by Tessa Dawn
Ciopori didn’t respond. She simply watched Marquis and Nachari exchange the baby—the evil little fiend—and held her breath as Nachari left the lair, slowly walking backward, his eyes never leaving Zarek or Salvatore.
The minutes seemed like hours as they waited quietly for word from Nachari that he had made it out of the colony safely. Dear gods, what if something went wrong? Ciopori quickly pushed the thought from her mind. No. Nothing would go wrong. The plan had to work.
Aware that she was wearing what amounted to no more than the remaining lace of a camisole and panties—thanks to Zarek’s obscene display earlier—she shivered, keeping a straight face as the enormous erection behind her jerked repeatedly against her lower back. This was definitely not the thing to bring to Marquis’s attention, and vomiting wasn’t a much better idea. She swallowed her bile and squared her chin. She could endure the foul being for a little longer. Mother of Aries, where was Nachari?
When it seemed like time had literally stood still, and both males had become dangerously antsy, Marquis finally waved his hand at Salvatore. “He is back in the valley.”
“Show me,” Salvatore spat.
Marquis must have projected a powerful image into the Dark One’s mind because Ciopori felt Salvatore tense and then relax behind her as a sudden surge of energy flowed through him. His gaze turned back to Zarek. “You know what must be done, my brother. Do not waste time. Let us get this over with.”
Zarek crouched down like a wounded animal, and his eyes shot back and forth between Marquis—whose fangs were scraping softly against the infant’s neck in lethal warning—and Salvatore, who now had Ciopori’s neck in both of his powerful hands, ready to snap it at a moment’s notice.
“Easy, Zarek,” Salvatore warned, indicating the baby with a nod. “He is all we have left of our brother.”
Marquis visibly bristled, and Ciopori’s heart ached for him. He had nothing left of his brother Shelby, and now, he would be forced to release the child, born of Dalia’s rape, to the rapist’s brother. Her soul wept knowing that he did it for her.
“Zarek,” Salvatore repeated, his stare fixed on the anxious vampire. “Just do it.”
Zarek took a deep breath. He reached behind his back and drew a long silver stiletto, with crossbones engraved in the pommel. He placed the tip against his carotid artery and hastily slit his own throat, his eyes never leaving his brother’s.
As the blood began to spurt out, he staggered backward, bent over, and braced his hands against his knees, remaining in that position until at last he began to choke on his own blood. With one final impassioned plea from his eyes, he toppled over onto the floor and sank into the crimson puddle.
Ciopori glanced back at Salvatore as he became eerily still. His heart raced beneath his massive chest, and his eyes remained glued like two hot coals on the crimson pool of blood expanding beneath his brother’s unconscious body. “That is close enough,” he snarled at Marquis, pressing a sharp claw against Ciopori’s own artery.
Marquis didn’t flinch as he shook his head. “Flat-lined, Salvatore. Deceased. That was our agreement.”
Salvatore began to sweat as both warriors waited, listening for the sound of silence. The complete absence of a heart-beat.
And then just like that, it happened.
Zarek died.
Salvatore spun to face Marquis, his heart pounding so furiously Ciopori could see the rise and fall of his chest. “Put Derrian in the crib, take your witch, and go!” He was shouting, his voice frantic. “Now!”
Marquis did not waste time. “Step away from Ciopori, and I will place Derrian in the crib.”
Salvatore looked like a crazed madman as he sidestepped a yard to the right of the princess, finally releasing her neck.
Marquis nodded and placed the baby in the crib. “Go to your brother, and we will take our leave.”
Salvatore started to rush to Zarek’s side but apparently thought better of it. Turning to face the warrior, he slowly stepped backward, circling in the opposite direction of Marquis as the son of Jadon approached Ciopori.
At last, he was at her side.
Marquis reached out and clutched her to him like she was the last remaining soul on earth. His arms trembled as he cradled her against his chest, his hands sweeping over her body all the while to check for broken bones and injuries. As she allowed herself to go limp in his arms, tears began to stream down her face for the first time. She couldn’t believe he was there, holding her…that he had actually come for her.
Marquis nestled his head in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. “Oh, my love, I thought I had lost you.”
She fisted his thick, silky hair and drew him even closer, afraid to let go.
“What the hell did he do to you?” His hand swept over one of the bite marks on her stomach.
“Nothing, my love.” She stroked his cheek. “Nothing I couldn’t withstand. I’m fine. Believe me.”
Marquis growled deep in his throat, his canines emerging even longer. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” He steadied his voice. “Did he…did Salvatore—”
“No!” Ciopori insisted, pulling away from him in order to look him in the eyes. She cupped his face in her hands. “Look at me, Marquis!”
His eyes bored into hers.
“No.”
Breath he didn’t seem to know he was holding released from his body, and he pulled her, again, to his chest. “I swear to you on my honor, I’m going to rip his bowels from his body. He will die for this insult.”
Ciopori raised her chin. “Do not lose your focus, warrior. I am counting on you to get me out of here. Understood?”
Marquis closed his eyes momentarily, and then a pair of snarls passed between him and Salvatore as he hastily led Ciopori to the busted door, carrying her over the threshold to prevent her from cutting her feet on the rubble.
Thank the gods, she murmured to herself.
She was finally leaving the lair.
She was just about to lay her head on his chest when she heard a loud, explosive boom, the sound of Marquis punching a hole in the cavern wall, his fist penetrating at least twelve inches deep.
“What is it, warrior?” she asked, taken aback. The limestone exploded, sending bits of stone flying in every direction.
Marquis pointed back to the lair.
Salvatore had retrieved Derrian, draaged Zarek to the bed, and pulled a small brass lever on the headboard, causing a solid diamond enclosure to descend from the ceiling, fully encasing the three of them. It was the vampire equivalent of a safe room: a diamond fortress that could not be breached.
“We can’t touch him now!” Marquis spat. He cursed in an unrecognizable language.
“We?” Ciopori asked.
Before Marquis could answer, the sovereign lord of the house of Jadon approached from the end of the hall: There were three warriors flanking him, two at his sides, and one at his back. Ciopori instinctively drew into herself, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She was acutely aware of her miniscule clothing.
Marquis shook his head with disgust as he met Napolean’s gaze. “Don’t bother,” he snarled. “Salvatore has managed to place himself and his family inside a diamond cell. We don’t have time to deconstruct it.”
Napolean’s eyes flashed deep amber, but he showed no further emotion. “Very well.” He gave a hand signal to his men.
As the males fell into formation, a shrill alarm began to ring overhead; the entire colony filled with a painful, pulsating drone.
Marquis clutched Ciopori by the arm. “Son of a bitch! He already set off the alarms.”
Napolean remained calm, motioning the males in front of him. “Move out quickly.”
“Milord?” A perilous-looking male, with eyes much like Marquis’s, glanced inquisitively at the king. “You wish to take the rear? Forgive me, but your life is far too important. Please, allow me in your—”
“Move out, Nathaniel!” Napolean ordered. “Santos, you take the lead. Marquis,
you keep the princess in the middle. Saxson, you get Marquis’s back. I will take the rear.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before the king growled low in his throat. “I said move out!”
The warriors sped through the underground tunnels like comets racing through a night sky. They were headed in the direction of the eastern-most elevators, the ones that would take them to the surface, when all of a sudden they heard a loud whooshing drone behind them, like an enormous body of water rushing toward them.
“What is that?” Santos eyed Marquis nervously. “You think they’re gonna try to flood us out?”
Marquis frowned and began searching the tunnel for signs of an indoor irrigation system. Gods, he hoped not. Vampires could slow down their breathing, even hold their breath for long periods of time if necessary, but Ciopori would drown under such an assault. He carefully assessed the limestone wall, analyzing how long it would take him if he had to barrel through it, using only his body as a rotary to dig their way to the surface.
As the men slowed down, each one evaluating the danger, Napolean shouted from the end of the line. “It’s not water! It’s an army.”
Marquis spun around, mystified: The Dark Ones were flying through the tunnels at such enormous speeds that their collective wings gave off the sound of rushing water. And holy hell, if they didn’t look like an approaching swarm of black and red locusts. Hate-filled, glowing eyes pierced through the darkness even as wild banded hair flapped in the furious wind.
Marquis released Ciopori. He shoved her toward the nearest warrior and withdrew his nine-millimeter. “Santos, take the princess and go!” The remaining warriors would just have to do their best to buy the princess and Santos time.
They could shoot at the eyes of their enemies to slow them down, but they would eventually have to engage in hand-to-hand combat if they wanted to give the two any real chance of escape.
Saxson pulled out an AK-47, and Nathaniel reached for a pair of grenades. “We’re with you, brother.” His eyes lit up with harnessed fire.
Napolean held up his hand, a commanding gesture. “Do not fight! Get to sunlight!” He eyed Marquis intently. “You take the princess out of here, warrior.”
Marquis shook his head. “I am the oldest, most experienced fighter here, Napolean. You know I will not leave you.”
Nathaniel snarled, “Each warrior here is worth a hundred Dark Ones. Not to impugn, milord, but we will stand with you.” His blue-black hair fell forward, partially concealing his glowing eyes. Death radiated around him. A red haze of intensity framed his face, giving him the ominous appearance of a dark angel.
Napolean held out his arms and threw back his head, his own feral eyes ablaze with fury. His body trembled as it rose off the ground, and then he began to glow, his surrounding orbit emanating such intense heat that the limestone around them began to melt.
The warriors stepped back, retreating with caution, as their Sovereign’s head pivoted to the side, and his ghostly black-and-silver hair caught fire.
The male was a blazing inferno, yet he neither smoldered nor burned.
A hint of madness filled his dark eyes as unchecked rage dilated his pupils. “There are thousands coming.” His voice echoed through the hall like thunder, sparks ricocheting off the walls as the space around him vibrated with electricity. “You will go into the sun, as I command, my warriors”—his fangs descended beyond his jaw, casting the startling appearance of a saber-toothed tiger—“and then I shall command the sun to come to me. Now go!”
Marquis cleared his throat and glanced at Nathaniel. Holy hell.
Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath as a swarm of males approached less than fifty-feet away. Time to go.
Marquis reached out for Ciopori, held her tight to his chest, and released his own magnificent wings. The rest of the males were already soaring furiously through the hall, rapidly approaching warp speed. As he turned back one last time to view their Sovereign, his mouth fell open in awe.
Napolean had indeed harnessed the sun.
In fact, for all intents and purposes, Napolean Mondragon had become the sun.
The ancient vampire was a luminous ball of fire, his aura so intense it hurt Marquis’s eyes to gaze directly at him.
Glowing beams of orange and blue light shot out like missiles from every cell of the ancient’s body as he hurled UV radiation in circular waves, slinging death from a nuclear hand.
The hallway filled with howls of agony.
The air grew dense with the odor of burning flesh.
The rushing sound of water had all but vanished as no one else dared to approach the burning mass of fire that was Napolean Mondragon—the awesome king of the house of Jadon.
All those who had dared to enter the tunnel were now making their way through the Corridor of the Dead.
Marquis stood breathless.
Transfixed.
Unable to take his eyes off the king.
Although the two of them had been in many battles together, throughout the ages—and the ancient lord’s prowess in war was legendary—Marquis had never seen anything like what he gazed upon now. And he knew, instinctively, there would be a heavy price to pay: Such a huge conversion of energy would surely make Napolean sick, and if he didn’t stop soon, he would die.
Marquis bowed his head in reverence, stamping the vision of the magnificent king into his memory. As he turned away, he covered Ciopori’s eyes. “Do not look back, angel. You will most certainly go blind.”
eighteen
Marquis stood in silence as Ciopori entered Napolean’s kitchen. His breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat.
Upon returning from Salvatore’s lair, the princess had excused herself to shower. She had been exhausted and shaken up, desperate to scrub the filth of both Salvatore and Zarek from her body. It had been just as well. Marquis had needed a moment to collect his thoughts.
Now, staring at the regal female before him, he was at a complete loss for words.
She seemed to understand.
Her damp, raven locks fell about her shoulders like a cascading waterfall, and though her golden eyes were sad, she managed a faint smile. “You waited for me?”
Marquis cleared his throat. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” She wrung her hands together nervously and took a step in his direction, careful to keep a respectful distance between them. “So, have you seen Kristina yet?”
Marquis looked away. “Ciopori, don’t.”
She shrugged and threaded her fingers together. “All right, warrior. I was just trying—”
“Come here.” He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his heavy arms around her slender frame, careful not to crush her. “Tell me what happened to you, Ciopori. Please.”
She buried her head in his chest. “You don’t want to know, Marquis. Honestly, you don’t.”
“I need to know,” he whispered. “Napolean needs to know—in case there’s something that needs to be done for you.”
Ciopori sighed and took his hands in hers. “Then take the information from my mind, Marquis, because I don’t care to remember it all right now.”
Marquis closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. He held his breath as the images flooded his mind: Salvatore snatching her from the forest; cruel, insidious torture in the chamber of snakes; the precise moment Marquis had come into Salvatore’s lair to free her…
“Gods,” he whispered, trembling. “I’m so sorry.”
She stepped back then. “No, I’m the one who chose to take a stroll through the forest at three-o’clock in the morning. It was careless, and I am so grateful you came for me.”
Marquis shook his head. “In all my centuries of living, I have never been so frightened.” She regarded him with compassion and he felt his stomach turn over with pain…and desire.
With longing.
The amber sparkles in her bright eyes warmed him like rays of sunlight, slicing through the pain of
such a long, tedious existence, wrenching his thoughts from the future that awaited him, anchoring him to the moment. Gods forgive him; he couldn’t help but replay their time together in Kagen’s study, the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands, the sound of her heated voice when she cried out in ecstasy, the touch of her—
“Marquis…” Seeming to sense his thoughts, she leaned into him and rose to the tips of her toes. Her beautiful lips parted ever so slightly to receive his kiss…and she waited.
Marquis shuddered.
He bent down, grasped her face in his hands, and lingered—his mouth just a breath away from her own—and then he turned his head to the side and gently kissed her on the cheek.
Crushed, she exhaled slowly and turned away. “I’m sorry.”
Marquis wanted to punch a hole in the wall as the frustration burned inside him—the injustice of it all—but he struggled, instead, to remain calm. “No, Ciopori. Don’t ever be sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”
Ciopori swallowed and took a step back, wringing her delicate hands together once again. “You’re right. I know…it’s not like anything has changed.” She hesitated then. “Has it?”
Marquis hung his head. “Who can undo what the gods have done?”
Ciopori nodded and ambled across the kitchen to absently pour a cup of tea from a brass kettle on the stove. “Indeed.”
Uncomfortable silence settled around them as each waited for the other to say something—anything—that might make the insufferable tolerable. Neither could bear to leave the other’s side, yet they both knew they couldn’t be together.
“Vanya was very happy to see Napolean return,” Ciopori finally said in a clumsy attempt to change the subject. “Even though he was very weak and in need of blood.”
“Of course,” he murmured.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I mean Vanya was very happy to see Napolean return.”
Marquis raised his eyebrows. “Napolean?”
“He is a male, is he not?” Ciopori managed a faint laugh.
Marquis shook his head. “After what I saw earlier, I’m not sure what he is.” He hoped their leader would not make the same mistake he had—falling in love with a woman who was not his destiny. The consequence was sheer agony.
