swiped the side of his forefinger along his neck. “Remember to remove the head.” He held his palms upward and glanced at his wrists. “Can you honestly believe how much it takes to kill a wayward brother? I am still getting accustomed to all the changes: drain the blood, incinerate the body, or just toss the royal fuck up into the sun.” He spoke like they were bantering over a routine supper—he laughed like he was endlessly clever, and this further stirred Prince Jadon’s ire.
“All but the last one, dear brother,” Prince Jadon snarled. “You see, my loyalists and I do just fine in the sun. ’Tis why I was willing to meet you…at night.”
Dark, empty onyx eyes deepened with rage, even as Jaegar’s heavy woolen cloak, cinched beneath his neck by a circular, ornamented clasp, heart side, below his left shoulder, flapped in the wind, and the muscles in his bare, exposed chest rose and fell with steady, measured breaths and flat, uniform heartbeats.
Prince Jadon followed suit.
He stepped lithely to the left, maintaining an equal distance from Prince Jaegar, and a savage snarl escaped his lips as his dark brown gaze narrowed in intensity…and focus.
The brothers circled like dire wolves from the Late Pleistocene era, ferocious relics, more beast than man, their eyes locked, their jaws set, their muscles bunching and contracting in a primordial, bestial rhythm. And then Prince Jaegar gnashed his teeth, released his fangs, and stopped short beside a jutting rock formation. He stood up straight and widened his stance; his feet fell a shoulder’s width apart; and faster than Prince Jadon could track with his vision, he reached behind a crag in the boulder, retrieved a sturdy wooden bow and three bronze-tipped arrows, and released all three with a hiss, the missiles flying straight and true, toward Prince Jadon’s heart.
Prince Jadon sharpened his senses.
He closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and reached for the soul of the elements, becoming one with the wind, the snow, and the air, as his body fractured… dematerialized…and the arrows sailed right through him, soaring over the edge of the cliff. He felt his pupils burning, undoubtedly glowing red, as he regathered his form—his muscle, bone, and sinew—and dropped into a squat.
Jaegar was several heartbeats ahead of him, talons protracted, left leg bent at the knee and right leg extended backward, resting on the toes. He snarled like a hellish creature and sprang forward, hurtling through the air like a ball from a catapult, in a brazen effort to sever Prince Jadon’s jugular.
Prince Jadon fell into a low, extended backbend, arched his chest forward, aligned his neck with his arms, and planted both palms, upside down, on the ground. Prince Jaegar flew right over him, landed on his feet, and swiftly spun around, even as Prince Jadon sprang upright, leaped several yards forward, and twisted to face his brother once again. The princes effectively traded places, and Prince Jaegar lunged a second time.
This time, Prince Jadon threw back his head, thrust both hands outward, and caught Prince Jaegar by the chest. He shoved his brother upward, rotated backward, and flipped both of them over in a converse somersault, landing on top of Jaegar’s chest. He heard a vertebrae crack and went in for the kill, releasing his lethal canines and striking Jaegar’s throat.
Two hard, iron fists slammed into Jadon’s chest. Jaegar pressed Jadon’s torso upward with the backs of his fingers, the bones of his knuckles, and then drew back his knees, planted the soles of his feet squarely against Prince Jadon’s midriff, and shoved him upward—propelled him back—into the air and over the edge of the cliff.
Prince Jadon flew through a dense, black, low-lying cloud. Grappling to halt his trajectory and reorient in the air, he bowed his back, flipped his body upright, and released two pitch-black wings. He could hardly see two inches in front of his face as he floated upward, felt for the floor of the rocky crevasse, and slowly descended once again, placing his feet on solid ground. A ghostly hand shot out of the mist, a claw nicked Prince Jadon’s jugular, and then five curled fingers wrapped around his throat.
Prince Jadon reached across his chest, grasped wildly at his tethered waistband, and withdrew a sharp, crescent-shaped dagger just as Prince Jaegar struck at his heart. The evil prince’s talons pierced Prince Jadon’s breastbone, and Prince Jadon clasped his brother’s forearms by the wrists. “Not like this! Not tonight,” he snarled.
Prince Jaegar withdrew his claws, snatched the hilt of the dagger from Jadon’s hand, fisted it like a battle flag, and sank it deep into Prince Jadon’s neck.
Prince Jadon flailed wildly for a moment, and then he grasped Prince Jaegar’s forearm and snapped it with a sharp turn of the wrist, breaking the vulnerable radius beneath the decorative armband.
Fire shot out of the clouds, blazed all around them, and hail began to tumble with the snow. Prince Jaegar inhaled deeply, taking the fire into his lungs, and then he spewed the combustion outward, streaming hot flaming breath, like a fire-breathing dragon, into Prince Jadon’s eyes.
Prince Jadon recoiled in shock, jerked back, and swiped the flames from his eyelids—the pain in his chest was unrelenting, and he did not have a moment to spare. He swept Jaegar’s legs out from underneath him, fell forward on top of him, and the feral vampires rolled around on the ground until, at last, Prince Jadon achieved a dominant position. He sank his fangs deep into Jaegar’s femoral artery, latched on like a savage wolf, and as the blood of Jaegar’s twisted soul flowed down the back of Prince Jadon’s throat—rancid, fermented, and hard to swallow—he struggled not to gag.
Still, he refused to let go.
He snarled, gulped, and guzzled like the vampire he was, desperate to drain Prince Jaegar’s essence…to siphon as much of the wicked male’s life force as his fangs could draw out.
Pinned, depleted, and desperate, Prince Jaegar slammed his fist into Jadon’s skull. He fisted Jadon’s hair and wrenched his mouth away from the gushing artery. He struck at Jadon’s eyes with two piercing talons, blinding the prince in the night. And then he scrambled to his knees, shuffled backward, and withdrew his sword from its scabbard…with a broken arm and a spurting artery…shoring it up with his uninjured hand.
Prince Jadon froze as he listened…
Like the cry of a ghoul from a shallow grave, the steel rang out in the oppressive, ominous darkness, and the remainder of Prince Jadon’s senses heightened.
His breaths grew shallow, and the hairs stood up on his arms.
A slash across the stomach—Prince Jadon cried out in pain.
A lunge, a stab, a twist of iron—Prince Jaegar’s steel pierced Jadon’s heart.
Prince Jadon grunted, sucked in air, and spit out a glob of blood.
No!
No…
It couldn’t end like this.
There was far too much riding on this battle.
His fingers splayed, his left hand trembling, Prince Jadon pressed his palm against his chest and breathed…focused…felt for each shift in energy.
Static.
Electricity.
Lightning flickered inside the clouds.
Spurting.
Gushing…
Blood spewed from Prince Jaegar’s thigh.
Falling, swirling—ice settled like the morning dew all around them.
The lingering…persistent…pungent scent of rotting corpses and burning juniper.
Yea, but Fabian had the women!
Jadon’s sisters.
Fabian had the vial of blood.
The vampire males would follow the High Mage to the new land, the new world, and the progeny of celestial gods and men—Prince Jadon’s descendants, Prince Jadon’s legacy—would not perish from the earth.
So it was settled…
Listing from both blood loss and blindness, Prince Jadon swayed in the darkness, felt for the pommel of his sword, slid his hand down to the grip, and drew it from its sheath. He heard Prince Jaegar’s blade slicing through the air—drawing closer, nearer, about to fall on his throat—and he conjured the supernatura
l speed of a million celestial deities, borrowed Prince Jaegar’s momentum, seized the surrounding kinetic energy, and multiplied each advantage ten-thousand-fold.
His back arched, his spine stiffened, and he choked on a gurgle of blood, gasping for air.
The band on his forearm seemed to tighten, and his bicep flexed as he drew back his steel, raised it over his head, and slashed downward with all his might, urging the energy of the blade forward, through flesh, blood, and bone, even as his own throat was sliced.
Silence.
A haunting, unrelenting quiet.
The snow stopped falling.
The lightning ceased.
The cold, barren ground gave way beneath him…and then…
There was only darkness.
Kneeling at the side of the sea on the celestial shore, still within the remains of the Veil Nebula, Cygnus drew back from her anxious perch and stared soberly into the translucent, liquid mirror. She watched breathlessly as the ancient mountain began to tremble, split open, and eventually swallow the princes before closing…collapsing…and settling, still, along with the turbulent storm. And then she breathed a heavy sigh of both weariness and relief. “The awakening has been long in coming.”
“Indeed,” Monoceros said, closing his heavenly, moondust eyes. “So many seasons have come and gone, bitter winters, joy-filled summers…so much planted in each celestial spring. Yet now comes the time of harvest…”
Pegasus held his tongue.
Chapter Eight
8:30 p.m.
Braden stared out at the placid, almost silver-blue water, marveling at the way the lake grew still in the evenings, its steady waves and choppy swells receding into a shimmering liquid platform, as he ran his fingers absently through the smooth, fine sand beside the edge of his blanket.
Santos’ private, hidden cove was equally quiet.