ROMAN: Fury of Her King (Kings of the Blood Book 2) (12 page)

Chapter Ten

Racing back into the room, he pushed past Viktor, grabbed
Valentina by the shoulders, and shook her as he bellowed, “What did you say?”

With more confidence than he had ever seen her portray, Valentina
purred, “Careful, lover, you don’t want to damage the merchandise.” She winked.
“You wouldn’t want me to lose my memory.”

The need to throw her against the wall and separate her head from
her neck made Roman see red. He imagined her broken body at his feet as his
grip on her shoulders tightened to the point that she squealed in pain. Viktor
pulled the traitor from his hands and returned her to her seat as he said,
“Walk away. We need her…at least for the time being.”

Punching the wall until his knuckles bled, the King prayed to the
gods for the strength necessary to interrogate the woman responsible for the
suffering of his mate without killing her until he had the answers he needed.
Viktor’s words ran through his head like a never ending mantra – 
We
need her…for now
.  It was the only thing holding back the raging beast
within him, the warrior seeking retribution, the man with the need to protect
the woman he loved. Knowing that in the end, Valentina would die for her crimes
against the keeper of his heart was the prize at the end of the journey.

Taking a deep breath and wiping his hands, Roman walked back to
where Viktor was quietly talking to Valentina. When the Commander paused, he
asked as calmly as was possible, “What do you know of ‘what I treasure most’?

“Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman, for a smart man you really can be quite
obtuse at times. I would’ve thought you would have vetted your 
tréfon
 better
than this.” The saccharine tone of her voice reminded the King of nails on a
chalkboard and made the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end but he
stared, unmoving, waiting for an answer.

Chuckling, she flipped her hair to the side, unaware, or uncaring
of the makeup smearing her face. Because of her vanity, Roman thought about
telling her how truly awful she looked but choked back his childishness in
favor of straightforward intimidation.

The longer he stared, the more Valentina fidgeted, until she
finally sighed, “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you.” Once again she winked, making bile
raise in the King’s throat, then cooed, “But you must indulge me to tell the
whole story.”

Silence filled the chamber as precious moments ticked by and Roman
dreamt of all the ways he would enjoy watching Valentina die. Finally, just as
he thought he could take no more, the traitor spoke, “This story has been
passed down from generation to generation in my family, since before my
great-great-grandparents immigrated from Greece. Because of the time period and
all the immigrants looking for work in the promised land that was America,
my 
pappoús
 took the last name of the nice ferry captain who’d
brought him and 
giagiá
 to the mainland from Ellis Island.”

“From that point forward, they were known as Mr. and Mrs. Stevens
with their eleven well-behaved children, but they never forgot their roots and
made sure their children and their children’s children remembered who they
were. The name on the door may have been Stevens but they knew in their hearts
the belonged to the 
Oikogénia Xenos
. It became the most important
thing any Stevens parent could pass onto their child at their age of consent –
the 
Oikogeneiakó Mystikó
 – the family secret – the legend of
the son of Xenophanes.”

Roman stood dumbstruck. He had not heard nor uttered the name of
his half-brother since the night he’d left the bastard dead less than a hundred
miles from Athens. Working hard to school his features as his heart thundered
in his chest, the King heard Viktor move up beside him before scoffing in a
nonchalant tone, “You obviously know nothing of Xenophanes. He died unmarried
and childless in a pool of his own blood after being found guilty of treason
against the Grecian Empire long before Hades had even dreamt of making a wretch
as vile as you.”

Valentina’s maniacal laughter reverberated off the stone walls
with such force Roman wondered if his ears might bleed before she finally
spoke. Taking a deep breath, the vile creature sighed, “Oh, Viktor, I would be
careful with what you think you know about history.” She tapped her chin with
her long red nails. “What is the saying?” Narrowing her eyes and looking over
the Commander’s head, she feigned thinking then added, “Ah yes, Pride goeth
before a fall.”

Better at the art of negotiation than Roman would ever be, Viktor
politely smiled, crossed his arms over his chest, and commanded, “Then by all
means, explain, Miss Xenos.”

Batting her eyes and holding up her still shackled wrists, she
pouted, “It would be so much easier if I could at least have the use of my
hands.”

“Enough!” Roman roared. “I have had enough of your games, enough
of your lies, and enough of you.” He grabbed the chain between her steel
bracelets and pulled her to a standing position. Leaning over until their noses
touched, he demanded, “Tell your lies whore or I will end you where you stand.”

Sniffing as if she had feelings, Valentina tried to hide her fear,
but Roman could feel her shiver, smell her dread, and see the terror deep in
her eyes. His ex-feeder had never seen this side of him. The King had worked
hard to put the bloodthirsty warrior of the past behind him after walking away
from the carnage in the clearing all those millennia ago, but this was
different. The parasite before him had threatened his mate and dared to utter
the name of his half-brother. Vengeance would be his and he cared not whether
it was now or later.

Bowing her head, partly to hide her fear but mostly to attempt to
play upon his feelings, Valentina put on a show of whimpering and
murmured, 
“
As you command
, o vasiliás mou.”

“Skýla,”
 Roman
cursed, letting go of Valentina as if just touching her burnt his skin. Turning
away, he paced as far as the confines of the stone room would allow and stood
with his back to her as he waited for her to speak.

She has exactly one minute until I snap her neck and go to
Cynthia…

“Enough stalling, Valentina. I can’t hold him off forever. Tell us
what you know or I will leave you here to rot,” Viktor said, emotion absent
from his tone.

“Fine,” she sniffed. “I’ll tell you, but you must guarantee me my
freedom.”

“What of Laurent?” the Commander asked.

“Oh…yes…of course, him, too,” she stuttered. Her attempt at
compassion lost in the conniving tone of her voice.

“You tell me what you know and I will speak with Roman about your
future,” Viktor paused and the King could feel how much fun his long-time
Commander was having playing cat-and-mouse with Valentina when all the General
wanted to do was kill her for her crimes and get to his mate.

“Do we have a deal?” the Commander asked.

“Yes,” Valentina quickly answered, making Roman smile despite all
that had transpired. The cow truly was delusional if she believed there was any
way in the world he would ever let her live.

Cutting off his thoughts, she began to tell her tale. “What you
did not know of your half-brother was that he had bedded a servant of the House
of Dracon who had become pregnant. The maid died in childbirth, but because of
her many years of loyal service, Draco and his wife did not give the child to
the beggars. Instead, they adopted him and raised him as their own. They educated
him in the ways of law and prepared him to one day take his place among the
lawgivers of the time. In honor of his father and in behest of his mother’s
dying wish, they named him Xenos.”

“He had a keen mind, soaking up whatever he was taught and always
asking to learn more. Draco was proud to call him his son and on the night of
his eighteenth birthday as he prepared for the celebration his parents had
planned for him, Xenos was visited by a raven who sat upon his window as he
dressed.”

“The boy recognized the wisdom in the creature’s eyes and asked,
‘Have you something to say, bird of the night?’”

“The bird answered to the affirmative and went on to explain that
Xenos’ real father, Xenophanes, upon entry into the Underworld, had bartered an
eternity of servitude to the Keres, daughters of Nyx and malevolent spirits of
death, that a messenger be sent to the boy on the night of his dawning manhood
and tell him the story of his true father’s death.”

“With rapt attention, Xenos asked the bird to continue and
listened as the details of Xenophanes’ demise at the end of your sword were
revealed. At the end of the horrible account, the raven said, ‘And now your
father asked for a favor in return for his sacrifice.’”

“‘But of course, he has only to ask,’ Xenos quickly responded.”

“‘You must live your life to the fullest, achieve everything he
could not, but should you or any of your descendants ever come to know Romanus,
the mighty Grecian General, you must gain his trust, become part of his inner
circle, and learn all his secrets. The day will come when you, or those of your
blood, will know who it is he treasures most. The one person he would rather
die than live without. The one above all other who holds his affection and his
heart. When you find this person, and this is the most important part, Xenos,
you must let him believe all is well and then when his guard and down and his
heart full of love, destroy her. Make it so he knows the pain of loss, a loss
that will haunt him all the days of his life. Let the precious son of Markos
spend the rest of eternity atoning for my death.’ With a tear in his eye and
the first seed of hate in his heart, Xenos readily agreed and watched as the
raven flew off into the night.”

Valentina sniffed and wiped an imaginary tear from her face then
batted her eyes and gave a little sob, “That is the burden my family has had to
bare for nearly three thousand years and it is all because of you, Romanus.”

Pulling upon centuries of learned restraint and a calm that only
came from knowing she was nearing her last breath, Roman turned around, took
three steps forward, smiled the most charming smile he could muster, and
replied, “Romanus no longer exists. He died on a battlefield after his
half-brother, the one you revere, Xenophanes, ordered him killed and left for
the Keres to eat his soul.” He took another step forward and deepened his
smile. “So you see, it is only fitting that he made his pact in death with the
same evil goddesses he worshipped in life. Now, if you have nothing further to tell
me, I shall bid you farewell,” he reached into his pocket, pulled out a
polished onyx disc, and handed it to her. “There is your obol for Charon. Have
you any last words?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she sputtered, throwing her shackled hands
before her face and recoiling in as tight of a ball as she could, considering
she was chained to a chair. Wailing from her precarious position she screamed,
“You cannot kill me. If you do, Cynthia will die.”

Nodding to his Commander, finally hearing what they had been searching
for, Roman leaned over her trembling body and whispered, “Tell me.”

Slowly moving her hands until he could see one of her soulless,
black eyes, Valentina hiccupped, “I did as I was told. I put aconite from a
Monkshood petal harvested from the shady side of Mt Olympus under the blue moon
into her food. The only cure is atropine extracted from a root of a Mandrake
plant that grows in the same soil and is harvested under the light of a Blood
Moon.” She let her hands fall away. “And that does not occur for approximately
six more months and your beloved has,” she paused, “oh, let’s see.” She looked
at her watch. “About four hours until she draws her last breath.”

The words still drifted on the air as Roman reached forward,
placed his hands on either side of Valentina’s face, and with all the strength
given to him by the King of the Gods, ripped her head from her neck. Blood,
warm and wet, covered his body, splattered the walls, and flowed down the
headless corpse like the waters of the Nile.

Dropping her head at her feet, he turned and walked towards the
door, calling to Viktoras over his shoulder, “I’m going to shower and then I’m
going to save my mate. I’ll have Gregorio see to the mess.

Chapter
Eleven

He remembered little of showering off the remains of the wretched
bitch responsible for the fate of his mate or the trip to the hospital at top
speed. His focus was on Cynthia and the words of the doctor that played on a
continual loop through his mind. “She has been poisoned. We’ve run every test
we know to run and as of yet, it is still unidentifiable. We’ve given her every
antidote we have available and still her condition declines. My best guess is
she has a few hours. The nurses have already notified her next of kin.”

It was true. Everything Valentina had said had been the truth. The
keeper of his heart, the woman made for him by the gods’ own hands was dying,
and there was nothing he could do about it. Roman, the mighty General of the
Grecian Army, the 
Sigontáro 
of the Kings of the Blood, was as
helpless as a babe and as unless as a eunuch.

He held her frail hand, looked at her once vibrant face, still so
beautiful it made his heart skip a beat, but now calm, quiet, and pale from the
effects of the poison. He listened to the slow, shallow beat of her heart and
held his breath while waiting for her next, wondering why they had not provided
her with a ventilator to help her in her time of need.

Kissing her knuckles, he spoke to her with hopes it would give her
the strength to fight until he could come up with a way to save her.
“Cynthia, 
agápi mou
, I will never be able to make amends for the
great pain you have suffered for simply knowing me, but I swear with all that I
am I will spend every minute of our eternity together making it up to you.”

He coughed back the tears, knowing it was the first time since he
buried his mother in the Grecian sands as a young boy that he had felt true
pain. “I wish you knew what you meant to me. Knew that you are the reason I
continue to draw breath. Knew that until the day I laid eyes on you, I was lost
like a lamb separated from the flock, wandering the world without cause or
direction.”

A sad chuckle escaped as he remembered their first real meeting in
her favorite coffee shop on a rainy day. “You know I broke the rules for you.
Well, it’s more accurate to say I bent them. For you see, we, the Kings of the
Blood, have certain rules we have to follow concerning our mates.” He held her
hand to his cheek while watching her beautiful face for any signs that his
words were somehow penetrating the effects of the toxin. “Yes, 
agapiméne
mou
, you are my mate, the keeper of my heart, the woman made to be by my
side for all eternity and because of that, Zeus, our maker, decreed that I must
wait for 
you
 to come to 
me
.” He once again kissed
her hand. “But you see, I could not. I had to see you. Had to be near you. Had
to hear your voice in person and not just from the few times I was able to
connect my mind to yours. And that is why I appeared at your secret little
spot. It is also why I have been a thorn in your side from that day forward.”

He blew out a breath and laid his forehead on their combined
hands, “I can’t live without you, Cynthia St. James. I 
won’t
 live
without you.”

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket with his free hand, Roman
started to dial Carl, their company’s pilot, to ready the jet and file a flight
plan to Greece. His only hope was to get her to the soil of his death and
convert her as his 
fýlakas tis kardiás mou. 
Looking back to
Cynthia he assured her, “I will make this right. You will live and with the
gods as my witness, I will love you as no other man has ever loved a woman.”

The pilot’s voicemail picked up and Roman opened his mouth the
leave a message when a bright white light filled the room and a low, melodic
voice said, “Romanus of Greece, son of Markos, why do you not use the talents
you were given by my father? Why do you fret and toil, playing with the tools
of this world when you have godly powers?”

Squinting against the glare, Roman saw the figure of a tall man
with flowing long blond hair surrounded by a heavenly glow. His bright white
tunic was held at the waist by a shining golden belt, while the music of the
harp in his hand brought peace to the King’s heart and the quiver strapped onto
his back the knowledge that Roman was in the presence of the god of music,
truth, prophecy and healing.

Unwilling to let go of Cynthia’s hand but needing to pay respect
to the deity, Roman bowed his head where he sat and with all reverence replied,
“Oh, great Apollo, son of Zeus, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“I have come in your hour of need in place of my father to offer
assistance to one of Zeus’ favored warriors. I have heard your pleas and as the
god who gave the science of medicine to man, I am here.”

“Thank you, oh benevolent Apollo, for your healing hand upon the
keeper of my heart.”

There was a long pause and the light surrounding the god pulsed,
almost completely extinguishing before returning to its full splendor. Apollo’s
voice rang clear and true, “I believe you misunderstand, great warrior, I am
not here to heal your 
fýlakas tis kardiás mou, 
I am here to
provide you with the steps 
you 
must take to ensure you have
the one created for you by your side for all eternity.”

Trying hard to control his temper, knowing full well it would do
no good to anger Apollo, who on the best of times was unpredictable and at his
worst had been known to destroy whole city-states for what he believed to be an
insult, Roman took a deep breath and asked, “What must 
I
 do?”
He prayed he didn’t sound condescending but his patience was at an end. “I was
about to do all I knew how when you appeared.” Grabbing his cell phone from
where he had dropped it on the bed, he pressed the redial button while
continuing, “I am trying to get in contact with my pilot so that I may return
to the land of my death and convert Cynthia as my mate.”

Pointing his harp at Roman’s hand, Apollo disconnected the ringing
phone while shaking his head. “You misunderstand. There is no time to return to
your homeland, your 
sýntrofos’
 last breath is drawing near and
travel will only quicken her death.” The god stepped forward and looked down at
Cynthia. “You must take her home, the place you have prepared to share with
your 
fýlakas tis kardiás mou, 
and on that soil you will
perform the ritual of conversion as decreed by the Father of the Gods.” He
paused and added with conviction in, “But first you must obtain her consent.”

“With all due reverence and respect, dearest Apollo, she is
unconscious and unable to give consent, and the new moon on which we have been
instructed is essential to bring our mates into our world is not for several
nights.”

“Does the same moon not shine on our blessed Greece as it shines
here in this world? Were you not planning to give 
agapiméni sas
 the
gift of eternal life under whatever moon was high in the sky as soon as your
mechanical wings were able to deliver you to the soil of your death?”

Roman quickly bowed his head and apologized, fearing he had
angered the fickle deity, “You are so right, most gracious Apollo, I was going
to break the covenant of our kind and convert my Cynthia no matter the phase of
the moon.” He swallowed hard before adding, “And Zeus, King of all Gods, did
provide that should the keeper of my heart be in mortal danger I could take
whatever measures necessary to preserve her life, to and including giving her
the gift of eternal life without her permission or knowledge.”

“Yes, warrior, but with all things, my father and yours has not
been completely forthcoming.”

Great! Now, I find out there are loopholes…

Apollo went on, “You may only use such extreme measures when
your 
fýlakas tis kardiás mou 
cannot be reached
. 
This
is not the case with your Cynthia. She still lives. Within her mind she is
fighting for the chance to declare her love for you. It is you who must go to
her. Use the powers given to you by Zeus. Join your mind with hers. She is
willing and ready to accept you as 
vasiliás tis
.” He touched her
forehead with the tip of his finger. “This one is strong. She will challenge
you for the whole of your existence. You have been blessed beyond all measure,
Romanus. Now, do what you must to make it so. You have the ability. Obtain her
consent and live the life you were given to the fullest as was intended.”

In the blink of an eye, the bright warm light of the god
extinguished and Apollo was gone. The sound of footsteps in the hall came right
before the door to Cynthia’s room opened and Roman spun in his chair and smiled
at Katarina.

“He’s right, you know?” She grinned.

Nodding, he responded, “You heard?’ Then chuckling, “Of course you
heard. Yes, he is.  Want to help me plan a kidnapping?”

Winking, Kat rubbed her hands together and nodded, “I thought you
would never ask.”

Avoiding the hospital staff was easy. Because of Cynthia’s
condition, they only came to check on her every two hours and at shift change
as long as the machine beeping to the beat of her heart continued its sad
monotone song.

The King and his accomplice dressed the unconscious Cynthia, as
well as themselves, in scrubs ‘borrowed’ from the supply closet at the end of
the hall and then loaded her into a wheel chair liberated from where it had
been abandoned in the hallway.

Thankfully, Katarina was a tech genius and after just a few
minutes of fiddling with the heart monitor, was able to make it repeat its
incessant beeping even after disconnecting it from Cynthia. Looking from
side-to-side to be sure the corridor was empty, Roman quickly pushed his
unresponsive mate out of the room, down the hall, and into a waiting freight
elevator.

Viktor’s mate had stayed behind for an extra minute to make sure
no one came and discovered the empty room before he got away. She had just
jumped into the lift when Roman heard the scream of Adele from the other end of
the ward.

“Oh my God, say it isn’t so. Tell me she’s not dead!”

Guilt swamped the King as the door to the elevator closed and he
was forced to make the conscious decision to leave his mate’s closet friend to
grieve for a woman who still lived, but it could not be helped. He had to get
Cynthia to his home. Had to enter her mind and get her consent and then perform
the ritual of conversion before she drew her last breath, for there was no
guarantee it would be successful if her heart stopped beating of its own accord.

Reaching his car, Roman waited as Katarina dove into the back and
held out her hands to carefully and comfortably place Cynthia on the seat. Once
he knew his mate was secure, he pushed the wheelchair into an empty parking
spot, jumped into the car, and sped out of the garage.

Driving as fast as he could while not drawing the attention of any
police officers or jostling Cynthia and Katarina too much, Roman sped through
town and into his estate, pulling around to the far side of the driveway.
Jumping out of the car, he threw open the backdoor and gently reached for
Cynthia. Holding her snuggled safely in his arms, he stopped for just a second
to look at Katarina, unsure how to properly thank her for all she had done.

Nodding and smiling, his Commander’s mate waved her hand, “Go on.
Do what you have to do. Save our girl. I’ll take the car and let Viktor know
what’s happening. See you in a bit.”

“Thank you,” was all he could squeeze out past the lump in his
throat. Were it not for his friends, those he held so dear the King considered
them family, he knew he would not have the strength to do what had to be done.

Jogging to the far corner of the twenty-five-hundred-acre estate,
Roman stopped under the large olive tree he had planted when he bought the
property over a hundred years ago. It paid tribute to the goddess Athena,
daughter of Zeus, and the warrior goddess whose dominion over justice and
wisdom allowed them to make fair and earnest decisions when dealing with those
in violation of the Law of the Gods. The olive tree is a sign of peace and
prosperity, as well as resurrection and hope – both of which Roman was counting
on with every fiber of his being.

Laying Cynthia on the stone bench he had constructed in the year
of her birth, he knelt beside her, held her hand in his, and closed his eyes.
Calming his mind the best he could, the King followed the bond he had shared
with his mate since the moment she drew her first breath until he found her, or
at least the representation of his mate in her own mind.

She sat on a wooden swing hanging from the highest branch of a
very old oak tree singing as she rocked back and forth. He smiled when she
stopped and looked at him with stars in her eyes. “I knew you would come,” she
sighed.

Stepping behind her, he put his hands on the ropes and pushed the
swing while asking, “And how did you know that?”

“Because you love me.” Her voice held its patented sass which
forced a bark of laughter from the King.

“Oh do I now?” He chuckled.

“Well, of course you do. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here.” He
stopped the swing and walked around until he could see her beautiful face and
asked, “And where exactly is here?”