Blood Father (Blood Curse Series) (26 page)

Braden Bratianu drew a crude circle on the ground.

He placed the bark from a tree in the north and stones from the eastern cliffs in the east. He emptied a vial of clear water from the Winding Snake River in the south and tossed a chunk of uneven rock from the Red Canyons in the west. With each placement, he repeated the rhythmic Latin phrase he had heard Nachari speak five days ago; and then he placed a piece of Tristan’s hair, one-half of the lock Nathaniel had ripped from the lycan’s dead scalp, in the center of the haphazard circle, careful to bury it just below the surface, exactly as Nachari had done before. He had to admit, the hair was getting extremely filthy and gnarled; after all, he was burying it
and digging it up
over and over again.

He surveyed his handiwork and sighed.
Y
eah, yeah, yeah…

Open the portal—again—
every hour on the hour
.

Been there, done that, hoping to toss the
T
-shirt.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t take the duty seriously. On the contrary, he was both honored and humbled to be chosen for such an important task. It was just…

It was just that he had done this over four dozen times already; the Silivasis were never there when the portal opened; and everyone in Dark Moon Vale was growing restless and concerned. On some level, he wondered if they doubted his ability to handle such an important assignment, if they didn’t suspect him, already, of screwing it up.

He sighed, biting his lower lip as he went through the familiar motions like a robot. He understood his duty, and he would do it: Contact Napolean the moment the portal opened to give the king a report—up until now, the report had always been the same:
n
othing t
o report
—transmit a telepathic summary to Ramsey Olaru and then Saber Alexiares, of all vampires, if he saw anything at all. In the event that there were werewolves bold enough to follow the Silivasis back into Dark Moon Vale, Napolean had wanted some badass warriors ready to greet them, prepared to fight…

Just in case.

Yeah, Ramsey and Saber could handle that
assignment
.

Braden fingered the smooth, leather scabbard at his side and smiled, imagining the amazing thrusts, downward slashes, and lightning-quick parries he could wield with the small dagger if he had to—well, okay, so he wasn’t all that good with the ancient weapon quite yet—but still, he could fight like a crazed lunatic if he had to.

He
would
fight like a crazed lunatic if he had to.

As blue and violet light began to rise from the ground, the pale, luminous beams radiating outward like a halo, the center of the circle began to glow, and once again, the portal opened.

Braden began to count backward from ten to one—it was how long he usually waited before closing the gateway—when all of a sudden, he saw the most primitive thing he had ever seen: Nathaniel Silivasi, drenched in the blood of an enemy, the head of a lycan still dangling in his outstretched hand; Nachari’s sword, slashing perilously through the air, slicing a werewolf in half; Marquis’s fangs, bared to their full, lethal length, stained with cherry-red chunks of flesh; and Kagen Silivasi, slicing the heart out of a werewolf with a fine silver scalpel, his crisp, clean movements too swift to be seen. On the ground, at the brothers’ feet, was an unconscious male lying next to a beautiful woman. She was standing over him protectively, dressed like a warrior princess, releasing arrow after arrow into the frantic melee with amazing speed and precision.

Braden stepped back and gasped. “Nachari!”

And then he remembered what he was supposed to do.

Napolean
!
The telepathic call was frantic.
They’re here. And they’
re fighting l
ycans
!
He turned his attention to Ramsey and Saber, calling out on a universal warriors’ bandwidth.
Saber
! Ramsey! The portal is open a
nd the Silivasis are here…with l
ycans
.

All three vampires shimmered into view instantaneously, faster than Braden could spit out the last word. Without hesitation, Napolean Mondragon shot into the portal—his eyes were narrowed with purpose; his pupils were burning flame red; and his jaw was set in a wicked hard line. Instinctively, Braden just knew: The ancient monarch was channeling the sun. He assessed the situation in an instant—counted the lycans, measured their strides, made lethal note of their various positions—and then, as if the sun were simply his to employ, he gathered the hot, roiling gases, sent a single stream of fire blazing from his eyes, and cast it outward in a wide arc, saturating the remaining lycans in intense, poisonous light.

His body never moved.

His face never hardened.

The only sign of his toxic wrath was a subtle but uncontrollable twitch in his upper-left lip.

It was enough
.

The sweltering radiation engulfed the werewolves with agonizing results—it sizzled, hissed, and hummed on contact—consuming the beasts in a preternatural fire, leaving nothing in its wake but a pile of steaming ash.

The king stumbled backward and staggered out of the portal; Ramsey stepped forward to catch him. As Braden understood it, the king’s rare radioactive powers were as dangerous as they were lethal: Every time he used his
solar ability
on a grand scale, he risked his health; and in extreme cases, he even risked his life. Luckily, this had been a minor use of his power: short, sweet, and effective.

“Milord, are you all right?” Ramsey, one of the valley’s most-revered sentinels, was not taking any chances: Releasing his fangs, he tore a long, vertical gash in his wrist and pressed the offering to the king’s mouth. “I offer freely. Drink.”

The king didn’t hesitate.

He latched onto Ramsey’s arm like a viper, sucked what had to be a pint of blood in under thirty seconds, and then casually sealed the wound with his venom, appearing instantly revived and alert.

Braden swore beneath his breath, wishing he were as strong and brave as Ramsey. He turned his attention to Saber Alexiares, watching as the brutal soldier extended a long, muscular arm into the portal and grasped the first wrist that met his. He pulled Nachari out with a sharp tug, and then he reached back in for Nathaniel. Marquis came out on his own accord. His thick black hair was drenched in blood; his face was a wild mask of fury; and his arms were heavy-laden as he cradled the limp, unconscious body of a male vampire close to his chest.

Before Braden could study the vampire more closely, Kagen emerged with the wild-looking woman clinging to his arm. He fixed his gaze on Braden and practically snarled. “Close the damn portal, son.
Do it now
!”

Braden struggled to remain calm and focused. He waved his hand through the air three times, weaving a simple spell as he closed the portal. And then he stepped back and gawked at his newly arrived companions. “Holy shit!” The words left his lips unbidden: The Silivasis had returned
with their father
!

Napolean turned his still-blazing eyes onto Kagen, and the fiery red centers flashed back to haunting black. “Do you have her?” His voice was rough with demand.

Kagen met the king’s gaze with an equal amount of intensity, and something in his gaze spoke of such hope…
such desperation
…such need that Braden could hardly comprehend the question.
Did Kagen have who?

“I have Arielle Nightsong with me,” Kagen said brusquely, even as he genuflected in a slight bow to the king. “She was a warrior in the land of Mhier, a healer, and…a friend. I could not leave her behind.”

Napolean sighed in obvious relief. “Then you know?”

Kagen swallowed hard. “I know nothing.” He seemed to consider his next words carefully. “However, I
suspect
…” His voice trailed off. “Tell me, milord. By all the gods,
tell me
what I am waiting to hear
.”

Napolean nodded. He raised his right hand and gestured toward the sky. “The first night you entered Mhier, the moon turned as blood, and the celestial constellation Auriga, the charioteer, appeared in the night sky.” He reached out to take Arielle’s arm, and she drew back in alarm. Napolean placed his hand at his side.

“Shh, sweeting,” Kagen soothed the woman softly. He gently grasped her left arm on his own and slowly turned over her wrist, staring longingly at her sun-drenched skin. And then he nearly groaned in surprise—and relief—at the sight of the strange, enigmatic symbols etched so plainly in her flesh. “Dear Gods…just like that.”

Braden leaned forward to get a better look.

Sure enough, Auriga, the Charioteer—the entire constellation—was stamped on the wild-woman’s arm. “Holy cow,” he said. “Your
destiny
was in the land of the werewolves?”

“Braden,” Nachari chastised, shaking his head back and forth to silence him.

“Sorry,” Braden whispered. He turned to stare at Napolean, wondering what would happen next.

As if an enormous weight had just been lifted from his shoulders, Napolean’s entire bearing relaxed. His face lit up with an unexpected light, and he declined his head in deference toward Arielle. “Greetings, Daughter of Auriga. Welcome to Dark Moon Vale.” He shook his head in wonder. “You have no idea how many prayers have been said on your behalf.”

The woman took a cautious step back and turned to gape at Kagen, her eyes like that of a frightened deer. “Healer?”

Kagen met her unspoken query head-on. “Do not fear me now, sweeting. All is well. All will be made well.” With that, he turned his attention to Marquis—and to the male who was still lying limp in the Master Warrior’s arms. “As long as we can save my father…our father.”

Napolean appraised the unconscious vampire carefully, and while his eyes seemed to reflect a subtle recognition, there was also a hint of dread…and doubt. “Then this is
Keitaro
?”

Marquis nodded. “It is our father.”

“Is he—”

“Barely alive,” Kagen interrupted. “We must get him to my clinic,
i
mmediately
.” He turned to face Napolean directly then. “Milord, I know such things are considered sacred—they are rarely done. But I must ask—”

“My blood and my venom are yours, healer.” Napolean spoke without hesitation. “Whatever we must do to heal this warrior, we will do.”

Kagen breathed out a heavy sigh and nodded his head. “Thank you, milord.” Then he turned to his brothers and gestured in the direction of the clinic. “Let’s go!”

Kagen sat on the edge of the hospital bed, staring intently at Keitaro.

At his father
.

He appraised the outward signs of his physical condition in the space of a second: the increased flush of color in Keitaro’s skin; the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed with less difficulty; the heat emanating from his forehead, indicating that his current body temperature was rising; and the smooth set of his brow, indicating an absence of the terrible pain that had plagued him…up until now.

Kagen had been at it for twenty-four hours: operating, mending, healing…

Intervening.

And there was little more the healer could do at this point other than to watch. And to wait.

Much like the human process of dialysis, Keitaro’s blood had been siphoned from his body, no less than four separate times, and strained of vile poisons. Kagen had treated the plasma with venom to clear the offensive toxins and reintroduced it into Keitaro’s bloodstream, along with a pure mixture of critical healing agents, not the least of which consisted of Napolean’s ancient, powerful white blood cells. In addition, Kagen had injected Napolean’s venom directly into Keitaro’s heart so that the potent, regenerating liniment could travel as organically as possible throughout Keitaro’s body, healing and restoring his vital organs in a natural process. Each wound had been cleaned, treated, and repaired with more of the king’s venom; and fresh, human blood had been infused directly into the ducts beneath Keitaro’s fangs so that he drew in constant vital nourishment of his own.

He had been bathed.

His hair had been washed.

And Kagen had even trimmed and filed his nails, for lack of anything more constructive to do.

He had wanted to make his father as comfortable as possible; moreover, he had needed to make him look more like the male he remembered: the handsome, powerful, vital warrior who had always loomed larger than life.

Yet and still, he waited like a helpless child for the faintest sign of awareness.

For his long-lost father to just…
wake up
.

Marquis had finally taken to pacing the hall, just outside Keitaro’s room, with Ciopori at his side. Nathaniel had finally fallen asleep in an oversized armchair in the front lobby of the clinic, while Jocelyn softly stroked his uncombed hair.

And Nachari?

He had practically sequestered himself in Kagen’s office, refusing to feed or come out, as he prayed to the celestial gods and offered sacrifices of his own blood on Keitaro’s behalf.

Deanna was never far away.

In fact, it seemed like half the warriors in Dark Moon Vale had stopped by the crowded clinic to offer a word of encouragement to the family. Or a prayer. Their massive vampiric bodies had quickly filled up the otherwise spacious waiting room, overflowing into vacant exam rooms, and even filing up the narrow staircase toward the upper levels of the clinic, until Kagen had finally asked them to go home.

In short, everyone’s presence had been felt, except for Arielle’s.

The beautiful, independent female—
Kagen’s newfound
destiny
—had chosen to wait alone in one of Kagen’s private guest rooms, sequestered next door in the healer’s private residence like a captive bird, albeit by choice. She was confused by her sudden change in circumstances; overwhelmed by the sheer volume of family
and potential friends
who stopped by to wish them well; and her senses were drastically overloaded by all the foreign sights and sounds: computers flashing, appliances buzzing, apparatus humming or beeping at every turn. So she had retreated into herself, insisted upon being left alone, while the Silivasis worked feverishly to try and save their father. She had even refused to let one of the brothers’ mates keep her company while the critical rehabilitation dragged on.

And Kagen had never felt so frustrated or helpless in all his life.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been with his woman. He
should
have been with his woman, reassuring his
destiny
, slowly…gently…introducing her to the strange new world she now inhabited, making her feel wanted, safe, and secure. Helping her understand her unexpected fate.

He should have been teaching her about the Curse, giving her options, and choices, and answers—
l
ots and lots of answers
.

He should have been showing her how deeply she was loved.

But nothing could happen until Keitaro was out of the woods, until the patriarch of their family was finally stable and no longer in danger of being lost. While Arielle had seemed to understand this intimately—she had even insisted upon this exact order of priorities—she had also seemed so lost and alone, so bereft and confused, and the knowledge of her distress weighed heavily on Kagen’s heart.

“Please, Father,” he whispered, staring at Keitaro’s unconscious form. “We need you to come back. The
daughter of your heart
needs you to come back. You are all that remains familiar to her in this terrifying new world.” He let out a plaintive sigh. “Please, just open your eyes.”

He thought he saw a flicker of response, the barest twitch of an eyelid—it wasn’t exactly a resounding reply, but it was something.

Rising to his feet, he moved closer to his father and bent over his slumbering form. “Father?”

Keitaro’s eyelids twitched again.

Marquis! Nathaniel! Nachari!
The telepathic communication was instantaneous.
I think he’s waking up!

All three brothers shimmered into view at the exact same moment, each one hovering over the bed like an overeager ghost, their dark, luminous eyes filled with stark anticipation and need.

“Father?” Nachari spoke first.

Keitaro blinked two times, and then, like the sun peeking out from beneath a dense cloud after a long winter’s storm, his brilliant, deep brown pupils appeared beneath his lids, illuminating the room like glorious beams from the luminous star. “Nachari?”

The wizard practically fainted. “Yes, Father.”

“Then you are dead, too?” Keitaro’s voice was raspy, deep, and laced with sorrow. He slowly turned his head to look around the room, but he didn’t appear to focus on anything in particular. “Then this is the Valley of Spirit and Light?” He slowly licked his lips as if testing his tongue for function. “Where is Serena?”

Nachari took Keitaro’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “You are not dead, Father. You are in Dark Moon Vale.”

Marquis stepped forward from the end of the bed. “We found you in Mhier, Keitaro.” He held his father’s gaze with an expression of unusual compassion. “We brought you home.”

Keitaro tried to sit up but faltered. It was as if the room had started to spin, and he reached out to steady himself on the lowered rail.

“Easy, Father,” Kagen murmured. He braced one hand on the rail, another on Keitaro’s shoulder, and helped him lie back onto the thick, down pillows. “Don’t move too fast.”

Keitaro furrowed his brow. He stared one by one at his sons, and his face grew more confused. “But I died in the arena.” He looked off into the distance. “I killed Cain Armentieres, the male who murdered your mother, and then…and then I saw my sons as I left this world. You were beside me…a final escort…as I died.”

Nathaniel shook his head, his long blue-black locks swaying from the motion. “No, Father. We
were
there…with you…in Mhier, but not to escort you to the spirit world. We came to get you, to take you out of that gods-forsaken place, and we found you in the arena. We fought alongside you, and we brought you back home. You are safe in Dark Moon Vale.
You are home
.”

Keitaro drew back against the pillows in burgeoning surprise. He patted his chest, stared down at his arms and legs, and then reached up to feel his cheeks. “I’m alive?”

“You are in my clinic,” Kagen said. He couldn’t take his eyes from Keitaro’s. He couldn’t believe this moment was actually happening.

Then all at once, as if a dam had broken, a blockade forged from confusion and slumber gave way to the weight of truth and awakening; and Keitaro’s ancient eyes filled with tears. He turned to his eldest son and smiled. “Marquis.”

The warrior held his breath. He bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing a trickle of blood, perhaps to quell his emotion, perhaps to convince himself that he was truly awake and the moment was finally happening. “It is with great respect that I greet a fellow descendant of Jadon, an Ancient Master Warrior, my beloved, honored father and
friend
, whom I have missed with all my heart. We welcome you back to Dark Moon Vale.” He spoke with unusual eloquence, relying on formal protocol to help him through the moment.

Keitaro planted one hand against the mattress and pushed up with all of his strength. Throwing formal protocol to the wind, he reached out with a trembling arm and snatched Marquis, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “
Marquis
.”

Marquis enfolded him with both arms, at first squeezing so hard that Kagen was concerned for Keitaro, and then he buried his face in his father’s shoulder and began to weep.

Keitaro stroked his thick, downy hair and simply repeated his name, over and over. “Marquis…Marquis…
Marquis
.
M
y son
…my firstborn son.”

When the ground began to shift beneath them, Kagen placed a soft hand on Marquis’s shoulder. “Emotions, brother.” The reminder was gentle: How in Hades could any of them hope to contain the emotions they were feeling in this moment?

Marquis pulled out of Keitaro’s embrace, cupped his father’s face in his hands, and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead—it was the most tender act any of them had ever seen Marquis perform, outside of his occasional tender exchanges with his own son, Nikolai.

Keitaro looked up then and reached out for Nathaniel. Nathaniel stepped forward, taking Marquis’s place. He took his father’s hand in his, raised it slowly to his jaw, and cradled the strong, perfect palm against his cheek. It was almost as if he simply wanted to feel Keitaro’s skin against his own, to become one with his own flesh and blood. “
Father
.” The word was choked out as Keitaro embraced him, and the two powerful males rocked in a strange, rhythmic motion, their hearts beating as one.

Keitaro clung to his second-born son. “How old are you?” he finally said, and all four brothers chuckled—the break in tension was welcome.

“I’m one thousand years old, Father,” Nathaniel said softly, “but today is truly my first birthday.”

Keitaro brushed a tear from the corner of his eye, and then he turned to regard Kagen. “So you, too, are an Ancient? An
Ancient
Master Healer
…my curious, intelligent son?”

Kagen blinked away his own tears, but he couldn’t stop from trembling. He palmed the back of Keitaro’s head and brought him forward to his chest—
to his heart
—where his memory had always lived. “My father,” he whispered, nearly breaking into a sob. “
My father
.”

Keitaro inhaled deeply as if reveling in Kagen’s scent. He nuzzled his chin in an intimate gesture, not caring if the display wasn’t manly, and then he sat up straight, appearing to gain strength from the love of his family, and brushed Kagen’s cheeks with his thumbs. “By all the gods, I never thought I would see you again”—he turned to glance around the room—“any of you.” He met Kagen’s gaze and held it warmly. “Thank you for coming for me.”

It was more than Kagen could bear.

The centuries, the guilt …the regret.

He felt his emotions slipping, the tears about to give way, and he pulled back momentarily to regain his composure.

Understanding, Keitaro turned his attention to the other side of the bed, where Nachari sat patiently beside him, waiting. His entire face lit up with joy. “By all the gods, you are more handsome than I remembered. And you were utterly
perfect
back then.”

Nachari smiled that stunning, breathtaking grin he was so famous for, and the entire exam room lit up with the magnificence of his joy. “Father…” The word came out with the barest hint of hesitance, and Keitaro took his hand.

“You were only…what were you, Nachari? How old, when I disappeared?”

“Twenty-one,” Nachari said solemnly.

“And now?” Keitaro asked.

“I will be 501 in three months’ time.”

A fleeting mask of grief—indescribable, inconsolable, acknowledging
so many
lost years—flashed over Keitaro’s face before it was quickly replaced with wonder. “What discipline did you choose?”

Nachari swallowed hard. “I’m a Master Wizard, Father.” There seemed to be the barest tension between them, not an absence of love—
never that
—but the silent awareness that in an immortal lifetime, they had only shared twenty-one years.

Keitaro nodded, regarding Nachari with a fierce, glowing pride. “Of course you are, my sensitive, alchemist son.” He raised Nachari’s palms to his face and breathed into them as if wanting to impart his life force, and then he deeply inhaled as if taking in the wizard’s hopes, dreams, and heart. “I have missed you with every ounce of my being, Nachari,” he whispered.

Nachari shifted anxiously on the bed—he looked like he might fall apart.

And then, as if the awareness suddenly dawned on him, Keitaro looked up, glanced around the room, and frowned. “Where is your twin?” he asked eagerly. “Where is my most mischievous son, the one with his mother’s golden hair?”

Nachari cleared his throat, even as he drew from a waning well of courage. “Shelby is…no longer with us. He is with our mother in the Valley of Spirit and Light.” He absently clutched his beloved amulet, the one that always hung around his neck, the one that Shelby had given him when Marquis made the Dark Sacrifice of his unnamed son. “He lives…always…in our hearts.”

Keitaro drew back in anguish. “What happened?”

“Later,” Kagen interjected, not wanting to jeopardize the vampire’s health.

“
What happened
?” Keitaro repeated, his grief-stricken voice deepening with command.

“Valentine Nistor happened,” Marquis cut in.

“He got to Shelby’s
destiny
before they could fulfill the demands of the Curse,” Nathaniel added, before he dropped his head in his hands.