The Kyriakis Curse (2 page)

At an informal dinner party, Zahara had gone missing. To his annoyance, Paris had

found her giggling with a Kyriakis cousin, her lovely face filled with a look of happiness he had never witnessed before. It had driven him mad -- that was the only explanation he could think of for what he had done next. Paris ached at the memory.

Yanking Zahara away from his cousin, Paris had lifted her in his arms and carried her to his room, where he’d proceeded to rip her clothes off. He’d taken her right then and there.

“You’re mine! You belong to me,” he’d said, over and over again.

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He had smelled her arousal at his presence, and it had made him crazy. Even though

he’d known this would be her first time, Paris hadn’t ensured that she was properly

pleasured. All he’d cared about was claiming what was his; besides, the sounds of her soft moans and pants had told him she wasn’t adverse to his touch. It was only after the haze of rage and possession had lifted and he’d rolled off the bed that he realized the extent of his angry actions. Although Zahara hadn’t fought him -- had even orgasmed, he realized vaguely

-- she’d turned her back to him and wept.

Although alphas were in a position of power, they also carried with them a great deal of responsibility. Paris knew that a real leader would never have abused or caused harm to someone under his protection... no amount of words could take back his rough handling of her, and he was sorry, more than he’d ever been about anything in his life. Ashamed of himself, Paris had left the room.

He’d given instructions that she wasn’t to be disturbed; then Paris had taken a long walk to clear his head. He’d vowed to make things right with her, and it was an oath he’d intended to keep. Deciding to give her space, Paris had planned to stay away from her until the ceremony the following day.

By the next morning, no one had seen Zahara. They’d searched everywhere for her,

not stopping until the hour of the joining was upon them. When she didn’t show up, Paris had known she wasn’t coming back...

Shoving his memories aside, Paris lifted his head when he heard a commotion outside

his room. A tall, dark, richly garbed female burst through his door. Nana Nkruma, the alpha of Pack Nkruma.

“This is your fault, Kyriakis! She’s gone; you drove my cub away! A curse on you and your pack until my daughter is returned to me! No Kyriakis male shall find happiness with their mate until this wrong has been righted... and where you were once strong, now you shall be weak.”

But Paris thought no curse could scare him. After all, the worst had already happened.

His arrogance and jealousy had caused Zahara to flee -- and he’d never even told her that he loved her.

6 Eve Vaughn

Raking fingers through his hair, Constantine felt an impending sense of doom as he

walked down the hallway to his father’s study. He had a pretty good idea why he’d been summoned and really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. Only Paris could make him feel like a cub all over again, even though Constantine was nearing one hundred and fifty.

But this was his father and his alpha as well. To blatantly disobey an order was asking for more trouble than he needed right now -- not that he wasn’t close to the man who sired him, but there were times when they didn’t see eye to eye.

To hear his relatives tell it, Paris had been an altogether different person, more carefree and wild, back in the old days. Constantine wouldn’t have guessed that his Papa was

anything but the strict, no-nonsense immortal he knew.

“Enter.” Paris’s deep booming voice called him from the other side of the door before Constantine could even touch the knob.

Constantine stepped into the study and plopped down on the big leather chair in front of his father’s desk. “Good afternoon, Papa.”

Paris’s light blue eyes darkened. “What took you so long to get here? I caught your

scent several minutes ago,” his papa asked without preamble. No hello or any other form of greeting; just straight to the point as usual.

Both of them were both well over six feet tall, and Constantine was aware that, in

appearance, they were more like brothers than father and son. Many people often

commented on the physical similarities between them. The only difference was their eye color; Constantine had inherited his mother’s slate-gray eyes.

“And it would be a good afternoon if you would do as I ask for once.”

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Here we go again. It was going to be a long lecture indeed. “Papa, I’m just not

interested in the bitches you’ve thrown my way. I’m young; I have time before I settle down to pick a mate. Besides, you don’t harass Persephone.”

“Persephone is not the alpha-in-waiting, and she is betrothed to Marius.”

Constantine rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s going to go over well. You know she can’t stand Marius, and you can barely tolerate him yourself. Why would you want to subject your only daughter to that weasel for eternity?”

“Marius is a fine alpha for his den. His pack has not succumbed to the virus in years.

Anyway, this discussion isn’t about your sister, it’s about you and your blatant disregard for our laws. You should have mated by now. You’ll be one hundred fifty by the end of this year, yet you have no cubs.”

Constantine was careful to choose his next words because he knew this conversation

could get out of hand in no time. “I’m not really sure why there’s such a rush; you’re the alpha. I figured you could mate with Aunt Eleni and add more cubs to your precious dynasty.

And, if you haven’t forgotten, we’re immortal. Maybe I’ll never be alpha.”

Paris shook his head, dark waves falling over his face. For the first time, Constantine noticed how disheveled his father looked. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen his father appear anything less than immaculate. Paris’s hair was all over the place and his eyes were bloodshot; dark stubble rested on the older man’s face, a testament to the fact that he hadn’t shaved that morning. Paris also looked as if he’d slept in the elegant black Gucci suit he wore.

Concern for his father quickly dissolved any argument he had on the tip of his tongue.

“Papa, what’s the matter?” He stood and walked over to his father, meeting those reddened eyes.

It seemed like opening up was the last thing Paris wanted to do but, finally, he sighed, strode to his large leather chair, and took a seat. “Tell me what you think of that portrait.” He pointed to a new painting hanging over the marble fireplace.

Constantine wasn’t into art like his father, but what he saw was compelling, stirring feelings within him that he didn’t think possible of an inanimate object. His breath caught in his throat.

The picture was of a stunning woman, dark as fresh toiled earth, her wild, tousled hair flowing freely around her face and shoulders. Her features were fine and delicate, yet they appeared to belie an inner strength. She covered her naked breasts with one arm, her free hand resting daintily over her pubic region. Above the beauty’s head was the face of a wolf.

There was something in its eyes that reminded him of the woman.

He shot a glance toward his father. “She’s one of us, isn’t she?”

“What do you think, Constantine?” Paris asked softly, leaving his son’s question

unanswered.

8 Eve Vaughn

What was his father getting at, and what did this have to do with anything? Could she possibly be a potential mate for him? The woman was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but he’d be damned if he mated with someone he’d never met. “She’s very lovely, but I think--”

Paris held his hand up. “Yes, she’s beautiful, isn’t she? I’ve been up all night staring at her.” He paused for a long moment. “This isn’t the real reason I called you in here, though. I think it’s time we had a little talk.

Constantine rolled his eyes again. “Oh, brother,” he muttered.

“You know I only push you so hard because I care.”

Where did that come from? “Papa, I mean you no disrespect... but why are you talking in circles? What does this painting have to do with anything?” He had a feeling his aunt was going to be upset; she had a decidedly possessive attitude toward his father. “I bet Aunt Eleni won’t be too pleased to see it.”

“This has nothing to do with Eleni.”

“I think she’ll disagree.”

“What your aunt may or may not feel about this painting is irrelevant, and Eleni’s

already seen it. She has nothing to do with the reason I summoned you.”

“Then why did you?”

“That woman should have been your mama.”

Constantine could usually think fast on his feet, but that statement completely floored him. He’d always known the union between his parents had not been one of mutual love but of expediency. Still, he’d never have imagined his staid, by-the-book papa pining for someone else. “I... I’m not sure I follow.”

“Her name is Zahara. From Pack Nkruma.”

“You mean the one where the women rule? I can’t imagine you’d mate with a bossy

bitch. Did you two quarrel?”

“No. She was the sweetest, most gentle female I’ve ever met.” The wistful note in

Paris’s voice and the faraway look in his light blue eyes showed Constantine a side of his father he’d never seen.

“But you said ‘was.’ Am I to assume--”

“That she’s dead? I used to think so, but seeing this painting...” his words trailed off.

Now that his curiosity had been piqued, Constantine couldn’t let the subject drop.

Although his father was a good provider and protector for his family and pack, there had never seemed to be much affection between Constantine’s parents -- at least not on Paris’s side. His mama, Melanie, had worshiped the ground her mate walked on, but her love had obviously not been returned. Constantine remembered how his mother had laid her heart on the line for his father, only to have her love shrugged off. Not that his Papa had ever been Kyriakis 1: Kyriakis Curse

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cruel or inattentive to Mama, but she hadn’t been strong enough to handle the one-sided emotion, and it had destroyed her

“Was this woman -- Zahara -- the reason you didn’t love Mama?” he asked quietly.

For a moment Constantine didn’t think Paris would answer him. Standing abruptly,

the older man walked over to the painting, a look of reverence in his eyes.

“She’s the reason I can never love any other bitch. As I said before, I know you think I’m hard on you, but I see you heading down the same path that I did, and I don’t want you to make the same mistakes. I once put my pleasure above all other things, living a carefree life, whoring and carousing. My grandfather Spyros finally put his foot down, said that I had responsibilities to my pack as alpha-in-waiting. He arranged a betrothal for me with the Nkruma alpha’s daughter.”

“Zahara? If the union was sanctioned by both alphas and you were in love, then what

happened?”

“I loved her, but I didn’t say she loved me. The truth is, I didn’t truly realize my feelings until it was too late.”

This surprised Constantine. He wasn’t blind to the fact that women found his father

attractive. Wherever Paris Kyriakis went, females vied for his attention.

“She didn’t love you? I find that hard to believe.”

The corner of Paris’s lips tilted slightly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, son, but it’s true. For a time, I thought she might care for me a little but...” That faraway look entered those ice-blue eyes once more.

“But what? What happened?”

“On the evening of our joining, she ran off. It was my fault; in my arrogance, I didn’t realize the precious jewel I possessed. Instead of nurturing that gentle spirit, I nearly destroyed it.”

“Didn’t you try to find her?”

“I searched the world for her... And, until I saw that painting, I truly believed she was lost to me, believed her to be dead.”

“How did you come across it? After all these years, your find is quite amazing.”

“I’d promised to take Eleni to a showing of an artist she was interested in. While she was mingling, I walked around the gallery to look at its other offerings... and stumbled across the portrait.”

“But how do you know it’s a recent work?”

“I made inquiries of the proprietor, and he showed me more of the artist’s current

projects.”

“I see.” Constantine frowned, trying to understand what lay beneath the words his

father was saying. “Did you have a reason to believe she’d died?”

10 Eve Vaughn

“I thought so, then. She was so young, just stepping over the threshold of womanhood, and without the protection of a pack. She would have been defenseless against any number of dangers. In time, I learned that she’d fallen victim to the Hunters.”

“Do they even exist anymore?” Constantine thought about the coven of renegade

wizards who tracked down shifters and killed them. The Hunters used their victims’ remains for powerful potions and black magic. Stalking and pursuing shifters had been outlawed by the Council of Immortals a few centuries back, but the decree hadn’t stopped the rogues from their efforts. Still, he hadn’t heard of any Hunter sightings in decades.

“They’re still lurking somewhere, I’m sure, waiting for vulnerable shifters like Zahara.

Her pack was particularly sought after by the Hunters because of their inherent ability to absorb magic.”

“And you think this painting means she’s alive? Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?”

“No. That’s Zahara. She looks almost exactly the same as when I last saw her, except for her eyes. They reflect a maturity and suffering that wasn’t there when I knew her. Whoever painted this picture must have seen her or knows her intimately. That’s where you come in.”

Constantine sighed with resignation, tensing up as he waited for the ball to drop.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find the artist. Bring him or her to me. I questioned the gallery owner, but he refused to give me the artist’s identity, saying he or she wishes to remain anonymous. The signature at the bottom of the painting, ‘S.E.D.,’ doesn’t give much away.”