by Julia Mills
Bowing her head, partly to hide her fear but mostly to attempt to play upon his feelings, Valentina put on a show of whimpering and murmured, “As you command, o vasiliás mou.”
“Skýla,” Roman cursed, letting go of Valentina as if just touching her burnt his skin. Turning away, he paced as far as the confines of the stone room would allow and stood with his back to her as he waited for her to speak.
She has exactly one minute until I snap her neck and go to Cynthia…
“Enough stalling, Valentina. I can’t hold him off forever. Tell us what you know or I will leave you here to rot,” Viktor said, emotion absent from his tone.
“Fine,” she sniffed. “I’ll tell you, but you must guarantee me my freedom.”
“What of Laurent?” the Commander asked.
“Oh…yes…of course, him, too,” she stuttered. Her attempt at compassion lost in the conniving tone of her voice.
“You tell me what you know and I will speak with Roman about your future,” Viktor paused and the King could feel how much fun his long-time Commander was having playing cat-and-mouse with Valentina when all the General wanted to do was kill her for her crimes and get to his mate.
“Do we have a deal?” the Commander asked.
“Yes,” Valentina quickly answered, making Roman smile despite all that had transpired. The cow truly was delusional if she believed there was any way in the world he would ever let her live.
Cutting off his thoughts, she began to tell her tale. “What you did not know of your half-brother was that he had bedded a servant of the House of Dracon who had become pregnant. The maid died in childbirth, but because of her many years of loyal service, Draco and his wife did not give the child to the beggars. Instead, they adopted him and raised him as their own. They educated him in the ways of law and prepared him to one day take his place among the lawgivers of the time. In honor of his father and in behest of his mother’s dying wish, they named him Xenos.”
“He had a keen mind, soaking up whatever he was taught and always asking to learn more. Draco was proud to call him his son and on the night of his eighteenth birthday as he prepared for the celebration his parents had planned for him, Xenos was visited by a raven who sat upon his window as he dressed.”
“The boy recognized the wisdom in the creature’s eyes and asked, ‘Have you something to say, bird of the night?’”
“The bird answered to the affirmative and went on to explain that Xenos’ real father, Xenophanes, upon entry into the Underworld, had bartered an eternity of servitude to the Keres, daughters of Nyx and malevolent spirits of death, that a messenger be sent to the boy on the night of his dawning manhood and tell him the story of his true father’s death.”
“With rapt attention, Xenos asked the bird to continue and listened as the details of Xenophanes’ demise at the end of your sword were revealed. At the end of the horrible account, the raven said, ‘And now your father asked for a favor in return for his sacrifice.’”
“‘But of course, he has only to ask,’ Xenos quickly responded.”
“‘You must live your life to the fullest, achieve everything he could not, but should you or any of your descendants ever come to know Romanus, the mighty Grecian General, you must gain his trust, become part of his inner circle, and learn all his secrets. The day will come when you, or those of your blood, will know who it is he treasures most. The one person he would rather die than live without. The one above all other who holds his affection and his heart. When you find this person, and this is the most important part, Xenos, you must let him believe all is well and then when his guard and down and his heart full of love, destroy her. Make it so he knows the pain of loss, a loss that will haunt him all the days of his life. Let the precious son of Markos spend the rest of eternity atoning for my death.’ With a tear in his eye and the first seed of hate in his heart, Xenos readily agreed and watched as the raven flew off into the night.”
Valentina sniffed and wiped an imaginary tear from her face then batted her eyes and gave a little sob, “That is the burden my family has had to bare for nearly three thousand years and it is all because of you, Romanus.”
Pulling upon centuries of learned restraint and a calm that only came from knowing she was nearing her last breath, Roman turned around, took three steps forward, smiled the most charming smile he could muster, and replied, “Romanus no longer exists. He died on a battlefield after his half-brother, the one you revere, Xenophanes, ordered him killed and left for the Keres to eat his soul.” He took another step forward and deepened his smile. “So you see, it is only fitting that he made his pact in death with the same evil goddesses he worshipped in life. Now, if you have nothing further to tell me, I shall bid you farewell,” he reached into his pocket, pulled out a polished onyx disc, and handed it to her. “There is your obol for Charon. Have you any last words?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” she sputtered, throwing her shackled hands before her face and recoiling in as tight of a ball as she could, considering she was chained to a chair. Wailing from her precarious position she screamed, “You cannot kill me. If you do, Cynthia will die.”
Nodding to his Commander, finally hearing what they had been searching for, Roman leaned over her trembling body and whispered, “Tell me.”
Slowly moving her hands until he could see one of her soulless, black eyes, Valentina hiccupped, “I did as I was told. I put aconite from a Monkshood petal harvested from the shady side of Mt Olympus under the blue moon into her food. The only cure is atropine extracted from a root of a Mandrake plant that grows in the same soil and is harvested under the light of a Blood Moon.” She let her hands fall away. “And that does not occur for approximately six more months and your beloved has,” she paused, “oh, let’s see.” She looked at her watch. “About four hours until she draws her last breath.”
The words still drifted on the air as Roman reached forward, placed his hands on either side of Valentina’s face, and with all the strength given to him by the King of the Gods, ripped her head from her neck. Blood, warm and wet, covered his body, splattered the walls, and flowed down the headless corpse like the waters of the Nile.
Dropping her head at her feet, he turned and walked towards the door, calling to Viktoras over his shoulder, “I’m going to shower and then I’m going to save my mate. I’ll have Gregorio see to the mess.
Chapter Eleven
He remembered little of showering off the remains of the wretched bitch responsible for the fate of his mate or the trip to the hospital at top speed. His focus was on Cynthia and the words of the doctor that played on a continual loop through his mind. “She has been poisoned. We’ve run every test we know to run and as of yet, it is still unidentifiable. We’ve given her every antidote we have available and still her condition declines. My best guess is she has a few hours. The nurses have already notified her next of kin.”
It was true. Everything Valentina had said had been the truth. The keeper of his heart, the woman made for him by the gods’ own hands was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. Roman, the mighty General of the Grecian Army, the Sigontáro of the Kings of the Blood, was as helpless as a babe and as unless as a eunuch.
He held her frail hand, looked at her once vibrant face, still so beautiful it made his heart skip a beat, but now calm, quiet, and pale from the effects of the poison. He listened to the slow, shallow beat of her heart and held his breath while waiting for her next, wondering why they had not provided her with a ventilator to help her in her time of need.
Kissing her knuckles, he spoke to her with hopes it would give her the strength to fight until he could come up with a way to save her. “Cynthia, agápi mou, I will never be able to make amends for the great pain you have suffered for simply knowing me, but I swear with all that I am I will spend every minute of our eternity together making it up to you.”
He coughed back the tears, knowing it was the first time since he buried his mother in the Grecian sands as a young boy
that he had felt true pain. “I wish you knew what you meant to me. Knew that you are the reason I continue to draw breath. Knew that until the day I laid eyes on you, I was lost like a lamb separated from the flock, wandering the world without cause or direction.”
A sad chuckle escaped as he remembered their first real meeting in her favorite coffee shop on a rainy day. “You know I broke the rules for you. Well, it’s more accurate to say I bent them. For you see, we, the Kings of the Blood, have certain rules we have to follow concerning our mates.” He held her hand to his cheek while watching her beautiful face for any signs that his words were somehow penetrating the effects of the toxin. “Yes, agapiméne mou, you are my mate, the keeper of my heart, the woman made to be by my side for all eternity and because of that, Zeus, our maker, decreed that I must wait for you to come to me.” He once again kissed her hand. “But you see, I could not. I had to see you. Had to be near you. Had to hear your voice in person and not just from the few times I was able to connect my mind to yours. And that is why I appeared at your secret little spot. It is also why I have been a thorn in your side from that day forward.”
He blew out a breath and laid his forehead on their combined hands, “I can’t live without you, Cynthia St. James. I won’t live without you.”
Pulling his cell phone from his pocket with his free hand, Roman started to dial Carl, their company’s pilot, to ready the jet and file a flight plan to Greece. His only hope was to get her to the soil of his death and convert her as his fýlakas tis kardiás mou. Looking back to Cynthia he assured her, “I will make this right. You will live and with the gods as my witness, I will love you as no other man has ever loved a woman.”
The pilot’s voicemail picked up and Roman opened his mouth the leave a message when a bright white light filled the room and a low, melodic voice said, “Romanus of Greece, son of Markos, why do you not use the talents you were given by my father? Why do you fret and toil, playing with the tools of this world when you have godly powers?”
Squinting against the glare, Roman saw the figure of a tall man with flowing long blond hair surrounded by a heavenly glow. His bright white tunic was held at the waist by a shining golden belt, while the music of the harp in his hand brought peace to the King’s heart and the quiver strapped onto his back the knowledge that Roman was in the presence of the god of music, truth, prophecy and healing.
Unwilling to let go of Cynthia’s hand but needing to pay respect to the deity, Roman bowed his head where he sat and with all reverence replied, “Oh, great Apollo, son of Zeus, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
“I have come in your hour of need in place of my father to offer assistance to one of Zeus’ favored warriors. I have heard your pleas and as the god who gave the science of medicine to man, I am here.”
“Thank you, oh benevolent Apollo, for your healing hand upon the keeper of my heart.”
There was a long pause and the light surrounding the god pulsed, almost completely extinguishing before returning to its full splendor. Apollo’s voice rang clear and true, “I believe you misunderstand, great warrior, I am not here to heal your fýlakas tis kardiás mou, I am here to provide you with the steps you must take to ensure you have the one created for you by your side for all eternity.”
Trying hard to control his temper, knowing full well it would do no good to anger Apollo, who on the best of times was unpredictable and at his worst had been known to destroy whole city-states for what he believed to be an insult, Roman took a deep breath and asked, “What must I do?” He prayed he didn’t sound condescending but his patience was at an end. “I was about to do all I knew how when you appeared.” Grabbing his cell phone from where he had dropped it on the bed, he pressed the redial button while continuing, “I am trying to get in contact with my pilot so that I may return to the land of my death and convert Cynthia as my mate.”
Pointing his harp at Roman’s hand, Apollo disconnected the ringing phone while shaking his head. “You misunderstand. There is no time to return to your homeland, your sýntrofos’ last breath is drawing near and travel will only quicken her death.” The god stepped forward and looked down at Cynthia. “You must take her home, the place you have prepared to share with your fýlakas tis kardiás mou, and on that soil you will perform the ritual of conversion as decreed by the Father of the Gods.” He paused and added with conviction in, “But first you must obtain her consent.”
“With all due reverence and respect, dearest Apollo, she is unconscious and unable to give consent, and the new moon on which we have been instructed is essential to bring our mates into our world is not for several nights.”
“Does the same moon not shine on our blessed Greece as it shines here in this world? Were you not planning to give agapiméni sas the gift of eternal life under whatever moon was high in the sky as soon as your mechanical wings were able to deliver you to the soil of your death?”
Roman quickly bowed his head and apologized, fearing he had angered the fickle deity, “You are so right, most gracious Apollo, I was going to break the covenant of our kind and convert my Cynthia no matter the phase of the moon.” He swallowed hard before adding, “And Zeus, King of all Gods, did provide that should the keeper of my heart be in mortal danger I could take whatever measures necessary to preserve her life, to and including giving her the gift of eternal life without her permission or knowledge.”
“Yes, warrior, but with all things, my father and yours has not been completely forthcoming.”
Great! Now, I find out there are loopholes…
Apollo went on, “You may only use such extreme measures when your fýlakas tis kardiás mou cannot be reached. This is not the case with your Cynthia. She still lives. Within her mind she is fighting for the chance to declare her love for you. It is you who must go to her. Use the powers given to you by Zeus. Join your mind with hers. She is willing and ready to accept you as vasiliás tis.” He touched her forehead with the tip of his finger. “This one is strong. She will challenge you for the whole of your existence. You have been blessed beyond all measure, Romanus. Now, do what you must to make it so. You have the ability. Obtain her consent and live the life you were given to the fullest as was intended.”
In the blink of an eye, the bright warm light of the god extinguished and Apollo was gone. The sound of footsteps in the hall came right before the door to Cynthia’s room opened and Roman spun in his chair and smiled at Katarina.
“He’s right, you know?” She grinned.
Nodding, he responded, “You heard?’ Then chuckling, “Of course you heard. Yes, he is. Want to help me plan a kidnapping?”
Winking, Kat rubbed her hands together and nodded, “I thought you would never ask.”
Avoiding the hospital staff was easy. Because of Cynthia’s condition, they only came to check on her every two hours and at shift change as long as the machine beeping to the beat of her heart continued its sad monotone song.
The King and his accomplice dressed the unconscious Cynthia, as well as themselves, in scrubs ‘borrowed’ from the supply closet at the end of the hall and then loaded her into a wheel chair liberated from where it had been abandoned in the hallway.
Thankfully, Katarina was a tech genius and after just a few minutes of fiddling with the heart monitor, was able to make it repeat its incessant beeping even after disconnecting it from Cynthia. Looking from side-to-side to be sure the corridor was empty, Roman quickly pushed his unresponsive mate out of the room, down the hall, and into a waiting freight elevator.
Viktor’s mate had stayed behind for an extra minute to make sure no one came and discovered the empty room before he got away. She had just jumped into the lift when Roman heard the scream of Adele from the other end of the ward.
“Oh my God, say it isn’t so. Tell me she’s not dead!”
Guilt swamped the King as the door to the elevator closed and he was forced to make the conscious decision to leave his mate’s closet friend to grieve for a woman who still
lived, but it could not be helped. He had to get Cynthia to his home. Had to enter her mind and get her consent and then perform the ritual of conversion before she drew her last breath, for there was no guarantee it would be successful if her heart stopped beating of its own accord.
Reaching his car, Roman waited as Katarina dove into the back and held out her hands to carefully and comfortably place Cynthia on the seat. Once he knew his mate was secure, he pushed the wheelchair into an empty parking spot, jumped into the car, and sped out of the garage.
Driving as fast as he could while not drawing the attention of any police officers or jostling Cynthia and Katarina too much, Roman sped through town and into his estate, pulling around to the far side of the driveway. Jumping out of the car, he threw open the backdoor and gently reached for Cynthia. Holding her snuggled safely in his arms, he stopped for just a second to look at Katarina, unsure how to properly thank her for all she had done.
Nodding and smiling, his Commander’s mate waved her hand, “Go on. Do what you have to do. Save our girl. I’ll take the car and let Viktor know what’s happening. See you in a bit.”
“Thank you,” was all he could squeeze out past the lump in his throat. Were it not for his friends, those he held so dear the King considered them family, he knew he would not have the strength to do what had to be done.
Jogging to the far corner of the twenty-five-hundred-acre estate, Roman stopped under the large olive tree he had planted when he bought the property over a hundred years ago. It paid tribute to the goddess Athena, daughter of Zeus, and the warrior goddess whose dominion over justice and wisdom allowed them to make fair and earnest decisions when dealing with those in violation of the Law of the Gods. The olive tree is a sign of peace and prosperity, as well as resurrection and hope – both of which Roman was counting on with every fiber of his being.