by Tessa Dawn
He walked down the short set of stairs and meandered toward the bank, wanting to draw closer to the water. Hell, with Kristina living here, he might not ever go inside again. He shook his head, trying not to think about it, wishing he could control the constant images of Ciopori that flashed through his mind like an incessant stream, disrupting his thoughts with its ceaseless interruption.
Ciopori.
The regal daughter of King Sakarias and Queen Jade. The hauntingly beautiful sister of Jadon and Jaegar—one of the last remaining females from a people thought to be extinct.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying beneath him, her stunning golden eyes gazing up at him with such innocence and love, her beautiful, pouty mouth slightly parted, swollen with pleasure, moist with arousal.
The way she had opened her heart to him. Her mind. Her body. So completely. So willingly. Marquis closed his eyes, reveling in the memory, the scent of all that luscious black hair, the feel of her breasts in his hands…
What the heck was he doing?
He had pushed her away—warned her to stay away—and he needed to close his mind to her as well.
He looked back toward the house and frowned. Kristina might not be his first choice—oh, hell, she wouldn’t even be his last choice—but she was his only choice; and Marquis was a male of honor. Now that he had claimed her and converted her, they were as good as mated. He would not cheat on her, even if it meant a lifetime of celibacy.
Even if it meant staying away from the princess.
Against his better judgment, Marquis sought to reach out to Ciopori one last time, to simply brush her mind with his, unnoticed. He just wanted to know that she was all right. Having taken her blood the night they made love, he would forever have access to her whereabouts, to her state of mind.
Marquis closed his eyes and began to follow the DNA backward, reaching out beyond the physical structure of the molecules now circulating within his own blood stream in order to trace their deeper energetic footprint: the quantum waves themselves. As he projected further and further out, allowing the energy that was Ciopori to gather unto itself, an image began to form in his mind. Ah, yes, she was lying down, her wavy, waist-length hair cascading all around her, her arms stretched high above her head in—
Manacles.
As if he had been stunned by a bolt of electricity, Marquis jolted, instantly losing the image. Pushing down his panic, he quickly quieted his mind and followed the waves once more to the vision. And then his heart began to beat with a fierce urgency. There were, indeed, manacles around her wrists. And she was chained to a bed. A large, four-poster monstrosity in some sort of cold, dark room—no, a cavern—an underground chamber.
Marquis swallowed hard, his heart now racing in his chest as he projected his own essence forward in an attempt to see through Ciopori’s eyes. Damnit, nothing else was coming through!
Ciopori wasn’t telepathic, and the two of them had not established a common bandwidth as life mates would do, so aligning to her exact frequency in order to see through her eyes just wasn’t happening.
But he could feel her.
Their tactile connection was strong.
Marquis relaxed his muscles and tuned in to the feel of Ciopori’s body beneath him, the softness of her skin, the contours and curves of her form…
As the image became stronger, he was finally able to pick up on the palpable signals being sent through her blood. As if they were one, he was suddenly there: lying on a hard mattress, his arms stretched above him in manacles, his legs chained as well. Dear gods, the thin silk covering her body was shredded, leaving her practically naked.
Marquis swallowed his rage and held onto the signal.
What else could he feel?
It was damp, cool, and his skin was chilled. There was a peculiar throbbing just above his collarbone, in the center of his stomach, and another over his right inner thigh. Holy deities, it was painful. Like the sting of a scorpion or worse. There was definitely venom surrounding the bites, yet there was something familiar occurring in his body as well...
Regeneration.
The wounds were healing themselves. Poison attacking poison.
Vampire venom attacking…snake venom.
Marquis startled. Where in the name of Lord Draco was she? What in the hell had happened? And then all of a sudden he felt a clammy hand—a rough, heavy male hand—brush against his stomach, and a jolt of malevolence shot through him. Marquis broke the connection at once, his body recoiling from the touch. The unmistakable energy of evil.
The sons of Jaegar.
Marquis ran his palms down his face, then folded them behind his back. Nachari! He almost came unglued when thirty-seconds passed without a response. Nachari! Answer me, now!
Brother, what is it?
Marquis fought to remain calm. Are you still at Napolean’s?
Yes, I am. Why, what’s going—
Where is Napolean?
Sleeping. He—
Why the hell is he sleeping! Marquis’s psychic voice rose to a thundering crescendo, and he felt Nachari blanch.
Our Sovereign fed last night, Marquis. It had been almost eight-weeks, and with the women here, he knew he couldn’t risk getting sick or weak. Brother, what is going on?
Marquis spat a string of curse words. Could this get any worse? The sons of Jadon only fed every six to eight weeks, but when they did, they slept—and they slept hard—for at least twelve hours, almost impossible to wake up. Damnit, how could Napolean compromise himself like that with the females there?
Picking up on Marquis’s powerful thoughts, even though he had not purposely projected them, Nachari argued, On the contrary, Marquis; he was far too compromised before he fed. That’s why he couldn’t put it off.
Check on Ciopori! Marquis demanded without explanation.
Ciopori?
Now!
Hold on...
Time seemed to stand still. Nachari?
Hold on...
Where are you now?
Silence met him. Seconds felt like hours, minutes like days.
Nachari!
I’m in her room. I just knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She was supposed to be sleeping...hold on...
Marquis paced up and down the river-bank, waiting for his brother to tell him what he already knew: Ciopori was gone. Dear gods! His hands began to tremble.
When Nachari returned, his demeanor had changed from curious to deathly serious. She’s not in her room, Marquis. Vanya is searching with me now. Are you going to tell me what happened?
Marquis cleared his throat and spat. She’s gone, Nachari! That’s what happened.
What do you mean ‘gone?’ Nathaniel Silivasi entered the conversation, no doubt having sensed his brothers’ distress. You guys are both sending out powerful waves of alarm. Marquis, what’s happened to Ciopori?
Marquis shook his head. Ciopori is still alive, Nathaniel, but she’s with… He could hardly bring himself to speak the words. She’s with one of the Dark Ones, and whoever has her, he’s an extremely powerful entity. In fact, based on the strength of his energy, I would almost venture to say that she’s with Salvatore Nistor.
How can you possibly know this? Kagen Silivasi asked, joining his brothers on the shared family bandwidth.
Last night, at your clinic, Marquis explained, I took her blood.
Silence filled the airwaves for a moment while the brothers processed the full meaning of what Marquis had said. Finally, Nathaniel asked: What exactly did you see, Marquis?
She’s in a cave somewhere. Underground. He let out a slow sigh, trying to keep his temper from erupting. Brothers, he has her manacled to his bed.
If someone had dropped a pin, it would have sounded like a boulder.
After a prolonged, uncomfortable silence, Nachari swore in Romanian. She went to bed late last night, right before Napolean left to hunt. I stayed in the hall the entire night, Marquis, just outside her and Vanya’s doors. So I kn
ow she never came out. Gods, she’s on the third floor, and there are no stairs leading down from her balcony. He took a deep breath. I would have felt the energy immediately if a dark presence had entered this house; in fact, I don’t think it’s even possible: There are too many powerful wards surrounding this mansion.
Well, Salvatore had to have entered the room somehow, Kagen said.
No, I’m telling you, Nachari insisted, our Lord’s orders were to stay in the hall; not to disturb the women; allow them to sleep unless they requested assistance. But no dark entity entered this house on my watch! And there’s no way out of this bedroom except—
She can project herself short distances, Marquis interrupted.
What do you mean? Nathaniel asked. How is that possible? She’s not Vampyr; she’s human.
She’s celestial, and she doesn’t use dematerialization; she uses some sort of magic. I’m not sure how she does it, but she could definitely get down from a balcony.
Son of a bitch! Nachari snarled. Hold on…
All three of the males waited in tense silence for what seemed like eternity.
When Nachari finally reconnected, an aura of rage permeated his energy. That’s exactly what she did, brothers. Her footprints appear just below her balcony and lead into the forest. I tracked her about a mile and a half into a clearing and—
And what? Kagen demanded.
And Marquis is right. There was a second energy in the clearing before her trail went cold, and it was definitely dark.
Salvatore? Nathaniel asked.
Nachari paused. I’m not sure. He studies black magic, right?
Yes…absolutely, Marquis answered. Why?
Because the energy here is beyond darkness, my brother. There’s a demonic feel to it. The evil here isn’t just individual—it’s collective. So, yeah, whoever it was, he’s heavily into the dark arts.
Marquis shut his eyes, and Nathaniel sighed before speaking as the voice of reason. Okay, so it’s most likely Salvatore who has her; frankly, that’s probably a good thing.
How so? Kagen asked, clearly as curious as the others to see where his form of logic was taking him.
Valentine was both arrogant and impulsive, Nathaniel explained. And Zarek is like a child, beholden to his every dark impulse, as many of the Dark Ones are—completely instinctual—driven only by their base nature and immediate desires. But Salvatore is a sorcerer, one who values learning and thinking...one who employs strategy. He will not act in haste and must have a dozen questions about the princess—just as we do: Is she immortal? Can she bear children with the Vampyr race? Could she give birth to a female?
Nathaniel has a good point, Kagen said. Salvatore will keep her alive until he discovers her…highest use. And because the others fear his magic, he just might be able to keep her safe from them, for the time being. At any rate, he won’t rape her right away because that would kill her within forty-eight hours, and Salvatore is not that stupid.
Agreed, Marquis grumbled, beginning to view the situation as a tactician. But you should each know that he’s already tortured her. There is no time to waste.
Nachari swore again beneath his breath.
The twins remained silent.
And then Marquis simply shifted gears and became who and what he was—an Ancient Master Warrior. Nachari, wake Napolean. Nathaniel, bring Jocelyn and Storm to the mansion; I will bring Kristina. Kagen, my brother, I am sorry, but I am going to have to ask you to sit this one out. We must take Nachari because of his knowledge of magic, and we also have to take the sentinels for tracking. Nathaniel’s mastery as a warrior is as essential as mine; but the truth is, that leaves only one person I trust enough to guard Princess Vanya, our mates, and Storm: my own blood.
Kagen was incensed. There are plenty of males to watch the women, Marquis!
Kagen—
You know damn well that I can fight every bit as well as the sentinels, and I am far older and more experienced than Nachari. You will be compromised with your attention on Ciopori—which is as it should be—but someone needs to have Nachari’s back. He is a gallant fighter, but he is a wizard first. And if he’s concentrating on divination… I would like to be there to see after our youngest brother.
Nachari grumbled. I’m a wizard—not an invalid—Kagen. How many battles have we fought together? I think I can hold my own!
Yes, Nathaniel said, but we’re talking about entering the lairs of our enemy, fighting on their turf—while using you for second sight. You are a new Master, Nachari.
There was simply no objectivity: The loss of Nachari’s twin, Shelby, was just too recent, too raw, and it made all of the brothers over-protective.
And you are a real ass sometimes, Nathaniel! Nachari retorted, knowing darn well what the discussion was really about.
Marquis didn’t have time for this. Enough! Nathaniel will come as a warrior; Nachari will come as an advisor; and Kagen, you will stay at the mansion with the women and children. The matter is closed.
Kagen’s anger was palpable, but Marquis had pulled rank and that was the end of it. As you wish, brother.
Kagen, Marquis added, uncharacteristically sympathetic. Ciopori has been...abused... There is vampire venom as well as snake venom in her bloodstream. She is not Vampyr. She cannot regenerate. You are the most gifted healer I know. If we bring her out alive, I must know that you are somewhere safe waiting to attend to her. I need you…unharmed.
Kagen sighed. Your praise is an honor, warrior. It was clearly the best he could do.
Very well. Nachari, summon the Olaru brothers and Julian, our tracker; then go home and retrieve your weapons. I want everyone to meet at Napolean’s in full battle armament—we have no idea what we’re walking into, so leave no weapon behind. We will meet at the mansion in one hour.
fourteen
Napolean slammed his fist straight through the white brick wall of the library. For the love of Andromeda, the females had only been with him for two days, and already, Ciopori was in the hands of a Dark One.
And not just any son of Jaegar, but Salvatore Nistor: a twelve-hundred-year-old sorcerer, a vampire as evil as the night was dark and as cunning as a fox. Salvatore was no fledgling to be easily out-maneuvered. And his capacity to hurt the princess was limitless.
Napolean gathered his composure and reined in his emotions. Now was not the time for outbursts. The Silivasi brothers, along with the sentinels and the valley’s best tracker, would be arriving within the hour: Strategic plans had to be made to retrieve the princess.
He ran his hands through his waist-length hair and grasped the holy amulet he always wore around his neck, sending up a fervent prayer to Perseus, the victorious hero, asking for strength and triumph in battle.
“Milord?” Vanya’s soft, musical voice interrupted his thoughts as she peered in through the library doors. “Are you all right?”
Napolean spun around, his hard features cast in a stern line. “I’ll be fine, Princess. Thank you.” He wanted to say more, but somehow, he always found himself tongue-tied around the flaxen-haired beauty, his behavior certainly unbecoming of a king.
She reached up and dabbed at her eyes, brushing away a fresh set of tears, and his heart jolted in his chest. The pain she was trying to hide was astronomical, and he had no idea how to comfort her, how to reassure her that all would be well. She had lost her entire world, and now, this thing with Ciopori, too?
“Your English is coming along well,” he pointed out, wanting to kick himself the moment he said it. Who the hell cared about dialect at a time like this? He bit his lip, waiting for a response. Gods, he was a complete imbecile in the woman’s presence.
“Uh…yes…yes, it is,” she muttered. “It would seem the information-transfer went very well.” She wandered into the library and began looking over titles on the floor-to- ceiling book-shelves as a distraction, no doubt feeling as awkward as he did.
“I...I wasn’t sure how you and your sister would respond to the conveyance, c
onsidering that you are not…” His voice trailed off.
“Vampires?” Vanya smiled that lovely regal smile she had that lit up her unique rose-colored eyes. “It would seem that much of what your species considers to be a gift of your Vampyr nature is indeed a remnant of your celestial ancestry. Perhaps we are closer to one another than you think.”
Napolean nodded. It was true. So many centuries had passed since the Curse was handed down; the males had almost forgotten the power they wielded, long before they had been changed into creatures of the night. Nosferatu.
While the ability to speak telepathically and transmit enormous amounts of information through visual images was a distinctly Vampyr trait, Napolean had been able to transfer the language of this time—as well as the history of its devices and modern conveniences—to both Ciopori and Vanya as easily as one might download a new software program into a computer.
He had simply flooded their minds with enormous blocks of information, transferring his own command of language and his knowledge of the world around them into their consciousness, and the females had absorbed the information like sponges.
Vanya had even heated something up in the microwave earlier without asking a single question, and while Napolean knew how to use the microwave, he couldn’t remember ever having done so himself. It was truly remarkable. And it had bridged an enormous cultural gap between them, enabling free-flowing communication.
The princess turned her back to him, and he heard her sniffle, no doubt trying to conceal her fear. Napolean cleared his throat and took a step in her direction, careful to check for poorly placed furniture. “Vanya…I am truly sorry. We will get her back.”
Vanya’s slender shoulders began to tremble then, though she continued to hold them back in her familiar, proud way. She nodded, but she didn’t turn around.
Napolean lifted a tissue from a box on his desk, lightly tapped her on the shoulder, and handed it to her.“Here. It’s a—”
“Kleenex? Yes, of course: a disposable handkerchief.” She accepted the tissue and turned back around.
Napolean tried to swallow his awkwardness. Hell, nothing in the last thousand years had rattled the monarch, yet this female made him forget his own name. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently stroked her arm, the feel of her soft, warm skin sending chills down his spine. “Marquis is certain she is still alive.”
