-Blood-Flesh-and-Spirit

by Hyacinth-Scarlet

  “Dante?” he asked, his voice coming out raspy and weak. “Dante, please…”

  Eli honestly couldn’t remember how many times he’d asked Dante for something. More often than not, though, his pleas were erotic in nature. There was nothing erotic about them now. Eli just wanted Dante by his side.

  Instantly, Dante turned toward Eli, his black gaze fixing on the bed and Eli’s form. In seconds, he was by Eli’s side and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Welcome back,” he said with a tremulous smile.

  For a few moments, Eli dared to hope that their experiment had worked and Dante was back. After all, Dante had been speaking with Aran and the priest with no problem. He seemed to have more solidity than ever before. But as their hands touched, Eli knew it was not the case. Yes, Dante appeared to be more…normal, for lack of a better word, but Eli still felt that telltale chill that differentiated his first memory of Dante from his current reality.

  “It didn’t work,” he said, unable to hide his disappointment.

  “It almost did,” the priest hurried to explain. “We were very close to uniting His Highness’s soul with his body, but something went wrong because of the large amount of energy needed from your part. His Highness had to pull back.”

  Eli gasped, his eyes widened. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t strong enough. I failed you.”

  “No, baby,” Dante hurried to reassure him. He brushed his lips over Eli’s, and while the kiss was as sweet as ever, Eli felt he didn’t deserve it. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “It’s just the process that’s not perfected,” Aran explained. “You were very brave and very strong.”

  Hope swelled in Eli’s chest. “So if we try again it could work? Perhaps when I’m more rested, once I’ve eaten and slept better.”

  “That would definitely be helpful,” the priest offered. “And we have already learned a great deal from this first attempt. We can make it safe—”

  “Absolutely not,” Dante said, glowering at the other two bloodkin present. “I won’t risk my mate again.”

  Dante’s voice held so much decision that Eli just knew his lover was on the brink of taking a step neither of them could undo. He pulled on Dante’s hand, drawing his mate’s attention toward him once more. “Dante, please. Don’t do this. Give it one more chance. Have a little faith. We can do it, as long as we stick together.”

  “Baby, you didn’t see what I did. You almost died. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if something happened to you because of me.”

  “We’ll be more careful the next time,” Eli insisted. “I didn’t expect it either, so I pushed myself beyond what I could handle. But I will learn to control it. I will work with the priests to direct the energy.” He pleadingly glanced at Dante’s face. “This is our chance, Dante. You’re so much better now, I can tell. We’re so very close. Don’t give up now. Please.”

  Dante took a deep breath, obviously torn between Eli’s wishes and his own need to protect Eli. “We’ll see,” he finally said. Turning toward the priest, he ordered, “Get my mate some sustenance. He needs to recover after his ordeal.”

  By rights, it wasn’t the cleric’s task to do that, but nevertheless, the man rushed out. Aran remained in the room and kissed Dante’s forehead. It was the first time there had been any real contact between the two bloodkin. They had tried, through Eli most of the time, but it hadn’t truly worked. The fact that they could do so now, even to a certain extent, spoke volumes of the progress that had been made.

  “Be at ease, my son,” Aran whispered. “I know we made a mistake, but I wish for Eli’s safety as well. You might not realize it, but he does mean a lot to me as well.” Aran threw a gaze in Eli’s direction. “After all, he brought you back to me.”

  Even if Eli hadn’t forgotten what Aran had done, he couldn’t help a small smile. They were in this battle together, and it was honestly much better to have Aran on his side than fighting against him.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he offered. “I’m flattered by your trust in me.”

  A shadow of grief passed through Aran’s eyes. “It’s the least I can do after everything.” Pulling away, he added, “I’ll leave you for now. There are still numerous things I must see to. Please, take care of each other, and I will see you in a few hours.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Dante bowed formally. “Your support means a lot to us.”

  For the first time, Dante was the one who saw his father out of the quarters he and Eli shared. Eli mused over that for a few moments, adamant to have a long conversation with Dante when the bloodkin returned. But in spite of his determination, the wait drew out for too long. Finally, Eli’s eyes started to drift shut. He succumbed to exhaustion with one crystal-clear thought in his mind. He would not allow his mate to give up. Somehow, they’d be together in every possible way. He was sure of it.

  * * * * As he left his son’s quarters, Aran Bloodclaw mused over what he’d learned today. There seemed to be a distinct possibility for Dante to be able to come back. He had seen clear progress today. It was more than regrettable that it had come at the expense of Eli’s pain. He had been honest in that he did care about the elf. However, he had faith that those obstacles weren’t insurmountable. Finally, they had a battle plan, and Aran fully intended to explore all the possibilities that had opened this day. Fortunately, he had Eli’s valuable support, and he was relying on the elf to convince his more reluctant son to participate.

  In the meantime, though, Aran had a couple of issues of his own. He had not mentioned it to Dante or Eli, as he didn’t want to concern the two, but he was well aware that Dante’s brothers were growing increasingly restless and planning something behind Aran’s back.

  He had people of his utmost trust following Gideon and Valerian and had found out that his older sons meant to betray him. It was still unclear as to what exactly they intended, as they remained very careful in their proceedings. Nevertheless, if Aran pushed a little more in his inquiries, he would likely be able to prove his sons’ treachery beyond any shadow of a doubt.

  A few months ago, Aran might have been inclined to do just that, to eliminate the threat outright. Today, his heart just wouldn’t let him, not after what had happened with Dante. Gideon and Valerian were his children, after all. They might not understand him to the extent Dante did, but he still loved them.

  He had to find a way to deter them from their actions. But treason was treason, and if they went through with their plan, Aran would have no choice but to punish them as the law dictated. Through death.

  This brought to mind a different issue. Not many knew what had truly happened, the real cause of Dante’s demise. If Aran had revealed it, he’d be in a whole different predicament altogether. Of course, technically speaking, Dante had suffered through his punishment, but it could be argued that Aran’s insistence to bring him back went against bloodkin laws.

  Aran wanted to protect Dante from all that, from the filth and the treachery. He wanted to at least give Dante time to heal, to find his way back. But it was not easy, not when he had to pretend to remain the same ruthless Imperator the court knew and hated.

  Suppressing a sigh, Aran headed toward the throne room. Hiding his true emotions behind his practiced mask, he burst inside, his guards silent shadows behind him. “Send for Gideon and Valerian,” he ordered. “I wish to see them.”

  He put the maximum amount of chillness and irritation in his voice, something that didn’t go unnoticed. The guards bowed lowly, hardly even daring to look at him. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. At once.”

  As they scampered away to do his bidding, Aran relaxed on the throne and scanned the room. Memories assaulted him, images from a time when things had been easier. He had never wanted to be Imperator. He had loved his father, the previous bloodkin leader, perhaps more than his sire had expected. Still, he hadn’t done so out of ambition. He would have been satisfied with an administrative position at his brother’s side if tragedy struck and took his beloved fath
er away.

  Sadly, tragedy had indeed separated him from his family. His own brother had killed their sire in a bid for power. Aran had been forced to follow the law and sentence his own sibling to death.

  It had hurt, but he had no regrets, not in that regard. But his children…Oh, he’d committed so many mistakes already with them. He could never forgive himself for what he’d done to Dante. How could he possibly hurt his other two boys as well?

  He was still musing over how to proceed when the doors to the throne room opened. “Their Imperial Highnesses, Prince Gideon and Prince Valerian,” the usher announced.

  Aran had no use for formality and no desire to dwell on it now. “Send them in,” he ordered briskly.

  Gideon and Valerian walked inside, framed by a group of guards. It was completely normal of them to have their own men watching their backs, but Dante still frowned. “Out,” he ordered everyone else. “I wish to speak with my sons alone.”

  Was it his impression or did some of the guards hesitate in complying? Either way, they had no choice but to obey and left the throne room, closing the large doors behind themselves.

  For a few moments, Aran allowed himself the luxury to scan his older sons’ faces. Unlike Dante, neither of them resembled him too much physically. Valerian was a lot like his mother, his green eyes piercing, mysterious, and often times, hiding too many secrets, just like the plant he’d been named after. He wore his hair long, in an intricate braid, the way Aran did, and he had inherited some distinguishing features, such as Aran’s cheekbones and lips. Nevertheless, he remained very much his mother’s son, in more than one way.

  In the meantime, Aran’s eldest, Gideon, held the same classical handsomeness that had once allowed Aran’s father to break many hearts. His stern nose and rigid posture gave him an aristocratic bearing more than appropriate for a king. He was, above all, a warrior, and every inch of him, from his muscular body to his shrewd black eyes, showed it.

  Personally, Aran wasn’t as shallow and as vain to allow a little thing like physical resemblance to make him favor one child over another. However, the differences between himself and his two older children went beyond appearance. They had very different priorities. For a little while, Aran had lost himself to hunger for power, and the consequences had naturally appeared. His older children both showed a propensity for making similar mistakes, and Aran had to correct that before it was too late.

  When he didn’t speak, Gideon finally took the initiative and tentatively asked, “You wanted to see us, Father?”

  Aran arched a brow. It was unusual for a lower ranking individual to address the Imperator before being spoken to, but Gideon had always been strong willed, even daring. Nevertheless, Aran couldn’t let the issue slide. He dismissed Gideon’s inquiry and turned toward Valerian. “I understand you have some concerns, Valerian,” he said. “I wish to hear them now.”

  “I have faith in my Imperator and in Tachaka,” Valerian replied almost automatically. “I am not concerned.”

  Aran chuckled. “Very well.” He decided to be lenient, just this time. Sometimes, it paid to take a step back and pretend to be weak, so that he could take his adversary by surprise later on. Even if he didn’t like thinking of his children as adversaries, it was nevertheless a fact. As such, he offered them both a small smile and gestured them forward. “If you won’t share your worries with your leader, perhaps you would do so with your father. And yes, Gideon, I wanted to discuss with you. After all, your concerns are mine.”

  Gideon’s face was an unreadable mask, or at least tried to be. Aran had gotten very good at reading people, particularly those from his family. No matter how much Gideon tried, he could not hide his apprehension from Aran.

  “Speak freely,” Aran prodded. “It’s been a very confusing time for our family, and I wish to clarify all misunderstandings.”

  “Your wish is my command, Father,” Gideon replied. “It is about Dante.”

  When Gideon said nothing else, Aran was forced to once again insist, “What about him?”

  “We were very grieved upon hearing of our brother’s death,” Valerian said carefully. A shadow darkened his green eyes, and he seemed to be trying to find the best words to explain the situation.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were aware of the circumstances of Dante’s death. In fact, Aran would have been disappointed if they hadn’t found out. The bloodkin imperial residence was a place of great intrigue, but generally, all the children of the reigning Imperator had their own group of followers who kept them informed even of things that weren’t public knowledge. Right now, Dante’s little army had been disbanded, although Aran had refrained from killing them out of respect for his dead son. However, Gideon’s and Valerian’s networks of spies remained very much active.

  Taking advantage of this, Aran retrieved the Imperial Blade and started to toy with it, flipping it around in the air. He actually hated the knife, ever since he had ended his son’s life with it. In his darkest moments, before Dante’s return, he’d considered using it on himself. But in the end, he’d done no such thing, and kept the weapon close as a reminder of his never-ending guilt, of what he needed to do, of his mistakes and promises. This time, however, the knife was a clear threat, even if he didn’t outright point it at his children.

  “And you are concerned because you know what truly happened there, why Dante died,” he said. “Tell me. How do you feel about that? Did it surprise you to hear about what Dante had done?”

  “Actually, yes,” Gideon answered slowly. “He always…He respected Your Majesty a great deal. I’d have never thought that the…deference he showed you was nothing but deception.”

  He didn’t speak of affection or caring, but that didn’t surprise Aran. Sadly, his oldest boys were unreachable in that regard, and it was in many ways Aran’s fault. When Gideon and Valerian had been born, Aran had still been struggling with rebuilding what had been broken by his own father’s death. He hadn’t spent as much time with his sons as he should have. Their mothers had been an unfortunate choice for concubines. Dante had actually been in a similar situation—bloodkin women were not known for their warm and caring nature—but Dante had always had a far more resilient, open soul. It was for this reason that Gideon and Valerian had never truly understood Aran, and showing preference for the youngest of them couldn’t have helped.

  At this point, there was very little Aran could do to reach out to Gideon and Valerian as a parent. It was a horrible time, and he needed to stabilize the nation and the Kin Lords, not worry about treachery in his own house. Speaking of emotion would just cultivate Gideon and Valerian’s belief that he was weak.

  As such, no matter how much he hated it, he’d have to wait to mend this unbearable chasm between himself and his two older sons. “It was not deception,” he explained, “but the belief that he knew better. It’s unfortunate, but he was punished accordingly.”

  “And yet, there are rumors now that you are trying to bring him back from the dead,” Valerian offered. Ah, so they were finally getting to the crux of the issue. “There’s even an elf here, one who claims he can help you with this task. You’ve kept us from your trust for months now, Father, but the rumors cannot be contained. What is truly going on? What are the priests attempting to—”

  “Valerian,” Gideon interrupted his older sibling, “that’s quite enough. We cannot question Father’s decisions. It is not our place.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Aran confirmed. “Nevertheless, I will give you an answer. Your brother is already back. You must have heard tell of the fact that the elf claims to have Dante’s soul within him. It is true. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

  Valerian just gaped at him. “But how?” he asked breathlessly. “How can this be?”

  Gideon remained as calm and collected as ever, obviously very much doubting Aran’s words. Deep inside, Valerian was likely thinking the same thing, but he’d chosen a different approach and reaction, perhaps intending t
o investigate the matter a little closer.

  “Like it is not your business to inquire into my actions, I cannot doubt those of Mother Earth. I can only conclude that She means to return Dante to us. Dante has suffered his punishment. He understands his mistake. Right now, he cannot come back in a normal form, but we have faith that it will happen. When it does, I expect both of you to receive him with open arms.”

  “Of course,” Gideon answered blankly. “As always, we live to serve.”

  Aran just smiled. “Do you have any more questions?”

  “Would it be possible for us to see Dante?” Gideon inquired, still with the same cool, detached tone. “Perhaps we can extend our welcome and support to our brother.”

  “I will consider it,” Aran replied. It might actually be good for all three of his children. The brothers had never been close, as they had different mothers and different interests, but it was never too late to try.

  “In the meantime, Gideon, I’d like you to work on a reorganization of our troops in the western area. Valerian, work with your brother, but focus specifically on the South. I want elaborate reports from all the Kin Lords. Centralize them and give me data on how many blood donors they keep, how they’re using their funding and contributing to the imperial coffers.”

  He continued to give them tasks, issues they were more than qualified to handle, but which amounted to very tedious and timeconsuming work. At one point, even Gideon’s eyes began to glaze at what Aran was demanding of them.

  However, keeping them busy with less sensitive issues was for the best until Aran managed to solve the more serious problems. He had to talk to the Kin Lords himself, of course, but these meetings were strictly political and the administrative aspect of the Lords’ holdings wasn’t as important as the way they handled their duties. These reports would come directly to him and not through his sons.