Blood Destiny

by Tessa Dawn

  Marquis slowly—and vindictively—removed the Dark One's eyes, one at a time. He shaved off his ears and carved out his tongue. He sliced a hundred shallow flesh wounds into his body, ripping off entire sections of skin as he went along.

  He scalped the long, thick mane of crimson and black hair from his head and tossed it across the room. He dug random holes into the evil one's skull in a crude, makeshift lobotomy, and then he cut out a long string of intestines and carelessly wrapped them around the vampire's throat.

  And still he was not satisfied.

  Marquis checked his Rolex. "Four more hours until sunset."

  His frustration was evident in his voice.

  He gently withdrew his fist from the undead's heart, careful to keep him alive, and then he leapt up from the bed and placed a chair directly in front of an eastern-facing window.

  Nachari helped him lug the heavy, unrecognizable heap of what used to be Valentine's body from the bed and place it—along with all of its missing parts—in the chair. Marquis opened the heavy curtains and made his way back to the foot of the bed, where he sat facing the flat-screen plasma television on the adjacent wall.

  "Did Nathaniel ever get the cable fixed in this place?" he asked Nachari.

  Nachari nodded. "I believe so. I think he hired a new head of maintenance at the beginning of summer."

  Marquis sighed. "Good, because we've got a lot of time to kill." He glanced over at the chair. "Do you think you can keep that thing alive until the sun comes up? I'd hate for him to miss the encore."

  Nachari nodded. "I'll certainly give it a Viking effort. If not, we can always call Kagen."

  Marquis frowned. "Pity he can't hear what we're doing...or even see it coming." He sighed. "Oh well, it should hurt like a bitch anyway."

  Despite the resolution...the inevitability...the relief of finally exacting vengeance, there was no satisfaction.

  Marquis had lived forever.

  He had fought in countless wars—defeated numerous enemies. He was a warrior without equal, save, perhaps, Napolean Mondragon. So there was no sense of pleasure from the kill.

  Valentine Nistor was a lesser opponent, and his death would not bring back the ones he loved.

  Marquis ripped the blood-stained comforter and sheets from the bed and tossed them in front of the window. He would allow the sun to provide maid service when it came out in the morning, to incinerate the remains and cleanse the room.

  He leaned back on the bed, arms folded behind his head, legs crossed in front of him. "Find us something to watch."

  Dark eyes turned ice cold and his heart felt like stone...his soul nothing more than a cauldron of black pain and emptiness.

  Noiselessly, Nachari sauntered across the room to retrieve the remote control.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  "Jocelyn, I would have you conceive now."

  Nathaniel spoke those magical, implausible words on Monday night shortly after her conversion. Shortly after their phenomenal lovemaking. And just like that, her body began to change in answer to his call.

  At first, she reported a warm, tingling sensation deep within her womb, a peaceful settling in her soul as the miracle of life had begun.

  But then the changes began to occur quite rapidly.

  Her emotions were raw and unpredictable as she vacillated between crying, laughing, and becoming downright agitated with Nathaniel for everything from a lopsided lump in her pillow that he couldn't seem to smooth out, to the annoying way the mattress depressed every time the husky vampire moved his restless body, and the constant drum of the wind against the outside shutters of the bathroom window.

  Apparently, he was no longer her supernatural warrior because he did not possess the powers to indiscriminately shut down her senses without putting her to sleep.

  She experienced several terrible bouts of nausea that left her kneeling on the bathroom floor, hovering over a black porcelain bowl for at least an hour, only to get up, brush her teeth, enthusiastically return to bed, and immediately send Nathaniel to the kitchen with an odd, inexhaustible list of food she was craving.

  For the third time.

  Exasperated, Nathaniel had finally called in Alejandra and asked her to make a quick trip to the all-night convenience store. He had apologized repeatedly for the inadequacy, but in all honesty, he just didn't keep corn nuts, tapioca pudding, and spicy V-8 juice in the house.

  In fact, even if he had, the truth of the matter was that most vampires didn't eat food. They kept it around to appear normal to humans, and they might indulge every now and then if they really enjoyed it—as many human destinies chose to do, at least right after their conversions—but over time, the unusual craving usually went away.

  By Tuesday night, Jocelyn reported feeling distinct movement in her abdomen. The babies were kicking and straining in her womb as they vied for space in the crowded belly. She insisted that the kicking wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as the incessant pressure against her bladder or the constant itchy sensation she felt as her skin stretched impossibly to accommodate the rapidly growing twins.

  Although Nathaniel repeatedly applied moisturizer to the tender flesh, he began to strongly encourage her to allow him to take all physical sensation away—up until then, she had insisted on experiencing as much of the fast-moving pregnancy as possible, short of anything that might cause extreme discomfort or pain.

  But by the time she began to experience leg cramps—and let out a string of unexpected curse words in response to being asked whether or not she would like another glass of juice—Nathaniel had decided to take over the pregnancy.

  He felt as worn out as she looked.

  It was around nine-o'clock Wednesday evening, and they only had a few more hours to go before the babies would be born.

  "You will sleep now, iubito mea." His voice was soft and...exasperated.

  "I will not!" she snapped in response, her voice not quite as...accommodating.

  Nathaniel sighed. "Then what can I do for you, my love?"

  Jocelyn looked around the room and shifted uncomfortably on the bed, failing to move the big mass that was now her body more than a centimeter in any direction despite the valiant effort.

  Her eyes teared up. "For starters, I guess you could move my legs in a more comfortable position...since I don't seem capable of shifting my own weight anymore!" The tears began to fall. "I look like a beached whale, Nathaniel. Look what you've done to me! How could you?"

  Nathaniel smiled, his eyes reflecting only warmth and patience, although deep inside, he was beginning to count the minutes.

  He gently moved her legs until she found a comfortable position, and then he leaned over to wipe her falling tears.

  "Do not cry, angel. It is almost over."

  Jocelyn sniffled and looked up at the ceiling. All at once, her eyes became bright with enthusiasm. "More history!" she exclaimed.

  Nathaniel visibly wilted. He leaned over the bed and buried his face in his hands. "My darling, I am going to lose my voice. There is no more history. That is all I have lived."

  Jocelyn laughed, her hazel eyes becoming a bright swirling mist. "That is not true, Nathaniel!" She crossed her arms over her enormous belly and cleared her throat. "Let's see; we have already established that you were born at the time of the Holy Roman Emperors...when the Byzantine culture penetrated into the Balkans and Russia....

  "You lived to see the Vikings come to America, and you have firsthand knowledge of the crusades...the Aztec and Incan empires. You could tell me more about the plague in Europe. Or how about the Renaissance? Better yet, skip all that; I want to know about the French Revolution...and then the war of 1812."

  Nathaniel rubbed his temples and drew in a deep, calming breath. Jocelyn Levi—Silivasi—was a total history enthusiast: a complete, utter, and unequivocal book nerd, for lack of a better word. And not your average history buff, either. She was obsessed and fanatical, positively enthralled by anything she considered living history. Hearing it
. Reliving it. Analyzing it. And hashing it over...and over.

  And over.

  Finding Nathaniel, a male who had lived over one-thousand years, had been like stumbling over a gold mine for the irresistible human. And the moment she learned he had spent much of his life traveling back and forth between Europe, the Middle East, North and South America, she was determined to relive his entire exhaustive lifespan on earth....

  To wring out every last ounce of personal experience and history there was from the immortal being—whether he liked it or not.

  Jocelyn was relentless in her quest for firsthand knowledge of people, places, and events, and Nathaniel was a sucker for those beautiful, enchanting eyes and soft, pouty lips. Not to mention the enormously cute belly that continued to expand like a helium-filled balloon right before his eyes.

  He had filled up no less than twenty hours of her pregnancy answering questions about kings and emperors, societies and wars, world-changing events. And he was utterly exhausted.

  Not to mention, he was beginning to feel...ancient...like some really old geezer who had married a spring chicken he could never hope to keep up with.

  Nathaniel Silivasi—an Ancient Master Warrior, a son of Jadon, descendant of the original Celestial Beings—had at last met his match: the one living soul who had finally gotten the best of him.

  Jocelyn was becoming quite adept at reading his thoughts, rapidly learning how to tune in and out of the precise frequencies required for smooth, telepathic communication, and she frowned, looking pitiful and disappointed.

  "That's okay," she sighed. She started to twiddle her thumbs and turned to look at the clock on the nightstand.

  "How much more time do we have?"

  Nathaniel brushed his hand against her forehead and slowly shook his head. So this was how it was going to be....

  He had mated a woman who had somehow wrapped him around her little finger in the space of only a week, and all it took was the slightest hint of disappointment in her voice to get him to jump through hoops to please her.

  He rubbed his chin, slightly annoyed with his own lack of resolve. Hell, he was an Ancient Master Warrior, an immortal vampire! "What about the French Revolution would you like to hear, my angel?"

  Jocelyn's face lit up. Her brilliant eyes beamed with excitement, and it was worth every ounce of energy he had, all the history in the world, to see that adoring glow coming from those breathtaking eyes in response to something he had said or done.

  She smiled and took his hand. "That's okay. I can see that you're exhausted. It's enough to know that you were willing to go there for me...again."

  Nathaniel caressed her hand. "Thank you, my love." His relief was palpable. "And of course, I would go anywhere for you. Although, you might want to keep in mind that we have all of eternity together. Perhaps you might want to pace yourself." His laughter was rich and full of a peaceful contentment he had never really known existed before.

  All at once, Jocelyn's eyes became serious. "There is something I would like to know more about, though, and from what little I can see into your mind, I don't think it's a subject you talk much about."

  Nathaniel brought her hand up to his lips and gently kissed the center of her palm. "What's that? There will be no secrets between us."

  Jocelyn smirked. "Yeah, ya think? I mean, considering the whole mind-reading thing and all." Her smile was positively elegant, as radiant as her rare, exquisite beauty.

  "I want you to tell me about your parents, Nathaniel.

  Keitaro and Serena, right? What happened to them? If you are immortal beings—"

  "We are immortal beings," he said.

  "If we are immortal beings," she repeated, "then that means we can live forever, yet they were not here for...Shelby's burial...and they're not here now. What happened to them, Nathaniel? Where are your parents?" Her voice was a soft, respectful whisper.

  Nathaniel put his head in his hand and rubbed his temples, trying to figure out a way to relay the memory without actually connecting to it: without having to feel it.

  His parents' death was something he had locked away in that one hallowed place in his heart that held the wounds that would never heal. And opening it, even temporarily, was dangerous.

  "Many, many years ago..." He cleared his throat. "When Shelby and Nachari were still children by our standards...they had just turned twenty-one and were about to graduate from the local academy here in Dark Moon Vale, about to undergo their induction ceremony into the house of Jadon—"

  "The local academy?" Jocelyn asked, her natural curiosity getting the best of her. "What's an induction ceremony?"

  Nathaniel had already become accustomed to Jocelyn's frequent interruptions, and he simply flowed right through the conversation, picking them up as he went. "Yes, the local academy. When a male descendant of Jadon turns five years old, he is sent to the local school here in Dark Moon Vale...as will be the case with our son. It is there that he is taught the human studies—math, language arts, science, world history, the culture and concepts of the society around him. When he turns twenty-one, he graduates from the academy. He is considered a fledgling vampire then—no longer a child but not yet a master—and he begins to integrate into our society, where he learns our laws and our ways.

  "He is taught as an apprentice, learning how to run our various businesses...the details and skill sets that make our society prosperous and independent.

  "At the time of his graduation from the academy, he is brought before Napolean to be formally inducted into the house of Jadon. It is an ancient and powerful ceremony where he offers his blood as a sacrifice to the people; where he pledges his loyalty, protection, and service for all eternity to our Sovereign, to our continued existence as a species—"

  "Somehow, that sounds painful," Jocelyn remarked, her hand going protectively to her stomach.

  Nathaniel smiled. "It is, but it is also an incredible honor and a time of great spiritual awakening for a male vampire."

  He paused, trying to find the right words. "Napolean Mondragon, our Sovereign, is the only living pure-blood descendant of Jadon; his incarnation dates back to the original Blood Curse. His mother, Katalina, was not a human destiny; she was one of the original Celestial Beings. So there is no mixed blood in his veins."

  Jocelyn looked momentarily confused. "What kind of blood will be in our child's veins? I am like you now, aren't I?"

  Nathaniel nodded. "Yes, but you weren't born Vampyr; you were sired. Napolean is one of the original Celestial Beings—

  one of the ancient males who served King Sakarias, who was turned Nosferatu by the curse."

  Jocelyn's eyes grew wide. "Wow. How old is he?"

  Nathaniel laughed. "Napolean is ancient."

  Jocelyn shook her head. "I'm sorry. I always interrupt. Go on. You were telling me—"

  Nathaniel smiled and bent to brush a soft kiss against her mouth. He loved the way she became so engrossed in what she was hearing, the sincere interest she took in learning all she could about her new life. "You are such a miracle to me," he whispered.

  Leaning back, he continued. "The male will remain in our society as a fledgling until his one-hundredth birthday. It is at that time that he is sent to the sacred homeland of our forefathers, the Romanian University in Europe, where he will study for the next four-hundred years in order to master one of the Four Disciplines.

  "So as I said, Shelby and Nachari were only twenty-one, about to undergo their induction ceremonies, when the valley was attacked by a large group of vampire hunters, humans and lycans alike, who had joined forces in an effort to extinguish our kind—"

  "Why in the world would humans want to kill vampires—yet accept the lycans?" Jocelyn shook her head.

  Nathaniel rubbed his jaw. "Good question. Human-kind has an interesting history when it comes to hating anything they fear at the moment, do they not? I think you summed it up well the night of the storm: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. The problem is, humans are always
changing who and what they fear at any given time period. I have lived to see Christians killing Catholics only to later join together to oppress the Jews. I remember not so long ago, here in North America, when the Europeans feared the Native Americans and slaughtered them as savages, only to later form alliances with some of the southeastern tribes in order to enslave the Africans. Fear is an irrational council."

  Jocelyn frowned. "I bet you have seen a lot of...things...that don't make it into the history books." She sighed. "So the humans and the lycans attacked the valley together. What happened after that?"

  Nathaniel tried to shut down his heart, to simply close his mind to the memory. He spoke the words in a rote voice...like a robot. "My mother was murdered by the Alpha male of the lycans, and my father went mad with grief."

  Nathaniel turned away in an effort to steady himself. He was disappointed: He should have been better at this by now.

  He blinked several times, trying to stay his tears; he would not cry over this loss...again. He had already shed enough tears over the centuries to flood the entire valley.

  "We believe Keitaro was either murdered as well or he killed himself...that he followed my mother into the Valley of Spirit and Light. But we never found his body. He simply disappeared one night shortly after her burial and was never seen again."

  Jocelyn gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

  "I'm so sorry, Nathaniel." The statement was a mere whisper.

  Nathaniel cleared his throat. "If my father had lived, we know he would've come back to us after all of this time. So we eventually assumed his death, but we were never able to bury him...to say good-bye."

  He took a long deep breath, knowing his pain was showing despite his effort to keep it at bay. "I was especially close to my mother, so her death weighed heavily on my conscience...as a warrior...one who could not protect her. But Marquis and my father were best friends. I think my father always made an extra effort to connect with him because he was the only one of us boys who did not have a twin. His disappearance almost destroyed my brother."