by Tessa Dawn
Saber felt the impact of her words like a knife in the back, exactly as they were intended. Good, she would need that grit and fire to survive. “Exactly,” he said, “and as you’re well aware, even a jackal will fight for its young.” He leaned over the gurney then, so she could see the heat in his eyes. “I am all that you believe and more, sweet Princess: heartless, cruel, and reared by the devil himself. So be it. Then you know that I will try to save the offspring in your belly; you know that I will fight like a thousand spawns of hell for what is mine; and you know that I will not give Salvatore Nistor the satisfaction of achieving his greatest desire, the victory of destroying an original princess. Not when he murdered my father and my brother. Not when the desire for revenge is still so sweet on my tongue. You know better than to trust my love…so trust my hate then. Trust what you know.”
Napolean cleared his throat and took an uneasy step back. Clearly, the ancient king was less than enamored with Saber’s approach, concerned that such a harsh tactic might cause more harm than good; but he took one hard look into Saber’s eyes and let the diatribe go. Perhaps the ancient monarch understood, or at least accepted, that Saber was trying desperately to harness the only passion he knew how to work with, the one thing that had fueled his life from the day Damien had first called him son: flagrant defiance against anything that opposed him.
The king looked at Vanya, regarded her warily, but he didn’t speak up or interfere.
“Let us be done with this,” she said. “One way or the other. Let’s just do it.”
Now, this was something Saber understood. Standing upright, he rounded the gurney and carefully lifted the princess into a seated position. Kagen ducked instinctively beneath the curtain, and Napolean almost leapt toward him in reaction, but both males quickly restrained their reactions.
Saber paid no notice.
He straddled the narrow cot in one smooth motion and drew the princess back against his chest, locking his iron arms around her shoulders to hold her in place and...comfort her?
Lean into me, Vanya, he whispered telepathically on a private bandwidth. Ever since he had taken her blood, it was an easy feat. Try if you can to relax, or at least not to fight. He followed her breathing with his own, matching her every inhale and exhale breath for breath, until he was at last leading the rhythm with a deep, hypnotic cadence of his own.
And then he did something unexpected, even to himself.
He nuzzled her neck with his mouth, stroking back and forth against her delicate skin with exquisite—unexpected—gentleness. His lips, then his jaw, then the smooth ivory tips of his elongating fangs all caressed her jugular in turn, while he chanted softly, almost indiscriminately, in her ear, speaking intuitively in the one ancient language they both would understand: a single primordial song that would swell within their…souls.
“Fi linistita, micuta. Vino departe cu mine. Asculta vocea mea. Pluteste…pluteste… departe. Totul este bine…totul este bine…totul va fi facut sa fie bine.”
Be still, little one. Come away with me. Listen to my voice. Float…float…away. All is well… all is well…all will be made well.
Vanya drifted slowly away.
Sinking ever more deeply into the burgeoning warmth enfolding her neck.
A dragon’s fire.
Only this time, it wasn’t scorching her. It was enveloping her, soothing her, beckoning her deeper and deeper into the apex of his lair. She felt her resistance waning, her fear dissipating, her confusion fading. It was like her mind was suddenly hazy, filled with soft, albeit grayish, clouds, and they simply overcame her distress with their power.
Power?
By all the celestial gods, where had Saber Alexiares acquired such power? When had a male from the Dark Ones’ Colony learned such focus, attained such skill? Vanya shuddered at the thought; he was powerful beyond measure.
And dangerous.
Yes, of course, he was so very dangerous.
After all, isn’t this what he had done the night they had made love—had sex—in his cell? Overcame her will with his own? He had drawn her inexplicably, irrefutably, into the turbulence of his soul, exacted the strength of his desire over her own until she could no longer resist him.
Until she no longer wanted to resist him.
Until she had wanted to accept him.
Completely.
Her eyelids drifted down, growing increasingly heavy. She was so sleepy. She was so…content. And then his incisors pierced her skin, sinking deeply into her jugular like a knife slicing through warm butter. Effortless yet exacting.
He was so…in control.
And then the venom began to pump from his fangs, slowly at first, a sharp twinge, like that from a syringe, stinging inside of her veins, burning, then searing.
She fought to sit upright, almost jolted out of her trance, but his arms tightened around her, and his chest stiffened. He held her in an iron grasp, as unyielding as it was unforgiving.
“Saber,” she cried out, beginning to feel the first perilous edge of panic.
Shh, little one, he whispered telepathically. And then he continued to chant.
Vanya knew that soon the pain would grow unbearable. Soon it would travel to her heart, and Saber would be unable to keep up the communication throughout the conversion. She would be on her own to endure…and survive…if the gods willed it. She tried to settle in, to let go. To give her body, mind, and soul over to the dragon that held her in his fiery clutches, but the pain was simply growing too intense.
The noise in her belly, for a lack of a better word, was beginning to grow more dissonant as the unborn vampires began to respond to their father’s venom, to the assault of conversion, and the upheaval of their rest.
The venom was traveling quickly now.
Too quickly.
And it was scorching, like acid, almost as if the will and the fire of the male who wielded it had set it on a course of absolute and utter destruction. And, of course, that was precisely what he was doing, destroying Vanya’s humanity one cell, one atom, and one nucleus at a time, in order to remake her—to remake them all—as he was: Vampyr.
Dark.
Soulless.
No! Vanya cried out within her soul, although no sound escaped her lips. Her teeth were simply clamped down too hard to speak, her breath too shallow to feed oxygen to the words. But she couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let this powerful…dark…dangerous…deadly male infuse her with his very essence; yet she was powerless to stop him.
As the venom entered her heart, filling all four chambers in quick succession, she began to writhe beneath him. Great Cygnus, this was beyond her endurance!
The pain.
The agony.
The power.
“Saber, please! Oh, please…stop!”
Saber wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, quick to replace his arm around Vanya, to clamp down once again with unyielding force. Vanya had stopped struggling in earnest hours ago. Now, she only whimpered and cried out a few times each minute; but she was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, really. She was depleted, laid bare, devastated by the suffering.
Saber glanced at the clock: It was seven AM, and they had been at it for over ten hours. His gaze moved from the time to the healer, who was now standing anxiously beside the gurney, checking the electronic fetal monitors for the umpteenth time. Saber couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even reach out telepathically. The conversion was simply commanding every ounce of his attention, his absolute concentration and focus.
Luckily, Kagen understood the question in Saber’s eyes. “I can’t make heads or tails out of this,” he snapped in irritation, reaching for the printed chart to take a closer look. He stared at the graph, the erratic lines and waves, in abject frustration before crumpling it up in his hand, throwing it to the ground, and rapidly removing the elastic belts securing the fetal sensors from Vanya’s belly. He reached for his fetoscope instead. “Quiet!” he barked out to everyone, and no one, in particular.
Not unless sweat made a sound.
Kagen moved the horn several times around Vanya’s exposed belly, listening intently with his hyper-acute, vampiric hearing. “Son of a rattlesnake,” he swore beneath his breath.
“What is it?” Napolean demanded, taking a measured step toward the Master Healer.
“It’s just…” He bent over to listen again. “It’s way too erratic.”
“What do you mean by erratic?” Napolean asked.
“The heartbeats. They’re beyond erratic…they’re stressed…almost frenetic.”
“Speak plainly,” Napolean barked, unable to restrain his anxiety.
“Something’s happening that doesn’t make sense,” Kagen insisted. “It’s like there’s a sudden surge of exertion…as if…the babies are moving.”
“Isn’t that good?” Napolean asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean, it tells us they’re alive. We weren’t expecting them to last this—”
“No,” Kagen argued, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s not…normal movement. They’re—”
Vanya’s sudden, ear-piercing scream cut the healer off mid-sentence.
“No!” Kagen shouted. He jumped back, dropping the fetoscope on the floor.
“What?” Napolean demanded.
“Her ribs!”
Saber watched in horror as the apex of Vanya’s stomach began to bulge unnaturally, and he couldn’t help but jerk when one of her ribs cracked audibly, puncturing through her skin.
“Sweet Andromeda,” Napolean cried, his tired, bronzed face suddenly turning ashen in color. “Oh…gods…” He hung his head.
Saber was so confused. Beyond confused. He was disoriented and angry. Ten hours! They had been at this for ten hours, and he didn’t dare stop now: Vanya’s system could not take a sudden withdrawal of venom. Her failing human cells could no longer maintain her life at this juncture; and her newly formed Vampyr organs were not yet strong enough to stand alone without the venom. This was no longer about Saber’s origin, whether he was dark or light. As a male born in the house of Jadon, if Vanya was Vampyr, the babies would be born in a normal fashion, dematerializing from her womb at their father’s command; but if she was still human, they would continue to claw their way out. As it stood, she was on the edge of both, yet in the cradle of neither; and the infants were in a full-fledged panic, desperate to get away from the pain of conversion.
Yet she was so close.
So close!
She just needed a little more time…
He bore down with everything he had, sending his venom into her bloodstream at double the rate and intensity; but this only sent the unborn vampires into frenzy.
Another rib cracked, and the princess nearly shot off the gurney, momentarily breaking Saber’s hold.
Napolean took over.
He rushed to the side of gurney, shoved Saber aside with one powerful thrust of his hand, instantly dislodging his fangs from Vanya’s throat in a manner that caused a brutal tear, and turned to regard Kagen, even as he began to gently lift the princess’s head into his hands. “Get Ciopori!”
Saber stumbled backward, stunned that the king had stopped the conversion. “There’s still time,” he argued, incredulous. “There’s…there’s still twenty-one hours left in the pregnancy; the babies can’t be coming now.” He shot his own heated glare at Kagen. “Heal her ribs with your venom while I—”
“Saber!” Napolean’s voice struck him like a physical object, the weight and intensity of it bringing him up short. “We talked about this. We knew it might happen. These children are going to claw their way out of her belly in minutes if we don’t stop it. It’s too late.” He turned back toward Kagen. “Get Ciopori! I promised.”
Kagen threw both hands up in the air and took a stunned step backward. The look on his face said it all: Why? When? How had this happened?
So quickly?
He gathered his composure and dematerialized out of the room.
Saber spun around, almost in a fury. “No!” he shouted as Napolean lifted Vanya’s head to his mouth and began to release his fangs, the fangs he would use to drain her body of blood as swiftly as he could.
To euthanize her.
Kill her.
“Are you crazy!” Saber shouted. Something deep within him, something he couldn’t even name, rose up in utter, uncompromising defiance. Vanya was not Napolean’s to take! She was his!
Saber’s!
His destiny.
And she wasn’t going to die.
“Hurry!” Vanya shouted, grasping at Napolean’s forearms with such ferocity that her nails scored his skin, drawing blood. “By all the gods, make this stop!”
Saber reeled backward on the floor, propelling his body as far away from the morbid scene as he could. It was happening too quickly. Too suddenly to comprehend.
Napolean sank his lethal fangs into the princess’s neck at the exact same moment that Ciopori materialized in the room. He was sucking her blood, and Ciopori was weeping.
No—she was wailing.
She rushed to Vanya’s side and took her hand. “Sister…sister…I’m here. I’m here.”
Vanya looked panic-stricken.
Pale.
Feral.
She grasped wildly for Ciopori’s hands and clutched them in an inexorable grip.
“Don’t fight it,” Ciopori implored, her chest heaving beneath the weight of her sobs. “Go peacefully, sister. Jadon will be there to meet you; and I’ll be there soon. Just…just…go.”
Son of a bitch! The words faded into the background even as the entire scene metamorphosed into a distant but tangible nightmare.
This was not happening.
It. Just. Wasn’t. Happening.
Saber looked up toward the ceiling in utter hopelessness. This didn’t make any sense. It just wasn’t right. By all that was unholy, Vanya was an original celestial being, born before the Curse, born outside of the Curse! She was a good soul. A pure heart. She was light and kindness and all that remained untainted in this gods-forsaken world. There was nothing in her like the darkness that dwelled in him, no remnants of a being like Salvatore, no vengeance like that embraced by her sisters of old…by the Blood. There was nothing but flowing flaxen hair; soft, rose-colored eyes; and a regal, delicate jaw. There was nothing but hope and love and charity—and all that shit Saber would rather choke on than become.
But this wasn’t about him.
It was about her.
Where were her gods?
Where was Napolean’s justice?
Where was…where was…Serpens! The light god of his birth.
Saber raged at the injustice of it all as his soul interrogated his god—and not S’nepres, not the dark twins, not the demons of his childhood—where was the god who had seen fit to give him life so long ago, before Damien Alexiares had chosen to change it?
“Where are you!” he shouted to the heavens, not caring who heard. “Where the hell are you, and how can you do this!”
Without even realizing it, he scrambled to his knees on the floor and banged his head against the heavy tile, hoping to put himself out of his misery. “Serpens,” he prayed—or cursed—whatever it was. “Don’t do this to her! Not to her. I’m the dark soul. I’m the dragon. Take me instead. My soul for hers. My life for theirs.” He grasped at his wild black-and-red hair and tugged in anguish. “I’ll go wherever I belong, to the Valley of Death and Shadows, to the Chamber of Sacrifice, whatever it is you want! Just tell me. Don’t punish her because I never worshipped you.” Blinking to press back angry tears, he grit his teeth together. “What do you want from me? Tell me what you want!” Snarling, he added, “Fine. I acknowledge that you are the god of my birth—you, not your dark twin—that you gave me life, Serpens!” He pounded his fists against the floor. “I’m kneeling before you now like a child, begging, when you know damn well I’ve never knelt before anyone or begged for anything
in my life…ever. Save her!”
The entire room seemed to disappear as Saber pounded his fists into so much blood and pulp against the cold, unforgiving floor. As his barren heart wept beneath the loss of his unborn child and the female who had done nothing to deserve his wrath.
As he finally understood the full measure of his sin.
Yet remained helpless to do anything about it.
nineteen
“Saber.”
“No!”
“Saber.”
“Leave me alone.” Saber swiped at the hand in front of him, wishing he had the strength to crush it, but knowing he did not. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone. Hell’s bells, they could execute him later—or now, while he wasn’t looking—whatever. Just leave him out of it.
“Son, are you that blind?”
Saber felt utterly exhausted. Depleted. “Just leave me alone.”
Napolean squatted in front of him. “Look,” he demanded, reaching out to grasp the stubborn soldier by the jaw. “Just look.”
Saber slowly raised his head and stared at the king. “What?” he asked. “What more do you want from me?”
Napolean shook his head. “Over there.” He pointed across the exam room toward the gurney, toward the all-too-recent scene of the unholy nightmare, and—
And Vanya was drinking some kind of fluid from a flask.
The princess was propped up on a pillow, and Kagen was giving her a vial of blood, even as Ciopori wiped her brow with a damp washcloth.
Saber stared more intently: Vanya was slowly, gently…breathing.
She was still alive.
Saber sat upright. He looked at Napolean, looked back at Vanya, and then looked at Napolean again. “What happened?”
Napolean sighed and slowly shook his head. “I think Serpens happened.”
“What?” Saber asked.
“You may have just had a run-in with your soul, Mr. Alexiares.”
Saber could hardly believe his eyes. He stood gingerly and took a tentative step in Vanya’s direction. “Princess?”
