by Tessa Dawn
“Of course I did,” he said. “You and I…we have forever, Red. You need to tell me every one of your stories—and I need to tell you mine. Believe me when I say, every road we’ve traveled, everywhere we’ve been, everyone we have ever known has made us who we are. So it’s worth knowing. It’s worth sharing. But all in all, fuck the past. You could’ve been more…affectionate. I shouldn’t have walked away that night…left you on the couch. But we’re standing here now—where we were always meant to be—and Kristina, you’re wearing my bracelet.”
She unlocked her arms, wrapped them around his waist, and sobbed against his chest.
After several poignant moments had passed, she found her voice again: “I thought I had lost you.”
“Shh,” he said, then stroked her hair. “Kristina, if I could, I would stay here, just like this…forever…with you. But Nachari…my stepdad…Conrad.”
She nodded, understanding. And then, “Wait!” She pulled away, grasped both of his hands, and steadied herself for what was coming. “Bray, there’s something I have to tell you.”
He grew quiet, turned inward for a moment…and then his eyes clouded with deep, haunted shadows. “About my mother? I know.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You know about Lily?”
He nodded stoically.
Oh gods.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said, allowing the words to linger. She knew there was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, other than to stand there…be there…in the moment, sharing his pain and sorrow. Finally, after another pregnant moment had passed, she whispered his familiar pet name, “Bray…”
He grasped both of her wrists and shook his head. “Not here. Not now. I need to keep it together.”
She nodded, rose to the tips of her toes, and cradled his perfect, angular jaw. Then she leaned in slowly, waited for Braden to dip down to meet her, and kissed him softly—sweetly—on the mouth. “Do you want me to come with?”
He shook his head. “No, just wait here for me. Better yet, you might catch a ride with Arielle and Kagen, see if they’ll give you a lift home. I’d like to go back to the brownstone, get cleaned up…put on some real clothes. And you need to go back to the penthouse, maybe take a second for yourself”—he swept his hand over her vest, her skirt, then lower, to her dirty, bare feet—“take those off, wash those up.” He forced a weak, conciliatory smile. “As much as I’d like to take you…go with you…I’m pretty sure my family, Napolean, maybe even the wizards are gonna want to hash things out. But wait up for me, okay? I’ll come to the penthouse as soon as I can.”
She brushed a streak of dirt off his chin and nodded.
“And Kristina? You need to keep a warrior nearby—maybe one of the sentinels can stand guard until I get there, or at least until the harvest moon completely sets, whichever comes first. I don’t think the Dark Ones are gonna make another play, not this night—not this morning—but you never know with those assholes.”
“Yeah, okay.” She held his gaze a few seconds longer, not wanting to turn away. His beautiful, burnt sienna irises nearly sparkled in the waning moonlight, and for the first time, maybe ever, he saw her…all of her…and she saw him too.
They saw each other.
I love you, Bray…
The words swam in her head, but she didn’t want to blurt them out randomly, like she had handled everything else. She wanted to tell him when he could say it back…when he could hold her again, and she could hold him. “Go to your family,” she said, instead. “I’ll wait for you at the penthouse.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nachari Silivasi’s heart ached in his chest, even as he tried to remind himself that it was over—Braden had prevailed in the battle, and he was back.
He was back.
The last time he had spoken directly to Braden, not Prince Jadon, had been on the beach at Santos’ hidden lake, over eight hours earlier. The battle between the ancient princes—between Braden and Achilles—had stunned Nachari’s senses, and now, watching his familiar friend, his cherished acolyte, and the boy he loved like a son both heal and console Kristina moved his soul and constricted his heart.
He exhaled slowly.
No, not a boy—a man.
Yes, his familiar friend—but different.
There was a confidence and a command in Braden that Nachari had never seen before, at least not to this degree. There was a maturity—and a level of self-awareness—that surpassed his usual uncanny insight. His phenomenal abilities. The precognition…
Braden had always been special.
But now, he was…more.
His arm still draped around Conrad’s shoulders, Nachari felt the young vampire begin to tremble as Braden approached the trio, shoulders back, chin held high, his wise, compassionate eyes filled with deep emotion.
He closed the distance in five fluid strides and stopped short in front of Conrad. “Conny…” He searched his younger sibling’s eyes. “I know about Mamica.”
That was all it took.
The fledgling’s shoulders drooped and curled inward, and his entire body shook.
Braden opened his arms and reached for his brother, and Conrad laid his head between the crook of Braden’s arm and his strong, unclothed chest. Braden cradled the back of Conrad’s head with exquisite gentleness, then nuzzled his chin in Conrad’s short, mussed, dirty-blond hair.
He didn’t speak, at least not out loud.
He just held the younger vampire until Conrad’s tears stopped falling.
Then still holding on, he finally raised his chin and regarded his stepdad. “Dario.”
Dario Bratianu nodded sadly.
“I’m so sorry,” Braden lamented.
“As am I, son.”
A moment of pregnant silence, then Braden asked, “The burial?”
“It’s to be held just after sunset on Sunday evening.” Despite Dario’s stoic resolve, his voice faltered as he pressed forward: “We weren’t…sure. We didn’t know. The outcome of the battle, the state of affairs in the valley…so Lily”—he cleared his throat and tried again—“so Lily is at Napolean’s compound…in the Hall of Justice…she’s…she’s…”
“I know,” Braden interjected. “I’ve seen her.”
Dario’s eyes grew wide. “When? How?”
Braden shook his head. “Later. It’s a long story.” He removed his hand from Conrad’s hair and swept it in an arc, indicating the canyon. “All of this…it’s a really long story.” Then he turned his attention back to Conrad, angled his body toward him, and braced his little brother by both sagging biceps. “Conny, I want you to know you can stay with me if you want to, as long as you like.” He paused to let the words sink in. “We will get through this together.” Then he pulled him even closer and whispered in his ear, “I am not the only brother who is strong, or courageous, or…special.” He squeezed him tight, with both arms now, his muscular forearms tightening. “I love you, Conrad.”
Conrad sniffled. “I love you, too, Braden.” He pulled away, nodded faintly, and forced himself to stand taller. “I told you one day you might end up being one of the greatest vampires that ever lived, and now…now you’re the living Sword of Jadon.”
Braden shook his head in humble dismissal. “No, not to you. As far as I’m concerned, I’m one of Lily’s boys, Conrad’s brother, and”—he swept his gaze to Dario in both deference and emphasis—“Dario’s stepson.” He paused. “And whatever I’ve become, whatever I have accomplished, or survived…” He turned to face Nachari and choked back a sob. “I owe it all to this one.” He released Conrad gently, took a faltering step in the Master Wizard’s direction, and stole the vampire’s gaze. “Nachari…” His voice was thick with emotion.
Nachari reached out with a trembling hand and snatched Braden by the arm. He tugged him forward, wrapped his strong arms around him, and the two males embraced like long-lost brothers. “Are you okay?” Nachari murmured.
Braden held him tighter. “I will be.”
“What happened? Where’d you go? What the hell was that demonstration in the canyon?” He forced a meek but artful chuckle in an effort to relieve the tension…in an effort to make Braden feel more comfortable.
Braden stepped back and smiled softly. “When the Harvest Moon rose, I sort of…I don’t even know how to explain it…but it was like being sucked into a black tunnel, spinning backward, and then I ended up in this unbelievable, astral world…a forest. It was like something out of a fairy tale. And there was this tree, this huge…gold…white…powerful tree, and all these lessons, all these badges. I collected them, one at a time—oh, and Lord Monoceros was there! He told me I had a choice, whether to come back or not. He warned me that I would return to great sorrow, but he also told me to pay attention…to learn and remember. He said nothing that had ever happened to me had been by accident.”
Nachari stared at him in stunned, curious silence, momentarily transfixed by the story. “That’s unbelievable…extraordinary.” And then, “Prince Jadon…he’s always been with you, hasn’t he? A part of you. Leading you…guiding you…preparing you.”
Braden nodded slowly. “I think so…and yeah, through all of it—Marquis’ Blood Moon, Napolean’s possession, the visions about Kiera and Kyla…even recognizing Gwen’s connection to the house of Jadon when I found her in The Fortress…all of it.”
Nachari shook his head in wonderment. “And the battle? That thing you did with the extra arms and hands: What the heck kind of magic was that, Braden?”
Braden shrugged both shoulders and raised both brows. “I dunno—the tree. Hard to explain, but I channeled the tree, learned from this lesson it taught me—as a stick man!”
This time Nachari chuckled freely. “Whoa…” He eyed Dario and Conrad, who were both listening intently, and reined in his desire to hear the rest of the story, to learn every single detail, right then and there in the canyon…to know everything Braden had gone through in order to assuage his own fears. “I have a feeling this is going to take hours.”
“Days,” Braden said. “Maybe weeks.”
Nachari smiled, and his heart felt…full. “Yeah, and Napolean and Fabian will want to hear every detail, as will Niko and Jankiel. Hell, I think my own brothers, not to mention the sentinels, are going to want to know everything you were shown, told…or taught…by a divine apparition and a celestial deity. Holy Perseus…unbelievable.” He took a measured step back and regarded him thoughtfully. Then he lowered his eyes and bowed from the neck. “Prince Jadon’s Amadis—model of a chivalric hero—the living Sword of Jadon.”
Braden eyed Nachari warily. “But nothing’s changed. I mean, between the two of us—right?”
Nachari laughed out loud. “Oh, everything has changed, Braden. Everything…and nothing.” He threw his arms around him and hugged him again. “By all the gods, I love you, fiule. Don’t you ever forget that—don’t ever doubt it.”
Braden embraced him with equal affection. “I love you, too, Master Wizard. And thank you.” He stepped back.
“For?”
“For everything. Everything…”
Nachari nodded, understanding. He felt blessed for having played a role in such an amazing soul’s journey—and the journey was only getting started. What about Kristina? he asked on a private, telepathic bandwidth, watching as the slender, weary redhead walked away with Arielle and Kagen. Seems to me, that night you went to see her, before you met with the king, the sentinels, the tracker, myself, and Fabian at the compound, you did not in fact say all you needed to say. Seems to me the two of you have a whole helluva lot more…to say. He winked, conspiratorially, and Braden actually blushed.
Yeah, well, like I told you that morning in the brownstone: Nunya…
Nunya? Nachari asked.
None ya business, Braden said.
Nachari chuckled softly, then realized they were being really, really rude. Yeah okay, he said succinctly. You can fill me in later. He turned his attention back to Dario and Conrad, more concerned about the latter than the former…
It wasn’t that he did not like or respect the Master Warrior—he did—but if the male was feeling a little left out, a bit overshadowed by Nachari’s relationship with Braden, then he had only himself to blame. He had wasted so many years…squandered so many opportunities. It hadn’t been lost on the Master Wizard that the two males had not even embraced. No judgment implied—Dario was an old-school vampire, stoic by nature, and he had never been all that outwardly affectionate. Just the same, his loss had been Nachari’s gain, and Nachari was neither sorry nor ashamed of stepping in to fill that gap. Hopefully, going forward, Dario would mend as many fences as Lily had, make a strong, concerted effort to build that familial foundation, brick by brick, with Braden, ever greater…ever more solid.
As kind, patient, and loving as Braden was, he was already two steps ahead of Nachari.
“Dad,” he said lovingly to Dario, his tone far more solemn. “I still have to get cleaned up, put some clothes on. I still have to speak with Napolean, maybe Fabian, and I still…I need to spend some time with Kristina.” He turned his attention to Conrad. “But I’m here, one hundred percent, for both you and Conny, and I want very much to help with…Mom’s final arrangements. I meant what I said about Conrad staying with me if he wants to. Can you give me twenty-four hours?” He eyed Nachari expectantly. “Is that okay with you, Nachari? If Conny comes to the brownstone for a while?”
Nachari nodded enthusiastically. “Of course it is. We would be honored to have him. And you and I, we can catch up more when you’re back at the brownstone.”
“Conny?” Braden raised his eyebrows.
“Cool by me,” Conrad said, even as he smiled faintly, but his voice was still vacant and unmistakably hollow: Grief would continue to weigh on the young vampire’s spirit and to rob him of joy for quite some time—there was just no way around it. Having lost both his mother, his father, for centuries, and the twin of his soul, Shelby, how well Nachari understood.
“Take whatever time you need, son,” Dario said to Braden. “I’ll take Conrad back to the Dark Moon Lodge for tonight, and going forward, when time permits, we can work something out.”
Braden declined his head in appreciation. “Thank you.”
Nachari opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
Sometimes words were inadequate, and he didn’t want to hijack or disturb the moment.
Braden was here.
Braden was back.
The boy with the painted face, the stiff Count Dracula collar, and a broken wing that he had dragged behind him was now the living Sword of Jadon, and in whatever minuscule way, Nachari had been allowed to play a small role in Braden’s evolution. Nachari had been blessed to watch the boy grow into a man. And more than that—so much more—the gods had bestowed the qualities of courage, wisdom, and uncanny insight in Nachari’s beloved acolyte, a burgeoning warrior-wizard who hadn’t even graduated from The Academy yet.
Or attended the Romanian University…
There were still more precious memories to come.
As the Master Wizard studied Braden’s strong, ever-more angular and mature features, his flawless tan skin, and his wise, enchanting eyes, four words came to mind. And if Nachari had been alone, he would have dropped to his knees to breathe them with reverence…
Thank you, Lord Monoceros.
Thank you…Lord Monoceros.
From the bottom of my heart…thank you for Braden.
Chapter Thirty
Zeus Dragavei paced around the underground lair like a restless lion, occasionally stopping to eye all the timeless artifacts and ancient weapons hanging on the cavern walls, as Salvatore Nistor stood in the doorway and looked on.
This was Achilles’ lair…
And therefore, it was his lair, although that last assertion made no sense to anyone but him.
The Colony Guard had patched him up, healed his humiliating injuries with alacrity, and sent him on his way back to hi
s familial cluster. Only, he had approached his brethren—and Oskar Vadovsky—with a rare and unusual request: Would anyone object if he moved his things…relocated…took over Achilles Zahora’s living quarters?
To Zeus’ way of thinking, it just made sense.
After all, Zeus’ father had died over a century earlier, killed by sunlight when he had failed to get his lecherous old ass back to the Colony in time following a night of terrorizing, ravaging, and ultimately dispatching several young girls, and probably boys, in a Scottish orphanage, over four thousand miles away. And Zeus did not have any brothers. He was a guardsman now, formally inducted, which elevated his rank, and there was no disputing the fact—Achilles’ living arrangements were superior in luxury, status, and location.
Besides, Zeus Dragavei had hung out with the legend himself, the ancient prince who had given rise to the Dark Ones’ society, Prince Jaegar Demir—may he live large in the underworld—before Braden Bratianu had ended the glorious monarch’s…brief visit in Dark Moon Vale.
In the end, Oskar had not objected.
In truth, no one among the Colony Guard or on the Dark Ones’ Council had balked at the swift, unexplained request by Zeus to change his digs: Salvatore Nistor had been the only one to hang back and watch as Zeus had retrieved a duffle bag of clothes—just one duffle bag—made a right turn instead of a left in the center conical hall, and headed to the now infamous lair.
Salvatore Nistor had been the only one to eye Zeus suspiciously and follow him all the way to his new private residence, where he now lurked like a phantom in the doorway. “Like what you see?” the sorcerer drawled, pointing to a particularly gruesome medieval weapon hanging above a heavy chest of drawers.
Zeus bit his bottom lip and ignored him.
He turned his attention to the big brass bed toward the front of the lair and remembered Kristina’s angry, defiant features, her wet, disheveled hair, and her slender but perfectly curved body, as she cowered on the mattress.
“Would you like to keep his entire collection?” Salvatore snipped, sarcastically.