Blood Genesis (4 page)

He should have tried to plunge it in Jaegar’s heart, instead of offering him a concession, however insulting and insidious.

Yet something
had
stayed his hand.

It was as if he had a greater purpose, a hidden reason to live.

Jaegar knew Jadon would comply
ev
entually,
but it made him more than a little uneasy that he could not intuit
why
—why his brother would back down from a direct provocation to fight, why he would ignore such a blatant insult.

What
the hell
was he waiting to do?

Jaegar shook his head brusquely from side to side, trying to dislodge the disturbing thoughts. Blood was thicker than water, and Prince Jadon
would
come around.

He had to.

He was Jaegar’s
b
rother
,
after all…

And when the time came, the two of them would rule together, side by side, as more than monarchs. They would rule as gods.

In an act of rare valor, he stepped forward, descended to one knee, and reached out to take Jadon’s right hand. Never losing eye contact with the prince, he raised his fingers to his lips, kissed the royal crest of his ring, and then rose, once more, to his feet.
“Lasa cei pu
ternici sa mosteneasca
pamantul
,
”
he whispered softly, still commanding his brother’s gaze.

Let
the
mighty
inherit the earth.

Ever since she’d had the strange vision, the guards had been staring at Jessenia like she was an oracle, or worse, some kind of witch. They had no idea what she had seen, and she wasn’t about to tell them. They only knew that something preternatural had happened in that cell, that Jessenia had seen or heard—
or come in contact
with
—something incredibly powerful, something beyond the ordinary, and as a result, they were keeping a wide berth between themselves and their prisoner.

Jessenia sighed inwardly, grateful for the reprieve. What did the foolish males think? That she could murder them with her eyes, turn their hearts into frogs with a flick of her wrist, or scatter their wits with a chant? Yes, she was a celestial descendant, just as they were, the progeny of gods and men, and as a female, she possessed an especially powerful magic—she housed a wealth of sacred knowledge in her latent genetic memories—but Jessenia had never been formally trained in the mystical arts. She had never been taught how to wield her power or access her celestial memories. She was the only child of a mother who had died while giving birth, making her father her only mentor, and he couldn’t teach what he didn’t know: The secrets of the race were passed down through the females, never the males, which only made the wholesale slaughter of the women more impossible to believe.

Jessenia sat down on the floor in front of the thick granite slab and stared at Timaos, who was still unconscious. The guards had finally cut him down, perhaps an hour or so ago, and he was resting fitfully on his side, obviously uncomfortable on the stiff, unyielding cot.

She wished she had some medicine, some salve, to treat his wounds. She had used what little knowledge she possessed to try and ease his pain, heal the worst of his injuries, and now, all she could do was watch him and wait, hoping and praying that she would get a chance to tell him what she had seen in her vision…before the morning came.

She ran a gentle hand through his thick, silky black hair. Even matted with sweat and blood, it was beautiful, just like the man lying before her. To this day, she would never understand what it was about her, why Timaos had taken such a fancy to a skinny, auburn-haired girl who was five years his junior, when he could’ve chosen any woman in the kingdom.

Unlike Jessenia, Timaos was born to a family of means and political power. He was groomed to be a warrior of great standing in the king’s guard, and with his tall, impressive bearing, his broad, muscular build, his rustic yet stunning features and charismatic personality, the sky had been his only limit.

Yet and still, Timaos had pursued Jessenia from the first day they met, though she was only thirteen years old at the time. He had shown up on her humble doorstep each morning, rising before dawn to present her with a bushel of wildflowers from the southern hills. He had taken her on long walks through the mountainside, pointing out secret caverns and hidden valleys. He had beat the living stuffing out of Josiah Draghici for calling her a useless wench on the first day of Andromeda’s feast, and he had kissed her for the first time when she was fifteen years old, making her knees grow weak beneath her and her heart flutter like it was colonized by a thousand butterflies, each one swirling madly within her chest.

She sighed, remembering his fervent promises: Despite his parents’ desire to wed him to a female of standing, a celestial acolyte, in the autumn of his twenty-first year, he had stood his ground, steadfast in his conviction, refusing to accept the unwanted pairing, insisting that he would marry none but Jessenia the moment she came of age.

And oh, how she had come of age…

In a lush, golden meadow, beneath a bright summer’s sun, on her sixteenth birthday, Timaos had shown her what true union was. And whether she lived another two hours or a hundred more years, she would never forget the lithe, graceful arc of his back or the powerful cast of his shoulders, the way his muscles had flexed as he’d held her beneath him…or the way he had spoken her name like a prayer. She would never forget how he’d soothed her innocent fears and awakened her dormant passion, all the while striking a perfect balance between dominance and
reverence
, how he’d made love to her body, her mind, and her soul. She would never forget how he had shuddered and groaned, his smooth, melodic voice giving way to a deep, throaty rasp at that pivotal moment.

She would never forget how he had brought her to ecstasy again…and again.

And again.

Timaos had been the first and the last.

After him, there could be no other—there could be no greater love.

Rising from her perch on the floor, she strolled across the room to the single, barred window, built into the cell, and she stared longingly at the sky, making special note of the familiar constellations. After spending so many months in a dark, chilly cellar, she was grateful to see the opalescent moon; she felt honored to stare at the stars; she felt grateful to just be alive. Despite their horrific predicament, she cherished every second in the presence of her beloved.

Timaos moaned, and she rushed across the chamber to his side, kneeling beside him with yearning. “My love?” she whispered.

He blew out a tortured breath and sank deeper into erratic sleep.

Jessenia fought back the urge to cry. “Please wake up, Timaos. We only have seven hours left, and there is so much I need to tell you.” She glanced toward the dimly lit corridor, just outside the dungeon door, to make sure there were no guards within earshot, and then she leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Timaos, if you can hear me, I need you to make me a vow: You must renounce your part in Prince Jadon’s rebellion and beg forgiveness for your transgressions, for keeping me hidden away in your cellar these past six months. You
must
find a way to gain your freedom, no matter what it takes, just so long as you don’t spill my blood—
never that
. It would be a sin beyond imagining. There’s a curse coming, Timaos, and you must live to see it to fruition, no matter the cost. You must find a way to get to the high priest before tomorrow afternoon and slay him. He is going to murder a child, the firstborn son of Sebastian and Katalina Mondragon, but you cannot let this happen. The child is the key to preserving—
nay, to saving
—all that is good and pure and holy in our race. You must find a way to protect him, though he may never know of your sacrifice. And you must also know that I give you permission to love again, to find your
destiny
, and expand your bloodline. Oh, Timaos, if you do this thing, if you kill the high priest, your nobility will live on forever. Your sons will have sons for many generations, and the world will be changed because of you. There will be light again. There will be hope again. There will be a
happily-ever-after
for those who follow behind you.” She laid her head on his chest, careful not to come in contact with any of his terrible wounds, mindful of his lingering pain, and she began to recite an entry from her journal, a song she had written in her sixteenth year, one she had never shared with Timaos before now:

“I’ve seen a million suns go down,

and pearly white moons rise;

with edges smooth, so softly round,

I’ve loved your moonlit eyes.

Your ivory smile has been my friend,

your voice seduced my ears;

while lying under olive skin,

I’ve lived one million years.

Within this love,

my life exists.

I need
so much
, your strength…

your kiss.”

Having recited the ballad, she linked her fingers in his, praying that he could somehow feel her touch. By all the gods, he had to know that she loved him, that she would always love him. He had to know that no man could have ever been more gentle, kind, or attentive, that no lover could have ever been more skilled or adept.

He had to know that as tragic as her story was, her life had been blessed…

Because of him.

She was stronger for having known his strength, wiser for having known his insight, and more alive for having known his love.

Surely, the gods were lending her their peace in this moment because Jessenia had no idea how she was keeping it all together. She had no idea how she would endure what was yet to come, when the sun made its inaugural trek across the horizon and she was commanded to make that final walk up the eastern hill…to the executioner’s stone.

She did not think she could bear it.

But now, in this unparalleled moment, she would have given all her days on earth just to see Timaos’s eyes: open, alert, and regarding her with love.

“Please, Timaos,” she whispered once more, “wake up, my love. Let me see your eyes and hear your voice, just one more time.”

Throughout the rest of the night, Timaos Silivasi drifted in and out of a restless sleep, at times rising to the surface of consciousness where he thought he heard Jessenia’s voice—and she was speaking softly in his ear—at others, sinking deeper into slumber, becoming ever more mired in an endless void of darkness where all was lost but the fitful dreams…

Timaos had bounced back and forth between peaceful dreams and horrific night-terrors for what felt like time without end. In the tranquil dreams, he was making love to Jessenia, and all was right with the world. But in the dreadful nightmares, he was something else—something primitive, wild, and savage—and the world, nay, the very cosmos from which he was begotten, was inexorably upside down.

Now, as he shifted his battered body against what felt like a hard, cold stone, he felt another nightmare coming on, rising from the shadows of his quiescent mind, ascending like a ghost from the tomb of his unconscious.

He felt the
hunger
rising once again.

The dream always started the same way: The sun was shining over a golden field, and Jessenia was sixteen years old again, waiting for Timaos beneath the low-hanging branches of a willow tree, her luminous, steel-blue eyes filled with an adoring mixture of fear, desire, and anticipation. They had planned this meeting—this union—for months, and as he approached the meadow from the east, just as he had told her he would, she spun around to welcome him.

It was then that the dream began to change.

Th
at
Timaos began to change.

All at once, the sun grew dark, fading into the backdrop of the pale-blue sky like a servant dismissed by his master, and then the moon crept forward, subtly taking the sun’s place, casting eerie, haunting moonbeams across the land like flickers from a torch in a narrow cavern. And, inexplicably, the light shone a deep, crimson red.

Timaos blinked at the change, the rapid, enigmatic shift, not understanding how such a thing was possible. He shuddered and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, feeling a sudden, rising fear for Jessenia.

He began to prowl toward her, to stalk instead of walk, to move with errorless, feline grace, every muscle in his body both awake and alert. The hard, unyielding ground beneath his feet became soft and pliable, as if he and the land were one, as if he had the power to command the very elements. His senses grew unnaturally acute, inconceivably hyper-sensitive—he could smell the spoor of wolves half a mile away; he could see the tiny ants scurrying about the bottoms of the trees; and he could literally taste Jessenia’s desire as she waited for him to approach. He growled, deep in his throat, an animalistic sound, reveling in the new intoxicating sensations, luxuriating in the wonder of his dominance and power.

By all the gods, he felt as if he could leap mountains, soar with the birds, pass straight through matter without sidestepping around it. He felt as if he could wrench the willow tree up by its roots without ever breaking a sweat. And he knew—
he absolutely
knew
—that he could move faster than the human eye could see. He could leap from his perch across the meadow and be on top of Jessenia before she ever knew what had hit her.

He could tear into her throat and drink to his heart’s contentment, and she would be utterly helpless to stop him.

He chuckled deep inside—such a thing was not even necessary. He could command the female’s mind if he chose. He could direct her very thoughts. By all that was sacred, he could tell her what to think, what to believe, and what to feel. She was the perfect prey: beautiful, alone, and unsuspecting. And he could make her say or do—
or want
—anything he chose.

The thought brought him up short.

Dearest Ancestors
,
what was happening to him
?

How could he even consider such a thing?

This wasn’t just any female. This was Jessenia,
his beloved
.

The beast inside him snarled, as if battling for control. He tuned into the steady, strumming beat of Jessenia’s heart, and harmonized it with his own. The twin beats were like music to his ears, a siren’s song calling him to love, to taste, and to feast.

No…

No!

This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all.

What was happening?

Just then, Jessenia raised her graceful hand and waved at him, her brilliant smile illuminating her delicate features, adorning her lovely face…

And he pounced.

He leapt across the meadow in one smooth bound, released his throbbing fangs, and sank them deep into her jugular, tearing through the flesh like a starved, raging beast.