Blood Father (Blood Curse Series)

by Tessa Dawn

  Nathaniel took a judicious step back, his eyes widening in alarm.

  Nachari’s shoulder jerked again. “Stop.” He reached up to swat Nathaniel’s hand away and drew back in sudden distress when his fingers came in contact with something black, wiry, and furry. “What the hell!” Nachari shouted, leaping to his feet. He began to dance an undignified jig, his deep green eyes nearly bulging out of his head, even as he began to squeal like a teenage girl. “Get it off! Get it off! Kagen, get it off me!”

  The humongous, man-sized spider reacted to the vampire’s frenzied emotion and erratic movement by leaping onto Nachari’s chest and trying to bite him in the forehead.

  “Shit!” Nachari yelped, backpedaling furiously.

  Kagen leapt to his feet and grabbed the spider by two of its spindly hind legs, the hairy limbs closest to the spider’s abdomen, and yanked for all he was worth. The legs dislodged from the body, but the spider kept attacking with the remaining six members.

  Nachari reached hastily for his sword. He withdrew it from the scabbard in a whistling chime of steel and brandished it so wildly he almost sliced himself in the nose before dropping the sword on the ground with a reverberating clang.

  “Calm down!” Nathaniel bellowed, approaching the frantic melee with mild amusement.

  Nachari gulped, beginning to turn pale. “You calm down!” He reached inside his cloak to withdraw his next weapon of choice, a shiny, curved sickle. He grasped the spider with his left hand, right between the thorax and the abdomen, and squeezed for dear life, even as he wielded the sickle deftly with his right hand, cropping half the head off in his first swing.

  Poison dripped out of the angry spider’s fangs, and its four remaining eyes focused on Nachari with deadly, laser-like precision. “Oh, hell no!” Nachari snarled, his teeth clenched as tight as a vise. “Somebody get it off! Now!”

  Nathaniel was just about to step up and unload his military grade AK-47 into the body of the spider when Marquis shoved him aside, rolled his phantom blue-black eyes in disgust, and focused a pure red beam of fire at the dark, spindly creature, instantly reducing it to ash.

  “Really?” Marquis barked, angrily. “Really!” He turned to glare at Nathaniel. “You would fire your weapon in this strange new land, alert everyone within a dozen miles of our presence, warrior?” He glared at Nachari next. The vampire was stomping the remains of the smoking bug into the dirt with a fury unbecoming of a wizard. “Is this what we can expect on our journey, Nachari? The wizard who survived three months in hell, brought to his knees by a little black bug.”

  Nachari fumed. “Little black bug?”

  Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath. “Not so little, warrior,” he said to Marquis. “And I already placed a custom-made silencer on the end of my weapon, so focus your ire elsewhere.”

  Kagen chuckled then, watching as Nachari danced on the spider’s metaphorical grave. “He’s dead, Nachari.” He looked at the upturned ground and the sticky black goo adhering to the bottom of Nachari’s steel-toed boots. “I don’t think he’s coming back, wizard.”

  Nachari frowned. He stomped the spider a few more times just for good measure and then began to brush off his clothing in short, quick bursts, just in case some…spider parts?…got stuck on his threads. “Yeah, well…” His voice trailed off.

  “Well, you better get a grip, wizard!” Marquis snorted crossly, his voice brooking no argument. “You have a dozen defenses in your arsenal, all of them lethal and exacting, and all you could do was scream like a girl. Unacceptable, Nachari.”

  Nachari spun around in annoyance. He took three measured strides toward Marquis and pointed in the vampire’s face. “Yeah, well, don’t worry about it! I can do demons and dark vampires—and even lycans if I have to.” He glanced over his shoulder to eye the gooey, smoldering mess in the dirt one last time and shuddered. “But I don’t do spiders. I just…don’t.”

  “Spiders or porcupines,” Nathaniel added with humor, making reference to an unfortunate childhood incident that had left Nachari scarred with an unnatural fear of the prickly little animals.

  Nachari snarled. “Sue me.”

  Kagen laughed out loud. “Clearly, little woodland creatures are not your friends.” He winked good-naturedly.

  Nachari shrugged and set about cleaning the bottom of his boots.

  Kagen watched with amusement, even as he let out a deep breath: He knew Nachari had never been in any real danger, at least not this time. The vampire would have triumphed over the arachnid eventually. Hell, the wizard would have conjured a spell before allowing the eight-eyed monster to bite him, perhaps even shape shifted into the form of a panther to hightail it out of there, but still, they all needed to be a bit more careful. This was their first unpleasant encounter in Mhier, and by the look of the strange, prehistoric land, there might be many more to come—they all needed to remain on their toes from this point forward. “So, you’ll be all right if we run into a T. rex in the Skeleton Swamps then?” Kagen asked, just to be sure.

  Nachari looked up and smiled that breathtaking grin of his. “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, bigger is better. At least a T. rex can’t crawl up the leg of your pants or shoot you in the ankle with a quill.”

  “Indeed,” Nathaniel said, nodding his head as if considering Nachari’s words seriously. “He just eats you in one bite.”

  All four of the brothers laughed then.

  “Not if Marquis bites him first,” Nachari added, finally beginning to soften.

  They laughed again, and then, as if the reality of their situation and the seriousness of their purpose descended upon each of them in turn, the air grew densely quiet, and the laughter faded into mist.

  “So we’re one to two days out from the slave encampment?” Marquis asked, the solemn tone of his voice reflecting the brothers’ collective change of mood. “Possibly two to three if we take Nachari’s preferred back route?”

  “Assuming we travel swiftly without any major delays,” Kagen said, absently glancing at the map tucked into the outer pocket of his pack. “If we run into any distractions, then of course, it could take longer.”

  Nathaniel sighed long and deep. “Then time is of the essence.”

  “Agreed,” Kagen said. “As far as I’m concerned, this journey isn’t about the Lycanthrope or their gods-forsaken land, however beautiful it might appear on the outside. It’s not even about vengeance—necessarily—although I’ll take it if it comes.” He felt his eyes heat with lethal purpose and chose to forego any further dialogue.

  “It’s about bringing our father home,” Nachari added quietly, “at any cost.”

  Marquis drew back his shoulders, expanding to his full, intimidating height. His harshly masculine features grew hard with purpose, and his voice took on a savage, malignant edge. “By all the gods in the heavens—or the dark lords of the underworld—I will not leave this land without my father. And I will lay ruin to every village, encampment, or citizen of this cursed realm if that is what it takes to bring him out alive. Innocent or guilty. It makes no difference to me.” His words resounded like the clash of a symbol, and the branches on a nearby tree shook in reaction to the virulent vibration.

  Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath, but he didn’t speak.

  Nachari nodded his head in agreement and donned his pack.

  Kagen did the same, allowing Marquis’s words to wash over him like the icy fingers of a cool mountain stream, caressing his ferocity into utter resolve. As he felt his own inner demon stir, his hand trembled:

  Indeed, the Silivasis were coming for their father.

  And hell was coming with them.

  seven

  King Tyrus Thane Montego stepped onto the sandy floor of the arena and began to pace in large, purposeful strides around the ancient, circular dome. He wanted to make sure everything was in order, that all preparations were being carried out meticulously, to the letter, for the upcoming weekend’s event.

  After all, it wa
s his pride, his throne, and his name on the line.

  He had to make a clear and unequivocal statement to the entire realm, lest anyone begin to question his authority or his supreme, unqualified rule: Treachery of an alpha general would not go unpunished. Adultery, at least as far as the king’s wife was concerned, was a sin beyond reparation.

  Unforgivable.

  Punishable by death.

  As a warm wind whipped through his long, curly locks, tossing the unruly mass back into his eyes, he quickly shoved it aside and tucked it into the collar of his golden robe, determined to see with clear vision. “Teague,” he called brusquely to one of his three remaining loyal generals, ushering him forward with a slight bend of his hand.

  The fierce, stalwart lycan rushed to his side. He lowered his head, averted his eyes, and kept his torso exposed as a subordinate should. “My king.”

  Thane waved his hand through the air with impatience. “Dispense with the formalities, Teague. We are old friends, are we not?”

  Teague leveled his pale, opal eyes at the king and smiled a wolfish grin. “Of course, Thane. I just…with what recently happened…with Cain…” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged. “We are all a little bit on edge at the moment.”

  Thane squared his shoulders to the alpha general of the southern pack and narrowed his gaze. “Did you also sleep with Cassandra?” he asked, beneath a snarl.

  Teague visibly recoiled. “No! Hell no.”

  Thane frowned then. “Is she that ugly?”

  Teague seemed utterly bewildered and more than just a little bit flustered. “No, my king. She is…she was…beautiful. But, she is yours.”

  “Was mine,” Thane corrected, throwing up both hands and patting Teague playfully on the shoulders. “I’m only teasing you, Teague. My point is: You have nothing to fear from me as long as you remain loyal.”

  Teague nodded his head. “Of course.” He forced an awkward laugh. “Of course.”

  Thane took a judicious step forward and gestured toward a raised circular platform at the southwestern corner of the arena. It was topped with two enormous jutting posts, each sporting a matching pair of rawhide straps, two straps along the top and two straps along the bottom; and right below the center of the platform, there was a shallow, hollowed-out fire pit, constructed in the shape of a V in order to generate the swiftest uprising blaze possible. “So, this is where the wench will burn?”

  Teague nodded emphatically. “Yes.” He pointed at the two protruding columns at the top of the platform. “Her wrists will be bound up there, to the tops of the posts”—he pointed next at two oval loops toward the bottom— “and her feet will be fettered down there.”

  Thane studied the setup carefully, slowly nodding his head. “She will be naked…humiliated?”

  “Of course,” Teague said. “Except for the accelerant.”

  Thane nodded more brusquely in approval. “And you are to use—”

  “Pitch…tar…she should burn as intended. Hot and quick.”

  Thane took a step toward the platform, trying to imagine the ghoulish scene in his mind. “I want the tar placed only on her breasts and her…nether regions. Understood?”

  “The executioner is well aware of your instructions,” Teague replied. He pointed toward the base of the platform then, the V beneath the soon-to-be victim’s feet. “We will use softwoods with flammable resins in the shape of a tepee in order to keep the fire burning strong.”

  “Mmm,” Thane intoned. “Good.” He turned toward the center of the arena then. “And that monstrous distraction will be going on in the background while Keitaro murders Cain on the sands?”

  Teague’s keen blue eyes lit up with amusement. “Yes, sire”—he quickly amended the address—“yes, Thane. Cassandra will provide the background…music…for Cain and Keitaro’s battle.” He chuckled at his own analogy. “Her screams should be a melodious addition to the festivities.”

  Thane laughed heartily then. “I expect so. And since the battle should take no more than two to five minutes, I assume you are prepared to release the rhino beasts with impeccable timing.” He narrowed his gaze and interlaced his fingers at his back. “I don’t want the vampire to live through this, Teague.” He angled his body toward the general. “While Cain is a traitor and deserves the fate that awaits him, he is also Lycanthrope, a superior species, and his death must be meted out with honor. The bitch for amusement; the vampire for the general; two debts—and three deaths—on Sunday.”

  Teague listened with rapt attention. He walked out to the middle of the ring and turned around, gesturing broadly in a wide arc. “The beasts are being starved leading up to the battle. They are being goaded and abused every hour on the hour. They should be murderous by the time combat begins, and Keitaro should be…will be…already wounded. I think they will dispatch the slave in record time.”

  Thane frowned. He hated to lose his most prized possession, the vampire slave that drew such large crowds to the arena, but what else could he do? Cain had committed an inconceivable wrong, an unforgivable sin, and this heinous slight, this inexcusable act of treason, had to be redressed in flamboyant fashion. And Keitaro was just the male to do it. The need for proper vengeance trumped the need to keep the slave. He wrung his hands together behind his back before pulling them apart. “Very well, it would appear that everything is in order.” He glanced up at the empty stands and gestured in earnest. “I want this arena packed, Teague. This is a very important event.”

  “It is,” Teague agreed. “And it will be, my king.” Pausing, as if deep in thought, he reached into the pocket of his bright blue tunic and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. “By the way, there is still the matter of our next queen.”

  Thane spat on the ground in disgust. “I’m hardly interested at the moment.”

  Teague nodded cautiously. “I understand, Your Grace. Nevertheless, your subjects expect you to sire royal offspring, to take another bride. And since female lycans are extremely rare, and almost always infertile, it’s imperative that you choose another human wife. Besides, if you hesitate, they might misinterpret your behavior. They might assume that you actually cared for Cassandra, after all.”

  Thane threw back his head and shook out his hair, exasperated. “Bring the list here.”

  Teague immediately complied. He strolled swiftly to his king’s side, handed him the ten potential names, all virgins who had been born or kept in captivity since a very early age, and took a judicious step back to await Thane’s reply.

  Thane gave the page a cursory glance. He sneered as he perused the names, and then he quickly pointed to the three on top. “Sorah, Tawni, or Janelle. I suppose one of them will do as well as the next.”

  Teague blanched and then quickly recovered. Clearing his throat, he said, “Very well. Do you wish to have the women brought to your bedchamber individually or together, prior to making your final choice?” He leaned forward in a gesture of collusion. “Do you wish to try them out before you make a final selection?”

  At first, Thane shrugged with indifference, but then his brows furrowed as he considered it more carefully. “Are all three willing?”

  Teague laughed aloud. “Sorah is an ambitious sort. I think the idea of becoming your queen sits well with her. She will be only too willing to please. Tawni, on the other hand, is still fairly childlike: She will fear you and resist, but in the end, she will comply.”

  Thane pursed his lips. “And Janelle?”

  “She will fight you every step of the way. She’s headstrong and proud. She wishes to have nothing to do with the royal court. Ah, but her beauty is legendary throughout the realm, and she is a virgin.”

  Thane capitulated. “Mm, then bring Janelle first. Tonight.” He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “And bind her wrists to the bedpost. I neither have the time nor the inclination to wrestle with a recalcitrant wench at the moment, just to take what is my due. I will make sure she understands clearly who it is that mounts her, and I will
see if she is worth keeping.”

  Teague bowed his head in obedience. “Of course. And the girls you discard?”

  “Give one to Gavin and the other to Xavier. Let them propagate their packs on the finest stock in the land.” When Teague hesitated, Thane added, “Do you want one for yourself?”

  “No,” Teague answered quickly. “I prefer my meat…unsalted.” He laughed conspiratorially, and Thane chuckled with him. “Is there anything else?”

  Thane stood erect then, his mind instantly shifting to the one that got away, the rebellious, beautiful teenager who had eluded him so many years ago. “Always, Teague. There is always something else. Always someone else. Have you or the other generals had any luck locating Arielle Nightsong or the resistance?”

  Teague frowned as he shook his head. He took an inadvertent step back, just in case the legendary king lost his composure, decided to shift into his wolverine form and tear his general’s throat out. “We’re searching, Thane. By all the gods in the lykoi heavens, we are scouring this land from one end to the other.”

  “Keep trying,” Thane bit out, his voice a harsh, clipped command. “I want Arielle—not Sorah, Tawni, or Janelle. Do you understand?”

  Teague nodded emphatically. “I do, but just in case—”

  “Yes, yes,” Thane cut him off. “I will try them all…just in case. But you must swear to me that you are making this your number one priority. I don’t care if you have to scorch the land to burn her out, just find her this time.”

  Teague bowed low and practically whimpered like a pup, trying to placate his master. Despite his own powerful bearing—and his god-like position in the realm—the general knew better than to argue with his king on this one bedeviling point.

  Tyrus Thane Montego wanted Arielle Nightsong more than he wanted to draw his next breath.

  He always had.

  And the longer she eluded him, the greater the desire became, until it had almost grown into an obsession, a desperate, gnawing hunger that ate at his gut day in and day out like a parasite lodged in his belly. It was a hunger he could no longer deny.