by Tessa Dawn
The proud stallion tossed his head back, whinnied a bit, and pranced in place. Then he ambled in her direction.
She climbed two rails, leaned over the bannister, and stroked his glistening mane. “When did you do this? How did you do this?” Her smile lit up her eyes. “When did you possibly find the time?”
Santos tilted his head from side to side in a humble admission: “Ramsey…Saxson…I had some help.”
Natalia inhaled a deep, excited breath and practically giggled as she released it. “Thank you, Santos,” she said, sincerely. “I really don’t know what to say.”
He sidled up behind her, just as he had done that morning in the barn at the Giovanni compound. Only this time, she didn’t stiffen in response to his presence. Rather, she leaned into his warmth and slowly turned around. Tentatively cupping his cheeks in her hands—they were just about eye to eye now—she stared into his seeking gaze, then briefly lowered her lids. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered, blinking her eyes back open and studying each of his features in turn.
“Keep me,” he rasped, curling his fingers over both her wrists. He turned his head to the side to press a kiss into the palm of her hand. “Keep me, continue to trust me, and give me a son.”
She drew back reflexively, lowering her arms. “The Curse…” she murmured absently.
“No,” he argued. “A blessing. The final hurdle before we make our union permanent. Well…” He shrugged one shoulder. “Well, that, and our mating and naming ceremony—but those are just formalities. The child secures my life, my immortality, and seals us together forever. Will you conceive a son for me, Natalia?”
She blinked her eyes three times, then glanced nervously around the stables. “Santos!” She visibly shivered. “Here? You want us to…do that…here?”
He smirked, certain that his eyes reflected his amusement. “Well, that’s not a very fair question: I want us to do that everywhere.” He grasped her by the waist, lifted her effortlessly off the beam she was standing on, and planted her perfect derriere on the top rail, moving his hands to the top of her thighs. “But it isn’t necessary to do anything again…right now…in order to command your pregnancy.” He pressed one hand to her lower belly, and his amused grin grew more devious. “There is still enough of me, right here.”
She gasped, blushed, and turned her head to the side, biting her lower lip to conceal a nervous smile. “Santos…” she repeated.
“What?” he answered slyly.
She snickered. “Is it really that easy?”
He cocked his brows.
She rolled her eyes. “I meant the pregnancy. Is it really that easy to command one?”
He nodded. “It’s very easy. Dangerously easy, really. It’s why males in the house of Jadon have to be so careful.”
This time, she cocked her brows. “Oh,” she said sternly. “So then, you were not a virgin when we met?”
He chuckled: slow, deep, and languorous. “I was a virgin to true, timeless beauty,” he said. “I was a virgin to your—”
“Shut up,” she snipped. “Do I really look that gullible?”
He curled his lips over his teeth, trying to restrain his laughter.
“I am going to want places, names, and stories. All of them, Santos.”
He blanched, his humor quickly vanishing. “Natalia…” He sighed. “I have lived a very, very long time.”
She cocked her brows in censure. “Well then, you may as well get started. We only have twenty-six more days—twenty-four, if you count the necessity of a pregnancy. Twenty-three if you want a buffer of time.” Although she’d tried to sound playful, there was an obvious and deep gravity in her voice.
Ah, Santos thought, then she’s thought about little else…
Of course…
He was about to address the subject head-on, in a much more serious manner, when she lowered her chin toward her chest, pressed her forehead to his, and shivered. “Santos…” She whispered his name like a prayer.
“Angel?”
She sighed. There is no part of this that isn’t overwhelming…terrifying. She spoke in his mind, and his respect for her deepened. Why wasn’t he surprised that she had picked up on telepathic communication so effortlessly? He somehow knew that she was using it to speak words that were too difficult…too intimate…to say out loud. The thought of uprooting my life, choosing a husband—or having one chosen for me… She paused. A mate. I can’t even wrap my mind around it. And the Curse…the babies…the sacrifice required of your kind…of our kind… Her telepathic voice trailed off.
We don’t have to act now…today, Santos responded in kind. I was just—
“Shh.” She made the sound audibly. “You don’t want me to lose my courage,” she murmured. “I don’t want to lose my courage.”
He waited, listening intently.
“Yes, Santos. The answer to all of it is yes.”
He held his breath, tuning into Natalia’s heartbeat, the way it beat in time with his. “Are you sure, cara mia?” he asked her.
She chortled a nervous laugh then. “Of course not. That’s a pretty tall order. But in terms of my life and everything that has happened until now? I’ve never been more…hopeful…of anything. That, I’m very sure of.”
He smiled, albeit wanly. Then he pressed the pads of his middle three fingers to her lower belly and allowed his intention to flow through the gesture.
Just like that, she must have felt a flutter because she jumped in place and her mouth fell open. “Is it done?” she asked, her voice laced with both apprehension and wonder.
“It is done,” he answered, and then he held her close while she processed that statement.
Finally, when it seemed as if time might stand still forever, the two of them locked in each other’s arms—locked in a fate and a purpose that was grander than either of them—he drew back and caressed her jaw. She shuddered lightly at his touch, and it was all the encouragement he needed to kiss her.
Lightly at first.
Both corners of her mouth.
And then with the fullness of his passion, savoring her awe-inspiring lips.
She moaned softly and leaned into the kiss, offering the tip of her tongue for the vampire’s exploration, and he felt his body instantly harden. Caressing her waist, then the underside of her breasts, his thumbs swept forward to tease her nipples—and that’s when he felt a heavy, domineering nudge.
Midnight had loped his head over the banister, tossed his muzzle at Santos’ chest, and pushed the vampire away from Natalia, nuzzling her head with his chin.
Natalia broke out in unrestrained laughter, the tension in the stables immediately evaporating. “Apparently, my horse does not want you to take advantage of a pregnant woman,” she teased, still laughing.
Santos stared fixedly at the territorial animal, a trait he understood quite well as a vampire. “I can see that,” he mused, regarding the proud black stallion with a newfound appreciation. “Perhaps Nachari can find a suitable wild mare to move into Midnight’s stall, so he has somewhere else to focus his attention.” The thought was immediately met with a heavy heart as Santos considered Nachari, Keitaro, and all the Silivasis…
They were dealing with an incredibly grave matter themselves.
A matter of the utmost importance to the house of Jadon, the king, and the sentinels.
Had Santos not been involved in his own critical Blood Moon, he would likely be at Napolean’s manse right now, discussing and monitoring events with his brothers and their fearsome leader…waiting on pins and needles to see how Arielle’s kidnapping—and Zayda’s exchange—turned out.
He said a silent prayer before banishing the heavy thoughts from his mind.
The female in front of him was his foremost priority.
Especially now that she was forty-eight hours away from having his child.
Since he wasn’t wearing a watch, he closed his eyes, tuned into the rotation of the sun, and calibrated the celestial or
bit with Natalia’s native biorhythms. Satisfied that he had recorded the exact moment of conception—two o’clock on Sunday afternoon—he logged the information in his memory: The twins would be born at the same time on Tuesday.
“Can I take you home?” he asked his destiny. “I’d rather not manage any part of your pregnancy here in the Dark Moon Stables. Besides,” he added, “there is much we still need to talk about.”
Natalia wrapped a loving arm around Midnight’s neck, patted the horse on the crest, above his mane, and shimmied off the bannister. Biting her bottom lip and blushing—she was clearly feeling both shy and playful—she crooked her finger at Santos, strolled to the end of the hall, and ducked around the corner, waiting for the vampire to follow.
It didn’t take any extra encouragement.
Santos immediately followed his destiny.
Backing her way into an unoccupied stall filled with hay and several saddle blankets, Natalia lowered herself onto a haybale, pointed at the pile of blankets, and giggled. “You can take me home soon, Mr. Olaru; but first, you have to finish what you started.”
Chapter Thirty
The Old Cobblestone Well ~ Midnight
Zayda Patrone stared blankly, fixedly, at the harness and the thick cord of rope as Keitaro Silivasi tightened the belt, secured each loop, and tugged on each fastener to test its strength. The rope was anchored into the ground by a metal stake. Apparently, Xavier had thrust it deep between two flat stones atop the outside of the well, an easy enough feat for a werewolf, and Keitaro had assured Zayda that the stake was also secure.
She blinked several times, trying to slip into one of her old compartments, those cold, empty mental rooms, without windows or doors, that she had spent so much of her life moving in and out of. Despite the Silivasis’ careful plan, she knew she had to be ready for anything.
Ready to be taken by her father.
Ready to emerge from the well into the land of the Lycan.
And though she would have never shared her deepest fears or doubts with Keitaro, she had already reasoned it out: Perhaps there would be less torture this time. Xavier would view her as his own flesh and blood—and although he would undoubtedly give her away to some male, perhaps there wouldn’t be so many. Perhaps the abuse wouldn’t be quite as brutal…or often.
Her mind split again.
That compartment was much too dangerous…
And so her consciousness meandered to the next open room—fairy tales, wishes, and daydreams. Ah, how she wished she had her biological father’s powers, that she could shift into a werewolf and tear his bloody throat out, but such dreams were not to be.
Keitaro’s strong, sure hands snapped her out of her musings—he was helping her straddle the upper wall of the well. “Zayda,” he whispered, his eyes glued to hers. “Are you ready? Do you remember everything we talked about?” He didn’t say anything more specific, lest Xavier was close by, listening. Who knew if the werewolf was hovering inside the well, suspended on the edges of a half-open portal, or tucked behind a tree or a rock in the nearby woods, safely out of the reach of a wolf trap.
Zayda shuddered before nodding. “Yes.” She remembered. She needed to unfasten the harness and dive into the well; swim as fast as she could, deep into the earth; then hold her breath until Marquis and Nathaniel showed up.
She remembered.
Keitaro pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, and she almost wished he hadn’t—she needed to remain as numb as she could. “Be strong,” he uttered, and her throat constricted. He placed a small silver flashlight into the palm of her hand, flipped it on, and rotated her leg until both feet were pointed toward the bottom of the well. And then, without preamble or further gestures—she knew he would not say goodbye—he began to lower her into the cobblestone structure, gracefully working the rope hand over hand.
The black panther stirred restlessly on the branch of a giant willow tree, several miles away from the old cobblestone well, the Master Wizard inside its nimble body, burrowed deep inside his father’s mind: Nachari Silivasi could hear what Keitaro heard; he could see what Keitaro saw; and with such an open and unencumbered connection, he could feel what Keitaro felt.
His father was wound as tight as a drum, all his senses seeking outward. He was acutely aware of the time—every single second that ticked by—as he lowered Zayda Patrone into the well. And as Keitaro was perusing Zayda’s thoughts, Nachari had access to both.
Zayda’s mind was like an ancient Egyptian pyramid: a series of bleak, underground tunnels, meandering in every direction, each channel closed off from the world of the living. And just like an ancient mummy, she saw her descent into the well as a passageway to another world. Zayda did not expect to make it back. She was preparing herself for an afterlife, an existence far away from Dark Moon Vale.
No matter.
Nachari could not get caught up in Zayda’s terror.
He had to stay focused on the well…and his magick.
He rolled his haunches to release some stress and watched as Zayda watched—as his father watched through her—the darkening of the cobblestones as the female descended, deeper and deeper, into the belly of the well.
At last, the beam from the flashlight cast light upon the water, and Zayda caught her first glimpse of Arielle Nightsong. I see her, Zayda signaled telepathically, just as she had been instructed to do, but the heads-up had not been necessary. Keitaro and Nachari could see her too.
Thank the gods and goddesses!
The wizard and the Ancient Master Warrior breathed a sigh of relief in unison as Arielle’s damp copper hair reflected off the dim beam of light, and oddly enough, Zayda made an immediate internal comparison: She contrasted her thick amber braid to Arielle’s’ loose copper strands and wondered which woman’s hair Keitaro found more attractive.
Nachari blinked the nonsense away.
Zayda’s thoughts were truly scattered.
And truth be told: They would likely become progressively disjointed…increasingly inappropriate…as the exchange grew nearer.
He withdrew from her cognitive musings and anchored, instead, to the sole thread connected to the girl’s five senses: what she was seeing, smelling, touching, hearing, and tasting. Despite her dim awareness of her preternatural half, she was a lycan after all, and her senses were extremely heightened.
Arielle was breathing evenly.
She was clearly scared, as evidenced by the spike of adrenaline coursing through her veins, but Kagen’s mate was a warrior. She was no stranger to battle or conflict—and she wouldn’t panic easily.
Keitaro, on the other hand, was growing increasingly restless.
His anger was rising, his muscles were bunching, and his eyelids were literally twitching as he lowered Zayda those last few inches and gazed down into the well…zeroing in on the water with his preternatural vision.
The women remained deathly quiet.
The entire night grew still.
Other than the sound of rustling water brushing against ancient stones and the hoot of an owl in a distant treetop, not a single utterance could be heard.
To her credit, Zayda unbuckled the harness quickly and slipped gracefully into the ice-cold water, but perhaps to her detriment, she didn’t dive down—she stayed, instead, to help Arielle, securing her into the harness.
And that’s when Xavier Matista’s malevolent voice rang out, as if from inside a dark, ghostly chasm: “You lying bastard,” he spat. “There’s another vampire inside this well!”
The panther reared back in shock, trying to make sense of the werewolf’s words.
It wasn’t true!
He zeroed in on Marquis and Nathaniel’s positions: Both warriors were still miles away, burrowed deep underground, and waiting, prepared to tunnel to the bottom of the well.
And as for Kagen…
Nachari reached for the Ancient Master Healer’s essence and found him about half an acre north of the willow tree, crouched impatiently behind a large round
boulder, nearly desperate with rage and wracked with worry, focused entirely on his mate, Arielle.
What the hell was Xavier talking about?
There wasn’t any time to figure it out—
A pop, a sizzle, and a bright, rainbow-colored prism flashed at the waterline, deep inside the well, and Nachari knew the lycan had opened the portal.
The panther bounded down from the tree, landed on his feet as a vampire, and thrust both palms forward in the direction of the well, sending a blast of mystical power across the surface of the water while chanting a powerful holding spell, the gist of which was stay put, stay put, stay put!
It wouldn’t keep the portal from opening—or closing—but it would buy the Silivasis a couple of seconds.
Without hesitation, Kagen materialized at the top of the well and yanked on the rope with a fury, flipping his destiny out of the cobblestone depths like a fisherman retrieving a fly cast. He caught her as she jettisoned out of the water, even as Keitaro Silivasi dove past her, equally desperate to get to Zayda, who was finally swimming downward as she’d been instructed.
Zayda dove down…down…down into the dark musty pool, kicking her feet like a wild woman, and all the while, Marquis and Nathaniel bored through the earth with their oscillating bodies, speeding toward the bottom of the structure like two supernatural drill bits, determined to meet up with Zayda.
And Xavier Matista—he was a male on a mission.
He lunged from the portal, both desperate and feral, streaming like a water snake after Zayda and grasping wildly at her ankles with his claws.
One grasp.
One clutch.
It would only take a moment—just a tentative hold—and Xavier could snatch her back through the portal.
Chapter Thirty-One
The water was so incredibly cold.
Zayda felt the frigid bite all the way down to her bones.
What the hell had just happened?
She pursed her lips together as a glob of slimy green moss—or was that algae?—brushed across her eyes, her nose, and threatened to enter her mouth. She wanted to gag, but she had to keep kicking, keep swimming, keep tunneling down with her arms as propellers. She had to keep holding her breath so Nachari could regulate her breathing.
