Blood Betrayal

by Tessa Dawn

  “Wait,” he whispered, loathe to stop her, but unable to contain the urge.

  Her bow halted on the string, and she brought the instrument down to her side, tucking it beneath her arm in its natural resting position. “What it is?” she asked, instantly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Everything is…right.” His head still swimming from the jolt of that song, he leaned forward in his seat and asked, “What in heaven’s name is that song, and why did you choose to play it—just now—for me?” He waited with bated breath to hear her answer. When she just looked at him, perplexed, her beautiful mouth turned down in a frown, he clarified: “I apologize for stopping you, but I’ve heard that song before…in a dark, desolate alley during one of the bleakest nights of my life, the gravest night of this entire ordeal—at least before the night I found you in that warehouse—and I’ve heard it before in a premonition of sorts, the night you called out to me.”

  This time, it was Kiera’s breath that hitched as her eyes grew soft and smoky. “You heard me? The times I tried to call out to you?”

  Saxson nodded. “Not every time,” he said. “But that particular night, I heard you. And I was staggered by the sound of your voice…your name…but I wasn’t able to make sense of it.”

  She glanced away, as if considering all that had happened. “The song…” she finally murmured, bringing her gaze back to his. “I…I have known this song forever, but I haven’t played it in years…at least I hadn’t, until the warehouse…until Xavier.”

  Saxson almost stopped her there.

  He didn’t want her to relive unpleasant memories, but he really needed to hear her full answer. His soul was drifting toward the music—toward Kiera and this song—like a merchant vessel out to sea finally turning toward home.

  Anxious.

  Longing.

  Seeking to grasp the sanctuary of the familiar.

  Kiera shut her eyes—maybe it was easier that way. “My first full day at the warehouse, following the night of my capture, the night of the Blood Moon… The first time I met Xavier… I was terrified, to put it mildly. I didn’t know what he wanted—what he was planning to do with me—and I was too horrified to even consider the vile possibilities. But then, he commanded me to play the violin, and it inspired the faintest spark of hope—maybe if I could enthrall him, please him…distract him…maybe he would let me live. At least as long as I could play. But honestly, that hope was immediately replaced with dread because there was no way, just no way I could play this sweet instrument for that horrifying man. My fingers were not going to work; my mind was not going to settle; and I was shaking too hard to even hope to wield a bow.”

  “Kiera…” Saxson held up his hand to stop her, about to rise and go to her side, but she opened her eyes, stared at her new violin—as if the very sight of it might give her courage—and pressed on.

  “It’s okay. I’m curious about this, too.” Her voice grew hushed and slightly tremulous as she continued to recall that day. “Anyhow, I forced myself to concentrate, and then I placed the bow on the strings. Figuring it was now or never—all or nothing—I prepared to wow him with something extremely technical and difficult—a caprice or an intricate fugue—but the oddest thing happened, Saxson.”

  He bit down on his tongue, not daring to interrupt.

  “This total sense of calm swept over me, like I was standing in my own familiar bedroom, playing by myself, and my soul kind of…lifted in my body…and my hands just started to move. I don’t know how else to describe it. I left that warehouse and went someplace else, carried away on the wings of a melody I didn’t even realize I was playing. It just took me over, placed me in a safe, insulated cocoon, and allowed me to escape my nightmare.” She took a long, deep breath and sighed as she let it out. “Every time I played that song—this song—it happened again.” She shrugged an absent shoulder then, as if to say, who knows why? “Song from a Secret Garden.”

  Saxson felt a sudden surge of moisture coating his hazel eyes.

  Song from a Secret Garden…

  Her soul had reached for his.

  And in some small, transcendental way, that connection had allowed her to escape—if only for a time—it may have allowed her to live a few days longer…

  Rising from his perch on the sofa—he could no longer stay away—he placed his hand beneath her elbow and sought her guileless gaze. “Kiera, I have something to show you; will you bring your violin?”

  Kiera was still stunned speechless…

  “What is this place?” she’d asked him when they’d entered a large, glass-encased sanctuary, concealed beneath a magnificent cathedral dome.

  “It’s my secret garden—a garden I built for you—over many, many centuries.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, for my destiny, for whomever the gods would choose to bless me with. They chose you, Kiera Sparrow—this was always your secret garden.”

  From that moment on, she had been virtually incapable of uttering a single word. As she’d followed him across the many splendid acres—through row after row of fragrant blossoms; rare, exquisite collections; delicate petals in breathtaking colors—her violin case in tow, she had remained absolutely speechless.

  Words could not do it justice.

  Saxson Olaru—an aboriginal vampire and a warrior-sentinel in the house of Jadon—had traveled the world, from one end to the other, collecting the rarest, most delicate flowers, for centuries. And he had done it meticulously, lovingly…reverently…in anticipation of, one day, meeting her.

  Kiera Sparrow.

  A simple girl from Denver.

  She couldn’t wrap her mind around it

  This vampire’s capacity to love was simply infinite.

  Finally, ending the tour at a gorgeous planting of hybrid blue-and-violet roses next to an original Tuscan fountain, Kiera brushed a tear from the corner of her eye and gestured toward the attractive water-feature, ushering Saxson to have a seat.

  “Because there are times when words are inadequate, God gave us music,” she whispered.

  Saxson took a seat on the edge of the fountain, and the light in his eyes, the sparkle in his magnificent hazel irises, was every bit as resplendent as the dazzling garden.

  She opened her violin case in silence, rosined her bow, and affixed the shoulder rest to the underside of the violin’s lower bout—she wanted to play like she had never played before.

  As the notes of the solo—Song from a Secret Garden—filled the sanctuary with heavenly sound, Kiera played while she cried.

  And the music said everything she couldn’t say:

  Thank you.

  I know you.

  I’m home at last.

  My heart belongs with yours.

  At last, the final notes settled around them like sweet drops of dew on the morning grass, and Kiera brought the bow to rest.

  Saxson looked positively transfixed.

  With wonder…with contentment…and with love.

  He rose from the fountain in that silent, stealthy way that came so easily to a vampire, and then he glided across the garden, closing the space between them. His eyes never leaving hers, he removed the Stradivarius from her hands and placed both violin and bow, ever-so-gently, back in the velvet-lined case.

  He stood once more, lifted Kiera into his arms, and carried her to the edge of the fountain, where he laid her down atop a plush expanse of blue-green grass. “Because there are times when words are inadequate, the gods gave us passion.” His mouth descended on hers with a hunger born from centuries of waiting.

  His tongue was like a paradox of fire and ice—a tantalizing stroke of heat, followed by a tender, swirling breeze. His lips were a banquet of texture, pressure, and sweet torment: one moment soft and enticing, the next, skillful and inviting.

  Only to crescendo into fervent and demanding.

  His hands—those glorious, powerful, strong masculine hands—followed suit in perfect
harmony.

  Touching.

  Exploring.

  Caressing.

  And teasing.

  Until Kiera was arching her back, offering her throat, and beginning to squirm beneath him.

  He brushed her thighs apart with his own, settling his hips between them in order to add a smooth, rhythmic grind to the artful play of his magical lips and his expert fingers.

  His hands slid up the curve of her waist, massaging along the way, until the pads of his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, and Keira let out a moan.

  Oh, God, he was setting her body on fire.

  He took his time: exploring, caressing, and then kneading.

  His fingers found her rigid crests and played them like her violin’s fine tuners, making whatever music he wanted with a stroke, a twist, a variance of pressure.

  Oh, heaven…oh, heaven…oh, sweet heaven.

  So he was as talented as he was sexy.

  “Saxson…” Kiera breathed against his mouth, suddenly needing so much more of him.

  He chuckled—deep, low, and sinful—in his throat, and then he drew back to gaze into her eyes. “What do you desire, iubito?” His voice was pure, unadulterated satin.

  Kiera gulped.

  She couldn’t answer.

  He smiled like a sensuous devil who had just been given wings, and then his fangs began to elongate.

  As his eyes flamed red and his sex pressed against her core, swelling to inhuman proportions, he stroked her throat with the pad of his thumb, running it along her jugular.

  And then he bent that luscious, sexy-as-sin mouth—a wisp of light-ash hair falling forward into his eyes—and nipped at her artery.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times…

  Before sinking the canines deep into her flesh.

  Kiera’s body splintered, spiraling out of control, the sudden orgasm catching her off guard.

  She dug her nails into his powerful biceps and held on for all she was worth.

  He growled against her throat, lapping up the last vestiges of her essence as he slowly withdrew his fangs and sealed the punctures with venom. And then he shredded her silken nightshirt—his silken nightshirt—with a claw, and made equally quick work of her pajama bottoms, wriggling out of his shirt, jeans, and skivvies as he did so.

  His sex twitched and jerked as he rolled those muscular hips, seeking the seat of her pleasure. “Ohhh, gods, iubito,” he moaned in a thick Romanian accent as he slowly slid into her, allowing her time to adjust to his daunting length and magnificent girth.

  And then he took her on a series of erotic rides.

  As slow and languorous as their secret song.

  As intimate and beautiful as the hidden garden.

  As fierce and wild as their unlikely journey…

  As desperate, possessive—and all-consuming—as his species’ savage claiming.

  He was a jack of all trades and a master of eroticism, commanding her orgasms at will: banking her fire, stoking the flames, allowing her to simmer and burn—until he chose to ignite her again.

  Alas, after a half-dozen releases, he collapsed on top of her, fully spent, careful to keep the bulk of his weight off her chest. He caressed the side of her cheek with a smooth, reassuring hand and kissed her once more with exquisite tenderness. “You are everything to me, Kiera, and you always will be. I know we have only had five days to come together, but my soul has known yours for eternity.” He locked her gaze with his, and his amazing eyes softened. “Tell me something, angel. That night you reached out to me, what made you think to do that? How did you know you could reach me? Even if I couldn’t make sense of what I was hearing, it was still miraculous.”

  Kiera smiled, remembering that cryptic, disembodied voice: Try to reach Saxson. Your bond is strong. He may be your only hope. In retrospect, it was all so clear now. “Not what,” she whispered, “who. I believe Lord Cetus spoke in my mind; I believe he answered my prayer.”

  Saxson shuddered and held onto her tighter. His face grew contemplative. “Tell me something else…”

  She smiled. “What?”

  “Do you wish to go forward with the pregnancy now, or do you need me to wait?”

  Kiera knew what Saxson was referring to: a vampire’s supernatural ability to command his female’s conception with the stroke of his hand, the mere recitation of words… And she also knew that his life depended upon fulfilling the demands of the Curse—it was not a subject to play around with or delay.

  Yet and still, she hesitated.

  She knew, deep in her heart, that Saxson Olaru was her forever song, the other half of her soul—that she was only now beginning to explore their new, burgeoning connection. Yet, she also knew that she would never, ever leave him.

  Come what may, they would work it out.

  They had to.

  And she wanted everything he had to offer, at least the after-the-Curse version.

  But there was something she needed to do first, and she couldn’t be compromised or pregnant when she did it. She needed to be in command of her heart, mind, and body—she needed to be independent and strong. “Saxson,” she whispered softly, breathing his name like a prayer, “I’m here now—I’m with you—and I’m not going anywhere. But I still have a few loose ends to tie up. I need to go inside and call my parents, today; I need to get in touch with my students; and I’d like to arrange to have my personal belongings brought here from Denver. You and I can make plans…talk about our lives going forward during the forty-eight-hour pregnancy. That’s fine. But before we move to the next stage of the Blood Moon…” She snuggled closer, seeking his warmth to shore up her courage. “I’d like you to take me to Kyla. I need to see my twin—face-to-face, eye to eye—I need to speak my piece and put that part of my life behind me.”

  Saxson rolled onto his back, bringing Kiera with him, and then he tucked her beneath a protective arm. He tunneled his hands in her hair, pressed a kiss against her temple, and massaged the back of her neck. “I will speak with Napolean, while you speak to your parents. If you would like me to arrange something for this evening, I can make that happen—Marquis and Ciopori are growing impatient to see the matter finished. I promised them both that I would…deliver Kyla to Ciopori’s doorstep…the moment you have said your piece.” He paused, and his voice dropped to a chilling, throaty purr. “Besides, I have some unfinished business of my own with your sister.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The last thing Kyla Sparrow remembered before waking up in the Vampyr’s holding cell, deep beneath the ground, was the severe sentinel, with red-and-black banded hair, palming her neck like it was a miniature basketball, scooping her off the bedroom floor, and dragging her away like so much garbage, as her knees buckled beneath her and she vomited all over his boots.

  After that, the vampires in the house of Jadon took immediate and efficient advantage of her vulnerable captivity: Ramsey Olaru and Saber Alexiares interrogated her so mercilessly she wished she could die; Nachari Silivasi—the supposed good-natured wizard—extracted her memories so brutally, she thought she’d be left a vegetable; and apparently, from what Saber had told her with a snarl, Santos had dissected her phone.

  There was nothing her enemies didn’t know.

  Kyla had no way out.

  And Xavier, Owen, Travis, and the rest of them—well, no one had come to her rescue.

  And if she thought she could rely on Saxson’s gentle heart—his patient, loving, almost antiquated sense of chivalry—then she needed to think twice: She would never forget the murderous look in the warrior-sentinel’s eyes when he had snatched her by the hair, hauled her off the floor, and slammed her against the wall of Nachari and Deanna’s guest bedroom, threatening to cut out her tongue if she lied just one more time. Whatever love or devotion he had felt for Kyla, it was long, long gone.

  Beyond that, he had taken her memories, right then and there, going back to the night of his Blood Moon. He had discovered p
erfect, talented Kiera, and according to Saber—the hard-hearted serial killer in training—Saxson had already claimed Kiera since then. So, that meant Kyla’s twin was in Dark Moon Vale…

  With Saxson.

  Kyla sighed, running a grungy hand through her equally mangy, oily, and dirty hair, looking down at her tattered red dress. The bastards had not even allowed her a shower or a change of clothes over the last five days—how barbaric was that!

  They had barely even fed her.

  The outer door to the guard room opened, and Ramsey Olaru rose from his perch behind the desk, reached for a set of heavy iron keys hanging on a rusted hook, and handed them to…

  Saxson.

  Oh, shit.

  The vampire prowled noiselessly across the guard-room floor, approaching Kyla’s cage. He glanced absently at the two small windows at the top of the cell, beyond the bars, seeming to watch the moonlight dance in an arc along the diamond-embedded stone-and-mortar floor. His gorgeous mouth turned back in a snarl. “Just one question before you meet with your sister—she’s waiting outside that door.” He gestured toward the outer door of the watch room. “What did you hope to accomplish, Kyla? You had to know a pregnancy would kill you. You had to know that, at some point, I would be forced to violate your privacy and take your memories—how did you think this whole scenario was going to play out?” His luminous hazel eyes flashed dark with shadows.

  Kyla rose from her cot, raised her jaw, and squared her shoulders to Saxson. “I had hoped you would die at the end of the thirty days.” She didn’t even blink as she spoke. “And I had hoped I could take another vampire with you.”

  There.

  How’d he like them apples?

  Saxson Olaru chuckled, although the sound was absent of mirth. “I see,” he drawled in a chilling tone. “You just wanted to kill a vampire—any vampire—and you didn’t care if the victim was an innocent child. Every moment we spent together was just another part of your plot.”

  Kyla smirked.

  There was no need to reply.

  At least not to those statements…