by Tessa Dawn
He hadn’t looked that closely before, while in the Enchanted Forest with Lord Monoceros. Rather, he had snatched his hand away, jerked back, and swiftly broken the connection before any of the details could set in…cement…become permanent in his heart or his memory. But this time was different. He approached the platform slowly, studied his mother’s tranquil, soft features, then zeroed in on the antique pillow.
He smiled faintly, though there was nothing joyful or light-hearted about this—he just recognized the family heirloom, the embroidered cross-stitch sewn by his great-grandmother and passed along from daughter to daughter over three generations. He remembered how much his mother had loved it, how she had always kept it on the bed, beside her…how she had clutched it in her hands when she prayed, almost like a religious relic: a symbolic crucifix or a beloved rosary.
Funny that after so many years, he had never taken the time to read it.
He bent over the pillow and studied the stitching, and for the first time in his life, he read the aged, cursive words aloud…
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” He gasped, and his bottom lip began to tremble. “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”
It forgives…
His eyes swelled with tears.
“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the…truth. It always protects”—he stammered over the words—“always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” He staggered backward as he recited the last three words: “Love never fails.”
Dear gods, the badges…
The Enchanted Forest.
And Lord Monoceros—trust me, trust the celestial deities, trust yourself, and above all else, trust in your love for Kristina.
“Love never fails.”
He felt a strong, loving hand settle on his shoulder, and he heard Lord Monoceros’ celestial voice: “That’s right, Braden. Love is stronger than hate. You are stronger than Achilles. Prince Jadon was always stronger than his brother. The badges—all that you collected in the forest whilst visiting the bridge between worlds—were never outside of you but within. The sword was never a blade made of steel—you are the living Sword of Jadon, my son. You are the embodiment of love.”
In that instant, Braden also recalled Lord Monoceros’ cryptic words, spoken behind the veil in the Enchanted Forest: What I have given you this night—what I have shown you in this forest—is the most powerful weapon of all…”
Love.
Love was the weapon.
Love was the sword.
Braden was the embodiment of love…and love never fails.
Braden spun around to regard his lord—to apologize, to thank him, to seek his blessing—but Lord Monoceros wasn’t there. He spun around again, bent over his mother, and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then he leaped from the floor, passed through the ancient ceiling, and shifted into a magnificent giant eagle, rocketing into the cool night air beneath the waning Millenia Harvest Moon, on his way back to his body…
To Achilles…
To the Red Canyons.
To the princesses and Kristina.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kristina’s heart was breaking for more than one reason…
The secret Zeus had just whispered in her ear to taunt her—the fact that Prince Jaegar had slain Lily Bratianu—Braden’s beloved Mamica!—and all that was happening to Braden below, on the canyon floor.
Both were beyond imagining…
Kristina’s worst nightmares come to life.
But she was solely focused, anchored in the here and now, on one thing—and one thing only—Braden, lying nearly lifeless on the cold canyon ground.
The Millenia Harvest Moon was but a shadow of its former self, dampening in the opaque night sky, sunrise was a little less than three hours away, and based upon Braden’s sudden loss of vitality—his complete inability to get up and fight—it didn’t look like Prince Jadon was coming back.
It had been so strange…
The transition.
One moment, Prince Jadon had been straining…trembling…blood-soaked hands prying two blades of steel away from his neck. The next moment, the hands had been Braden’s—the body had been Braden’s!—clad in completely different attire. It had been impossible to tell fantasy from fiction, reality from illusion, and for lack of a saner description, Braden had been rooted to the spot like a tree.
Eyes closed.
Processing information?
And then the pouch at his side had glowed with radiant heat, exploded with light, and wrapped around the Sword of Andromeda—the weapon had disappeared inside his arm!
Prince Jaegar had morphed into Achilles Zahora, and that’s when Braden had opened his eyes.
Achilles had dropped his sword, jumped back, and worked feverishly to heal his wrist with venom. Braden had lunged forward, stunned The Executioner with a brutal whack to both temples, then staked the Dark One’s foot to the ground, using the sword—no, using his arm?—with what appeared to Kristina to be one-half iron and one-half wood, like the strong, studded branch of the same rooted tree.
And Achilles had frozen in place!
Braden had him.
He had beaten the unholy shit out of the vampire, slashed every one of his arteries, and staked him through the heart with his sword.
All that was left was to finish him.
But then Achilles had toppled over, landed on top of Braden, and nothing—absolutely nothing—made sense after that. Achilles took all the time he needed to heal his lethal wounds, he had, in turn, beaten Braden like a ragdoll, tossed Braden’s sword to the Dark Ones, and all the while, Braden had just laid there…
Like he had simply…entirely…given up.
Horrific did not describe the gruesome beating…
Kristina had felt every vicious blow, every savage kick, every bone, as it bent, broke…snapped in Braden’s rib cage. She had absorbed each strike as a hammer to her heart, bludgeoning all four chambers, and the agony had been profound…unbearable…spiritual.
Beyond what she could ever cover up with a Band-Aid.
And in those horrific moments, she had sworn to herself that even if it took a lifetime, she would kill Achilles Zahora. She would wait forever if she had to. She would go on living with one singular purpose: to avenge what Achilles had done to Braden—to avenge the wrong that had been done to Lily—even if it cost her…everything.
Now, as she kneeled atop the eastern cliffs, acutely aware of Zeus Dragavei lurching behind her, she tried to bank her emotions, brace her body, and bolt all four chambers of her ruined heart tightly shut…locked…sealed. Never again to open.
She absently glanced to the right, catching sight of the two royal princesses: Vanya’s face was ashen, Ciopori seemed to be holding her breath, and they were both staring fixedly at the canyon floor, painfully aware of what was happening to Braden…what could also happen to them. Only, there was something else in both sisters’ eyes, in the slant of their regal shoulders and the cast of their noble jaws: anger, defiance…stark determination.
They were not giving up for an instant.
Kristina gulped, swallowing her surrender and dread.
Maybe Napolean would still come through. Maybe the sentinels could fly across the canyon in the space of a heartbeat. Maybe Saber and Marquis had something up their sleeve—of course they did; they had to—in the event, in that moment, when Braden’s heart stopped beating.
Bray’s heart stopped beating…
No…
No!
This wasn’t happening!
And fuck her defenses—why weren’t they working?
Her life before Braden—her time with Braden—passed by in the space of one tragic heartbeat: unable to love…unable to trust…unable to let herself be vulnerable.
It was all bullshit!
She had wasted every precious, irreplaceable moment, filling up a
deep, dark void and nursing wounds from the past with…bullshit!
She’d had a choice.
Souls always have a choice.
And now it was too late to make it—or was it?
She took a deep, steadying breath and glanced over her shoulder. Yep, Zeus was still there—with his nasty breath—and he was holding the Sword of Andromeda like his own personal spoil of war.
Nothing from nothing…leaves nothing.
She couldn’t live without Braden.
Rising like a suddenly launched space shuttle, all rockets blazing, she sprang to her feet, spun around like a tigress, and snatched the sword from Zeus’ hands before he had a chance to see her coming. Without looking back or giving him the opportunity to react, she hefted the sword above her head, cradled it in the palms of both hands, and raced to the edge of the cliff like a cheetah.
She had to time the jump just right.
She had to measure space, calculate time, and cover the exact, perfect distance.
She had to leap with every ounce of vampiric strength she possessed in order to reach her target, to descend behind Achilles Zahora, and pierce his heart as she landed.
She didn’t know if the fall would kill her—if the fall could kill her—she wasn’t even sure what she was doing, but she did love Bray. She did trust Bray. And she knew it was now or never.
As she hurtled off the edge of the cliff, springing forward and willing her body downward, a primal scream escaped her throat, and she released a lifetime of pent-up anguish.
The massive, majestic eagle swooped down from the sky, caught the screaming female in its talons, and dropped her—and the sword—as gently as possible, about ten feet away, before diving at Achilles—claws extended, then curled—ripping several chunks of flesh from the Dark One’s shoulders and crushing several of Achilles’ bones.
He circled around the stunned executioner three times before shifting effortlessly in the air and landing on mammalian feet. He raised both palms in the air in a provocative gesture. “Yo, dirtbag—I’m right here!”
Achilles staggered to the side, caught his balance, then dropped into a crouch, flexing both hulking biceps. Pain would not deter him.
“Eyes forward,” Braden taunted, turning two fingers inward and pointing at his own burnt sienna peepers. It wasn’t so much an act of bravado as a tactical calculation—he did not want Achilles Zahora to get any ideas about Kristina, who was as far away as possible, hunkered low to the ground and watching, but still right out in the open. Braden did not want The Executioner to use the wild redhead as bait…or leverage.
Achilles reached for his broadsword, which was lying in the dirt, and tried to scrape it off the hard, reddish soil, but Braden flicked his left wrist at the blade, sent a scorching hot fissure of violet and white flames along the length of the sabre, the fire radiating at 1,540 degrees, and instantly melted the carbon-infused steel.
Achilles dropped the wasting metal, drew back his hand, and snarled, gnashing his fangs.
Braden rooted his lifeforce deep into the ground, like an ageless oak expanding its roots, even as he relaxed the chi in his shoulders and arms, making the limbs more limber. He stared into Achilles’ rage-filled citrine eyes, ignoring the rising bloodred glow, deeper…deeper…deeper still, until he glimpsed the naked, elemental seat of his soul: a raw thirst for power, arrogance and pride, dishonor, infinite selfishness, vengeance, and hate. Achilles suckled on malevolence, feasted on evil, and lived for the kill…to beget devastation.
But there was something more…
Something greater than the rest.
He was bathed from his root chakra to his tainted third eye in envy.
Envy…
Achilles envied everyone and everything—he envied the exalted leaders of the Dark Ones’ Colony, he envied the house of Jadon, and most of all, he envied Braden Bratianu and any other vampire who was given one female to breed with for a lifetime. Not out of a desire to love or know companionship but out of a desire to spawn a limitless, superior bloodline. And all forms of envy had been heightened this night by the dark lords of the underworld, beneath the awesome, unrestrained powers of the Millenia Harvest Moon.
So be it.
Wielding his clenched fist like a sledgehammer, Braden exploded from his stance, leaped forward, and struck Achilles in the Adam’s apple. He rotated his fist, leaned into the blow, and infused a golden-white light into the vampire’s throat. “Sucks to be Salvatore’s patsy, doesn’t it?” he growled in the Dark One’s ear.
Achilles dropped down, then came up swinging, throwing a brutal uppercut, but Braden was already back where he’d started, shaking the errant energy out of his fingertips.
“You protect Oskar, you kiss his ancient ass—but who kisses yours, Achilles?”
Achilles lunged at the ground, scooped a fistful of dirt, heated it to lava, and tossed it into Braden’s eyes.
Braden closed them.
He didn’t need them.
Five…
Ten…
Fifteen savage blows came at Braden—Achilles was toe to toe, snarling and snorting, yet one by one, Braden blocked them: left forearm up, slash down like a blade, cross over the midriff…brace the right hand upward. Like a supersonic windmill whirling so fast its movements were obscured, Braden blocked, guarded, defended…and then he attacked.
A swift snap to the groin, a brutal kick to the gonads…
He used his limber lower leg like a lash.
Two fistfuls of chin-length, black-and-red hair…
He snatched Achille’s wild mane, yanked downward, then slammed the Dark One’s face into his own rising kneecap.
A mouthful of blood, sweat-drenched flesh, and grisly sinew…
Braden tore chunk…after chunk…out of the Dark One’s neck.
“You will never have a destiny. You will never procreate. You will die here in this canyon, humiliated, forgotten, and bested by a fucking fledgling!”
Braden leaped back, but not before Achilles caught him by the throat and raised him above his head, broken bones and lacerated shoulders be damned. Braden swung both knees upward, slammed them against Achilles’ chest, and summersaulted backward, breaking The Executioner’s hold. As he landed, he plunged his fist—all five claws, extended and serrated—into Achilles’ gut and withdrew a fistful of intestines.
Achilles lunged at Braden’s jugular, ivory fangs gleaming in the waning moonlight, yet once again, Braden blocked him with a forearm and stuffed the innards he had just retrieved in the Dark One’s mouth.
A vicious strike to Braden’s breastbone…
The air left Braden’s body, his head snapped back, and he staggered side to side.
A second blow…a third…a fourth…
Then Achilles dug the claws of his thumbs deep into Braden’s exposed esophagus and drilled into his jawbone. He shook him like a feral cat taunting a helpless mouse.
“Bray!” Kristina’s voice, calling in the background.
Oh shit, she was coming closer…
And lugging the Sword of Andromeda!
Damnit.
Braden could feel Red’s energy…the energy of the weapon…all of it, moving, coalescing…drawing nearer and nearer.
Achilles twisted Braden’s head to the side, thumbs still lodged in his jawbone, and began to tear through his neck with his canines like a rabid, bestial savage—he was going to decapitate Braden with his fangs.
“No!” Kristina screamed again, and then the entire canyon fell silent.
If he kills me here, he will claim Kristina. Lord Monoceros, how do I beat him?
Help me!
The Tree of Life, with its living limbs festooned in green, white, and golden foliage, appeared before Braden in his mystic mind’s eye and swayed back and forth, glowing. Braden released his fear, relinquished his corporeal body, and sank deep into the tree’s fluid motion.
Strength.
Agility.
Precognition…
How to feel
the ebb and flow of a battle in spirit…
How to harness light against an act of darkness…
How to become one with the forces all around you.
Love is stronger than hate.
You are stronger than Achilles.
You are the living Sword of Jadon—you are the embodiment of love.
Braden reached for the light—the light of The Tree and the light within—he reached for the soft, downy feathers of the mighty eagle, reminding his conscious mind how to shape-shift.
And then he did.
Only, not into the body of an eagle but into the bark, trunk, and branches of a majestic tree.
Limbs, like a hundred hands bearing a thousand fingers, coiled around Achilles’ arms, legs, and torso, dissected his back like leeches, worms made of bramble, and burrowed deep. The spiny twigs surrounded The Executioner’s heart like thorny sprouts covered in jagged, prickly bristles, and then Braden drew them back, slowly…steadily…retrieving both the branches and the heart of Achilles Zahora as he withdrew them.
He shifted back into a vampire, extended his hand in Kristina’s direction, and she tossed him the Sword of Andromeda. Raising the sword high above his head, he spun around in a perfect, full orbit and sliced cleanly through Achilles’ gullet, lopping off his head. And then straddling the headless body with both legs, a shoulder’s width apart, he murmured softly, “This is for you, Mamica.” He exhaled slowly through his nose, streaming white-hot flames from his nostrils, as he swiftly…thoroughly…incinerated the body beneath him.
He immediately trained his vision on the upper, eastern side of the canyon—on the Dark Ones gathered atop the cliff—and watched warily as they recoiled in shock and bloodthirsty rage, instantly wanting revenge.
“What happened to brother against brother?” one Dark One snarled.
“The redhead breached the battle!” still another groused. “Cheaters, one and all!”