by Tessa Dawn
Now that last line hit home.
Her dream.
What really was at stake here?
Vanya lowered her voice to a chilling whisper. “If Saber has told you anything at all about our history, then you must know that I find him to be a savage beast, a threat to my well-being, and a blight to the house of Jadon. Frankly, the audacity of this request takes my breath away. Name one good reason why I should meet this male…anywhere.”
Lorna nodded her head slowly and took a steady, even breath. “Eight hundred years ago, due to no fault of his own, Saber was lifted from his bassinette as a mere infant. He was ushered into a world of violence and depravity beyond our comprehension, consecrated to the dark lords of the abyss, and raised by a den of…hyenas.” Her voice trembled slightly, and her throat constricted as she continued to speak. “He has never known love, kindness, or tenderness. He has no frame of reference to draw upon, not one single example of goodness to light his way. And in twenty-eight days, he will be dragged into a cold, sterile chamber to be executed as he has lived: in agony, cruelty, and alone, as a disposable, uncounted being who was never worthy of life to begin with.” She dropped her head in her hands and struggled to regain her composure. Finally, looking back up, she continued. “I will have to live with that forever. Our king will have to live with that forever; and yes, Princess, you will have to live with that forever. Will one walk beneath the moon at his side make any difference to you—to us—when it is all said and done? Probably not, but it may very well be the only compassionate gesture he receives in his otherwise pitiless life, the first and only act of mercy he will ever know. Is not love”—she waved her hand in front of her to dismiss the word—“is not benevolence a reward unto itself? Saber has never met his conscience. He reacts like an animal, giving vent to every basic urge, acting on every primal instinct. But you and I, those of us raised in a world with celestial gods and goodness, we have been reared with a higher standard, with reason and choice as our guides. Are we not held to a higher standard than the Dark Ones? If we meet savagery with savagery, then what makes us different?”
Before Vanya could respond, the small woman smoothed the hem of her shirt and bent to one knee, genuflecting before the princess as she bowed her head. “Please—”
“Don’t,” Vanya pleaded as her breath rushed out of her.
Oh, dear gods…
Lorna reached up and grasped Vanya’s hand, unrestrained tears rolling down her cheeks in deep tracks of sorrow. “Do not do it for him, milady. Do it for me.” She folded her other leg beneath her and descended into a full kneel. “I am begging you as his mother.”
Vanya swallowed convulsively, feeling as if she just might faint. As if the entire world was upside down. This was wrong, so very wrong, on so many levels. “Please, Lorna, get up.” She tugged on the woman’s arm.
Lorna lifted her head and met Vanya’s gaze, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “What choice do I have left? What pride is greater than my guilt? What act of contrition is too lowly for my son? My only child is going to die a desolate, hideous death, never having known love or goodness. Or the gods. And all of it is partially my responsibility—I let them take him.”
Vanya could not bear to hear another word. “No!” she insisted. “You did not. Rafael did not. It happened. It was a tragedy, but no one is to blame.”
“Perhaps,” Lorna whispered, “yet everyone will pay.” She shook her head slowly then. “I don’t pretend to believe that one stroll, one moment in the presence of your light, will penetrate a heart so deeply entrenched in darkness that my son will find his way to the light, discover his soul, or emerge redeemed; but I do know that you are perhaps the only person alive who can reach him, should there be any hidden treasure, whatsoever, still buried inside.”
Vanya released Lorna’s hand and staggered back.
What had the woman just said?
It was her dream…all over again.
“Get up, Lorna. Please. I will not continue this conversation with you on your knees.” She felt suddenly nauseated, and the room began to spin around her. “I cannot bear it.”
Lorna rose slowly and waited in hopeful, deafening silence.
Vanya exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves. “Even if I could agree—if I would agree—the king would never allow it.”
“You’re wrong.” A deep, husky voice reverberated within the foyer, ringing in Vanya’s ears. As the princess spun around to face Napolean Mondragon, her eyes opened wide with surprise, and she inexplicably took a step back.
“Lorna’s request is as compelling as it is impassioned,” Napolean said tenderly. “I don’t believe it will make a difference; but I, too, would like to live my life without regret, without blame, at the end of this Blood Moon.” He took a deep breath, and it was obvious by the solemn look on his handsome face that he was forcing himself to make a choice based on conscience rather than conviction. “If you can stand to be in Saber’s presence for even a short amount of time, I can arrange for your safety. If you are willing to do this thing, Vanya, I will allow for fifteen minutes. That is all.”
Before Vanya could reply, Brooke Adams Mondragon strolled into the room, her signature confident stride preceding her as she stepped to her husband’s side, gently wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed a soft kiss against his broad shoulder. Although Vanya did not possess the supernatural hearing of a vampire, even she could make out Brooke’s softly whispered words: “Thank you, my king. This is the right decision.”
Napolean placed his hand over Brooke’s and nodded almost imperceptibly, and then he turned his attention to Vanya. “Princess?”
Vanya shut her eyes and silently prayed for strength.
For wisdom.
She turned to regard Lorna. “What time would this outing take place?”
Lorna shrugged. “He has a terrible fear of the sun—so the later the better—but anytime that works for you would be a gift.”
Napolean shifted out of Brooke’s grasp and stepped forward then. “It will take a few hours to put an adequate security escort in place. The presence of the sentinels is a must—no one understands safety and its orchestration better than my guards. In addition, I would like the wizard, Nachari, to join you from a reasonable distance: He has developed certain powers that will prove both exacting and expedient should Saber give into some base impulse.” Ignoring the look of horror on Lorna’s face, he continued: “It goes without saying that I would like to be there, myself. It will be several hours before I can break away, but this condition is not negotiable.” He turned to regard Lorna squarely. “You must know, Mrs. Dzuna, that I don’t take this request lightly. I am willing to accommodate this…experiment, but should your son make even one threatening move against the princess, I will put him down where he stands, forever. And the whole subject will be finished. No apologies. No regrets.”
Lorna stared at Napolean in quiet dismay; her high cheeks flushed a ghostly white. “I understand,” she finally murmured.
“Very well,” Napolean said. “Will nine o’clock work for you, Vanya?” When he met Vanya’s gaze, his eyes were soft with compassion—and perhaps, a bit of remorse.
Vanya nodded confidently, but it was only a disguise.
Dearest goddess Andromeda, what had she gotten herself into?
“Nine o’clock will do just fine.”
twelve
Later that night
Vanya waited anxiously with her lethal entourage at the edge of a narrow ATV trail that led into the heart of the Dark Moon Forest. The trail was a well-worn path that snaked through the woods, crossed densely treed meadows, and traversed rocky hills, covering some of the most beautiful territory in Dark Moon Vale. It would offer the pair privacy, provide a clear line of sight for the guards, and leave the princess several options to choose from should she need to run or hide. Not to mention, the warriors would have plenty of room to maneuver should they need to engage in battle. Should they have to take Saber to task.
Vanya clutched the bunched material of her layered jade skirt impatiently. She had chosen to a wear a loose-fitting top over the long but fluid bottom and a knee-high pair of kick-ass boots just in case: The sharp, pointed toes would come in handy if she needed to protect herself until one of the warriors could step in; and the heels were short and square enough to allow her to run, unhindered, if she had to blaze a trail. She glanced absently at the forest canopy, her eyes narrowing on a dark satin shape perched atop a high tree branch. It was Nachari Silivasi in his newly acquired panther form. The Master Wizard was perilously alert as he crouched low on the tree branch, his glowing emerald eyes fixed on the princess’s position. He flexed his powerful haunches lazily, as if merely stretching his muscles, and the cat’s body exuded raw, unrestrained power: Nachari would be following the pair from above, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.
Vanya turned away from the awesome sight and cast a sidelong look at Napolean Mondragon, instead. The formidable king was just as fearsome and alarming as Nachari, despite his far-too-poised, laid-back demeanor. It was clearly a ruse, the calm before a violent storm. The king wore a pair of non-assuming, faded black jeans, a form-fitting cotton shirt, and a pair of heavy steel-toed boots that looked strangely out of place on the regal patriarch. Like Vanya, he had come prepared for confrontation, as if Napolean Mondragon needed an advantage. Sweeping her eyes along his commanding arms and hips, she noticed that he wasn’t carrying any weapons. There were no harnesses concealing guns or scabbards encasing swords, no hidden daggers or throwing stars, nothing that said conflict imminent, other than the self-assured king’s bearing and the iron set of his jaw. Napolean had no fear whatsoever that the situation might get out of hand: Should Saber in any way provoke his wrath, Napolean would simply level a glance in the soldier’s direction, and his once-immortal life would come to an end.
Vanya shivered. She was grateful for the support but equally afraid of the consequences. She wasn’t even sure what she feared the most, that Saber might be cut down too soon…or not soon enough. She was well aware that her sense of duty was warring with her survival instincts: She was right to give Saber this one last opportunity—to do what?—yet she dreaded coming in such close contact with the lethal predator once again.
What a mix of jumbled emotions!
On one hand, she was his chosen destiny, and that meant there was a powerful inborn connection between them, whether she liked it or not. On the other hand, his life had taken a cruel, unforgiving turn, and their differences were likely irreconcilable because of it.
She turned at the distant rumble of a pickup truck, Saxson’s GMC Sierra, and stared down the long expanse of dirt road, watching as the oncoming headlights rounded the bend and crept in her direction. Saxson was driving with Santos riding shotgun, and Ramsey was seated in the bed next to a bridled and chained Saber Alexiares.
Vanya cringed in revulsion. Despite her horrific run-in with the dangerous male, she still found it appalling that any being with a soul should be treated so inhumanely. For a moment, she could almost understand his rage.
And then the truck drew nearer, about twenty feet away, before careening to a halt. Santos and Saxson climbed out of the elevated cab and quickly joined Ramsey at the rear of the vehicle to help remove Saber from the elongated bed. They practically dragged the male by his twisted, bound arms, as if forcing him to an execution at the gallows, rather than leading him to the side of the princess for a casual stroll, one which Saber had requested—and Vanya had to exercise incredible patience not to speak out on the prisoner’s behalf. For heaven’s sake, if they were going to execute him, they should just do it and be done with it, but this ongoing humiliation was a bit much, even for her. And she reviled the male.
Saber appeared to take it all in stride. Either that or he concealed his emotions very, very well.
As they slowly removed his bridle and his leg irons, Vanya stole a scrutinizing glance: The male had recently showered, and his thick mane of hair had been thoroughly combed, giving it a clean, groomed appearance, despite the impact of the wind. There was a brilliant sheen illuminating the silken tresses, and they shone like moonlight reflecting off a roiling ocean, deep, dark, and luminescent. His creased black slacks and charcoal gray sweater only added to the effect. Clearly, Lorna had gone shopping for her son, and the results were arresting.
The male looked as handsome as he did deadly.
Vanya watched with unabashed curiosity as Saber shook out his long limbs, now free from their restraints, and held his arms out in front of him, waiting patiently while Ramsey re-shackled his wrists in a more comfortable position. As he took his first step toward her, Vanya’s heart sped up. She couldn’t help but recall their last encounter, the way he had spoken to her with such calloused authority, pressed his body against hers with such flagrant ownership, taken liberties he had no right to take, and all in such an ill-fated manner.
She couldn’t help but recall her dream about the fire-breathing dragon.
She took an unwitting step back, and he froze in his tracks, studying her with far too perceptive eyes. Trying to swallow her fear, she nodded her head, and he started forward once more, covering a great deal of ground with his purposeful strides. Despite his circumstances, his arrogant gait commanded attention, even as his black-and-red hair swayed to his hypnotic motion. When he finally stopped within a couple of feet of her, a shrewd, devious smile curved his lips.
“Good evening, Princess.” He drawled the words seductively.
Vanya sucked in air. She tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear and turned to acknowledge Santos and Saxson instead. “Good evening, warriors.” It was a purposeful slight to Saber, one meant to take his arrogance down a notch.
Santos declined his head respectfully. “Princess,” he said. His crystal blue eyes were ablaze, and he looked like a ticking time bomb.
“How are you, Vanya?” Saxson asked. The warrior’s shapely lips were drawn way too thin—reflecting emotions that were wound way too tight. Staring at his harshly serious expression, Vanya couldn’t help but think if his skin grew any tighter, he would resemble a human who had just undergone plastic surgery. She tried to will him to relax.
“Very well, Warrior. Thank you.” She eyed the ground with trepidation, afraid to look at any of the three males before her, lest one of them explode from the slightest provocation. When she had finally regained her equilibrium, she raised her chin and met Saber’s eyes. “Saber.”
The prisoner seemed unperturbed. “How are you…really?” he asked.
Vanya was surprised by the statement. “As well as can be expected…under the circumstances.” She would meet an honest question with an honest answer. She turned toward Santos and Saxson then. “If you don’t mind, I would appreciate a little bit of distance for our…walk, perhaps five feet or so. I feel a bit like a specimen in a museum. I need some space to breathe.”
The sentinels turned their steely gazes to the king, awaiting his instructions, and Napolean nodded slowly. “Saber,” the king called, his no-nonsense tone sending shudders down Vanya’s spine.
Saber met the king’s eyes and waited.
“Say my name,” Napolean bit out.
Saber drew back with disdain, and his lip curled up with disgust, but he quickly subdued his reaction and arched an eyebrow instead. “Excuse me?”
The king narrowed his icy gaze.
“Napolean,” Saber said evenly.
“Very good,” Napolean replied. “It took you three times longer to speak that word than it will take for me to send you to the Valley of Death and Shadows, from any distance, should I choose. Do you understand?”
Saber nodded, his face void of all emotion.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” Napolean scolded.
Saber bit his bottom lip, drawing a small trickle of blood. “Yes, milord.”
The dark prowling cat, perched high above in the trees, began to bound from one limb to the next while growling deep in his throat.
“Well then,” Vanya said, before her voice trailed off. She was at a complete loss for words.
“Nothing says welcome home like a leisurely stroll in the moonlight, surrounded by vengeful predators just waiting to rip your throat out,” Saber said.
Vanya turned to look Saber squarely in the eyes, and although she felt as if she might just swoon from fear, she pushed it aside, raised her chin, and held his arrogant gaze with one of her own. “You have done little to earn a welcoming party, Dragon. You should be down on your knees thanking all of us for allowing you this indulgence—for being willing to tolerate you for a single moment longer.” She immediately regretted her words—where had all that vitriol come from? Okay, well, she knew exactly where it was coming from; but still, it was hardly productive. Saber had requested the meeting, and she needed to let him lead. At least for a while.
The dragon cleared his throat. “I deserve that,” he said matter-of-factly. “In fact, when it comes to you, I deserve far worse.” He cleared his throat several times as if he just couldn’t get past an internal obstruction. “I’m afraid I need to ask for your forgiveness, Vanya.” He spoke her name with the practiced expertise of a Lothario, one who had seduced more women than he could count. Dropping his tone to a whisper, he added, “When you came into my cell that night, I was unprepared, caught off guard. I did not expect you to be my destiny, and I behaved…badly.”
Vanya laughed out loud then. “Badly? You behaved badly?” She spun around to face him then, and all the warriors shifted into ready-attack positions. “No, Mr. Alexiares, you did not behave badly. You behaved like a wild gorilla in a zoo, showing your offensive red ass for all the world to see. You behaved abominably.”
