by Tessa Dawn
Joelle leaned over, clasping her hands protectively around her protruding stomach, her eyes wide with fright. "Help me," she uttered.
Joelle Parker looked no less than five months pregnant.
And Marquis could smell the fear emanating from her pores as the rapid process unfolded in her body. The exact phase of gestation—the precise stage of fetal development—was easy to pinpoint using the natural ability given to all males of his species: Joelle was twenty-four hours into a forty-eight hour cycle...a cycle that was going to end with the birth of those babies.
Marquis scanned the inside of her wrists, looking for something he knew wasn't there—the raised, tell-tale markings of a constellation—proof that somehow, in the last twenty-four hours, she had been revealed as the blood destiny of one of their males.
Proof that her babies were conceived—and consequently going to be born—naturally.
He knew better...even as he examined her arms.
The blood moon, heralding the revelation of a male's destiny, was a rare but unforgettable event. The brilliant celestial canopy was breathtaking. The sky was hypnotic. The Omen was unmistakable...impossible to ignore.
With the exception of the female who bore the actual markings, humans never saw the celestial revelations: Their eyesight was too limited to register the distant constellation, their telescopes unable to pick up a phenomenon meant solely for another species. But the sons of Jadon, even the sons of Jaegar—those who were forever lost and had no hope or destiny of their own—never missed it. It was a compulsion implanted by the Blood Curse as a safeguard for the males: No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, they were inexplicably drawn to the blood moon sky. It was how Marquis had known about Jocelyn the moment it happened.
Joelle staggered as her stomach rolled in visible waves, her body jolted by the rapidly progressing pregnancy, the evidence of two small beings developing at record speed inside of her womb.
Marquis glided smoothly to catch her. "Joelle—"
He was still at a loss for words.
She looked up into his anxious face, her soft blue eyes dilated with terror, her face soaked with tears from hours of crying. "I don't understand what's happening to me." Her words were a choked whimper. "I got pregnant...and I couldn't find you."
Marquis shook his head hoping to clear the cobwebs. "Tell me what happened." He made it a command.
Joelle's eyes opened wide. "What do you mean, what happened!" She sounded horrified. "What do you think happened? You were there! You got me pregnant." She looked down at her bulging belly as it continued to twist and turn beneath her. "And now...I think I'm dying."
Marquis took a step back, her words striking him like the sting of a scorpion: you got me pregnant? He immediately pierced the veil of her mind in order to extract her memories.
He needed a firsthand account...and he needed it now.
All at once, he dropped her arm. "Dear gods..." he uttered.
And then her frail body hit the deck. She landed on her knees, practically doubling over, before he caught her up with a strong arm.
His mind was racing—spinning wildly out of control.
Marquis was known for his calm in battle, his seasoned ability to become still, remain alert, and process information at amazing speed when faced with a crisis. His ability to remain unruffled was legendary in the house of Jadon...but now...he was at a total loss. Disbelief and rage swirled like bands of inky darkness through his head, seeping deep into his soul and piercing his heart, as he slowly came to the full understanding....
And the inevitable conclusion: Valentine Nistor.
Again.
Joelle Parker was going to die a horrific, unthinkable death, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop it.
Marquis wrapped his arms around the frail, trembling woman, his heart absolutely breaking for her. He had been the one Valentine had used to trick her...to steal her innocence...to handle her so brutally...and his soul ached with the knowledge that, even now, she looked up at him with eyes of love...after all that she'd been through.
What was the point in telling her the truth?
She was going to die. And it couldn't be stopped.
Did she also need to know she had been deceived...used...violated? Would it ease her suffering to know she had lain with a Dark One, that the demon had brutally taken her life even as he had viciously debased her body? The woman was absolutely terrified—she was suffering—and the only thing he could possibly give her before her death was a moment's peace.
Marquis wrapped his strong arms around her, pulled her tightly to his chest, and began to breathe with her.
To breathe for her.
"Relax, love." His voice was a delicate whisper, a lullaby.
"It's going to be okay."
Joelle hiccupped her sobs and tried to stop crying. She stared helplessly into his eyes, searching for repose.
Marquis forced a smile, sending a tender wave of reassurance into her mind. "You are not the first woman to be with child, Joelle. It's going to be okay."
He lied.
Joelle sniffled and wiped her nose. A faint light illuminated her sad eyes, and then she clutched tightly at her stomach as the ever expanding belly constricted once again. The babies were growing at an alarming rate.
Marquis sensed a series of Braxton Hicks contractions as they tightened her womb: standard second trimester stuff—only it was happening far too swiftly for comfort. He scooped her up in his arms and took her inside to the front room, where he laid her down gently on a pale green chaise and knelt on the floor in front of her.
"The first thing we must do is stop this pain, my love." He bent to her neck and carefully, as gently as possible, took a small amount of her blood. And then he injected a minute amount of his venom into her bloodstream.
She cried out at the unexpected pain of the injection, but it was short lasting.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "but without the exchange, I cannot block your pain for you."
Joelle nodded and stared at him with wide, trusting eyes.
She was like a child awaiting his assistance, believing with absolute faith he would take care of her.
Marquis did as he promised.
He sent a positive electrical charge from his own body into hers, slowly intercepting the negative pain impulses as they traveled through her body, effortlessly blocking the connections before they could reach the appropriate receptor sites in her brain. He then absorbed the energy...so that Joelle's pain became his.
Until she no longer felt a thing.
"Are you comfortable now?" he asked. His voice was uncharacteristically soft with compassion.
Joelle sighed, visibly relieved. She rested a delicate hand on her stomach and her eyes closed. "I can't feel anything anymore." She sounded comforted. Grateful.
"Good," he said. "There will be no more pain, sweetheart."
Joelle reached out tentatively for his hand and seemed surprised when he gave it to her so willingly.
Caressing her wrist with his thumb, he linked his fingers in hers and bowed his head. "Joelle?" His voice was a mere whisper. "I need to apologize for the other night. It was your first time, and you deserved so much more. My treatment of you was...selfish...and cruel...and shameful. And I want you to know that you have my word as a warrior, it will never happen again. Please forgive me."
Joelle's eyes shot open in surprise, and there was something else shining in their soft brown depths as well: tenderness...love. "Of course, I forgive you." She sighed with relief. "I thought it was...me...my inexperience. I thought you were disappointed, and that was why you left so quickly."
Marquis winced and shook his head. He wanting to scream—to rage—to cry out at the heavens and break something. Someone. But that wasn't going to help Joelle right now.
"Never, love," he reassured her. "How could you even think such a thing? You are an amazing woman, Joelle." He lightly stroked her cheek. "How could any man be disappointed with you?"
Her smile at that moment would have rivaled the sun...and it made Marquis loathe himself for lying.
Marquis was not a man to apologize often, and especially not for an act someone else had committed—a reprehensible act he was virtually incapable of committing. But being inside of her mind as he was, he could sense her overwhelming anxiety: Joelle believed she was going to be the mother of his children. That they were going to have a future after all. And her one remaining fear was that Marquis would hurt her again. That the powerful vampire would continue to humiliate and brutalize her for his own selfish pleasure.
Marquis knew Joelle could never fully embrace peace as long as she believed she was going to spend the rest of her life with a male who would use her so callously, regardless of how much she loved him.
Her fear was a real, living thing.
And if removing that fear, that lone worry, could make her feel special and give her the one thing in the world she wanted more than anything else—to believe Marquis loved her—then he could do nothing less. And maybe...just maybe she might even experience a moment of joy, the slightest hint of the pleasure...and peace...that had eluded her for so long.
"Are you going to stay with me now?" she whispered.
Marquis smiled, his eyes holding hers in a steady, unwavering gaze. "Of course, I am." He tightened his hand around hers. "Absolutely."
"Forever?" she asked sheepishly.
Marquis swallowed hard. The deception seemed so unjust.
"Forever."
Joelle started to say something else, but Marquis gently lifted a finger to her lips. "Shhh, don't talk, baby. Be still. Rest for me. Just let me hold you."
Joelle seemed utterly content and at peace as Marquis moved onto the chaise, gathered her into his arms, and held her tightly against his chest, his heart beating beneath her ear. He bent to nuzzle her hair, noticing that it smelled like fresh cut roses in the spring. Funny, he had never noticed that about her before.
The night crept on....
Moving painfully slow...
As Marquis held Joelle Parker in his arms, all the while hiding his rage, burying his sorrow...concealing his regret. He stroked her hair, spoke words of love and mystery in her ear, gently kissed her cheek, and rubbed her stomach—as if she carried his own precious unborn children in her womb.
Marquis gave the performance of his life.
When at last she had fallen into a peaceful sleep, he lifted her soft body up to his shoulders and nuzzled his mouth against her neck. He took a long, deep breath, and then he threw back his head and raged silently at the heavens...cursed the gods for their bitter indifference...made a promise of swift and terrible vengeance.
And then he released his fangs, allowing his canines to grow to a lethal point. Harnessing all of his remaining energy in one final effort to block her pain—and prevent her awareness—he sank his teeth deep into her carotid artery....
And sucked with lethal efficiency.
He extracted her life's blood—without emotion, without clemency—drinking until not one drop remained in her lifeless body. And her dead weight collapsed in his arms.
There would be no more heirs for Valentine Nistor: no more agonizing births to watch; no more demon spawn ripping the life out of another beautiful, innocent woman.
Joelle Parker would go into the Valley of Spirit and Light peacefully—and with dignity—believing she was loved.
Laying her lifeless body carefully against the chaise, Marquis slowly stepped out from underneath her. How was he going to explain this to her family? What in the world was he going to tell her father? A man he had known all his life—a man who had trusted Marquis enough to allow his beloved daughter to come and work for him at such a young age.
Kevin Parker would die a thousand deaths when he saw his precious little girl—lifeless, pale, and heavy with child. He would lose all faith and friendship at the knowledge that Marquis had failed to protect her. Marquis had failed to protect....
Shelby.
Dalia.
And now Joelle.
Marquis's chest heaved with the weight of the burden, shook with the rage of it all: Nachari, I require your direct attention.
Marquis called out telepathically to his youngest living brother—the brother whose twin he had also failed.
What is it, Marquis? Nachari's concern was immediately evident. What causes you such sorrow?
Marquis couldn't bear to repeat all of the details, so he sent the information as a series of visual images straight to Nachari's mind—starting from the night Joelle had met him on the front porch to the last few moments when he had ended her young life.
Nachari was deathly quiet. Jarringly still. For what seemed an eternity. My brother, he finally sighed.
Another long, protracted silence.
Tell me what I can do for you, Marquis. Name anything...and it will be done.
Marquis ran his hands through his thick wealth of raven black hair and rested his elbows on his knees as he sat in a chair across from the chaise lounge, across from Joelle.
Have you ever heard of a Dark One possessing that much power before? he asked. Enough to hold another's persona for that length of time? To be that convincing?
Nachari sighed again; this time his frustration showed. I had heard rumors that Valentine's older brother, Salvatore, might be capable of such a feat, but he is well-studied in the black magics. I had no idea Valentine had become that powerful.
We underestimated our enemy, Marquis growled. I underestimated our enemy. Again.
Nachari didn't respond.
Is there any of our kind who can match such a feat? You are a wizard now; can you do such a thing?
Nachari paused, as if thinking it over. As if he wanted to be absolutely certain before he answered.
I can.
Marquis sat back in the heavy armchair, his large body taking up the entire frame. He was tired. So very tired.
Then I accept your offer...for assistance...and this is what I ask of you: Together, we will bring justice to this insufferable son of Jaegar.
For Joelle.
For Dalia.
We will exact our revenge for Shelby.
And there will be no more delay.
First thing tomorrow night, immediately upon his rising, Valentine will come to claim his children...
And we will be waiting.
Chapter Twenty-five
Jocelyn lingered in the shower, washing and conditioning her hair, using the special lavender perfumed body wash Nathaniel had purchased for her, applying a moisturizer made of aloe and jasmine to her skin, before she dressed in another silk nightgown. This one was a soft pale rose color with a low-cut back that came together in a downward V at the apex of her hips. It revealed a high, sexy slit along the left thigh and a soft, flowing hem that fell all the way to the floor.
She drank a hot cup of chamomile and mint tea, sweetened perfectly with honey, and then she wandered around the first floor, looking at all of the beautiful art-work—the handmade pottery and crafts, treasures collected over centuries of living—before making her way back up to the third-floor master bedroom...her new master bedroom.
As if he understood her need for privacy, Nathaniel had given her all the time she wanted. He had left her, respectfully, alone, not once checking on her whereabouts or invading her space. Although Jocelyn had sensed his presence in her mind on several occasions—his light touch and genuine concern—he had never once intruded.
When she was finally ready, she entered the master bedroom to find him lying back on the bed, patiently waiting, with a look of absolute peace and confidence on his face.
There were several soft, glowing candles lit. And the enchanting sound of trickling water echoed from a polished stone waterfall—an accessory Nathaniel seemed to have in every room—as a faint Celtic instrumental played in the background. It was like walking into another world...entering another time and place.
Jocelyn wondered if this wasn't how his
ancestors, the Celestial Beings, had lived: embracing the sights, sounds, and textures of nature in everything they did.
The curtains were still drawn back from the windows, and the night sky was radiant with stars, the luminescent moon peaceful as if it were smiling down upon them. The atmosphere could not have been more perfect. The man could not have been more handsome. The night could not have seemed more surreal.
Yet, somehow she knew....
What she was about to embark upon would be in grave contrast to their peaceful surroundings. An emergence into light? Yes. But only after a slow and painful journey through darkness.
Drawing in a deep breath, Jocelyn approached the bed and sat on the edge, looking up into Nathaniel's spectacular eyes.
He held out his hand as an offering and she took it.
"Come here, my love," he whispered, his voice steady and reassuring.
Jocelyn nodded. Was one ever truly ready for something of this magnitude?
Nathaniel propped up several large down pillows against the headboard—the blue satin slips crisply laundered and brusquely fluffed behind him. As he leaned back against the comfortable piling, he opened his arms, smiled a heart-stopping smile, and gestured for her to join him.
Hesitantly, Jocelyn crawled onto the bed; she stopped to bury herself in the warmth of his arms, burrowing in for a long, languorous hug before she turned around. He didn't say a word. He simply held her as long and as close as she needed...until she finally pulled away, ready to take the next step.
As she leaned back against him, sinking deep into the comfort of his chest, she could hear his heart beating steadily behind her. His legs were bent and slightly spread apart to encompass the full width of her body, his powerful arms gathered tightly around her.
She lay her head on his shoulder, just below the crook of his neck, and took several deep breaths while he gently massaged her arms, kissing her lightly from her ear to her throat...from her throat to her shoulder...as he waited for her to settle in.
"Are you ready, my angel?" he asked. His voice was raspy, thick with love.
Jocelyn nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "I think so."
Nathaniel gathered her even closer then and whispered something beautiful in her ears in the ancient language of his people. The words sounded strange and old worldly, thick with an accent from a time gone by. Yet they seemed to flow off of his tongue with a modern grace, like water trickling over a river rock: polished by the hands of time, sculpted through centuries of use.