Blood Awakening (15 page)

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Nachari looked annoyed then. “Trust me, it’s
nothing.”

“
Nachari
...”

Nathaniel pulled rank with the mere tone of his
voice, eliciting a harsh glare from the young wizard. Even though Nachari had
recently earned the title of Master for his four-hundred years of study at the
Romanian University, Nathaniel was both a Master and an Ancient. And he was
also Nachari’s elder—which meant that if Nathaniel decided to exercise his
rights by hierarchy, Nachari had to answer, whether he wanted to or not.

Nachari threw up his hands. “You are so completely
inappropriate, brother. You know that?”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Perhaps. Never-the-less, I’m
waiting?”

“The Star-Spangled Banner,” Nachari snapped. “That’s
what I’m getting.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Nathaniel growled then. “I think you need to go
back to school for a while, little brother. Your divination could use some
work.”

Nachari flipped him off. After several minutes had
passed, he swept his hand over the yard and asked, “So, what do you want to do
with all of this,
elder
?”

Nathaniel stood up and eyed the mess. Then he
turned to look at the porch again. “Ah, hell...Marquis is going to have his
hands full for a while. Let’s incinerate the bodies and move the remaining
garbage back to the shed until we can send someone to haul it off.”

Nachari nodded, and then he hefted up two mangled
Harleys, one in each hand. He released his spectacular black-and-emerald wings
and flew to the shed with such amazing speed that the metal in his arms left a
buzz in the air like a small jet flying overhead.

Nathaniel made quick work of incinerating the
bodies. Although he couldn’t gather molten red fireballs the size of boulders
in his hands like Marquis, he had no problem generating fire or lightning from
his fingers, and the scalding heat left nothing behind, not even teeth.

Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate on the
connection all Vampyr—whether light or dark—had with the earth: the power of
union through emotion. He concentrated on a light rainstorm, just enough to
wash away the smoke and ash, to cleanse the scent of death from the air, and tried
to visualize the feelings connected to the phenomenon: gray …wet… contentment. Cleansing.

He pictured Jocelyn giving Storm a bath and
allowed the simple emotion to swell within him until the earth responded to the
focused intention and began to create matching clouds and moisture, at last,
letting loose a gentle rain.

Nachari materialized at his side. “The rest of the
yard is clean.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Good.”

He turned to look at the
couple
on the
porch. Kristina was awake now, her eyes as wide as saucers, a look of pain so
intense etched on her face that Nathaniel had to turn away, stunned that she
wasn’t crying out. He cloaked his appearance so that she wouldn’t see him, not
wanting her to believe that he could be so callous as to refuse to help her
when, in actuality, there was nothing he could do. Not without endangering both
her and Marquis’s lives.

“What must she have done to provoke him like that?”
Nachari asked. “To make him go that far?” The wizard immediately cloaked his
own appearance as well.

Nathaniel just shook his head. “I’m not sure, but
something is really wrong here.”

Nachari nodded. “I agree.”

Kagen Silivasi’s voice resounded loud and clear on
a common family bandwidth that both brothers could hear:
Are you two going
to stay and watch over him through the night—at least until he finishes the
conversion?

We could,
Nathaniel offered, responding quickly
to his twin.

Kagen’s voice was congenial.
Go home to your wife,
brother; I will come and stay with Nachari in your stead. Nachari, is that all
right with you?

Before either of them could answer, Marquis drew
back his lips and let out a snarl so menacing that it shook the leaves on the
trees and hung in the air like electricity. His next growl was even louder and
more feral.

I don’t think he wants us here,
Nachari
said, pointing out the obvious.

Agreed,
Nathaniel retorted
. And the last
thing we need to do is rile him up with Kristina lying in his arms.

Kagen sighed.
Wow…this has been one crazy
night, hasn’t it? What in the hell were the gods thinking…to do this to him?

A third growl ripped through the night, and the
earth beneath them began to shake.

I’m out,
Nachari said, unwilling to ignore
any further warnings. He bowed his head slightly to Nathaniel.
Be well, my
brother. Catch you later, Kagen.
And then he dematerialized.

Kagen sighed as he addressed Nathaniel.
Call me
if you need me, my twin
.

Nathaniel didn’t respond, although he knew his
silence was easily understood.

He turned one last time to regard his Ancient
brother and just shook his head: Indeed, why had the gods been so cruel? It
wasn’t just that Kristina was a mere child, or that the two of them were about
as compatible as oil and water; it was the fact that no one had served the
house of Jadon more valiantly over the centuries than Marquis. The warrior had
lived for his family, for his people, and for the earth. Yes, he was rigid, and
even difficult to get along with sometimes, but underneath all of it was a
fierce love and protectiveness.

A love that had only been returned with loss.

His feelings for the princess, Ciopori, were no
secret. Hell, the energy between them was palpable, and the Silivasi brothers
were far too close to evade one another in matters of such deep emotion.

It just didn’t make sense.

And after all that had happened with Shelby and
Dalia...

With Joelle...

So much loss.

Nathaniel was not at all sure that Marquis was
going to make it through this with his usually impenetrable grit and endurance.
He had lived so long. He had waited so long. He had seen so much tragedy.

His brother deserved more: He deserved better.

Heck, Kristina deserved better than this union as
well.

Letting out a deep breath of frustration,
Nathaniel placed a shield of comforting energy around the two beings on the
porch and said a silent prayer to the gods, beseeching them to bless and watch
over his beloved older brother.

Be well, Marquis,
he whispered in his mind,
and then just like Nachari, he faded away.

Ciopori woke up in a cold sweat, the image in her
mind too incredible to be real.

Marquis was sitting on the front porch of his
beautiful, farm-style home with both of his arms and legs wrapped tightly around
Kristina, his mouth latched firmly on her throat. His eyes were the color of
dark rubies, and his brow was etched with exhaustion. The look on Kristina’s
face was one of shock and agony. Utter despair. And they had been like that for
hours.

Marquis was converting Kristina. Bringing her into
his world against her will. And what was done could never be reversed.

Ciopori sank back into a large, fluffy pillow in
the lavish, guest bedchamber at Napolean’s manse. She rubbed her eyes, trying
to erase the disturbing image from her mind, her heart still racing like it
wanted to leap out of her chest.

Was this to be her fate, then?

To continue to see Marquis in her dreams for the
remainder of her life...with another woman? If so, then she couldn’t bear the
thought of falling back asleep.

Ciopori threw back the covers and sat up once
again; this time, tears ran down her cheeks. How could the gods be so cruel? For
over two-thousand years she had lain in a suspended state of animation—neither dead
nor alive—with nothing to sustain her outside of her dreams. Dreams of a dark,
handsome lover who had worshipped her, waited for her,
existed for her
from
the moment he was born.

The instant she had looked into Marquis’s dark
eyes, she had
remembered
everything about him: his masculine scent, the
timbre of his voice, the feel of his touch…the familiar, steady beat of his
heart. They had already shared eternities together, and great celestial gods, when
they had made love, the earth had stood still as if no one and nothing existed
outside of the two of them.

Ciopori stood up and shrugged into the long, silk
robe that was lying on the edge of the bed. She had to get out of there. Quietly
opening the door to the veranda, she stepped into the brisk night air and
looked down at the ground. She might not be able to materialize and
dematerialize like the Vampyr, but she could move herself small distances with
magic. “Ancestors, Great Ones, I humbly beseech you...

Beneath the stars and moonlit sky,

the gentle breeze that passes by—

Beyond the threshold of this door,

place now my feet on nature’s floor.”

All at once her feet touched down on the cool damp
earth, and she sighed. It wasn’t as if she was tired anyhow. She had only gone
to bed as a means of escape: to quiet her thoughts of Marquis and Kristina. It
was a pitiful attempt at buying a moment’s peace.

Peace
.

What was peace anyway?

Ciopori began to wander into the forest, hoping to
get lost in the giant pines. Did she really believe she would ever know peace
again? Without her parents, her brothers, her familiar civilization?
Without
Marquis
? Why had the gods even allowed her to awaken?

She wiped her eyes as she continued to wander,
flashing back to that fateful night that had changed everything, when her
brother Jadon had shaken her awake in the middle of the night.

“Sister! Sister! You must wake up; we haven’t
much time!”

Ciopori shot up from her sleep, her heart
racing in her chest. “What troubles you, brother? Why are you here?” She looked
around the large, stone chamber searching for her sister. “Where is Vanya?” The
panic in her voice rose quickly. “Vanya!”

“Shh!” Jadon placed a firm hand over her mouth.
“You mustn’t make a sound, Ciopori. Vanya is just outside in the hall with my men.
We must make haste. Please, heed my warning. You must leave Romania at once!”

Ciopori climbed out of bed, disoriented and
confused, reaching out to accept the simple blue gown Jadon extended to her.

“Dress quickly.” He turned around, his pitch-black
hair shimmering in the reflection of torchlight from the walls. His body shook
with urgency...and fear.

“What has happened, Jadon?” she asked, as her
fingers fumbled to clasp the dozens of buttons on her bodice.

Jadon hung his head, and the chamber became deathly
quiet.

“Jadon?”

“Please…just hurry, sister.”

“Jadon, what has happened?”

He cleared his throat, obviously gathering
courage. “You and Vanya are no longer safe.”

Ciopori inhaled sharply, her throat suddenly constricting.
“What do you mean—
no longer safe
? How...how is that possible? We
are...the monarchy.”

Jadon turned around then and simply shook his
head. “No, you are the only remaining females. Virgin daughters of the King. The
most valued sacrifice of all.”

Ciopori clasped her hand over her heart and
tried to ease her trembling. “Yes...” She swallowed hard. “But…you and
Jaegar...the men respect you; they obey you. They dare not take us without your
consent.”

Jadon’s eyes bored into hers, the truth
revealed before he could speak it.

“No!” Ciopori cried, taking a step back. “Jadon!”
Her voice was racked with sobs. “Tell me it isn’t so.”

Jadon shut his eyes. “It is Jaegar who leads
the men to the castle.” He shook his head. “My loyalists are few, but they
would die for me. They are willing to die for you, but we must get you out of
Romania if we are to have any chance at all—there are not enough of us to fight
Jaegar’s men. He commands the whole of our father’s army.”

Ciopori staggered back.
Dear gods, she and
Vanya were to be sacrificed along with the others!
Captured like common criminals—murderers
and thieves—made to kneel before the executioner’s stone with their hands
manacled to the sides, their heads turned to face the east, the direction of
newness and rebirth. They would be held down against the cold, rough surface as
the men chanted and cursed—and slit their jugulars—causing them to bleed out
over the stone, spilling rivers of torment onto the barren ground.

And as they lay there dying, the remaining vestiges
of their lives pouring out upon the crimson earth, the high-priest
and her
brother Jaegar
would drink the first of their spilled blood.

Ciopori clutched Jadon’s arms, finding it hard
to breathe. “Oh gods, Jadon! Do not let us die like that.”

Jadon’s eyes glazed over, but he squared his
chin with defiance, his shoulders held firm with resolve. “Never, Ciopori. You
have my solemn vow.”

Ciopori caught her brother by his strong,
angular chin and turned his head to meet her gaze.
By all the gods, her
brother was as handsome as he was kind
. “Tell me, do you carry your blade?”

Jadon declined his head in the proud manner of
the aristocracy.

“Then promise me: Should Jaegar find us before
we reach safety, you will take our lives, yourself, with honor.”

Jadon recoiled. Then he grabbed his sister by
the arm and gave it a hard tug. “It won’t come to that, Ciopori. Come now. We
must hurry!”

All at once the chamber lit up with an eerie glow
from a powerful bolt of lightning. A piercing clash of thunder shook the castle
walls. The whole world seemed to be coming apart. “Promise me, Jadon. Swear it.
Now!”

Jadon looked incredulous.

Lost.

 Horrified.

His deep, sad eyes dimmed before her gaze, and
his words were a mere whisper. “I promise.”

She watched him finger the hilt
of his blade and knew that he was imagining the act
he would have to perform, making certain he could carry out his vow. Retrieving
a torch from a sconce on the wall, he ushered her out of the chamber.

Ciopori stood quietly, staring up at the moon from
beneath the small clearing she had wandered to in the forest. The memory of
that night would never leave her. The sting of Jaegar’s betrayal would always
be fresh. The grief never far behind.

She had thought that nothing under the sun could
ever hurt her worse, but she had been wrong. The gods were crueler than Jaegar
had ever been. At least with Jaegar, there would have been an end to her suffering.

With Marquis now bound to Kristina, her anguish
had only just begun.

Ciopori put her face in her hands and wept.

Salvatore could not believe his good fortune. He had to blink several times to convince
himself that he was actually seeing what he thought he was: 
the princess
Ciopori—
one of the original celestial females—standing all alone under the
night sky, less than a mile from Napolean’s compound, with absolutely no escort
or protection
.

Incredible!

A wicked laugh rose up from his throat and echoed
through the night. His appearance already cloaked, he landed noiselessly just
beyond the clearing in a thick grove of trees and crouched low into the stance
of a predator.

His taut, lean muscles rippled as he moved, the
thrill of the hunt rising with every step he took toward his unsuspecting prey.
His feet glided over the ground with graceful ease, his eyes never straying from
his quarry. She was weeping. And completely unaware of her surroundings.

Completely unaware of him.

Now, less than ten feet away, he crouched even
lower, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, his powerful arms dropping
to his side. His body twitched as he readied himself to spring.

Dark  Lords
, what a prize she would be.

As a princess and a woman.

His shaft hardened at the mere thought of touching
her, taking her, the sweet taste of her royal blood. But he would have to be
careful: This woman was a rare artifact, and one of great significance to the
sons of Jaegar. The possibilities were endless. Too much was unknown to simply
use her to feed...or breed...to risk killing her prematurely in the process.

No, he would need to consult the Darkness. Study the
Blood Canon—
the ancient book of black magic. Princess Ciopori might very
well be the bridge to a new future for his kind.
Lord Jaegar’s very own
sister!

Not wanting to waste another fortuitous second,
Salvatore sprang into action like the dark predator he was, grasping the
princess by the waist, covering her mouth with his hand, and pulling her tight
against his chest before she even registered his presence. His body shook from arousal—the
scent and feel of a celestial female in his arms—and his fangs exploded in his
mouth as he took to the skies, hefting her like she was no more than a feather
in his arms.

A golden celestial feather from the time of
antiquity.

Ciopori shook from head to toe. Her mind spun with confusion. As she soared across
the sky at unbelievable speeds, her stomach turned over, and she fought the
urge to vomit. She looked beneath her and eyed the distant ground.
Dear
gods,
she was going to die.

Instinctively, she clutched at the neck of the
male that held her, her arms encircling his broad shoulders in a death grip, and
then a feeling of unbelievable darkness swept through her. The feel of his cold
flesh against her hands made her skin crawl, and the air suddenly became dense.
It was hard to breathe. Something was missing in his soul. She was in the
presence of…evil.

Without thought or deliberation, Ciopori recoiled from
the darkness, drawing back her arms and pushing hard against his chest. Caught
off-guard by her reaction, he loosened his grip, and she tumbled out of his
arms.

Ciopori let out a blood-curdling scream as she
plummeted toward the ground, her death imminent, the air sucked out of her body.
She wanted to pray, but she was too afraid. She was paralyzed with fear. And
then out of nowhere, the vampire reappeared beneath her, moving at unimaginable
speed: a dark blur shooting across the sky.