by Tessa Dawn
“Which, if we’re lucky, will be just enough to garner an audience with the Dark Lord—to get his attention: What will he require for the possession?” Oskar asked.
Salvatore took a deep breath and faced all the males at the table from the opposite end of Oskar. “How badly do you really want Napolean?”
Oskar cleared his throat. “What will it take, Salvatore?”
Salvatore frowned. “A firstborn son from a prominent family within the house of Jaegar…one for every day of possession we require.”
Oskar scooted back in his chair, stood, and walked to the far wall, briefly turning his back to the table. When he turned around, his face was ghostly pale. “Sacrifice a firstborn son from our own colony? One every day just for the mere…possibility…of getting to Napolean Mondragon?”
Salvatore nodded. There was no way to sugar-coat it. “Yes.”
Oskar blew out a long breath and shook his head. “Do we even have the power to make such a decree?”
“No,” Demitri and Milano answered in unison.
“But,” Salvatore added, “we do have the ability to put it to a colony-wide vote, to have the house of Jaegar pass the decree as a democracy. Do not underestimate the anger of our males toward the house of Jadon or their thirst to avenge the death of our warriors—not to mention our infants. I believe the males would vote for such an extreme measure and be willing to draw straws to see which families would…offer…a son, and in what order.”
“Do the deaths have to be painful?” Oskar asked, outwardly cringing.
“No,” Salvatore reassured him. “Dispatch the hearts while still beating, remove the head, and incinerate the body. We would immortalize them all as martyrs, build statuaries in their likenesses. Their families would be…compensated.”
“How?” Oskar asked.
Salvatore shrugged. “I don’t know…we’ll think of something.”
Oskar walked back to the table, placed both palms on the surface, and stared at Salvatore. His mouth turned up in a foul, wicked grin. “Are you sure you want to go forward with this, Salvatore?” Before he could answer, Oskar added, “Think long and hard, Sorcerer: You are a firstborn son, remember?”
This time Milano whistled low beneath his breath.
“Would you die, Salvatore, to take out Napolean?” Oskar asked pointedly.
Salvatore closed his eyes.
It was true—he preferred to stick around for a long, long time. And if they all left well enough alone, and were careful to avoid the new hunting parties being organized by the warriors in the house of Jadon, they all had a good chance of achieving that goal. But then he thought of Valentine dying alone in the Dark Moon Vale lodge at the hands of Marquis and Nachari Silivasi, and his blood boiled. There could be no greater blow to any male in the house of Jadon—save perhaps the loss of his own mate—than the loss of their leader, Napolean. Napolean had no son. There was no one in the line of succession. The ripples would be astronomical…generational. Perhaps the sons of Jaegar and the sons of Jadon could at last go to war.
“Yes,” Salvatore answered, “if it came to that.” He shrugged then, already thinking of another angle. “But then the house of Jaegar would be without its most gifted sorcerer. Maybe an exemption is in order…for council members.”
Oskar shook his head with disgust. “You never cease to amaze me, Salvatore.”
The sorcerer smiled. “Then do we take it to a colony-wide vote?”
Oskar grunted. “Gather up all of the sacrificial vials and go consult Lord Ademordna. See if this thing is even possible before we approach our colony.”
Salvatore nodded, but he already knew the answer.
Selling the need to sacrifice their own to the colony at large would not be an easy task; however, selling the image of Napolean Mondragon possessed by the evil spirit of the Dark Lord Ademordna would be another matter altogether. The possibility that he would then take the life of his own bitch…and leave the house of Jadon leaderless and vulnerable? It was simply too delicious to pass up.
The males would rant and rave—perhaps even commit violence—before they ultimately capitulated and voted in favor of the plan.
Tiffany Matthews sat at her desk at PRIMAR, doodling on a notepad and staring at her drawings. She had sketched images of everything but what she was supposed to be working on while her mind wandered—shadowed mountain peaks, snow-covered cabins tucked away in an eerie forest, dangerous men who hid in the shadows behind large boulders and haunted trees…vampires who pulled the doors off of cabs. She shuddered at the thought of it.
It was twelve o’clock on Monday, and she was too nervous—too fidgety—to eat her lunch. She had just outlined the sleek body of a mountain lion perched upon one of the distant boulders when her cell phone rang.
She checked the number of the incoming call: private number, unknown. She lifted the small device to her ear and depressed the answer-button with her thumb. “This is Tiffany.” Her voice sounded professional if not slightly clipped.
“Ms. Matthews?”
“Yes.”
“This is David. David Reed.” He paused. “Is this a secure line?”
Tiffany rolled her eyes and shrugged. As if? Who did this guy think he was—the CIA? “Yes, Mr. Reed; it’s secure.” She humored him.
“I have good news for you.”
She sat up in her chair, and her heart began to pound out an anxious rhythm. Her palms began to sweat. “You found Brooke?”
He sighed. “No…no, I’m sorry, we don’t have those kinds of resources.”
She sighed, her disappointment evident. “Oh, I see. So, what’s the good news then?”
He lowered his voice as if someone might be listening in. “We were able to get a bead on the male who took your friend: Napolean Mondragon, the leader of the…vampire.” He whispered the last word.
Tiffany didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t want to get her hopes up too soon. Finally, leaning forward over her desk, she reached for a pad of paper and said, “Yes?”
“Like many of the others, he lives in the Dark Moon valley, but there’s no way we’re going to be able to get close to him. Just the same, we might be able to get him to come to us. To the warehouse.”
Tiffany frowned. “How?”
“We’re planning a short mission this coming Sunday. We’re going to Dark Moon Vale to infiltrate the clinic.”
Tiffany’s senses were on hyper-alert. They were going back to that…place? She tried to overlook the use of the word infiltrate—to remind herself that it didn’t matter if she had hooked up with a group of James-Bond-slash-Van-Helsing wannabes, just so long as they led her to Brooke. “I’m listening.”
“We have wanted to gain access to the clinic for some time now. We believe there might be important information contained in those walls.”
Good lord, James. “Like what?” she asked.
“Like tissue or blood samples that will help us determine the demon’s weaknesses. Like records that will give us clues to their anatomy, perhaps stored venom…other chemicals…that might be made into effective weapons we can use against them.”
Tiffany could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Okay, so how does that help with Brooke?”
“We are going to break into the clinic, take pictures…salvage whatever useful materials we can. If we get lucky and there are any patients being treated at the time, we might be able to get away with a hostage.”
Tiffany sat back in her chair, alarmed. A vampire hostage? Not if he—or she—was anything like the beings she and Brooke had met in the cab! “How do you plan to—”
“Don’t you worry about that, pretty lady. We know what we’re doing.”
Tiffany exhaled slowly.
“On our way out, we will leave a ransom note: a message offering to trade whatever monster we capture for your friend.”
Tiffany did not like the sound of this foolhardy plan. She remembered vividly the strength and power of the male who took Brooke; the
ease with which the male who had erased her memory controlled the humans around them. “What if there are…some of them…too many of them…at the clinic when you get there?”
He cleared his throat. “Then we plan to neutralize them.” He sounded deadly serious—oddly confident—which only made Tiffany even more certain that the man was a fruitcake. Out of his mind. But what other option did she have? Brooke was gone, and unless they did something, she was never coming back.
“I want to go with you,” she insisted, realizing she was as crazy as he was. But what if by some miracle Brooke was there? Or she happened to run across something or someone who had some information about where that vampire—Napolean—had taken her? She shivered at the thought. She knew it was a long shot, but there was no way she could stay behind and wait on Bond-Van Helsing to report back. “Will that be a problem?”
He sighed, sounding frustrated. “It’s not safe, Ms. Matthews.”
Well, duh! “I realize that, David, but I want to do this.” The phone went quiet for so long that she thought he’d hung up. “Hello? Hello…David? Mr. Reed?”
“Yeah, okay: It’s your call. But I can’t be responsible for your safety.”
She swallowed hard then. Was she really that desperate? Was she prepared to go straight into the lion’s den on a suicide mission? “I understand.”
He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep, almost manufactured voice when he answered. “All right then. Be at the warehouse at o-eight-hundred hours on Sunday, not a minute later or we leave without you.”
She started to respond, but he had already hung up. Depressing the call button, she slowly set the phone down on her desk and eyed her drawings. God help us, she whispered beneath her breath. Please, God…seriously.
Help us.
thirteen
It was midday on Wednesday when Nachari Silivasi swung open the heavy front door to his four-story brownstone perched at the end of a private, dead-end lane near the northern forest cliffs. There was an extra pep in his step, and his body felt rejuvenated. Ever since his twin brother Shelby had been indirectly murdered by Valentine Nistor—Valentine had kidnapped Shelby’s destiny, rendering it impossible for the good-natured vampire to fulfill the demands of the Blood Curse—Nachari had more or less drifted here and there, unsure of what direction to take his life in next.
He had recently graduated from the Romanian University, becoming a Master in Wizardry, and was completing his post-graduate projects, but he hadn’t decided what contribution he intended to make to Dark Moon Vale—to the local commerce—outside of his obvious role as a practitioner of Magick. While he stayed sufficiently busy assisting Napolean with containment—cleaning up the evidence left behind by the Dark Ones as a result of their local reign of terror—it wasn’t exactly food for the body and soul. And Nachari Silivasi needed meaning as well as mental stimulation in order to feel alive after five hundred years…especially now that he walked the earth without his twin.
He absently clutched his amulet, a growing habit since the day Shelby had given it to him, and headed up the narrow row of stairs into the large, informal living room. A smile brightened his countenance as he thought about his recent decision to work part time at the Dark Moon Lodge & Ski Resort. Unlike Shelby, he had no intentions of providing private snowboarding lessons to children with disabilities—not only had Nachari grown a little bored with both skiing and snowboarding over the past few decades, but Shelby had possessed a special knack for connecting with children, fusing his instincts with theirs in such a way that their combined movements became a sort of graceful, intuitive dance, and Nachari would not dishonor his memory by trying to imitate something that was so clearly an innate gift.
No, Nachari had chosen a slightly different interest to get his juices flowing—the outdoor nature-challenge course—a program aimed at empowering individuals, families, and groups through rock climbing, rappelling, river rafting, and conquering challenging obstacles in nature. It was designed to build intimacy and cohesion between participants and to raise self-esteem.
And it really did work.
Nachari shoved a thick lock of raven-colored hair out of his face and plopped down on the soft leather sectional, his feet going instinctively onto the coffee table, heavy hiking boots notwithstanding. Having lost his parents at the young age of twenty-one, he understood what a difference a positive role model could make in someone’s life. His brothers had really stepped in for him and Shelby, and the self-esteem that grew from their patient tutelage had served him all his life. He reached forward to pick up the latest issue of Rock Climbing Magazine and froze in place.
Sitting across the room in a deep, horrified stupor—frozen like a statue beneath an unlit lamp—was his adolescent roommate, Braden Bratianu: the once-human-child-turned-teenager he had been charged with caring for since his graduation from the University.
And the boy was not alone.
Sitting in front of him on the leather ottoman was a young girl—maybe eleven or twelve—with soft blond hair pulled loosely into two matching pigtails. She was sitting with her back to Braden, facing the wall…just staring straight ahead, blankly.
“What the—” Nachari caught himself before he cursed, not wanting to teach Braden any more bad habits. “Braden, what in the world are you doing? And who is that girl?”
Braden looked up at Nachari like he had been jolted out of a trance himself and blinked before smiling weakly. “Please don’t be mad.”
Nachari drew in a deep breath and steadied himself. Gods, what had the boy done now? Braden was rather well-known for his never-ending escapades that often led to trouble, which was why the council had given him to Nachari for a season to begin with—mentoring Braden was a test in patience, and it was also a test of insight…as beneath all of the fluff and chaos, the kid had a strong knack for Magick and many burgeoning spiritual gifts. “I’ll try,” Nachari bit out, holding out his hands palms facing up as if to say, Well?
Braden cleared his throat and bit his lower lip. He sighed, visibly raising and lowering his shoulders, and then plastered a misguided smile on his face. “This is Katie Bell.” He pointed at the girl.
Nachari looked at the little girl in her skinny jeans and pink sweater and smiled. “Hi, Katie.” He immediately became concerned when the girl didn’t answer—or even look his way.
Transporting across the room in an instant, he knelt down in front of her. “Katie?” He waved his hand in front of her face several times, and she blinked.
“Hi,” she said, extending her hand.
Nachari took it hesitantly. It seemed unbelievably small compared to his own. “It’s nice to meet you, Katie.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on a point beyond his face.
Nachari whistled low and met Braden’s stupefied gaze. “What’s going on?”
Braden shrugged. “Okay, so…so check this out, bro: This is what went down—”
Nachari held up his hand to indicate Stop! Braden’s urban hip-hop phase had been a last-week thing. Ever since he had helped save Marquis from being mated to the wrong destiny—helping to uncover a wicked spell of Black Magick crafted by Salvatore Nistor—he had been in full I’m-going-to-be-the-world’s-greatest-psychic (after I’m done being a warrior) mode. Braden must be really nervous if he was reverting back to…last week. “Nix the slang and speak to me in plain English,” Nachari warned.
Braden swallowed and nodded his consent. “Okay…yeah…no problem, Nachari.”
Nachari gestured at the little girl, who was still more or less ignoring them both. “Katie Bell? What happened?”
Braden rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so you know all about the Dark Ones, right?”
“What about them, Braden?”
“About like this whole plot…to destroy the valley and kill the humans. You know, the reason you have to go around and clean up after them, replace people’s memories and stuff.”
Nachari nodded. “Okay.”
“Well”—Braden
lowered his head and looked down at the ground—“you also know how you and me—we’re like…this”—he crossed his fingers and held them up—“really tight, and we have the same kind of skills and stuff.”
Nachari rubbed his eyes. Same kind of skills? Oh gods… “Go on.”
“Well, I kind of…sort of…wanted to see if I could learn how to do the whole memory swap-replace thing, too. You know”—he rushed the last words—“so I could maybe help you out with all the work you’re having to do around Dark Moon Vale.” He frowned and met Nachari’s eyes. “I know how you called your boys from the University to come hang out and help you, and that’s cool, but it’s just…Marquis has been too busy with his new baby to teach me archery like he promised…and I thought maybe if I made myself useful, you would still want to hang out with me.”
Nachari ran his hands through his hair and hung his head. Self-esteem, again. Why was this child such a yo-yo when it came to feeling good about himself, understanding his place in the world? He was deeply loved by the Silivasi brothers—ever since he had fought like a champion to save Nathaniel’s destiny from a Lycan who had almost killed him in the process—and everyone was doing their best to shower as much time and attention on him as possible, indulging his latest fads, because they all understood how hard it was for him to come into their society having been born a human. He was the first male vampire to be converted, a child by a previous marriage of a female destiny who was claimed by one of their males, and he was an all-around great kid, until he started to feel insecure—and came up with a lamebrained scheme.
