by Tessa Dawn
She groaned in response.
And then he began to thrust, to move like the wild, passionate creature he was: rocking, driving, urging, until there wasn’t an ounce of her core that remained untouched.
Vanya hooked her ankles behind his back and arched wantonly, wanting and needing so much more. All of him. Every dark, uncivilized inch.
And he gave it to her. Like a ferocious beast.
When at last he threw back his head and shouted his release, she clung to his shoulders for dear life, wishing they could stay exactly as they were…forever.
“Oh, sweet Princess,” he finally murmured, his head falling forward to rest against hers.
“Dragon,” she responded in kind, laughing in his ear. “No more pregnancies, please. I don’t think I could bear it.”
Saber laughed aloud then. “You slay me,” he teased. And then he lifted her once more in his arms, this time cradling her to his heart as he strolled into the cave. “Come to my bed.”
Vanya gulped. He wasn’t finished? Great Serpens, she might just die from exhaustion—or satiation—before this wild one was through.
She blinked in reaction to the dim atmosphere of the torch-lit cavern, and the moment her eyes adjusted to the light, she couldn’t help but be amazed. It was nothing at all like she had imagined: a damp, foreboding hideaway for a lost, bestial animal.
The cave was a masterpiece of both ancient and modern architecture. A sanctum of art and splendor. A haven built for a prince. And then her eyes grew wide. On the far, back wall of the cave, just below the ceiling, but still above a jutting platform which held his bed in its cradle, was a hand-painted work of art that would have rivaled the detail in the Sistine Chapel. “Put me down,” Vanya commanded, captivated beyond words by what she saw. “Please…put me down.”
Saber obeyed instantly. He lowered her to her feet, stepped back, and watched as she approached the platform and the life-size mural that hovered above it. There were ancient ships sailing across the Black Sea on their way to war, each one a masterpiece of detail and wonder; and painted on the largest one was the face of a woman—a hauntingly beautiful woman—and it was obvious, immediately so, that all of the ships were going to war for her.
Saber sidled up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and nuzzled his chin in the crook of her shoulder, unable to resist dragging his fangs enticingly back and forth several times along her carotid artery. “Helen of Troy,” he whispered in her ear, his voice huskier, raspier, than she had ever heard it before. “The face that launched a thousand ships.”
Vanya wiped a tear from her eye and blinked several times in rapid succession. Indeed, it was the legendary princess, the lover of Paris, and he had captured the essence of her infamous beauty perfectly, with one exception: The face that graced the walls of Saber’s cave was not Helen’s.
It was Vanya’s.
Vanya stuttered, struggling for words. “W…w…when did you do this?”
Saber breathed heavily against her neck. “When I was starving…for blood. When I was angry…at the house of Jadon. When I remembered my father’s…and my brother’s…executions. When I thought about you and Lucien and wanted to kill some innocent soul in retribution for my own sins. When I loathed my existence…and when I worshipped yours.”
Vanya spun around to face him. “Dragon.” It was all she could say.
“Vanya,” he whispered, his eyes brimming with something she had never seen before: deep, unfettered emotion. “I am not the warrior you deserve. I am a soldier, a fighter, a conqueror in my own right, only purged in the blood of a dark deity, ushered into the world in deception and black magic. Nothing in my soul will ever match the purity of yours. Nothing in my existence will ever make me worthy; but I am wasted, devastated, ruined before you—and that I will give you for the rest of my life, if you will have me…teach me.” He held her gaze in an unwavering appeal. “Forgive me for the pain I caused you—the pain I will cause you.”
Vanya stared back and forth between the painting on the cave wall and the raw, unguarded soul before her. Indeed, he spoke the truth more eloquently than he had ever spoken it before: Saber Alexiares was a dark paradox, but he was also fierce and brave and capable of brutal honesty, and more than that, more than any of that, he was hers.
Fire and ice.
Two lost souls without a home.
Brought together by the fate of a Serpens Moon.
Saber waited anxiously the next morning as Vanya returned to the cave in his truck, only this time, she carried the most important cargo of all.
Swallowing his trepidation, he cautiously strolled forward and waited, barely able to breathe, as she climbed out of the extended cab and opened the back door. The infant seat was large, seeming to dwarf the child; and there were more buckles and straps than a body knew what to do with. For Serpens’ sake, he thought; the kid was a vampire. Sturdy. Immortal. Was all this really necessary?
Saber ran his hand through his thick crimson-and-black hair several times, growing increasingly impatient as Vanya finally wrested the kid free, lifted him delicately out of the seat, and rounded the hood of the cab in order to approach Saber.
He drew in a sharp intake of breath.
The child was spectacular.
Handsome, strong, and vibrant.
His coal-black hair was shimmering in the sun—and wasn’t that just the greatest impetus Saber had ever had to risk stepping out into the ominous rays—and Lucien’s eyes, those stunning, curious eyes, they were the oddest mixture of Vanya’s and his own, a deep, dark hue that was just slightly off, not exactly black, but not rose-colored, either. They were a burnished coal with a hazy bronze overtone, almost as if the two colors had sought to find a way to merge and stopped somewhere in the middle. His nose was arrow-straight, with the same slightly rounded ridge on the end as Saber’s; and his mouth was the mirror image of the princess’s, heart shaped, with full lips and soft edges.
Saber took a tentative step forward, fighting his urge to wince as the seeking rays of the sun enveloped his head, his shoulders, and his torso: He was still amazed, every time this happened, that he didn’t simply burst into flames. He swallowed a lump in his throat and met Vanya’s eyes. “This is Lucien?” Now that was the stupidest thing he had ever said. Of course it was Lucien.
Vanya chuckled proudly. “Yes, Dragon. This is your son.” She held the child out to Saber, and the vampire took him proudly, bracing his large hands as gently as possible beneath the child’s armpits and around his back. He hoisted him up at eye level and studied every single detail, memorizing each unique characteristic and trait. “Hello, Lucien.”
The child kicked his perfect feet in the air and wriggled excitedly.
Saber laughed, a deep sound of contentment rising in his throat. And then he cradled the child in his arms and held him to his heart. At last, there was something in this world that was his.
Certain.
One soul to whom he truly belonged. And always would.
He looked up at Vanya and realized with incredulity that perhaps, just perhaps, there might be two…in time. “So, you haven’t had a change of heart?”
Vanya reached out to smooth a lock of Lucien’s hair. “It was never my heart that was the issue.”
“You haven’t changed your mind then?”
Vanya shrugged. “I am taking it one day, one moment, at a time.”
Saber grew deathly serious then. He glanced down at his son to make sure he was content before locking eyes with the elegant female before him. “Not good enough, Vanya.” He sought to find words in a situation that was as foreign to him as Mars might be to a human. “I need to know you’re committed.” By the surprised look on her face, the admission was as alien to her as it was to him.
Vanya folded her arms over her chest. “There is so much that still remains unknown…unresolved.”
“Like what?” Saber asked bluntly.
Vanya rubbed her arms with her hands. “Like where would we
live?” Before he could answer, she gestured toward the cave. “Napolean Mondragon will never let me live in a cave, out in the Red Canyons, no matter how modern…or beautiful.” Her pale eyes softened. “And my work is still in Romania.”
Saber measured her carefully. “There are caves in Romania.” He winked to soften the mood. “And I can do an apartment…okay, so not an apartment, but a house…a suite at the University.” He shook his head, dismissing the details. “Point is: I don’t think accommodations are really the issue.” He sought her gaze for a deeper truth: Did she actually want him?
“There is the matter of citizenship,” she said.
“Citizenship?”
“Yes, Dragon.” She pointed to his right hip pocket and raised her eyebrows. “The Crest Ring of the house of Jadon still remains in your pocket”—she held up her hands in question—“not on your right hand.”
Saber nodded. There was no point in blowing smoke up her beautiful derriere at this juncture. “That’s going to take time, Vanya.”
“How much time, Saber?”
“Don’t know.”
She looked away pensively.
“I do know,” he said, commanding her attention once more, “that I no longer belong in the house of Jaegar. That has to count for something.” He looked down at Lucien and beamed. “I do know that I belong with this male in my arms. Always.” And then he looked at her, really looked, his eyes searching hers for signs of something—what?—confirmation, maybe hope. “And I want to belong with you.”
She spoke her next words quietly, solemnly. “And I, you, Saber. Truly, I do.”
He nodded. “Then give me the time that I need to adjust to my circumstances, but don’t do it from a distance. Be with me.”
Vanya frowned. “And what of your family…and mine?”
“What of them?” he asked.
“Ciopori is my sister…my heart. Nikolai is my nephew, and I fully intend to participate in his upbringing, to make sure that he and Lucien grow up as more than just cousins, as friends. And Marquis—well, he is often a thorn in my side, but I love him dearly; and I would never spend my life apart from the ones I love.”
“They will never accept me or welcome me; and perhaps they shouldn’t.”
“So, where does that leave me then? And Lucien?”
“Vanya,” Saber said emphatically, “I am not a child to be coddled, nor am I a male to be intimidated. I can hold my own. Besides…” He rolled his shoulders as if shrugging the weighty idea off his back. “I spent eight hundred years completely unaware that I even had feelings; I doubt I will let the fear of someone hurting them influence me now.” He chuckled slyly. “I can…try…with your family. For you.”
Vanya softened. She seemed to understand what a major concession he had just made, but she still appeared concerned. “But that is just the point: I cannot be your everything, Saber. I cannot be your identity, or your self-esteem, or your only substantial ally, save Lucien.”
Saber felt his mouth turn up in a sneer, that signature smile of his that was as much a scowl as a grin, causing the right side of his lip to ascend in a subtly cruel visage. “My identity was forged in blood and fire over eight hundred years. While it might not be the identity you would have chosen for me, it is mine just the same. I may not be a soldier in the house of Jaegar anymore, but I am still a warrior.” He looked over his shoulder at the mouth of the cave. “And those talents, those skills I possess, the knowledge I have acquired over so many lifetimes, who can take that away from me now?” He leveled his gaze directly at her. “As for self-esteem, dear Princess: Is it not my stubborn pride that rankles every male in the house of Jadon?” He laughed sarcastically. “I do not abhor what I am.” He waved his hand in dismissal before she could protest or, worse, list all of the deficient qualities he should take a closer look at. “Perhaps I just need to refine it. At any rate, I am not wanting for an ego.”
Vanya smiled then. “I believe a truer statement has never been spoken.”
“And there is Lorna,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And Rafael.” Before she could get too excited, he added, “I don’t know if anything can come of such a tragic, fragmented past; but they are at least…there…and I know that now.”
Vanya’s eyebrows shot up, her kind eyes searching his for signs of promise. “You went to see your mother,” she said, revealing nothing of how she knew, or what she knew.
“I did. And I actually called her mother,” he said. The admission was as vulnerable as it was frank.
Vanya pursed her lips while considering his words. “And Rafael?”
Saber looked away.
“This will take more time then?”
He nodded. “I don’t…I don’t despise him.” For Saber, that was a huge progression.
“No,” Vanya agreed, “I don’t believe you do.” She stepped forward and placed a soft, elegant hand against his cheek, gazing up into his eyes with nothing but compassion. “You loved Damien, Saber; and you thought of him as your father, right, wrong, or indifferent. And you are nothing if not harshly loyal. You may never be able to call Rafael father, for no other reason than out of devotion to the male who raised you; but that doesn’t mean you can’t get to know him, give the relationship a chance.”
“Perhaps,” Saber said, astounded by how well she knew him already. How well she had always seemed to know him.
“And as for love?” she whispered, her thumb rotating softly against his angled jaw. “Will our pairing ever include love?”
Saber secured Lucien in his left arm, bringing him even tighter to his chest in an effort not to drop him, and then he brought his right hand up to cover Vanya’s. He owed her honesty, and that was what he intended to give her. “I do not know…this love…you speak of, but Rafael believes that I just…that I have not yet made the connection between the emotion and the word. So, I will describe to you what I experience, and you can be the judge.”
Vanya held her breath, her pale-rose eyes deepening with anticipation.
“Breathe,” Saber whispered.
She inhaled sharply and smiled uneasily, still waiting.
“That very first night, when you came to me in the holding cell, you were like an angel of light; and it hurt my eyes to look at you. I felt like a caged animal…angry, restless, lost. And I struck out against you, against the captivity, against the house of Jadon. Against the internal cage I was also living in.” He drew in a deep breath of air, gathering the courage to continue. “I wanted to take you, to punish someone for the sins of the world; and I might have if you had not fought back. But when you tossed me across the cell, something awakened. I could have killed you so easily. So quickly. So cruelly. But I didn’t. And not because I thought it through or made a calculated decision. There was never anything to decide or think about. Harming you was simply not an option. The impulse wasn’t there. The rage was…subdued.” When she didn’t respond, he struggled to find a better way to say it. “Vanya, the impulse to kill, to destroy, has always been with me, from as far back as I can remember—hell, it was me for eight hundred years. But in your presence, it grew still…quiet. And when you left that night, when you told me not to tell anyone of your visit, that I would be dead in thirty days and the world would be a better place for it, I could think of nothing else. No one else. I could still see your face, smell your hair, hear your voice; and they haunted me like a child’s monster in the closet, always close by, always threatening to emerge from the shadows.”
His eyes trailed over her mouth, her neck, and her shoulders, before returning to her eyes. “When you walked with me in the forest, I felt almost desperate to get through to you…I wanted…your attention, your respect, your trust, as crazy as that sounds. And not just to manipulate you to my own ends.” He sighed in frustration. “It’s hard to explain, but it was like I had become a three-corded rope, and the rope was unraveling. And I had to bring the three pieces back together: you, me, and whatever connection I knew, felt, to exi
st between us. It was like there was no purpose, no meaning, no air to breathe unless that rope was intact. There was only darkness and this strange, undefinable lifeline. I needed you to meet me on a level beyond what was happening with Napolean and Ramsey, the house of Jadon and the house of Jaegar. Beyond my own rage and confusion. And you did. You saw me, in spite of the horror of the situation; and you approached me with civility and truth.”
He looked away, and she squeezed his hand. Shut her eyes, briefly.
He looked back at her again. “And I saw you, too, Princess. So clearly. All of you. I saw the woman no one else in the house of Jadon had ever seen before. I saw a sister who had been betrayed by her brother and a princess so honor-bound to serve her people that she was living for duty alone. I saw the ice you had packed around your heart so long ago in Romania and the woman who was toying with a fire-breathing dragon, at the very real risk of being burned, just to feel alive. I saw the fear that kept you at bay—and the courage that pushed you forward in spite of it.” He bent to brush a strident kiss on her forehead. “I saw you, Vanya. And you were the most beautiful, authentic thing I had ever seen.”
Vanya leaned her head into his hand and nuzzled it. “Dear gods, Dragon. You were a scourge to the house of Jadon, the most lethal and predatory being I had ever encountered; yet your very soul was like water in the desert to me. And I kept reaching out to touch you because I was so—”
“Thirsty.”
“And yet I knew in my heart it was only a mirage. I kept getting burned.”
“I was dead inside,” Saber said softly. “And you were never truly alive. And then we came together, under the most brutal circumstances, and the sparks breathed life into us both. Look into my eyes, right now, and tell me it isn’t so.”
She stared at him, as helpless as the newborn baby in his arms. “You know it is,” she whispered longingly.
