by Tessa Dawn
He looked down in shock, trying to focus his blurry vision on his body.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was seeing, but his entire lower torso was a bloody pulp, and his insides were slithering onto the ground, escaping from a gaping hole, oozing languidly along the front of his body like lava along the side of a volcano. Stunned, and more than a little confused by the extent of the damage, Saber absently tried to scoop his intestines into his hands and pack them back inside the ruptured cavity, all the while releasing as much venom as he could from his incisors to dress the wound. He had to try and seal his innards back together. And quickly, at that.
He had never felt more helpless, cornered, or enraged in his entire life.
Saber Alexiares was a soldier, and a damn good one for that matter. But this fight was completely imbalanced. Untenable. As a starved, wounded prisoner, encased in diamond day after day, night after night, Saber might as well have had both hands tied behind his back, a blindfold placed over his eyes, and diamond shackles manacled to his ankles. Blood was everything to a vampire. And he simply didn’t have any in reserve. If he hadn’t consumed at least a pint or so of Vanya’s blood the night before, he would have already been dead.
“You want your revenge?” he snarled at Marquis, hoping to provoke the warrior’s pride. “Then take it fairly.” He glared at the son of Jadon in challenge, one combatant male to another. “Let me feed until I’m at full strength, then fight me as an equal. Win or lose based on superior ability—not obscene advantage.”
“I’d love to,” Marquis growled, still sounding far too confident. “But, unfortunately, time is of the essence. And since all I desire is your suffering and your death, I couldn’t give a celestial-damn how easy the pickings are.”
Saber realized then that he was about to die.
For real this time.
No games, no taunting, no more reprieves.
Marquis Silivasi had come to deliver him to the Valley of Death and Shadows, and it was only a matter of seconds, maybe minutes, before he succeeded. Saber released his gut, hoping the venom had already begun to work, and threw a lightning-quick punch at Marquis’s jaw, connecting with an audible crack. The warrior’s head snapped back, and Saber followed the attack with a brutal series of strikes to Marquis’s eyes, hoping to blind him once and for all.
Marquis leapt to his feet in an effortless motion and took a leisurely step back. He spit out a mouthful of blood and smiled.
Smiled.
And then he slowly raised his right fist, the one containing the ancient battle-worn cestus, and peeled it off his hand, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. “You want to do this old school?” he drawled. And then he bowed in a satirical, old-world gesture and snarled like a primordial beast. “By all means, let’s dance, devil.”
He grasped Saber by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up from the ground. And then he unleashed a furious barrage of punches, jabs, and uppercuts on the weakened prisoner, trading targets at will between Saber’s torso, face, and head. Saber felt like he was being lashed by a violent storm: a mad, turbulent, and unrelenting cyclone. There was no mercy. There was no momentary reprieve. There was only Marquis Silivasi and his never-ending fury descending upon Saber with practiced precision and ease. Certain that several of his ribs were broken along with his jaw—at least one lung had collapsed as well—Saber doubled over and, at last, held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
He wasn’t hoping for mercy.
He knew there would be none forthcoming.
Just the same, if he couldn’t best his enemy with brawn, then he had better find a way to employ his brains. To use words, if possible.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked through gritted teeth, knowing the question sounded as absurd to Marquis as it did to him. Obviously, there was an endless array of reasons. But what he really meant to ask was…why now? “I mean, other than the usual reasons,” he added, his tone as flippant as possible considering the overwhelming pain he was in.
Marquis just stared at him with contempt and slowly shook his head. “You are a lot of things, son of Jaegar, but stupid? Not hardly.”
Saber was just about to reply when he suddenly felt his legs grow weak beneath him. His kneecaps seemed to rotate, then buckle; and just like that, he sank to the floor, kneeling unintentionally before his enemy and struggling not to topple over completely.
Marquis placed a heavy boot against Saber’s chest and shoved him onto his back. He bent over and tugged at his legs, stretching them into their natural prone position, before straddling Saber’s broken body, descending to one knee on either side of his soon-to-be corpse, and glaring down at him with lethal intent. Baring a jagged claw, he used the talon to slice through Saber’s shirt, ripping it from neckline to hem, exposing the soldier’s chest; and then he licked his savage lips. “Know this, brother…” He spat the last word with utter contempt. “I will feast on your heart after you are dead and deliver your severed head to Vanya on a silver platter. And you will have all of eternity in hell to contemplate why.”
Saber felt nothing.
He did…nothing.
Marquis Silivasi was a force to be reckoned with, an immovable mountain of strength and resolve. There were no words in the English language, or Romanian, for that matter, that would save Saber from his impending fate; and he would rather just die like a man.
“Then do it,” Saber grit out defiantly, locking his gaze with his executioner’s.
Marquis winked at him in assent, drew back his powerful arm, and prepared to strike the heart—hopefully, swiftly enough to remove it in one fell swoop.
Saber held his breath.
He refused to shut his eyes or look away.
He would die as he had lived, boldly and without apology.
And then, like a candle flickering in a darkened room, the background of the cell lit up, casting radiant light on the otherwise grisly scene: Flaxen hair; smooth, delicate skin; and vivid rose-colored eyes filled the frame with light, softening even the brutality of murder.
Vanya had entered the cell, and she strode proudly forward until she was standing next to Marquis’s kneeling body. Placing a gentle hand on the Ancient Master Warrior’s shoulder, she whispered a single command: “Wait.”
Her voice was as calm as it was solemn, and the vampire immediately obeyed, even though his bicep twitched from the effort to withhold the final death blow.
Vanya placed her free hand on her belly, pressed against it in a low, firm gesture, almost as if to maintain her balance, and then she bent over to meet Saber’s eyes. Her own eyes were glistening with tears. “Before you die,” she said, without faltering, “I just want to know one thing.”
Saber blinked several times, trying to bring Vanya’s regal features into focus. He held her penetrating gaze, fully prepared to answer her question honestly—why the hell not? Clearly, his goose was already cooked.
“Why?” she asked.
Saber frowned, steeling himself against the pain that racked his body. “Why, what?”
Vanya laughed then, although the sound was hollow and devoid of humor. She rubbed her hand over her belly, indicating the protruding mound beneath her silken blouse. “The pregnancy—why? Why would you do such a thing?”
Saber stared for a moment in utter astonishment.
To say he was bewildered would have been an understatement. Indeed, the princess was unmistakably pregnant; and that meant she was carrying his twin sons. He didn’t remember commanding it, exactly, although he knew he must have; otherwise, the conception could not have occurred. Still, there was no clear line of delineation in his mind. “I…I don’t…” His words trailed off as he searched for an answer.
Saber recalled the aftermath of his passion with the princess vividly. He had been a cauldron of grief, anguish, and desperation when he mated with her, and the entire act, the way he had sought her ice and she, his fire, was as foreign and surprising to him as it had been to her. He remembered lying besi
de the princess after they had finished…doing what they had done…feeling lost and out of place. Confused, and even a little bit resentful.
Like what the hell had just happened—and what in the name of the dark lords was he supposed to do next?
Males in the house of Jaegar did not lie in repose with human females, not even half-celestial ones. They did not engage in foreplay or after play, and they didn’t make idle conversation or show affection…whatever that was. To say Saber had felt like a fish out of water would’ve been an understatement. Fire and ice. He and Vanya had made a fair trade, and that was that.
Still, one thing had stood out in his mind; it had been too stark not to. For the first time since Damien and Dane had been executed, Saber had not been in pain. It was hard to explain, but it had felt like he had crawled into the eye of a storm and found some sort of—what? Peace? He didn’t know what to call it. He only knew that one moment, he was floundering in turbulence, lost to darkness and grief, and the next, he was hovering in a space of stillness, almost clarity. And while the storm continued to rage all around him—hell, it continued to rage inside of him—he was apart from the turmoil. Cocooned in the eye of the storm.
Struggling to speak with a broken jaw, Saber tried to put words to what had happened next: “I guess…on some unconscious level, I knew…you were my destiny.” He groaned from the effort.
Vanya sighed in exasperation, showing her first true hint of emotion. “And that gave you the right to impregnate me without my consent?”
Saber didn’t know how to answer that. What did she mean?
The Curse gave all males the right—hell, the ability—to impregnate women without their consent. It was a built-in survival mechanism, and he certainly couldn’t justify or condemn such an ancient, incredulous fact; nor was he going to try. Besides, that wasn’t exactly what had happened. He hadn’t consciously chosen it, done it with any real deliberation. He had just thought it, remembered it, and knew it to be what came next.
She was his destiny.
They were bound by the Serpens Blood Moon.
And now she would carry his sons and save him from the ultimate vengeance of the Curse.
The pregnancy had come as much from his DNA as his mind. It had been an instinct—not a plot—an ingrained impulse that had a life of its own: Somehow, somewhere, in a place he didn’t even know how to reach, let alone name, he had acted to sustain his existence, to seal the cocoon and remain pain-free for just a little while longer. Saber had sought to remain in the eye of the storm for as long as possible, the only way he knew how; and in truth, he was absolutely stunned to see Vanya standing before him now, growing heavy with child. All of this…it was so new to him. He hardly understood it himself.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered honestly. “I just…did it…somehow.” It was a weak explanation, but it was the only one he had.
Vanya exhaled so sharply that the air in her lungs rushed out in a whistle. “You just…did it?” she repeated.
Saber stared at her blankly. What point was there in hashing this out? As far as she was concerned—as far as any of them were concerned—he was beyond logical thinking or basic moral reasoning; and perhaps it was true. Even as they sought to convince him that he was born into the house of Jadon, as opposed to the house of Jaegar, Saber was not expected to have the thoughts, instincts, or desires of any other male: He wasn’t supposed to claim his destiny, to desire her conception, to react with the same primordial nature as any other vampire.
He was simply supposed to wait to die at the end of the Blood Moon, as if his eight hundred years on earth were nothing.
Less than nothing.
So be it.
“I wanted to live,” he said defensively. “And that is all.” When her expression flashed from confusion to disgust, he knew whatever momentary connection they may have shared in that rare interlude of passion, however misguided or ill-conceived, was indelibly gone. As dead as his father and his brother. He had been a fool to think that something tangible, albeit impossible to name or pin down, may have passed between them in the desperation of night; and she had been a fool to enter the lair of her enemy, to ever trust a son of Jaegar.
Fire and ice: an inevitable conclusion.
And now they would both pay for their stupidity.
Vanya seemed utterly appalled by his words, indeed, wholly repulsed by his existence. She visibly cringed, curled both dainty hands into unconscious fists, and slowly nodded her head in antipathy. “Foolish male,” she whispered, almost robotically. “You foolish, foolish male.”
Saber didn’t respond. He just lay there silently, awaiting her condemnation, or perhaps his death, whichever came first.
She ground her teeth together and locked her jaw. “Then it was survival?”
Saber tried to shrug, but his shoulders hurt too badly. Not to mention, Marquis was pinning his arms to the ground. What did she expect him to say? “Yes.”
“And everything we shared—all that passed between us—that, too, was survival? Never affection?” Her voice grew soft with resignation. “Never…love?” She sounded so weak and pitiable, so unlike the spitfire female he had come to know over their few, brief encounters—not at all like herself—and the question, frankly, stunned him.
Love?
What the hell did Saber Alexiares know of love?
He studied her eyes, wishing he could grasp what was happening, what she was getting at, if only to prolong his survival. He was moments away from his mortal end, consumed in unspeakable physical pain, which he was trying desperately to conceal, and at a complete loss for words…
About a subject he could barely comprehend.
“What the hell are you asking me, Princess?” His eyes bored into hers as if there were no one else in the room. “What do you want me to say?”
Vanya finally lost her composure. Her angst turned to tears, and her searching gave way to defeat. “Nothing,” she uttered desolately. “Nothing. I just…I just want you to understand that I am yet human.”
Saber was positively dumbfounded. “So?”
Now this sparked her anger. “So perhaps in the house of Jaegar, the males rape women at random, force their seed into their bellies, then wait with glee while the wretched victims die, but that is not how it is done in the house of Jadon!”
Saber visibly recoiled at the word rape, and Marquis bristled from his head to his toes. “You raped her?” the angry warrior snarled.
Saber kept his attention focused on Vanya. What are you saying, Princess? He spoke telepathically.
Marquis reacted instinctively, grasping Saber by the throat and tightening his fist like an iron vise. His fingers trembled with rage, and Ramsey and Santos took several steps forward toward the bars. The sentinels had been watching the whole scene play out from the moment Marquis had entered Saber’s cell, but they had been unable, or unwilling, to interfere.
Until now.
Perhaps they now wanted to kill him themselves.
“Release his throat, Marquis,” Vanya said, her tone brooking no argument. “He will die soon enough.” She raised her chin in an unusual show of defiance, as well as a halfhearted attempt at dignity, and then she regarded all the males in the room as one. “The monster did not rape me. I was a willing…fool.” She shuffled closer to Saber and bent over to meet his eyes in an unbroken stare. “In thirty-four hours, I will die a horrible death.” She made a tent with her fingers around her stomach, as if framing the pregnancy for effect. “These children—your offspring—would not have ensured your survival. As it stands, they will claw their way out of my body, break my spine, rip out my intestines, and kill me as they emerge into the world. Only a vampire can bear the children of a vampire, Saber! I am yet human.”
Despite Marquis’s continued pressure on his larynx, Saber gasped audibly, causing his collapsed lung to spasm with unearthly pain. He smacked Marquis’s arm away from his neck in a reflex and almost sat up straight, until the pain brought him u
p short. That, and the 200-pound warrior sitting on his broken ribs. Still, he was too stunned by Vanya’s words to register anything other than what she had just said.
The pregnancy was going to kill her.
And soon.
He was too flabbergasted to reply.
While it was true, the children of Dark Ones, those conceived in brutality with males from the house of Jaegar, tormented and destroyed their hosts upon emergence into this world, nothing could have been further from the truth when it came to the children in the house of Jadon. The children of the light Vampyr were conceived beneath the providence of a Blood Moon, protected by the four mercies bestowed on Prince Jadon—at least the one born of light was protected.
At any rate, it wasn’t supposed to be this way!
Saber might hate what had befallen him. Hell, he would likely resent it until time was no more, but he had come to believe it—he was the birth-child of Rafael and Lorna Dzuna—how could his offspring destroy their mother?
His mind was spinning—whether from loss of blood, delusion brought on by pain, or the sudden, inexplicable turn of events, he wasn’t certain. All that he knew was this was wrong.
Completely.
Wrong!
By all that was dark and unholy, he had not acted in a way to destroy the princess.
Yes, he was a dark soul. Perhaps he was even a scourge in the otherwise noble house of Jadon, an imposter in a world that revolved around justice and honor, but to do this? To murder Vanya so heinously? Such a thing went even beyond his purview.
Vanya Demir was the only being in this gods-forsaken valley that he didn’t detest all the way down to his blackened soul. She was the only person he would actually hesitate to kill.
“I…I don’t understand.” He struggled to speak beneath a growing influx of fluid pooling in his lungs.
Vanya glowered at him. “Do not act as if you did not know: Conversion must always come first!”
The words rang out in Saber’s mind like a tiny metal ball in a pinball machine, the carbon-steel pinging around from side to side, bouncing from chamber to chamber, as he fought to process what Vanya had just said. His gut clenched beneath the weight of her words, as well as Marquis on his broken ribs, and he felt at once like he might just heave. He had no idea where the sensations were coming from, but the world seemed to simply drop out from beneath him.
