by Tessa Dawn
Only the gods knew.
And they weren’t talking.
Kagen cleared his throat and tried to put some pep into his voice. “So, let’s see: What’s new today?” He spoke to the sleeping vampire the same way every morning, casually and with deliberate hope, praying his faith would one day get through. “Oh yeah, we worked out a new schedule for you.” He absently took Nachari’s hand. “It looks like Nathaniel will be hanging out from two to eight every evening; Marquis will sit with you from eight to three AM; and, of course, I’ll get up with the chickens to be here every day from three until noon.” He tried to chuckle but it sounded as insincere as it felt. “Nurse Katia will take the noon-to-two shift, just to give us a short break, but don’t worry, Jocelyn, Ciopori, and Kristina will be dropping in on a regular basis during that time…more than likely to talk your ears off.” He absently brushed an errant lock of hair from Nachari’s forehead. “Braden would come more often, but we’re trying to protect him from too much exposure to the situation—limit his time in the clinic and keep him busy.”
He set his brother’s hand back down, and then he shrugged away his guilt.
The two-hour window—120 minutes without Kagen, Marquis, or Nathaniel at Nachari’s side—still felt like too much time: Nachari needed to know that his brothers were there every second, pulling for him, standing by him, willing him to live.
That they fully expected him to return to the family—both mentally and physically whole.
It was the women who had finally convinced the Silivasi brothers that they simply couldn’t spend every waking hour at Nachari’s side, that their fatigue also projected a tangible energy; and if they didn’t take a break, make an effort to fortify their own souls, none of them would have anything left to give Nachari. Pretty wise, Kagen thought. Nevertheless, two hours out of twenty-four were all the Master Healer would concede. Luckily, the women were wise enough not to push it any further.
A smile warmed his expression, and he chuckled softly. “Speaking of the women, Marquis is treading on some very thin ice these days.” He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “Ciopori finally drew a line in the sand about Marquis’s constant roughhousing with Nikolai—after all, the child is all of what? Just over four months old now?” His voice deepened. “So what did Marquis go and do? He gathered all of Niko’s rattles, hollowed out the centers, and filled them with lead. Lead. Basically, he turned them into barbells, so every time the boy teethes and reaches for a rattle, he’s forced to lift weights.” Leaning back in the chair, he crossed one leg horizontally over the other and placed his arm on the back rest. “Nathaniel thinks Ciopori is going to kill him this time when she finds out. Frankly, I think she already knows but is waiting for the best time to use it as leverage.” He leaned in as far forward as possible and added, “If you ever repeat this, I’ll deny saying it, but Marquis no longer runs things over there…even if he thinks he does. I swear to you on my honor, our newest sister has that male wrapped around her little royal finger.” He smiled without restraint. “It’s priceless. It truly is.”
All at once, the steady line on the monitor dipped for a moment and a shrill beep sounded, drawing Kagen to immediate attention. His breath caught as he checked the screen, processed all of the numbers quickly in his head, and prepared to jump at a moment’s notice if necessary. After thirty seconds or so passed without incident, he relaxed his shoulders and chalked it up to the normal fluctuations of technology. And then he sternly chastised himself for overdramatizing the moment. By the gods, he had never been this antsy before with a patient.
Of course, Nachari wasn’t just any patient…
Still, Kagen couldn’t help but wonder whether or not he was even capable of providing his youngest brother with ongoing, competent care anymore. Clearly, he could not remain objective, rational, or detached. Perhaps he could no longer see things from a true healer’s perspective.
Perhaps he should have another healer step in for him.
The second the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it.
Good, bad, or indifferent, there was no way in hell Kagen Silivasi would ever relinquish Nachari’s care to another. The mere thought made him cringe. Nachari would either wake up, come back to the land of the living with gusto, or he would slip away quietly—or not so quietly. Either way, it would be with Kagen at his side.
Kagen rose from his chair.
He crossed the room and opened one of two windows that looked over the whitewater river below. A crisp breeze swept through the night, bringing with it the fresh smell of pine and juniper, clean mountain air. As the invigorating scent filled his nostrils, he inhaled deeply. He thought he had worked through most of his guilt. At least he had tried to put it in its proper place—which wasn’t in the Dark Moon Vale Clinic, interfering with his one-on-one time with his patient. Even if the patient was his beloved brother.
Looking at it rationally, he knew he had done all he could for Nachari. From the moment events had first begun to unfold, Kagen had acted with infinite care and meticulous precision: He had overseen the draining of his little brother’s blood with expert timing; and he had treated the wizard’s dying body with the utmost respect, going out of his way to preserve the dignity of the sacrifice Nachari was making.
Correction: the temporary sacrifice Nachari had made.
It had never been intended to be permanent.
Kagen stared out the window at a towering group of Ponderosa pines as he recalled that fateful, horrific day: Salvatore Nistor had conjured a parasitic demon from hell in an attempt to destroy Napolean Mondragon, actually brought the monster to earth from the underworld. Since none of the Dark Ones were capable of getting anywhere near Napolean on their own, they had relied upon every trick in the book—literally, in the Book of Black Magic—to bring the formidable king down, to exact revenge for the day Napolean had single-handedly slain eighty-eight of their warriors in the underground colony as punishment for Salvatore’s capture of Princess Ciopori. Meanwhile, Nachari had agreed to try and save the king—to allow the warriors in the house of Jadon to drain his body of blood and force him to flatline in order to free his immortal soul from his body. It was the only way Nachari could enter the Spirit World and do battle with the demon on behalf of their king.
And Kagen had brought Nachari back to life immediately, just as he had promised.
He had started Nachari’s heart and pumped oxygen to his brain, all the while keeping him viable so that his traveling soul could return to his body the moment their king was out of danger—just as soon as Napolean was safe, back in his own healthy body, and no longer possessed by the Dark Lord.
But nothing had gone as they planned.
Nachari had never returned.
Something had gone horribly…horribly wrong.
Kagen shook his head to dismiss the memory. It stung to think of the way the Dark Ones had snuck a possession worm into their king, tried to use Napolean to destroy his newfound mate—and then himself—and cost the Silivasis their beloved brother in the process.
Kagen was infinitely proud of Nachari.
And endlessly ashamed of his inability to do something more to bring the Master Wizard back.
He rolled his head on his shoulders to release some tension and looked back at Nachari, noting how peaceful he appeared on the bed. If three months had not already passed, he would have sworn his little brother was just sleeping soundly. That any minute now, he was going to jump up, flash that broad, endearing smile of his, and saunter across the room with that rare, almost arrogant swagger that Nachari wore like a second skin—the one that had women swooning, gasping, and begging for even the slightest glance in their direction, just hoping to get a look at those eyes.
Truth be told, Kagen thought, underneath it all, Nachari was one of the kindest, most sincere males he had ever known.
Kagen walked leisurely back to the bedside and tilted his head to the side, studying every nuance of his brother’s face.
Remembering.
Decades of teasing. Centuries of endless jokes played on the family by both Nachari and Nachari’s late twin, Shelby. Endless antics—some planned, some accidental—but all evoking silly smirks, childish chortles, and raucous laughter in their wake. So much animation in those arresting features.
Kagen shook his head.
There was so much more life left to live for the young, 500-year-old vampire. So much more of the world to see. So many more experiences to enjoy.
Like Kagen, Nachari had yet to meet his destiny. Unlike Kagen’s, Nachari’s woman would undoubtedly become the most envied woman on the planet. Not that women didn’t swoon and pant over the only brown-eyed, russet-haired Silivasi brother in the bunch as well, but Nachari was…well…Nachari. And Kagen never wanted to see that change.
He shrugged, tapping the sleeping male lightly on the shoulder. “You know what, brother. I almost forgot to tell you about Storm.” He held both hands in front of him and toggled them up and down as if measuring two invisible weights. “Now, keep in mind, of course, that parents tend to exaggerate; however, this little guy is actually starting to babble already and make some words. If I’m lying, you can sue me.”
Although all vampire children developed far more rapidly than their human counterparts, at only four and one-half months old, Nathaniel and Jocelyn’s industrious child was already showing an unusual level of intelligence.
“The other day,” Kagen continued, explaining the outlandish claim, “Jocelyn was strapping Storm into his car seat in order to bring him to the clinic for a visit; and apparently, the little guy was so accustomed to coming here to see you that he looked up and said, ‘Unka Chari?’” Kagen felt his eyes grow moist. “Unka Chari, can you get over that? The boy knew that he was going to see his uncle Nachari.” He looked away as the last words caught in his throat; and then he cleared it, took a deep breath, and slowly blew it out. Damn it all to hell—why did this have to be so hard? For the love of all that was holy, what did the gods want in exchange for bringing Nachari back? There was no price the Healer wouldn’t willingly pay, regardless of any cost to himself.
Suddenly, from somewhere far away, deep in the recesses of his mind—someplace where unspoken doubts lurked in the shadows, threatening, always threatening, to come into the light—Kagen felt the subtle stirring of fear. Waiting. Prowling. Ever ready to pounce. And it spoke in a terrifying voice: “Your brother is gone, and there is nothing you can do to bring him back! He will never walk this earth again!”
For all intents and purposes, Nachari was dead, and that which remained now was only a picturesque shell of a life that had once been vital. Just like his twin Shelby, Nachari was forever lost to the grave.
Everything inside of Kagen resisted the voice.
He steeled his determination and stuffed the thoughts back down, forcing the wretched voice back into the shadows where it belonged, because the alternative, to listen and to hear, was unthinkable.
Unfathomable.
Inconceivable.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
Shaking it off with steely determination, Kagen jumped to his feet, drew his cell phone from his pocket, and quickly dialed the number of a human female who lived in Dark Moon Vale, the daughter of a loyal family who had served the vampires with honor for years. As the phone rang several times, he tapped his foot impatiently against the floor.
A woman in her mid-twenties answered. “Dr. Silivasi; is this you?”
Caller ID, Kagen thought, and then he rolled his eyes. He hated the title doctor—humans had doctors; the sons of Jadon had healers. They spent 400 years at the Romanian University studying infinite theologies and practices in order to become healers—anatomy, biology, and pharmacology did not even tap the surface of where they went in their quest to understand the countless nuances of regeneration and wellness—so advanced was their craft. Kagen Silivasi understood the flow of kinetic energy at a quantum-physics level. He could manipulate the subtle interplay of mind, body, and spirit, measure the subtle influences of nature on a vampire’s body rhythms. He understood life to be an interconnected system of living energy as well as fundamental elements; and he knew how to influence each one at the most basic, atomic level. And that was on top of mastering the general medicine practiced by humans.
Whoa, Silivasi! he thought, stopping the irrational mental tirade. Defensive much? Get a grip. Feeling like an overly temperamental idiot, he forced a smile in order to put some warmth into his voice. “Just call me Kagen, or even Mr. Silivasi, Shelly. Okay?”
The woman sounded nervous and far too apologetic. “Oh, gosh…yes, of course, I’m sorry, Doctor Sil—I mean, Mr. Silivasi. Do you…” She paused as if searching for the exact, right word. “Do you need my…services…this afternoon, Master? I’m…I’m always here, at your service.”
Kagen switched the phone to his other hand. Master? He decided to let it go. “I’m afraid I do, Shelly. It has been a little over a week since we last—”
“Yes, yes, of course!” She rushed the words, cutting him off in midsentence. “Oh, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She groaned, sounding totally exasperated. “Forgive me.”
Kagen fought back a chuckle. As far as he knew, no vampire in the house of Jadon had ever punished or harmed a loyal human servant for not genuflecting sufficiently, yet Shelly Winters had always responded to him the same way: like she was afraid he might just put her six feet under—perhaps come steal her in the night, whisk her off to a dark Romania castle, and drain her body of blood—if she didn’t pay sufficient homage every time she heard his voice. For the love of Auriga, he had no idea why she still behaved that way after so many years of serving the Vampyr, of living within their generosity and beneath their protection. Surely, she had to know them better by now. Her family had to be one of the few who had been with the house of Jadon for more than five generations.
“Mmm, I see,” he purred, deliberately inserting a low, rumbling growl into his already raspy voice. It was awful to toy with her like this, but she had sort of invited it. “I will overlook the indefensible…this time.” His voice was deep, hypnotic, and practically dripping with menace. Dracula on steroids.
Shelly didn’t respond.
And he could have sworn he heard her heart pounding through the phone, rising to a frenetic rhythm, even as she swallowed reflexively several times in a row. Without actually seeing her, he imagined her delicate hand protectively covering her throat as she shivered.
“Shelly?” he said, his voice now calm, steady, and reassuring.
“Y…Y…Yes, Mr. Silivasi?”
He chuckled softly. “I’m teasing you, sweetheart. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m just trying to loosen you up.”
She sighed audibly. “Oh…yeah.” And then she tried to laugh along with him—tried but failed. “You got me. You’re very funny, Mr. Sil—”
“Relax,” Kagen drawled. This time, he placed a hint of compulsion in his voice, not enough to override her perceptions, just enough to take her heart rate down a notch. “Breathe, darling.”
She breathed heavily into the phone. “Okay…I’ll try.”
Kagen chastised himself for toying with the poor female: Not everyone understood his unique sense of humor, and Shelly Winters had a good soul.
She was a sweet, innocent young lady with a true heart for service. She practically radiated love for her fellow man—although, when Kagen considered the behavior of most human men toward their women, only the gods knew why—but Shelly was one of those rare types who always saw the best in everyone because she looked for it. There wasn’t a fake or pretentious bone in her body, and that was why Kagen had chosen her to nourish Nachari while he was…inanimate. Shelly’s soul was a perfect match to Nachari’s goodness. And the human female had come to the Dark Moon Vale Clinic on a weekly basis, as requested, ever since the day Nachari had been admitted. While Kagen couldn’t speak for Nachari’s eternal soul, he could absolute
ly certify that his brother’s physical body was in top condition, and Shelly Winters was a big part of the reason why. “You are ready, then? To feed him today?” he asked.
He was referring to the practice of drinking plenty of fluids to flush her system of impurities, adding vitamins and minerals to richen her blood, and generally avoiding all processed foods in order to raise her overall vibration. While vampires could consume any human blood, ward off diseases, and still find nourishment, this was Nachari they were talking about. And as long as different elements projected different frequencies, nothing but the best would go into his brother.
“Absolutely,” she assured him. “I’m always very diligent. Ready at a moment’s notice.” Although she spoke with confidence—perhaps courtesy was the better word—her hesitance could still be heard.
And Kagen couldn’t really blame her.
Under normal circumstance, the vampires in the house of Jadon did not call upon their human allies to provide blood; they hunted like all other predators, choosing their prey in the moment, inoculating them against the pain, and wiping their memories. But Nachari couldn’t hunt right now. As it stood, the fresh human blood had to be taken from a vein and fed to the male through a tube. It was awkward at best, intimidating at the least.
But it shouldn’t have been scary.
“I really do appreciate this, Shelly,” Kagen said sincerely. “I know that the situation is…difficult.”
Shelly sighed. “No, not at all.” She obviously lied for his benefit. “I am more than happy to do it.” At least the last part was true.
“So you can come now?” he asked, changing his manner to a business-like tone.
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “I can leave in ten minutes…be there in twenty if you’d like, Dr. Sil—Kagen.”