Blood Ecstasy (Blood Curse Series Book 8) (37 page)

Braden glanced at his feet. “Sometimes, like maybe once a month. I mean, it’s all good; it really is. He’s got Princess Ciopori and Nikolai…and the casino. I mean, he can’t spend all of his time with me.”

Julien nodded. “Yeah, well, I want you to start coming by the house,
my house
, spending time with me and my son. And you can start this weekend at my mating and naming ceremony—I’m hoping to have it either Saturday or Sunday.”

Before he could get out another sentence, Braden stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t need your pity, tracker.” He smirked. “But thanks.”

Julien stood up angrily and towered over the fledgling, emitting a warning snarl. “Sit down.”

Braden sank into the seat and curled his shoulders inward in an unconscious show of submission, a beta wolf acknowledging an angry alpha. “Shit,” he muttered beneath his breath.

Julien remained standing and pressed both hands to his massive chest. “Do you pity me, vampire?”

Braden visibly blanched. “No!
Hell no.
Of course not. I was just—”

“Then don’t ever insult me like that again, boy. Do I look like the house of Jadon’s welcoming committee to you? Do I
act
like someone who’s the poster-child for
charity?”

Braden shook his head in unbridled apology. “I’m sorry.”

Julien nodded slowly. “Look, I don’t have a mother, a father, or a brother, at least not living on this side of the spirit world, but when my Blood Moon went down, Ramsey and Nachari were there on day one. Saxson and Nathaniel stepped up with Rebecca in order to get my back. I just sacrificed a Dark One to the Blood, about two hours ago, and guess who showed up in the Chamber to be there beside me? Saber freakin’ Alexiares, a male who spent eight hundred years believing he
was
a Dark One. Do you think that was easy for him? Point is, these males, every last one, are my brothers in the most important sense of the word, and it takes a lot for a hard-headed bastard like me to admit that. To admit that maybe there were times in my life when I could have—
when I should have
—reached out to someone else, when just maybe, it might have made a difference.” He lowered his voice and took a seat. “Nine hundred sixty-seven years is a long time to live alone, to be alone, turning to solitude or heroin for comfort, when all along, I was never truly by myself.” He shrugged his shoulders in capitulation. “I’m not saying it was that black or white, that my path could have been much different. What I am saying is that you’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you, and unlike me, you’ve already forged so many strong rapports—you’ve made so many powerful allies. You’re known, you’re unique, and you’re loved. Braden, call your mother. Sit down with Dario. Hash this shit out before it festers. It may be the case that nothing changes on their end, that maybe they’re just not good parents, but it’s not about them, not in the end; it’s about you and how you perceive things. How you feel about yourself. It’s about those demons that haunt you in the dark coming out into the light. It’s about owning your own shit so you can be free of it. Son, you have more family than most people could ever dream of. You have security, a circle of support, and a stable home—and you always will. Talk to Nachari.
Hell, talk to someone.
Don’t be like me. Your future is too bright, and frankly, the house of Jadon needs you at your best, free of loitering demons.” What he didn’t say—what he wasn’t going to say—was that the situation was about to be addressed.
 

No, Julien would not go back on his word and spill Braden’s secret, although he would continue to encourage the young male to speak with Nachari. However, what he would do was make a phone call to Dario Bratianu and put things as clearly as he could:
Get your sorry ass back to Dark Moon Vale, bring your wife and Conrad with you, and see about your son.
 

Now.
 

End. Of. Discussion.
 

Braden bent his knees, rested his elbows on both thighs, and dropped his face into his hands, and Julien could tell by the way he was taking shallow breaths that he was struggling not to cry.

So this was a pretty powerful demon after all?

After several moments of silence had passed, the youngster scrubbed his face with his hands, raised his head, and stared at Julien. Then he gently cleared his throat. “You…you came out here at two o’clock in the morning to tell me that?”

Julien nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Braden glanced away. “Why would you do that…for me?”

Julien searched his heart for the truth.
 

He didn’t want to say,
Lord Hercules told me to
, but he also didn’t want to lie.
 

“When I sacrificed the Dark One,” he began, in a slow, steady tone, “Lord Hercules gave me a nudge.” He leaned forward and snapped his fingers. “Look at me, son.”

Braden looked up, and his burnt-sienna eyes were brimming with emotion.
 

“In my nine hundred sixty-seven years, I’ve never known a god to do that. You are special, kid, even to the gods. Think about it: They placed you in the care of Nachari Silivasi—he isn’t even an Ancient yet, but he’s one of the most powerful wizards I’ve ever seen. And then somehow, some way, they linked you to the heart of the house of Jadon, to Napolean Mondragon himself, as if Nachari wasn’t enough. Marquis Silivasi genuinely adores you, and that prickly bastard doesn’t even have a heart, in my humble opinion.” He chuckled beneath his breath and then sighed, realizing there might have been more to Lord Hercules’ wisdom. “And I think that, maybe, Hercules knew I would understand. And I do. Maybe he knew I would care. And it’s been a long time since I’ve cared much about anything.” He paused, just long enough to let his next words sink in, to take root in his own implacable heart. “Maybe he figured we needed each other. Stranger shit has happened.”

At this, Braden chuckled, and his dim eyes brightened. “I go back and forth, you know?” He spoke in a quiet, contemplative voice. “Between thinking I have some great purpose, that maybe the gods have singled me out—heck, I can even make female babies.” He laughed out loud. “But then, a lot of the time, I think: If your real dad didn’t want you, if your own mother doesn’t want you now, if your step-dad doesn’t see anything worth knowing, how special can you be?” He flicked his wrist, batting his fingers in a gesture that said,
that was rhetorical
. And then he managed to smile. “But you, J, you’re kind of a legend around here. Not just because of your tracking, but…no one really knows you or talks to you. And if you think Marquis is a prickly bastard, hell, he
is
the welcoming committee compared to you.” His laughter was both spontaneous and repentant, as if he was expecting to be slapped across the roof. When nothing happened, he continued: “If you really mean it, that you want me to come to your ceremonies, then yeah, that’d be cool…really cool. And I will think about what you said, ’cause you’re not the kind of dude that just goes around…having talks, and you’ve lived a long damn time.”

Julien shook his head and chuckled.

The kid had a way with words.
 

He stood up, waited for Braden to do the same, and began to walk him to the door.
 

Just before they reached the heavy panel, he stopped and cleared his throat. “Don’t ever forget that you matter.”

Braden nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said, in a playful tone.

Julien said it again. “You matter.”

Braden bit his bottom lip. “Yeah, thanks.” He glanced away.

“Braden,
you matter
.”

This time, the youngster met his eyes and sniffed. “Thank you, Julien.”

Julien inclined his head. “Be well, son. I’ll see you soon.”

thirty-five

Four days later

Julien and Rebecca stood in the great room of Julien’s rustic mountain home, the fireplace blazing in the foreground, light streaming in through the partially opened stained-glass windows, Tiffany Matthews-Olaru holding their one-week-old son in her arms, the baby snugly swathed in a light-blue blanket.
 

Ramsey Olaru was standing just a few feet back, behind Julien and next to Tiffany; Saxson and Santos were standing to Ramsey’s left; Nachari Silivasi and Braden Bratianu were behind Rebecca, to Tiffany’s right, and Saber Alexiares? Well, the dragon was standing at Julien’s side. After all, Julien really didn’t have any family to speak of, so Saber would take the place of a brother.
 

And he had earned it.
 

As for Rebecca’s friends and family, his
destiny
had made it quite clear: The ancient ceremony of the house of Jadon was perfectly fine with her, just so long as Julien followed it up with a trip to Ohio and a small church wedding. She intended to include
and appease
her parents. The thought of wearing a tuxedo, if he could even find one that fit, exchanging human vows in a foreign, religious ceremony, and eating a human meal, to say nothing of some sweet, sugary cake, made Julien’s stomach queasy, but if that’s what Rebecca wanted, then that’s what Rebecca would get. He had even gone so far as to ask Saber Alexiares to be his best man—needless to say, the fairly new sentinel had objected with a string of unmentionable expletives, punctuated with a snarl, but Julien didn’t care. If he had to knock the soldier out, carry him over his shoulder, and toss him into the house of Jadon’s private plane, then so be it. He wasn’t doing a wedding alone.
 

Now, as he stood before his own moss-rock
fireplace, watching his sovereign king, he could hardly believe this moment was real.
 

Tiffany handed the baby to Saber, and Napolean cleared his throat. The subtle lines around Napolean’s eyes were timeless maps of history, infused with hidden power, bathed in ageless wisdom, and refined with regal dignity, and his voice projected like a warm echo in a hallowed cathedral when he turned to Julien and spoke: “It is with great joy that I greet you this day, my brother, a fellow descendant of Jadon, a revered Master Warrior and expert tracker, mate to the daughter of Hercules, father to this newborn son of Libra, who balances the scales of justice in the southern skies. What name have you chosen for this male?”

Julien glanced at the baby with pride. “Should it please you, milord, and find favor with the gods, the son of Libra is to be named Jayce Gideon Lacusta.”
 

Napolean nodded thoughtfully, and then he took the child from Saber’s arms. “The name pleases me, warrior, and there is no objection from the celestial gods.”

Rebecca breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Julien quietly chuckled—he wasn’t sure what she had expected:
Jayce
had been her choice, whereas
Gideon
had been Julien’s, chosen after Analise and Evangeline’s father. If nothing else, the patriarch’s name—and by extension, his children’s lineage—would live on.
 

The sovereign king bent his head to Jayce’s wrist, and his fangs began to elongate. Julien reached out to take Rebecca’s hand.
It will only take a moment, little mouse
, he reassured her telepathically. As the king pierced the child’s vein and began to consume his blood, Rebecca’s face turned pale.
Hang in there, Becca
, Julien reiterated.
It’s almost over…I swear.
 

Rebecca nodded feebly, and then she cursed beneath her breath. “Son of a…vampire; how much blood does he need?”

Napolean’s mouth quirked up in a smile. He withdrew his fangs and sealed the wound. And then he surprised them both with a wink. The baby never stirred. Raising the child to eye level so all in the room could see him, the king spoke in a robust voice. “Welcome to the house of Jadon, Jayce Gideon Lacusta. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”
 

He handed the boy to Saber, who kissed him on the forehead and repeated the sacred refrain. “Welcome to our family of warriors and to the brotherhood of Napolean’s inner circle, Jayce Gideon Lacusta. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”

As the eldest of the Olaru brothers, Santos took the baby next and repeated the customary welcome. Ramsey and Saxson followed—then Tiffany, Nachari, and Braden—the final three welcoming the child to
Prince Jadon’s family
. At last, the child was handed back to Julien, who tugged Rebecca beneath his arm.

Napolean regarded them both with a smile. “By the laws which govern the house of Jadon, I accept your union as the divine will of the gods and hereby sanction your mating. Rebecca Johnston Lacusta, do you come now of your own free will to enter the house of Jadon?”

She glanced askance at Julien, and an eternity passed through their eyes, an eon of reverie moving inaudibly between them: a lifetime of anguish and regret lived by Julien; a nightmare of terror and fear survived by Rebecca; and a chance for a new life, a new future, and a new dawn, reflected in the promise of their son. “I do,” she said softly.

“Hold out your wrist,” Napolean beckoned, and this time Rebecca stepped forward with easy grace, bravely extending her arm.

Napolean took it with exquisite gentleness. He pierced her vein neatly, and she didn’t flinch. As he formed a firm, airtight seal over the twin fissures, she continued to stare at Julien, and his heart practically swelled in his chest. When, at last, Napolean removed his fangs and sealed the wound, there was no one else in the room.
 

Julien could not take his eyes off Rebecca.
 

“Congratulations,” Napolean said to the both of them, but his words faded off into the distance.
 

Thank you.
Julien mouthed the words.

“For what?” Rebecca whispered.

“For giving me back my soul, my father, and my future,” he breathed.

Rebecca brushed a tear from her eye and stepped into his arms. And then, much like that day in the clinic, he grasped her by the waist, pulled her tightly against him, and fixed his lips to hers, kissing her with every ounce of passion, love, and fever he had ever possessed.