by Tessa Dawn
Ciopori exhaled her relief as her taut muscles relaxed, and she slowly brought her arms down to her side. And then his face flashed before her—so quickly she wasn’t even sure she had seen it with her eyes. She was almost afraid to hope….
Marquis.
She started to reach out to touch him but quickly caught herself. He was slowly peeling back the covers, gently sliding his hands beneath her waist so that he could lift her quickly, removing her from Salvatore’s reach before the evil male awakened. And awaken, he would.
“No!” Ciopori mouthed, praying that Marquis could see her face. “No, you can’t!”
His hands froze beneath her. He bent to her ear. “Why not?”
His words were barely audible, yet she heard them clearly, his deep, sultry voice breathing life back into her terrified heart.
“My ankle is—”
Marquis pressed his finger to her lips to quiet her. “I can read your mind. Do not speak aloud,” he cautioned.
Ciopori nodded. My ankle is shackled to his.
She felt the air around her bristle with anger, but he removed his hands from beneath her and slowly peeled back the covers from around her feet.
Still unable to view Marquis’s physical form, she watched in fearful anticipation as a sharp twelve-inch dagger appeared in the air, wielded by the warrior’s semi-transparent hand, and slowly rose above Salvatore’s ankle. In a harsh sweep downward, the blade caught the male’s foot and sliced deep through bone and tendon, effortlessly hacking the limb from his leg. Marquis leapt nimbly onto the bed in a crouch, the dagger sliding up his sleeve as he released his claws and plunged at the sorcerer’s heart.
Ciopori scrambled out of the way. She leapt to the side of the bed and inadvertently glanced upward. As her eyes focused on the horror above her, a blood-curdling wail filled the room.
Whatever it was that Marquis was fighting, it wasn’t Salvatore Nistor.
The dark son of Jaegar hovered beneath the ceiling like a black widow spider, dangling from an evil web. His pointed fangs extended at least seven inches in length, and his body twisted into an angry funnel—about to touch down as a tornado of wrath.
His own claws were extended into hideous talons as his arm shot forward in a mad thrust to puncture his enemy’s back…to extract Marquis’s heart from behind.
sixteen
The moment Marquis heard Ciopori scream, he instinctively reached into her mind and leapt to the side. The image of Salvatore hovering just beneath the ceiling and reaching out to take his heart had transmitted not only to him but to the other four warriors as well.
What the hell is on the bed? Marquis demanded as he spun around to face his opponent, who was now crouched low in front of him.
Astral travel, Nachari answered. The body on the bed is Salvatore’s, but he removed his soul in order to strike you.
Marquis took a step back, confused. What the hell was he up against? Then this is a spirit standing before me? He sounded incredulous as he and the ancient Dark One began to slowly circle each other, claws retracted into fists. How can a spirit attack a physical body, and what the hell do I kill? The soul or the body on the bed? Speak quickly, brother!
Marquis could feel Nachari’s energy expanding as the Master Wizard worked furiously to interpret the spell Salvatore was using to position himself in two places at once.
Salvatore laughed then, a harsh, wicked sound reverberating from deep within his chest. “Perhaps you are out of your league, warrior.”
Marquis snarled, a full set of fangs flashing in warning. “Not from the likes of you, Salvatore.”
I don’t know how he did it, Nachari interjected, but he switched the essence of his soul and his body. The solid form on the bed is actually ethereal, yet his foot has already grown back. The spirit in front of you is solid and can kill you as sure as if it had a body. I’m honestly not sure....
Marquis would have to accept that.
Salvatore was an ancient, and he had dabbled in black magic his entire incarnation: Who knew what forces he was calling upon to achieve such a feat. Very well, brother, then we will have to learn as we go. Seal this room now! Do not allow any thought transmissions to go out from Salvatore—spirit or body!
Nachari hesitated. Perhaps I should contact Napolean first. Perhaps he has knowledge of Salvatore’s spell.
Marquis shook his head. We don’t have time.
Very well—as long as you understand that no thought will go out or in. Napolean and his crew will not be able to locate us or hear what’s going on if I do so, brother. Is this still your command?
Marquis nodded. If Salvatore calls for reinforcements, we will have the whole damn colony down on our heads, and all the knowledge of magic in the world won’t save us. Yes, I’m sure. Seal the lair. Now!
Marquis immediately felt the energy in the room grow dense, and the presence of his brother became stronger and stronger as the wizard became one with the elements in order to alter the kinetic grid.
Salvatore’s head snapped to the side in a sharp, serpentine movement, and he glared at Nachari, who he had obviously detected in spite of the wizard’s invisibility. “So, you bring this pitiful excuse for magic into my lair, Silivasi?” He spat on the floor, and the spittle began to coagulate, take form, until the body of a snake arose and slithered across the floor toward Nachari.
Nachari shimmered into full view then, no longer having reason to hide.
“Julien!” Marquis motioned toward Ciopori, no longer bothering to speak telepathically. It no longer mattered if the ancient sorcerer knew of the other warriors: He could no longer call for help.
The tracker flew across the room, materializing into view even as his image was blurred by his speed. He grasped the princess by the waist and flew back toward the door of the lair, moving her far away from both Salvatore and the serpentine apparition.
As the snake approached, Nachari held out his hand, palm facing up. It was almost as if he was encouraging it to strike. His dark green eyes transformed into glowing white as he shot twin beams of pure energy into the snake’s eyes. All at once, the cobra reared back and struck at the wizard’s hand, but before the strike could land, Nachari opened his fist and a large python swallowed the cobra whole. The python retracted back into Nachari’s hand. The hand retracted back into a clenched fist, and Salvatore Nistor suddenly grasped at his throat, struggling for air.
Marquis didn’t hesitate. He swiped at the dark vampire’s jugular, missing the artery by less than an inch as Salvatore leapt away. Still struggling for breath, the vampire flew backward toward the bed and landed in his own body. And then, like mist from the sea, the fully combined figure rose, hovering once again in the air as an orange and red glow surrounded him, and his eyes blazed like fire. He was a fully embodied sorcerer now, drawing infinite power from the universal forces of darkness.
The son of Jaegar drew in a deep breath, filling his once constricted lungs with fresh air. Then he hurled two balls of fire across the room in quick succession: one at Nachari, the other at Marquis.
While the brothers dodged the lethal missiles, the last invisible warrior struck the Dark One from behind. Ramsey Olaru drove a clawed fist through Salvatore’s back, penetrating deep into the chest cavity, barely missing the heart. He quickly retracted his arm and prepared to strike again, but Salvatore spun around before the warrior could take action, sending two scorching beams of fire from his blazing eyes into Ramsey’s flesh, even as he howled in agony from the gaping chest wound.
The sentinel’s flesh began to burn, but he didn’t cry out. He launched himself at Salvatore’s front just as Marquis launched himself at his back, pinning the wounded Dark One between them like a vise. Marquis quickly spun the sorcerer around, drew back his fist—still coated with the spiked cestus—and blasted the arrogant prick in the jaw, splintering the bone into pieces, sending several teeth flying from his mouth. The sorcerer flew back against the wall, where Ramsey then rushed him with a dagger, his arms st
ill smoldering from the burns Salvatore had inflicted upon him earlier.
“Go to hell, Dark One,” Ramsey bit out as he plunged the dagger into Salvatore’s chest.
“Not quite yet, Ramsey!” Salvatore snarled.
He dissolved his body into molecular form, causing the dagger to pass right through him, and then he solidified with his hand around the dagger’s grip, wrenching it away from Ramsey and counter swiping in one smooth motion.
Ramsey drew deftly away from the blade, taking only a nick to his stomach as Salvatore spun the handle, crouched down into an attack stance, and began to circle the two warriors counter-clockwise.
Marquis retrieved his own black-handled, silver-tipped dagger from its scabbard and matched the Dark One’s stance. “He’s mine!” he growled.
Salvatore’s blood-red eyes lit up with a feral glow, and his lips twitched incessantly as his fangs grew longer and longer. “Tell me what happened to my brother, warrior.” He swiped at Marquis’s arm, but Marquis spun out of the dagger’s path before it could strike.
Marquis laughed. “What didn’t happen to your brother, Salvatore?”
The vampire snorted viciously. “Tell me!”
“We cut out his eyes, his ears, and his tongue,” Marquis taunted. “We skinned him alive and removed his limbs. We wrapped his intestines around his neck—after we sliced off his manhood. And then we set him out for the sun to take him. Oh, but not before we scalped him…just for the fun of it. Would you like to view the memories?”
Salvatore howled, shaking violently from head to toe. Crackling whips of blue lightning danced from his fingers into his blade and shot out the tip.
Marquis matched the feat, his own dagger spitting red fire in response. “Shall we end this today, Salvatore?” he hissed. “Or just continue showing off?”
A slow smile replaced Salvatore’s scowl. “No weapons,” he whispered. “No magic. No fire. Just you and me, hand to hand. The strongest male wins.”
Marquis threw back his head and laughed. “You would fight me vampire-to-vampire, Dark One?”
“Why not!”
Marquis shook his head. “Why not, indeed. It’s your funeral.”
He tossed his dagger aside, careful to watch for a trap. This would be the perfect time for Salvatore to lunge, but the sorcerer tossed his dagger as well and motioned Marquis forward with his hands.
Marquis shut his eyes for a split second. The primal pleasure of what was about to take place—what the fool was about to do—made him heady. It felt almost erotic. They slowly danced around each other, stepping sideways in perfect harmony, gliding frontward and backward in a lethal tango, until at the same exact moment, both vampires lunged forward, grasping each other in a death lock.
The ground opened up beneath them, and the granite walls crumbled as the two powerful beings smashed around, each taking a turn flipping the other onto his back. Violent blows landed to jaws and ribs. Arms twisted. Claws slashed skin, and puncture wounds bled out. The lair echoed with guttural grunts and snarls like the roars of ravenous lions feasting on a kill as the two ancient males sought to destroy each other.
And then Salvatore made a mistake.
He plunged his clawed fist at Marquis’s heart in a desperate attempt to end the brutal battle, leaving his throat exposed. Moving with the same preternatural speed as his enemy, Marquis blocked the fist with his forearm and lunged at the vampire’s throat. He locked his canines onto his jugular and wrenched like a rabid animal. As blood began to spurt from the wound, he went after the heart—and not to rip it from the chest with his bare hands but to gnaw his way through it—to extract the organ with his teeth. This male had protected Valentine: the evil rogue who had killed his baby brother. This male had taken Ciopori and subjected her to gods knew what. He had burned Ramsey and sent a mystical snake after Nachari. And even if all of that were not true, Marquis was just generally ticked off. He would gorge on this demon’s heart as the evil one lay dying.
“Marquis, no!” Ciopori cried from across the room, her voice heavy with revulsion. “His heart is evil. Do not consume it!”
Marquis raised his head and turned in the direction of her voice, but he was too far gone to process the princess’s words. He was too immersed in blood-lust to stop. He sensed nothing but the powerful taste and feel of the organ pumping blood through the Dark One’s body: a vampire’s champagne. Snarling, he dipped his head back down and began to tear away the layers of flesh.
And then the door to the lair exploded from the hinges, thick pieces of wood scattering everywhere like haphazard missiles.
Zarek Nistor, along with three other enormous males, flew into the room with glowing red eyes, spittle spraying from their twisted mouths, fangs gnashing back and forth in unbridled fury. The three soldiers let out a primal war cry and attacked, each one leaping at one of the sons of Jadon, claws swiping as they connected.
As Nachari, Julien, and Ramsey tussled with their dark brothers, Marquis let go of Salvatore and went for Zarek. Ciopori was no longer guarded, and he knew the Dark One could take her life in a matter of seconds if he chose to.
Sure enough, Zarek went straight for the princess.
He grabbed her from behind, placed one arm around her waist, and seized her throat with his free hand, razor-sharp claws pressed tightly against her jugular like a knife. He was ready to slice her throat at the smallest provocation.
“Back off!” Zarek commanded, turning to face the room. “Back off, or I’ll slit her throat and rip out her heart before you can call her name.” He glared at Nachari. “You might be able to block transmissions, wizard, but did it ever occur to you that I would wonder what was up when my brother refused to answer my psychic calls?”
Marquis stood up and tried to catch his breath. He had to calm down.
And fast.
Every muscle in his body twitched, aching to attack. He knew he could move five times faster than the young son of Jaegar, just as he knew he could take Zarek’s head in the blink of an eye—but Ciopori might not make it.
He spit out a piece of Salvatore’s flesh and snarled, “Let her go, Zarek, and your death will be quick and painless. Hurt her, and you will suffer far worse than your brother Valentine suffered.”
Zarek’s eyes registered his surprise before returning to a solid, smoldering red, and Marquis saw it clearly then: The stupid son of Jaegar still held out hope that Valentine was alive. He shook his head in disbelief. Just how arrogant were these demons to think that such crimes would go unpunished by the sons of Jadon—their superior cousins, as it were. “Did you really think that Valentine could take my brother’s wife and live?”
Zarek hissed and drew a sharp line in Ciopori’s throat, careful not to cut her artery just yet. He bent down and licked the blood, his free hand tracing the contours of her waist before groping her breast. “Did you really think you could waltz into my brother’s lair, take his bride, and still walk away with your life?”
“Bride?” Marquis growled low in his throat, his enormous muscles bulging and contracting with such fury that Zarek instinctively removed his hand from Ciopori’s breast and took a step back, still holding the princess firmly against him. He glanced across the room. “Tell your boys to stand down.”
“Boys?” Marquis hissed.
Zarek scraped a fang against the princess’s shoulder, drawing both blood and a whimper. “Now!”
Marquis held up his hand, signaling his warriors to back off. The fighting stopped abruptly as all eyes in the chamber remained fixed on their respective leaders.
Nachari, Marquis muttered, using their private family bandwidth just to be absolutely certain no Dark One could hear. Can you do what Salvatore did on the bed? Separate your body and your soul into two different places so that it appears as if you’re still standing where you are?
Nachari sounded uncertain. I don’t know, brother. I was able to unravel the spell he used, so I might be able to duplicate it, but even my training does not approach su
ch power. Can you buy me some time?
Marquis grunted and turned to Zarek. “Salvatore is dying.” He gestured toward the bloodied, broken vampire on the floor. “He is too badly wounded to use his venom to regenerate.”
Zarek snorted and assessed his older brother. “Don’t play games with me, vampire. His heart and head are still intact. We can bring him back no matter how much blood he loses.”
Marquis smiled a wicked grin. “Perhaps, but you cannot take the princess’s life and save your brother faster than I can kill either him...or you.” He looked at the other Dark Ones, each soldier glaring at him from behind a set of soulless eyes. “Not even with your warriors.”
Julien, Ramsey, and Nachari remained as ready as ever.
Although they may have momentarily stood down, the heat in their eyes told him everything he needed to know: They were not only ready to react at the drop of a dime, but each male had already planned an offensive against their dark counterpart.
Zarek’s arm tightened around Ciopori’s waist, but he didn’t speak. He was obviously considering his options.
“Just how did you think this scenario was going to play out, Zarek?” Marquis pressed, refusing to give him a moment to regain his bearing. “Think about it: Whose life are you willing to relinquish today? Yours? Or Salvatore’s? Because there is simply no way you both walk out of here alive.”
Zarek exhaled a long, slow hiss, sounding more like a snake than a man. He nodded at one of the dark soldiers. “Go to Salvatore and give him your venom.”
The male hesitated, looking a little annoyed, like it either wasn’t his job or he didn’t care that much about the dying vampire. “He’s your brother. Why don’t—”
“Do not forget that he sits on the council!” Zarek snarled. “You would be wise to extend your service now...while you can.”
