by Tessa Dawn
Ciopori propped herself up on her arms and stared in rapt wonder at the phenomenon occurring before them, while Marquis held his concentration steady, gently urging the children from their slumber with his will, intending them into the world with his power.
The first of the two infants began to crystallize. The clear outline of a child appeared in gradual waves of light directly above the protruding belly, and then steadily, the outline began to fill in. The rushing sound of water increased, and the heartbeat grew louder, more insistent, as light became tissue and ether became flesh.
Instinctively, Ciopori reached toward the child, her eyes filled with tears of wonderment, but a stern growl from Marquis forced her retreat. The midnight black hair was as familiar as his own, but the blood-red bands running through it left no question as to which child had chosen to emerge first: It was the Dark One—the one who would remain nameless.
“Look away, my love,” Marquis commanded. His voice was as steady and calm as the night.
Ciopori blanched, staring at him in shock. “No,” she argued defiantly, “I at least want to see—”
Without hesitation, Marquis closed her eyes and gently turned her head to the side. Although she tried to resist him, her fledgling vampire skills were no match for his enormous powers. “Please, do not resist me.”
The baby cried then, a loud insistent wail, his eyes glued to his mother as if he knew she was his only hope for salvation. But there was no salvation for the one born of darkness, created without a soul, the property of a curse that sought to draw its own essence back to itself in an eternal cycle of vengeance.
And there could be no compassion.
“Marquis?” Ciopori’s voice was trembling with uncertainty. “This is insane. He’s a child. A baby. How could my sisters do such a thing?” Her powerful maternal instincts pushed back against his control. Her eyes opened, and her head turned just enough to allow a side-long glance at the howling infant. “Look at him! He’s beautiful. Oh Marquis, he looks like you.”
Marquis reached out and took the infant into his arms before Ciopori could make the mistake of touching him. A similar thing had happened with Nathaniel when Jocelyn gave birth to Storm, and the incident had quickly escalated out of control.
Nachari, Marquis called out telepathically to his youngest brother, not wanting to involve Nathaniel, whose own memories of sacrifice were still too raw, Ciopori is resisting; I require another set of arms.
Nachari materialized beside the bed so quickly that Marquis had to do a double-take. The look in the wizard’s eyes was all business. He glanced momentarily at Ciopori and inclined his head. “Greetings, sister.” He turned to Marquis and held out his arms. “Brother.”
Having been released from Marquis’s restraint, Ciopori looked back and forth between the two brothers and frowned. “Marquis, let me see our son.”
Marquis handed the babe to Nachari without emotion and turned to his mate. “You will see him the moment he is born, iubirea mea. I assure you, I will place our son in your arms immediately.”
Ciopori sighed and glared at him hard. “Do not play games with me, warrior. I know full well what and who this baby is, and I repeat—let me see our son.”
Nachari looked questioningly at Marquis but kept a firm hold on the infant, who was now squirming, crying, and kicking his legs.
“Nachari!” Ciopori snapped. “Do not act as if you are deaf. I am not some neophyte to be coddled. Hand me the child.”
Nachari’s stern eyes met hers for a brief moment before turning back to Marquis. “I am sorry, little sister; I am bound by obedience to my brother.”
As if understanding the dilemma, the child began to dematerialize right in Nachari’s arms, pulled by the powerful intent of the Celestial Being on the bed. As his form began to take shape in Ciopori’s arms, Marquis swept a hand around the body in a hasty circle, building an impenetrable holding cell around the newborn, and then he swiftly handed him back to Nachari. He is surprisingly powerful. You must take him from the room before he draws any further on her compassion.
Nachari nodded. Shall I call Napolean to take him to the chamber on your behalf?
“Stop talking in front of me!” Ciopori’s eyes flashed dark with anger. She was clearly aware that the brothers were using a private bandwidth to communicate.
No, Marquis answered, ignoring his mate’s protest. I will do my duty as soon as your nephew is born and Ciopori is at ease. Wait for me in the front room.
Nachari frowned, appearing uneasy about spending too much time alone with the infant, but he wasn’t about to argue. “As you wish,” he said aloud, and then he dematerialized from the room with the infant in his arm.
“How dare you!” Ciopori shouted.
Marquis hurried to the side of the bed and placed his hand on her cheek. “Ciopori...please. I am not trying to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? You insult me!”
“Never—”
“You assume I am not strong enough to handle seeing a child that I know we must relinquish. You assume that I am not in my right frame of mind to make such a request. And you use your superior powers to force your will upon me? Oh yes, Marquis, you insult me! How dare you think and decide for the both of us.” Her eyes bored into his. “And don’t you ever take control of my physical body again without my permission. Do you understand me, warrior?”
Marquis was stunned. This was not the time for an argument. This was supposed to be the second happiest day of his life.
Women.
What did she expect?
Of course his powers were superior to hers; and of course he would always use them to protect her—as was his duty as her mate and a warrior. Why would such a thing be an insult? And if he ever sensed she was in danger, he would not only take control of her body, but of her mind and spirit as well, if he thought it was in her best interest. Did she not understand who she had mated?
Marquis looked away. Despite his resolve, her words cut him to the bone. He would never, ever wish to hurt her. And as for insulting her? Dear gods, she was his superior in every way. What was he to do with this?
Ciopori sighed and bit her bottom lip. She reached out and took his hand. “My love, I know you mean well, but we will have to...work on some of your ways. I wanted to see the child because I wanted to understand what this curse has done to our males over the years…what kind of abomination my sisters created. I needed to see the absence of his soul for myself, to feel it, in order to know that there was no sin in turning him over.”
“But you said he was beautiful, and you didn’t understand what your sisters were doing when they made such a curse. You said that he looked like me. I thought you might want to keep him.”
Ciopori frowned. “He is beautiful, and I do not understand such a hideous thing, but I do not pretend to be a goddess or to have the power to undo an ancient curse that has stood for millennia, nor have I forgotten my time with Salvatore in the colony. I would not have asked you to spare him. I would not have risked your life. Could you not have given me one minute to reconcile what must be…within my own soul?”
Marquis shut his eyes. “I do not like this, but if you wish, I will call Nachari back.” He sighed. “But before I do, I want you to understand something: In my family, I am the first-born.”
She held his gaze with intensity and cleared her throat. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“When my mother had Nathaniel and Kagen, she and my father celebrated both births. When she had Nachari and Shelby, the same was true. But when I was born, I shared her womb with a dark spirit, and the nameless one who was my brother—my twin—was taken from my mother in the same way...was taken from me. Do you think I have never wondered about him? Never wished to have at least seen his face—to at least have the memory? Do you think I have never wondered what if—what if things were different? I, too, have questioned the cruelty of such a curse, but it is imperative that my faith remains absolute. There can be no question as to what must be
done now—or what my parents did then. To see you hold that child...to once again think about my own twin.... I, too, must live with this curse, Ciopori.”
Ciopori closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were soft with compassion. “I’m sorry, warrior. I forget the history…the depth of this curse.” She shook her head. “It is done. And you will do what is required of you with strength and honor.” She placed her hand on her stomach and rubbed it. “Now then, this one is having a fit, if you haven’t noticed. I think he is in there screaming. What’s the delay! So, no, there is no reason to return to the nameless one. Let us have our son.”
Marquis ran his hands through her soft hair. “Are you sure? There can be no regrets—no resentment between us.”
Ciopori cupped his face in her hands. “This is a bitter-sweet moment. How could a curse be anything else? But your words have given me all the assurance I need, and there is only peace and love between us, warrior. Now call our son, Marquis.”
Marquis stared into her beautiful eyes and felt the wonder of her spirit all over again. “You are my peace,” he whispered, and then he tuned in to the remaining child. With a soft apology, he repeated the ancient prayer, and called him forth.
As the gold dust settled this time, and the outline began to fill in, any question or worry was replaced with reverence and awe. The male that materialized into his father’s waiting arms was positively stunning. Like his mother’s and his father’s, his hair was the color of a raven’s wing, blacker than the night, as refined as pure silk. But his eyes—his eyes were positively captivating. A mixture of both parents, they were amber and gold with swirls of blue in the centers like an exquisite painting—the color of the setting sun beneath the horizon in a clear blue sky—and his features were chiseled like his father’s, with his mother’s nobility. This male’s beauty would one day rival even Nachari’s.
Marquis smiled, suddenly unsure of what to do with the squirming entity before him. He tested his arms and legs for strength and laughed when the child kicked and flailed his arms in response to his touch. “He’s strong.”
Ciopori giggled. “Of course he is.”
As she struggled to sit up, Marquis reached out to help her with his mind. “Does that offend you?” he asked, still unsure of the rules.
Ciopori just shook her head. “No, you silly man. Boy, do we have a ways to go—good thing we have all of eternity to get there.” She reached out and made a cradle with her arms. “May I?”
Marquis nodded quickly. “Absolutely.” As he placed the baby in her arms, her face lit up with pride and love. Two angels. And both belonged to him.
“We haven’t chosen a name yet,” she said, offering her pinky to the infant’s strong grip and then nuzzling his nose. Tears streamed down her face as she laughed and smiled and made faces at the beaming little child.
Marquis placed his hand on his son’s head and gently stroked his satiny hair. “While the names of today are…colorful…I much prefer those of the Middle Ages. Strong, proud, solid names.”
Ciopori smiled. “And what did you have in mind?” The baby hiccupped, and they both laughed.
Marquis shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps something with meaning: warrior or conqueror.”
Ciopori sighed. “But of course. This child really doesn’t have a chance at being anything else, does he? Perhaps a wizard or a justice?”
Marquis frowned. “Are you kidding me, woman? Absolutely not. By age five, he will be an expert marksman.”
Ciopori tickled his tiny belly, and he squirmed. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in a soft voice, “I will make sure that you get to choose your own path.”
Marquis snarled and the infant giggled.
Ciopori jumped back, startled. “Can they do that already?”
Marquis nodded. “Vampire babies are born at a higher level of maturity, and they progress much faster than human infants. He thinks that what you said was nonsense.”
Ciopori laughed with abandon. “No, warrior, I think he thinks what you said was nonsense!”
The child laughed again, and Marquis frowned. “Give me that kid; you’re already spoiling him.”
Ciopori rolled her eyes and tightened her hold on the infant, still laughing. “A name, husband? Middle ages? Warrior…conqueror…victorious?”
“Nikolai.”
“Nikolai.” Ciopori let the word roll off her tongue. “I like it.”
Marquis nodded, pleased. “Would you like to choose his middle name?”
Ciopori shut her eyes. “There is nothing to think about: Jadon.”
Marquis stared at her then. Jadon. The ancient patriarch of the house of Jadon. The original male of their kind. No one had ever used his name before out of reverence, but if anyone had a right to invoke it, it was Ciopori. Jadon Demir was more than just a powerful legend to Ciopori, one who had brought mercy to his house and his descendants at the time of the Blood Curse. He was not just the father of a species, an ancient prince, or the original ruler of a new civilization and way of life: Jadon Demir was her beloved brother and Nikolai’s uncle. The reality was almost too much to comprehend. “Nikolai Jadon Silivasi. It is done, then.”
Ciopori pressed her forehead to the child’s and whispered something private, which Marquis was careful to mute out of respect. Sighing, he placed one hand on his mate’s back and gently ran the other along his son’s soft cheeks. “I don’t want to leave you, but I have to go now. I cannot leave Nachari with—”
“Of course not,” Ciopori whispered. “Will you be okay? If you’d like, I can call Jocelyn or Vanya to take Nikolai for a moment, and we can go together.”
Marquis kissed her on the forehead, his head resting against hers. “I love you for asking, but no. It would be a sacrilege: an original female bowing down to the male’s curse. No, this is my punishment—my atonement—it is my life that will be forever spared as a result.” He sighed. “I will return to you shortly.”
The baby’s eyes shot from his mother to his father, and his face warmed with the most gentle, radiant smile Marquis had ever seen.
Marquis would get through this.
Oh yes, after fifteen hundred years of endless existence, he would definitely get through this. The required sacrifice was all that stood between himself and eternity with this beautiful woman and their newborn son.
To return to them, he could get through anything.
Marquis entered the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement with singular focus, carrying the struggling infant in his arms. The child was no longer cooing and crying but hissing and spitting and trying to score his father’s hands with the tips of his tiny fangs. Compassion was a ploy the newborns often tried with their once-human mothers, but as soon as it failed, the darkness inevitably came out. Marquis tried not to think about the fact that he had been conceived along with a similar entity—that he had existed side by side with a Dark One in his mother’s womb.
The temperature in the chamber was eerily cold, and the energy of rage, mourning, and sorrow grew with every step Marquis took beyond the neat rows of pews toward the granite altar. He stepped up on the platform and placed the squirming baby in the smooth, hollow basin at the top, careful to keep his feet from touching the dark, swirling mist at the base. And then he stepped back and knelt on the floor, prostrate, as required. But when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out.
The required words—and their subsequent meaning—ran through his head in an endless loop, but he couldn’t seem to speak them...not in Romanian or English: Pentru tine, care au fost drepţi şi fără vină; pentru tine, care au fost sacrificate fara mila: am venit pentru a rambursa datoria mea. Pentru păcatele de stramosii mei, am oferi primul nascut fiul meu şi vă implor de iertare. Ai mila de pe sufletul meu şi să accepte acest copil viaţa în schimbul meu….
To you who were righteous and without blame; to you who were slaughtered without mercy: I come to repay my debt. For the sins of my ancestors, I offer my first-born son and beg of you forgivenes
s. Have mercy on my soul and accept this child's life in exchange for my own.
Marquis’s head tilted to the side as if someone else was working it with puppet strings, his eyes fixated on the other side of the room—on a heavy wooden door with crossbones and an ancient warning inscribed in the Old Language on the front: Iată de portal pentru a coridorului de morţi.
Behold the portal to the Corridor of the Dead.
He knew there was a double entry-way just beyond that door, containing two steps that led up to a hatch: the chamber of sacrifice for the males who failed to do what he was doing now. The last place his baby brother, Shelby, had stood alive.
Marquis’s heart clenched and his arms trembled. Shelby had kneeled before this same altar, bowed before the swirling black mist, and repeated such similar words: To you who were righteous and without blame; to you who were slaughtered without mercy: I come to repay my debt. For the sins of my ancestors, and because I have failed to sacrifice my first-born son, I offer my own life in atonement. Have mercy on my soul and accept this sacrifice.
To you who were righteous and without blame?
To you who were righteous and without blame!
Marquis trembled with rage even as the baby began to scream, and the swirling mist became agitated. No one had been more righteous than Shelby. No one had led a life with less blame, and still, they had murdered him cruelly and without mercy for a crime his ancestors had committed. And they had forced him to kneel and beg for his own soul before they did it.
To call such an entity righteous and without blame, he couldn’t get the heretical words out of his mouth.
Marquis stared back and forth between the chamber he was in and the one just beyond that door and considered his options: If he failed to sacrifice the child, he would have to enter that evil place and offer his own life, instead. In other words, he would still have to utter the nonsense. The only way to defy the Blood of the Slain was to refuse either, in which case, he would be slaughtered anyway, and his eternal soul would go to the Valley of Death and Shadows as opposed to the Valley of Spirit and Light. Eternity was a very long time to endure just to make a point.
