by Tessa Dawn
Marquis watched as the two males eyed each other with a bit of disdain. Interesting. The discord was certainly worth keeping in mind, but then again, it was to be expected. The Dark Ones were without souls or conscience; ultimately, their loyalty to each other was tied to family—blood—and an obvious adherence to hierarchy in order to survive as a group. As these males were clearly not family, hierarchy was Zarek’s only leverage.
And apparently it worked.
The male soldier reluctantly turned away from the visual stand-off and went to Salvatore’s side. Marquis adjusted his own body, careful to keep the soldier in front of him at all times, seething as he watched the male release his incisors and inject Salvatore’s wounds, one by one, with healing venom. The ancient sorcerer would regenerate quickly.
I’ve got it! Nachari exclaimed, careful to keep his gaze focused ahead. I cannot create two entities that are both solid enough to interact with matter, but I can leave the illusion of one body in one place, while using astral travel to go to another.
Marquis considered his brother’s words. Yes, but can you leave the ethereal body where you stand and take the corporeal body across the room?
Nachari sighed. That would be difficult. Why? Do you want me to try and take Zarek down while he still holds Ciopori? If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be easier to just dematerialize?
Marquis grunted. No, that’s far too risky. Our dark brothers are as fast as we are. I was thinking about the crib.
Nachari scanned the room with his energy rather than his eyes, careful not to alert his enemy. Oh...wow.
Marquis nodded, faintly. There was a raised temperature in the crib, which meant there was an infant sleeping inside.
Nachari bristled. He bit his bottom lip so hard he drew blood, and his expression turned to stone.
Yes, Marquis thought, Nachari gets it now: The infant sleeping in the crib was the child sired by Valentine—with their brother’s wife, the child Valentine had raped Dalia, and ultimately killed Shelby, to father.
Nachari’s psychic voice betrayed his barely-restrained fury. I can maintain my image here for about two or three seconds after I dematerialize. By then, I will already have the infant in my arms.
Marquis looked over at Salvatore, who was already struggling to his feet. Do it!
Just as Nachari promised, he maintained a solid image beside his dark counterpart as his body dematerialized across the room. Before anyone could register his ruse, he reached into the crib, seized the baby, and locked his jaw around the infant’s neck, his four-hundred years of discipline the only thing keeping him from destroying the evil spawn right then and there.
The child squealed, and both Zarek and Salvatore spun around to face the crib. “Stop!” they cried in unison, the ancient sorcerer’s sudden vulnerability exposed in his faltering voice: “Nachari, stop!”
“Move and my brother will rip that little demon’s head off,” Marquis snarled.
Nachari hissed, fangs trembling, as he clearly fought the impulse to slay the child, holding it instead like a mother cat transporting a kitten.
Now standing fully upright, Salvatore held up his hands in a plea for caution. “Do not be impulsive, wizard. We may all leave this situation with what we desire, yet.”
Good. Marquis shifted his weight. The child meant as much as he believed he would. Marquis spun around in one fluid motion, struggling to restrain his own rage as his smoldering eyes met Salvatore’s once again. “Perhaps we make a trade then? The princess for the demon?”
“You touch him, and I will rip her heart out!” Zarek roared, unable to keep his cool. “Or worse!” He ripped at the thin material that was covering the princess from the waist down and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans with one hard tug. “How fast do you think I can enter her and release?” He laughed and glared at Marquis. “Will you be the one to put her down, warrior, when she’s pregnant?”
Marquis understood the threat for what it was: severe.
The sons of Jaegar were not given the four mercies allotted the sons of Jadon when the Blood Curse had been handed down so many centuries ago. The Dark Ones did not have destinies. They could not love or father children with eternal mates. And the women they did impregnate died a horrendous death in the process of giving birth. Pregnancy was a torturous death sentence.
Provoked by Zarek’s threat, Nachari grasped the baby’s ankle and twisted, leaving a broken foot hanging off the leg by a tendon. The child shrieked an ear-piercing howl that echoed throughout the room.
Zarek threw back his head and roared. He bit down hard against Ciopori’s shoulder, and the princess cried out in turn.
Nachari crushed the baby’s leg and snarled in response, his teeth bearing down hard against the kid’s throat. The situation was quickly escalating out of control, yet Marquis resisted the urge to censure his brother. He knew the standoff was necessary. Zarek had to understand: If he raped the princess, the child was as good as dead.
Nachari pushed the envelope a step further by biting down on the infant’s neck until he drew blood.
“Derrian!” Zarek shouted, kicking Ciopori’s legs apart with his knee.
Ciopori choked on her outrage. She was fighting to hold back tears.
“Enough!” Salvatore thundered, glaring at his little brother. “Button your pants!” He snapped his head to the side and glared at Nachari. “Relax on the baby’s neck, my friend. My brother is temperamental. Let’s not get hasty.”
Nachari relaxed his jaw but continued to glare at Zarek, the threat crystal-clear in his eyes.
Marquis looked at Salvatore then and an understanding passed between them.
Salvatore was not willing to trade Derrian’s life, not even for Ciopori. And Marquis would not risk the life of the princess he loved for a vengeance that could always come tomorrow.
“Can you control your males?” Marquis growled, needing to know what he was dealing with.
Salvatore sneered. “Of course. Can you?”
Marquis refused to dignify the question with an answer. Rather, he surveyed the room and rapidly weighed potential tactics: As it was, Zarek was positioned toward the door with Ciopori, whereas, the crib was toward the back of the lair to the right of the bed. “Move your males to the back of the room, but keep a safe distance from Nachari. I want their backs against the wall,” Marquis snorted. “And in return, I will move mine toward the door, but a safe distance away from Zarek.”
Salvatore surveyed the room, his eyes missing nothing. After a short pause, he nodded. “Do it.”
The three dark males slinked noiselessly to the back of the lair like a pride of angry lions, their tense muscles twitching in grudging retreat.
“Ramsey! Julien!” Marquis ordered.
The tracker and the sentinel took perches by the busted door, their hands still fingering their weapons.
Salvatore smiled then, a thinly veiled smirk of contempt. “Now, how shall we exchange our…loved ones?”
Marquis took a calming breath. He knew the moment they left the lair with Ciopori, all hell was going to break loose in the colony, so they not only had to make a clean exchange, but buy some time as well. As a warrior, there was nothing he wanted more than to go to his death slaughtering as many Dark Ones as he could, but that wasn’t his objective.
Ciopori’s safety was.
Salvatore shrugged his shoulders. “Surely you do not expect me to trust this wizard”—he gestured toward Nachari—“anymore than I can expect you to trust Zarek.”
“No,” Marquis grumbled. “Trust is not something the two of us share; however, strategy is another matter. As you must realize, we will require a head start to get Ciopori safely out of the colony. That means we cannot allow any of you to call directly for help—or to pursue us. In addition, we must have some assurance that Zarek will not renege on our agreement and hurt the princess during the exchange—”
“Nor will Nachari hurt my nephew!” Salvatore growled.
Marquis nodded impatien
tly, trying to contain his contempt. “I will have my warriors exit the lair before we make the exchange. This way, they pose you no threat. They will notify me when they are free of the colony so that I know they made it out safely—”
“There’s no way in hell we’re leaving you and Nachari in here,” Ramsey bit out, indignant.
Marquis waved his hand to silence the male. “You will do as you are ordered under my command.” Without pausing to look at the sentinel, he continued speaking to Salvatore: “This should be acceptable as you realize my objective is to get out safely with the princess, not to come back and fight with you and Zarek. This removes two threats to you and two concerns for me.”
Salvatore regarded him warily, and Marquis sighed. He looked at Ciopori and swallowed his pride, wondering if the princess had any idea how much he loved her. Did she have any idea what a sacrifice it was for a warrior to make such concessions? Under any other circumstances, he would have rather died here in the lair—and allowed his men to die as well—before submitting anything to the likes of Salvatore Nistor.
“Search my mind, Dark One,” Marquis bit out, “and know that I speak the truth.”
Salvatore’s shock was palpable, and Marquis winced as the evil sorcerer penetrated his psyche and stripped his thoughts.
“Satisfied?”
Salvatore grunted. “You may do the same.”
Marquis shook his head. Unbeknownst to the ancient son of Jaegar, he had already pierced his mind to read his intent. Despite all of Salvatore’s years of black magic, the fool was still no match for Marquis’s cunning...or skill. “No need. You will not let Derrian die.” He gestured his confidence with his hands. “I have seen your affection for your family.”
“Very well, then. What is your plan?”
Marquis studied the Dark One’s eyes. The whole scenario was killing him, too. “First, you will have your soldiers slash their wrists and bleed out to the point of weakness before sealing the wounds, so they pose no threat to me and Nachari. With all of our soldiers removed from the equation, you and I will take positions—at the same time—behind Nachari and Zarek, each of us behind our own brother.”
Salvatore made a tent with his hands, then linked his fingers, listening intently.
“I will then take the infant from Nachari,” Marquis continued, “and you will take Ciopori from Zarek so that the final exchange is left between us: cooler heads.”
You? Cooler than me? Nachari mocked. Dearest virgin goddess, you might be the best warrior here, but emotionally speaking—you are the least stable among us!
Be quiet, Nachari! Marquis warned, giving him a hard look of reprimand. He returned his gaze to Salvatore. “Then our brothers will step away.” His eyes swept over Nachari, gauging the wizard for signs of resistance—the potential for disobedience. He knew how badly Nachari wanted the infant dead, and what an affront submission was to any male in the house of Jadon. “Nachari will leave the colony and notify me when he is back on solid earth, just as Julien and Ramsey did ahead of him. He will pose no threat to you at the time of the exchange, and we will each have one less thing to worry about.”
Brother, please don’t ask such a thing, Nachari pleaded, all jest and humor gone from his psychic voice.
You know this is the only way, Nachari. I haven’t time to barter…consider it my Spoken Word.
Nachari briefly shut his eyes, and Marquis’s heart skipped a beat. Was he asking too much of the wizard? As Shelby’s twin, would Nachari at last choose to disobey a senior command? Great Perseus, Victorious Hero, Marquis prayed, you are the guardian of my brother’s soul. I beseech you: Make him compliant in this command. He turned his attention back to Salvatore and awaited an answer.
Salvatore frowned. “And with all your warriors and your brother gone, you would leave me and Zarek—alive and well—to pursue you and the princess the moment the exchange is made? Why is it I’m having trouble believing you, warrior?”
Marquis shook his head. “Because you haven’t let me finish.”
Salvatore bit his bottom lip. “By all means, continue.”
Marquis dug deep inside, searching for a calm he wasn’t sure he possessed. Gods, this was a bunch of horse shit. “Once Nachari is gone, Zarek will slice his carotid artery and bleed out”—he took a deep breath—“until he flat-lines.”
“Are you insane, son of Jadon!” Salvatore’s curses shook what remained of the chamber walls, and fire shot out from the tips of his fingers as he gestured wildly with his hands.
Marquis held steady. All lives depended on this barter. “How else do I insure our safe exit, Salvatore? Be reasonable. You know as well as I do that Zarek does not have the self-control to abide by our agreement, or to keep from coming after the princess the moment we walk out the door. And once you have your nephew, there will be no reason for either of you to honor our bargain.” He held up his hands. “Consider this: You have a two-minute window to bring Zarek back to life once his heart stops beating—all it requires is enough of your venom and a great deal of blood.” He raised his eyebrows. “You can hardly pursue us and save Zarek at the same time: I am quite certain that you will choose Zarek. Whereas, we will have two minutes to leave this colony.”
Salvatore snarled and began pacing in a tight circle, his breath wafting in and out in hard, angry pants. “And what if you don’t make the exchange, huh? Then what, warrior? What if you kill the child, instead, or try to take Zarek’s head while he is helpless? I cannot defend them both at the same time. What if you force me to choose between Derrian and Zarek’s life?”
Marquis shook his head. “There is still the matter of Ciopori, Dark One. Do you think I would go through all of this just to let her die at your hands in order to double-cross you? If I attack your nephew or your brother, I will lose the princess, and I will have to fight you to the death as well; of that, I am quite certain.” He waved his hand around the room. “However, should you choose to double-cross me—considering where we are—remaining behind without my warriors would be suicide. You are not the only one taking a risk, Salvatore. This is a reasonable solution to a difficult problem. Do not be foolish. We all wish to walk away alive.” He sighed. “Again, search my mind if you must, but let’s get on with it.”
Salvatore waved his arm through the air and growled a low, angry rumble. “Give me your word as a warrior—on the life of your king—you will not delay the exchange. The instant Zarek flat-lines, you will place Derrian safely in his crib and leave with the princess.”
“On the life of my king, I will.”
Salvatore pulled at his own hair, taking a large chunk out in sheer frustration, and then he spun around to square off with Marquis. “Know this, son of Jadon: If you fail to keep your promise, I will not allow you an easy death. You will be captured in this colony and restrained. And you will be forced to watch while every male in the house of Jaegar takes his turn with your princess. You will witness her death, birthing my offspring. Do I make myself clear?”
Marquis bit a literal hole through his tongue, meditated on the pain, and struggled to restrain himself. Salvatore Nistor was the walking dead. He had sealed his own coffin with that threat. Tomorrow, he reminded himself. Today, just get the princess out of here. With a strength he didn’t know he had, he growled the word yes.
“Very well then,” Salvatore spat. “Send your warriors away, and let’s do this. My nephew is injured.” He turned to face the three blistering Dark Ones. They were leaning against the wall, their harsh faces contorted with disgust. “Slit your wrists, brothers. And don’t seal the wounds until I tell you to.”
The males eyed one another warily, and then glared at their councilman with stunned fury.
“Do it!” Salvatore barked. “And don’t bleed all over my bed.”
Incredulous, the closest male removed a dagger from the back of his jeans and sliced his wrist all the way to the bone, glowering at Salvatore as the blood shot forth. The remaining two released their canines and tore the ve
ins open with their teeth.
As they sank down to the floor, arms rested against bent knees, the blood began to pool, and Marquis became deathly quiet: He would not trust Salvatore to make such an important determination. Summoning his extra-sensory hearing, he monitored each soldier’s heartbeats as his blood pressure fell.
He then turned to Julien and Ramsey. “Go swiftly, my friends. And transmit to me the moment you are back above ground.”
As Julien and Ramsey turned to leave, Marquis addressed them privately, telepathically: And call Napolean at once. Alert him to our position. Explain what is happening. Tell him to prepare an ambush!
The sentinel cleared his throat. The tracker nodded almost imperceptibly.
And then they sauntered out of the room.
seventeen
“You know this is not over, this thing between you and me,” Salvatore snarled in Ciopori’s ear, a deep threat reverberating in his voice. He nodded at Zarek. “Release her and take your place across the room so the wizard can walk out unscathed.”
Zarek’s eyes were two gleaming balls of hatred as they bore into Salvatore’s, his entire body trembling with contempt. “You risk my life for this worthless son of Jadon?”
Salvatore reached out and cuffed him, knocking his head so far to the side that his neck popped before snapping back in place, and then he grasped a fistful of Zarek’s black and red hair. “Do not speak to me of the choice I’ve been forced to make when Valentine has already perished at this warrior’s hands. Should you and Derrian fall this day, I would gladly follow you into the Corridor of the Dead: How can you doubt my loyalty?”
Zarek wrenched his hair free and stalked across the room, still seething. “You are not the one about to die on the floor!”
Salvatore’s claws bit into Ciopori’s waist, and she fought not to cry out. The last thing she needed was Marquis losing his cool and having to fight the entire colony because he went after Salvatore without any back-up.
“See what you’ve caused,” Salvatore hissed.
