by Tessa Dawn
Salvatore Nistor responded with a hiss. He looked up at Napolean and crossed his arms, before glancing off into the distance as if he were thinking it over.
Marquis figured the formidable enemy was assessing the situation from a strategic point of view, which only made sense. One did not live to be as old as Salvatore by being reckless.
"I am not afraid to fight you, Napolean," the Dark One scowled, his words ringing only partially true.
Then you are a fool, Marquis thought. Anyone with half a brain would be afraid to fight Napolean. But what the dark son of Jaegar clearly had no fear of...was death...which was good—because Marquis was more than prepared to give it to him.
"But to take on you, Marquis, Nathaniel, and Kagen..."
Salvatore's voice trailed off.
Napolean remained quiet, awaiting the enemy's decision, while Marquis studied Salvatore's face. The ancient Dark One had to know they couldn't possibly win; the odds were stacked too heavily against them—with or without Napolean.
And unlike Valentine, Salvatore wasn't one to take unnecessary risks. Still, Marquis cold only hope. He had made a promise to avenge Shelby's death, and he had no intention of letting Valentine walk, not under the cover of his brothers or the protection of Napolean.
"We will agree to retreat," Salvatore finally conceded, his voice thick with contempt, "but only if you guarantee a safe exit."
Napolean turned to Marquis. "Warrior, what say you?"
"Never!" Marquis thundered. "As far as I'm concerned, Salvatore can burn in hell with his brother."
Salvatore hissed, his eyes glowing red, but he said nothing.
Just make one move, Marquis thought. If it please the gods—just one move.
Napolean regarded Marquis thoughtfully, and then he floated down until he stood at eye level with the enormous vampire, and the two engaged each other's eyes like powerful Vikings of old meeting on an ancient battlefield.
"Marquis..." The Sovereign lord spoke calmly but firmly, giving each word great consideration. "Under our laws, you have the right of vengeance on your side, but do you not see the sky?"
Marquis grumbled and reluctantly looked up.
There were terrible veins of purple and white lightning flashing in the heavens as far as the eye could see—angry whips of fire surging with violent intensity. The endless arcs spanned the sky from east to west and back again, even as the unforgiving bolts shot to the earth with fury, striking the land with such incredible force that the earth shook beneath the merciless assault. Fire and brimstone fell from the heavens, erupting into hot blazes all over the forest as thunder clapped and roared in its wake.
Napolean waved his hand out toward the valley. "Do you not see the land?"
The sheer enormity of the dense black clouds merging together in an awesome funnel of rage was enough to take one's breath away. Heat and moisture were being sucked into a violent swirl of power, wind, and wrath. It was as if every cloud for a hundred miles had joined together in a dark conspiracy to wage war upon the land and its inhabitants.
The wind was ferocious.
Ancient pine and fir trees bent to their breaking points, while gigantic birches and aspens snapped like twigs beneath the malevolent force.
And the funnel had not even touched down...yet.
"The tornado is headed toward the towns and the villages."
Napolean's voice was steady and matter-of-fact.
Marquis cursed, and his fangs pierced his bottom lip in frustration. He briefly met Nathaniel's gaze before turning to look at Valentine, who was smiling like an arrogant child, a triumphant look of victory in his eyes. Disgusted, Marquis conceded: "We will retreat as well." And then his eyes turned cold, like two dark shards of ice. "For now."
He met Valentine's dark gaze one last time. "Know this, son of Jaegar; your days of walking this earth have come to an end. There is nowhere you can hide and no one who can protect you, so enjoy this reprieve: for it is the last one you will ever receive." His eyes burned the pledge into the vile one's soul. The promise was absolute.
Valentine's lips drew back in a snarl, but Salvatore wisely placed a hand on his chest. "Words mean nothing, brother,"
he said, his voice ripe with arrogance. "Let us go." He turned to meet Marquis's glare. "We look forward to meeting again soon."
Marquis hissed and narrowed his glare. "It cannot be soon enough, Dark One."
Napolean waved his hand. "Enough."
Like three evil spirits exorcised from a graveyard, the Nistor brothers departed from the night, and the earth began to settle.
The sky began to clear.
The lightning ceased.
And the tornado withdrew its wrath.
Chapter Twelve
Marquis was still keyed up when he returned to his solitary home out on the northern edge of the Dark Moon forest, high up in the mountain ranges. Unlike Nathaniel's sprawling estate, Marquis's home was simple, elegant, and traditional.
It was built like an old three-story farm-house—complete with the wide wraparound porch and ornate railings; full of large, formal rooms with high-ceilings, intricate moldings, and magnificent custom woodwork.
Every room had some type of fireplace in it, including the six upstairs bedrooms: There was a traditional, white brick chimney in the formal living room, an old wood-burning stove in the kitchen, and a hearth in the library made of large hand-picked stones from a river that ran through the property less than fifty yards behind the back porch.
In addition to its simplicity, everything about Marquis's home was constructed around nature: from the miles and miles of stunning views it boasted from the back terrace, to the intricate way it had been built around the existing lofty pines and aspens—weaving them into the natural architecture of the home as opposed to clearing them for construction.
The history adorning the mantels, walls, and stairwells was in the form of art, statues, photographs, and original oil paintings, and the display was as vast as his long life had been, containing something of great value from every era he had lived through, yet remaining simple and clean, the way he liked it.
As always, the silence that met him as he approached his home began to calm him down a little. Other than the trickling sound of running water snaking over rocks and fallen branches in the creek behind the house, the night was deathly quiet. Marquis stood outside for a moment taking in the fresh air before he headed up the old wooden steps to his front door.
All at once, he heard footsteps rounding the corner of the deck.
He spun around and crouched into a fighting stance, his movement as graceful as a gazelle's. His breath was still as the night. Had Valentine or Salvatore come so quickly to meet him? Perhaps all three brothers were waiting in ambush?
Instinctively, the hair on the back of his neck prickled, even as his canines grew into long, spiky points, and his knife-hard claws extended. And then he analyzed the scent. It was human.
Female.
Familiar.
Joelle Parker?
A shriek of surprise pierced the silence as his housekeeper rounded the corner and found him crouched down like an animal with extended fangs and talons, a threat of lethal intent emanating from his eyes. The housekeeper gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.
Although the human knew what Marquis was, he had never exposed himself like this before, and she was clearly shaken by his appearance. Her heart stuttered audibly, skipped a beat, and then stammered once more before returning to a normal rhythm.
"Joelle!" Marquis exclaimed, irritated. "What are you doing walking around out here like this? I could've killed you." He frowned. "Do you know how late it is? The sun will be up in a couple of hours."
Over the centuries, the Silivasis, like other descendants of Jadon, had formed a handful of close relationships with select human families. Often, they were humans who worked with them or helped to take care of their homes, businesses, and lives. Joelle Parker was the daughter of Marquis's trusted foreman,
Kevin Parker, the one who ran the stables near the Dark Moon Lodge during the summer tourist months.
Marquis had known her father for almost fifty-five years, since the day he was born, just as Kevin knew Marquis—exactly who and what he was. The Parker family had been so well taken care of by the Silivasis that they had chosen to lay down their roots in the valley several centuries ago, passing the torch down from one generation to another, building their homes in the surrounding mountains and raising their families closely together, each fiercely protective of the other.
Joelle had grown up understanding the complex relationship between the two species, the special needs and challenges it posed, and the grave importance of keeping their knowledge of what the Silivasis were to themselves. She had first come to work for Marquis at the young age of seventeen, cleaning the house twice a week for the last six years. In payment—and probably due more to friendship and loyalty than anything else—Marquis had put Joelle through college and helped her to buy her first home. All in addition to the generous salary he paid her.
In truth, it wasn't as charitable as it seemed.
Living for centuries allowed one to amass an enormous amount of wealth. The increasing value of investments and commodities, items such as land and gold, art and artifacts, made it practically impossible not to become—and remain—wealthy. On top of that, Dark Moon Vale had been a gold mine for the descendants of Jadon.
Quite literally.
Among the many local enterprises that the vampires ran—the ski resort and lodge, the casino and restaurant, the stables and outdoor recreation tours, even the hot springs and hotel—their main industry was the mineral plant: a large factory used to design unique, handmade jewelry, harnessing the limitless resource of gemstones found deep in the local caves, abundant on their private property...gold included.
"I am sorry, Mr. Silivasi," Joelle murmured, gathering her sweater tight around her shoulders and rubbing her hands over her arms to warm up. The soft brown sweater was draped loosely over a white blouse, tucked neatly into a flowing, knee-length skirt, and the pale hues of the fabric matched perfectly with her soft brown eyes. Joelle brushed a strand of her honey blond hair out of her face and turned away, allowing Marquis a moment to regain his composure.
Once composed, Marquis simply stared awkwardly at his housekeeper, awaiting an explanation. It was easy enough to hand someone a check, to write out a large payment to a mortgage company, even to pay monthly college tuition bills, but outside of small talk and casual comments about his business, Marquis did not know Joelle that well. Of course, he'd scanned a few of her memories from time to time, whenever there might have been some concern for her safety, but that wasn't the same as knowing her. Marquis Silivasi did not hang out with humans.
When Joelle finally looked back up at him, Marquis was relaxed, standing casually on the porch. He leaned back against a tall, square post with his arms crossed over his chest and silently waited to hear her explanation.
Joelle squared her shoulders, as if she were trying to gather her courage. And then she took a long look into his dark eyes, swept her gaze lower to his lips and...winced...turning back away.
Marquis shifted his weight nervously and leaned on the opposite leg. He wondered if the tips of his fangs were still showing. "Is everything all right with your family, Joelle?"
"Yes," she answered in a hurried voice. "Yes, of course."
Marquis became once again silent and simply raised his eyebrows.
Still waiting.
Joelle closed her soft, almond-shaped eyes for several prolonged seconds, drew a deep breath into her lungs, and tried again to summon her courage.
When once again, nothing came out of her mouth, Marquis decided it was time to skim the surface of her thoughts. She was arguing with herself....
I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this!
The young, anxious human was absently waging an internal war, completely unaware that Marquis could "hear" every word.
If you don't do this now, Joelle, you're going to spend the rest of your life in complete misery, probably pining away your days like some kind of old maid, completely unable to sleep at night, miserable around the clock, until you eventually die of a broken heart. There is no other choice!
You've tried everything under the sun to get over these—
Oh God, Marquis Silivasi! What is wrong with you?
He's a vampire!
He's your boss!
Joelle shook her head, looking utterly distraught.
Marquis cleared his throat to let her know he was still standing there.
She immediately opened her eyes, exhaled, and forced herself to blurt out her next words. "I, um...well...it's just that...I wanted to...talk to you." She sighed then, clearly in misery.
Marquis frowned. "Pardon me?" He was utterly confused...and completely out of his element.
Joelle turned away for a moment and leaned against the railing as if the narrow boards could offer added support.
When she turned back around, her cheeks were flushed the color of spring roses. "I have something I need to say to you." She pronounced each word separately. "Something I've needed to say for a long time. And if I don't do it right now—tonight—I'll never have the courage again."
Marquis's dark eyes narrowed into two focused slits of concentration, searing straight into her soul. He turned up both hands in question and continued to wait. Despite reading her scrambled thoughts, he had no idea where she was going with this, and half expected her to start asking him questions about being a vampire. But then, he knew her father had likely explained everything in great detail, as much of it became important over the years when two families lived in such close proximity.
"Okay," she began, her voice shaking with raw nerves, "so I know that all of you are bound by this...Blood Curse thing.
And there's only one woman in the entire universe that you can be with once the signs and the stars...and all that...." She cleared her throat. "And I know that you could never love a human...and you're really, really old, but—" Her voice cut off, her eyes began to tear up, and she became short of breath.
"Joelle?" Marquis sounded as confused as he felt. What was she trying to ask him? And why the sudden interest in the Blood Curse? Did she have questions about what had happened to Shelby? Had her family already received news of Nathaniel and Jocelyn? And more important, why was she insulting him? What in the world did his antiquity have to do with anything?
Old was not a very polite word.
"Marquis," she huffed in exasperation as she stifled her tears, "are you really that blind?"
He may have grunted. He wasn't sure.
She sighed. "Can't you see that I am totally and hopelessly in love with you? That I have always been totally and hopelessly in love with you? That I can't eat, sleep, or breathe anymore for being so in love with you!" The tears began to flow down her delicate face, and she turned away, completely embarrassed, but evidently, still determined.
Marquis stared at her small, frail back in stunned silence.
His ears heard her words, but his brain had not yet processed them. Over the many centuries of his life, he had become all too aware of the power their species had over human women, and it was one of the reasons he lived in such solitude—had very few passionate interludes—but this particular woman knew exactly what he was. In addition, Joelle Parker was very, very young.
And very, very human.
Marquis sighed. "Joelle, you are young. You do not yet know what you feel. You have not yet met the man who will sweep you off of your feet. In any case, you are not my destiny. You are correct in your understanding that there is only one, and I will go to her the moment I see the Omen.
The most I could ever do is hurt you." He paused, reflecting.
"I will look for another housekeeper. There is no need for you to continue in such an...uncomfortable situation. I'm sorry, I had no idea."
Joelle spun back around, clearly stunned. Hea
rtbroken.
Absolutely panic-stricken. "I'll admit, Marquis, I didn't expect you to confess some mutual undying love for me." Her voice raised at least an octave. "But I certainly didn't expect to be fired, either! Or to be told flatly that I'm not your destiny—you don't want me—and to just go away." She buried her face in her hands, almost hysterical.
"Those were not my precise—"
"Oh my God," she blurted out, "what have I done?" Her shoulders began to tremble, and then she started to sob uncontrollably, turning her back on him once more.
Marquis looked up at the sky, half expecting to see a red moon based on the sheer intensity of the female's emotion.
He almost wished it were there. Anything. Just to stop the poor child's suffering...just to make her quit crying.
Placing a hand gently on her shoulder, he whispered,
"Joelle, you must stop this at once. I will remove your memories of this night. If you'd like, I can remove your awareness of your feelings for me altogether. Perhaps plant something more appropriate in their place? Is there someone else you might—"
Joelle spun around and glared at him, this time even more visibly wounded than before. Without preamble, she struck him as hard as she could, directly in the chest, with an open hand.
Shocked, Marquis leapt back. Although he hardly felt the blow, a low, almost inaudible growl of warning instinctively escaped his throat.
"Oh, my God," she wailed. "Did you just growl at me? You just growled at me! You really don't have a heart, do you?
You are like a caveman!" She slumped to the ground and buried her face in her arms. "You are, you know?" She sniffled. "Everyone knows that about you. You have no tact!
You rarely show compassion! You're scary as hell most of the time: always glaring and snarling at everyone, ordering your brothers around like a tyrant, and just plain acting like the world's greatest menace...hoping everyone will stay away from you." She shook her head. "But I can't...because I love everything about you. Even those horrible...insensitive...obnoxious traits that everyone else fears." The tears ran like a river.