Blood Web_A Blood Curse Novel

by Tessa Dawn

  Stressful much? Saxson purred in his mind, chuckling lightly beside him.

  Very funny, Santos replied. This damn tie feels like a hangman’s noose.

  You could always strip naked, Saxson teased, get to know the king a whole lot better, although I’m not sure Napolean would appreciate it.

  The gibe did the trick, and Santos relaxed, watching as Napolean reached out to take the baby from Ramsey’s arms, and Natalia followed the king’s every move, watching the monarch like a hawk, her dark, mesmerizing eyes instinctively going to Laiseri’s head and neck, and the exchange of hands beneath the child’s torso. She was making sure they were supporting him properly.

  Santos’ throat constricted, and he made a mental note to reassure his destiny later, to let her know that vampires did not break easily. Even if they dropped Zeri, he’d probably be okay, and even if something broke, they could probably fix it. Short of draining his blood, beheading him, removing his heart, or incinerating his body, the kid was going to be just fine.

  Wow. Saxson dipped into his mind again. Is that what you plan to tell her? Newsflash, brother: way too much information. Piece of fatherly advice? Don’t use the words ‘blood,’ ‘drop,’ ‘break,’ or ‘beheading’ in conjunction with your child unless you would like to be incinerated by Natalia.

  At this, Santos snarled. Get out of my head, Saxson.

  Ramsey grunted. You’re projecting, warrior. Take a breath. Chill out. And Saxson’s right—you may as well prepare to put that kid in a car seat, add bumper pads to his crib, and get your ass chewed off if you don’t cradle his neck every second that you hold him. Makes no damn sense, but there it is.

  Santos frowned for a moment. Good thing our women didn’t see how we grew up.

  No doubt, Ramsey grunted.

  And this caught Napolean’s attention. The fearsome king leveled a stern, heated gaze at all three warriors, ostensibly reminding them of the seriousness of the ceremony, and all three formidable vampires averted their eyes like children.

  Both Julien and Saber chuckled in the background.

  “Now then,” Napolean said, strengthening his voice and regarding Santos directly. “The name pleases me, warrior, and there is no objection from the celestial beings?”

  Have they really ever objected? Saber asked on the collective sentinel bandwidth, from his place behind Saxson.

  “Saber,” Napolean bellowed out loud, and the one affectionately called dragon smirked.

  All humor left the pier as the sovereign king bent his head, his fangs began to elongate, and Natalia audibly gasped.

  “It’s okay, my love,” Santos reassured her, placing a firm hand on her lower back.

  “Be careful,” she whispered to Napolean, and the ancient king smiled, the visage of those ivory fangs flashing in the waning sunlight possibly making things worse.

  Santos caressed Natalia’s back as the king pierced the child’s wrist vertically along his radial artery and drank slowly from his vein.

  Natalia swayed to her right, and Santos caught her, setting her back upright. “Breathe, cara mia,” he whispered in her ear. “Everything is fine.” Laiseri squirmed a bit, but he didn’t cry out, and this seemed to satisfy his mother. She smoothed the skirt of her tri-layered dress, straightened her back, and raised her chin, all at once filling Santos’ heart with warmth.

  Napolean sealed the wound with venom and held the child away from his body so he could look into Laiseri’s eyes. “Welcome to the house of Jadon, Laiseri Andrei Olaru. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”

  He gave the child back to Ramsey, who pressed an unusually tender kiss on the baby’s forehead. “Welcome to our family, Laiseri Andrei Olaru, and to the house of Jadon. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”

  Saxson took the baby next and repeated the refrain before passing him to Tiffany, who then passed him to Kiera.

  Julien, Saber, and Keitaro went next, while Zayda watched on with fondness and appreciation—she was not a member of the house of Jadon, but she certainly seemed right at home, and she could not have looked happier for Natalia, which raised her estimation in Santos’ eyes.

  Once Laiseri had been greeted by everyone, he was given back to his father, who held him against his heart and pulled Natalia beneath his arm.

  Napolean addressed the couple directly. “By the laws which govern the house of Jadon, I accept your union as the divine will of the gods and hereby sanction your mating. Natalia Antoinette Giovanni-Olaru, do you come now of your own free will to enter the house of Jadon?”

  Natalia’s dark, mocha eyes beamed with hope and love, the honey-brown sparkles woven into their depths alighting with true sincerity. “I do.”

  “Hold out your wrist,” Santos instructed, and Natalia didn’t hesitate to do so.

  She neither cringed nor whimpered as Napolean raised her arm to his mouth, bent to pierce her vein, and shrouded his fangs with his long, silver-and raven-black locks.

  She closed her eyes as he drank, which made Santos feel a bit…funny…but he wasn’t about to challenge his king, ask if he might be taking a little too long. Once again, Saber Alexiares snickered in the background, and Santos knew the other vampires were catching his territorial vibe. He took a long, deep, calming breath and waited for the monarch to finish.

  Finally, he thought, as Napolean pulled away, sealed the puncture wounds, and smiled at the couple—at the family—like nothing uncomfortable had just happened.

  Natalia seemed fine and completely unaware of Santos’ momentary discomfort. At least her eyelids were open, and she hadn’t moaned aloud—that would have been pretty incendiary.

  Napolean regarded Santos thoughtfully. “You good?”

  Santos bit his bottom lip, then forced a respectful nod. “Never better, milord.”

  Napolean laughed softly. “Very well.” He held up both hands, congratulated the couple, and just like that, the ceremony was over.

  Santos’ shoulders relaxed, and he loosened his tie, even as Zayda crowded forward and asked if she could hold the baby.

  Santos thought he said yes.

  He thought he passed Laiseri over gently…carefully…but the entire moment was a blur.

  He was too absorbed in thoughts of his destiny to pay attention to any of the guests. A soft ray of sunlight was streaming from behind a fluffy white cloud, even as the golden orb began to dip beneath the mountain skyline, giving way to dusk, and the golden glitter shimmered off the hidden lake like a celestial nimbus, radiating around the couple and the pier. And in that moment, it was all so crystal clear: how well Santos and Natalia were truly suited…

  Yes, her beauty was astounding, and his attraction to his mate ran bone deep—blood deep—but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Natalia Antoinette had an overdeveloped left brain; it was evident in her quick wit, her problem-solving, her computer prowess, and her expert hacking. Yet that day he had found her in the barn with Midnight, she had sought solitude in nature and repose from the bustle of life. By comparison, Santos was also considered a genius in the house of Jadon, a guru with electronics and technology, yet he chose to live beside a hidden crystal lake—he needed the isolation and the tranquility.

  Serenity aside, and at the end of the day, Santos was still a sentinel in the house of Jadon: a mercenary, a hunter, and a hired killer who would protect the Vampyr and his king with his life. He did what needed to be done in a brutal world filled with vampires, lycans, and formidable human enemies.

  That could have made him unapproachable.

  It could have made a life with him seem daunting or overwhelming…

  But Natalia Giovanni was no stranger to violence, conflict, or martial duty—she wasn’t a shrinking violet, and she wouldn’t shy away from darkness or brutality.

  She had accompanied Santos to the dark twin’s sacrifice.

  And she had been stoic, strong, and infinitely supporti
ve.

  Yes, the celestial gods had truly gotten this one right.

  And Santos Olaru would be forever grateful…

  He turned to his destiny, ArabianNight500, enfolded her in his arms, and whispered harshly in her ear, “Do you have any idea how much I want you? How badly I need you? How deeply I love you, vita mia?”

  Not my dear.

  Not my heart.

  He called her my life…

  She laid her head on his chest, pressed her ear to his heart, and sighed in utter contentment. “Sentinel2000,” she whispered, “I waited for you for a lifetime.”

  Epilogue

  Gwendolyn Hamilton hugged her knees to her chest as she perched on the large, uneven boulder and watched the team of vampires—yes, vampires!—continue to inspect the old cobblestone well. Her captors were an unlikely crew: Braden Bratianu, the tall, muscular, good-looking hero who had rescued her from The Fortress; Kristina Silivasi, Braden’s girlfriend or companion—Gwen wasn’t quite sure what the redhead was to Braden, other than extremely possessive over every inch of his hard-cut body; Deanna Dubois, who was a stunning beauty with a generous spirit to match; and Deanna’s mate, Nachari Silivasi, who honestly defied common words.

  Nachari was extraordinary.

  The kind of gorgeous that stole a woman’s breath, made her lose her words and stutter, and caused her heart to skip a beat every time he spared her a glance.

  Yeah, he was that damn beautiful…

  And, in truth, all of them had been nothing but kind, generous, and accommodating to Gwen since the moment they had taken her in at the brownstone. Kristina had bought a host of new clothes and shoes for her “boyfriend’s” house-guest; Braden and Nachari had bent over backward to make Gwen feel at home; and Deanna had gone so far as to redecorate one of the luxurious guest rooms just to suit Gwen’s personal taste—as if the panoramic mountain views from the private balcony, and the deluxe adjoining bathroom, with its decadent rain-shower and hammered-copper clawfoot tub, were not enough already. Gwen was living in the lap of luxury, and she was being treated like a queen. It was almost enough to make her forget her predicament…

  Almost.

  Not quite.

  One simple truth remained: Gwen was still being held captive, against her will.

  Nearly seven weeks ago, Gwen had been abducted from a ski resort and taken to a brutal fortress to be sold as a high-end prostitute and used as a human slave. Fortunately, she had been rescued thirty-two days later, but her rescuers had been a horde of vampires.

  Vampires!

  Immortal, blood-sucking creatures of the night.

  Not only were they real, but they were living in Dark Moon Vale, and for some inexplicable reason, they refused to let her go. Yes, they were treating her kindly, and yes, they expressed regret for having to keep her “a little bit longer”—whatever that meant—but from all Gwen had learned and overheard, they could erase her memories of the entire event, fill in the time-gap with something far more pleasant, and deposit her safely, back at home in Denver, where she could get on with her life and her post-graduate plans.

  She could go back to her friends—they had to be worried sick.

  She could reunite with her parents, and lord knew, she missed Mark and Mary Hamilton more than words could express.

  Yet and still, here she was, her rear end planted on a rough, dirty rock, watching a group of ungodly beautiful creatures circle around a well like it contained the secrets to the very universe in its depths. Braden was taking samples from the stones and the water. The wizard, Nachari, was doing heaven-knows-what with his fingertips and some creepy spells, and the women—Deanna and Kristina—kept asking questions about invisible doors, portals, and the interior of the structure reeking with the smell of vampires, according to some girl named Zayda. And much to Gwen’s chagrin, there was a whole lot of talk about something that sounded a lot like…werewolves.

  No.

  Just no.

  Gwen refused to let her mind entertain the thought—she had more than enough supernatural freakishness to process as it stood. She was not going to entertain the thought of werewolves.

  Just then, Nachari Silivasi placed his fingertips on a pale, wheat-colored stone that sat atop the well, and began tracing the dark gray mortar all around it. He had done this a dozen times already, outlining stone after stone—but this time, he absently glanced over his shoulder at Gwen, and the stone began to sizzle: The wheat-colored rock turned molten red; an electric charge filled the mountain air; and a high-pitched whir vibrated through the canyon.

  The vampire drew back his hand.

  He stared fixedly at his fingertips.

  And then he blew what appeared to be icy shards over the singed flesh in order to cool it.

  He touched the stone again.

  Nothing happened.

  He let his hand fall to his side, and he glanced once more at Gwen—

  Nothing happened.

  He placed two fingers on the rock, locked his gaze with Gwen’s, and pop, sizzle, flash!

  Flames, electricity, another buzzing sound.

  He withdrew his hand with a quickness—his fingertips were literally on fire, but he didn’t bother to put it out.

  “Shit,” Gwen murmured, standing up on the rock. What the hell was happening?

  “Gwen,” Nachari said in that smooth, cocky tenor. “Come here for a minute.”

  Gwen shook her head so briskly her ears began to ring.

  He pitched his voice an octave lower. “Gwendolyn, come to me.”

  Deanna and Kristina backed away from the well, even as Braden drew closer, and Gwen’s feet, defying her better judgment and willpower, began to inch their way down from the boulder. “No,” she spoke out loud, trying to regain control over her body. “Stop, stop, stop!” She dropped onto her butt and scooted down from the rock. “Stop it, Nachari!” she shouted, realizing he was using some sort of compulsion.

  His amazing forest-green eyes softened. “Shh. It’s okay. Come. Take my hand.” He extended the limb that wasn’t burning.

  “I’d rather not,” Gwen squeaked, her voice betraying her terror. Up until this point, the vampires had never exerted their power over her, and Gwen didn’t like it one bit. Nachari crooked his fingers, and her feet kept right on shuffling. “Please, Nachari. That well freaks me out.”

  “It’s just energy,” Braden offered, trying to smooth over the situation. “What’d you get your degree in, again? Integrative Physiology? So you took a whole lot of science, right? Think of it this way: Nachari’s just doing a controlled experiment, but neither one of us is going to let anything hurt you.”

  Gwen felt her face flush and grow pale, as if all the blood was draining out of it. “His fucking hand is on fire,” she argued. “And he doesn’t seem to give a shit.”

  Nachari smiled, and despite her fear, her heart went pitter-patter. “I’m blocking the nerve impulses right now—can’t feel a thing. Trust me, Gwen; it’ll only take a moment.”

  Gwen’s eyes shot nervously from Nachari to Deanna, from Deanna to Kristina, and from Kristina back to the wizard. They were all as surprised as she was—no one knew what the hell was happening with this well. Against her better judgment—and well, because she had no real choice in the matter—she slowly padded her way to Nachari and reluctantly took his free hand.

  He held hers gently.

  He rotated the trunk of his body toward the well.

  And he placed the full palm of his burning limb on top of the stone in question.

  There was an eerie moment of silence…stillness…hushed anticipation.

  And then a neon bolt of lightning lit up the heavens, followed by a thunderous explosion, an echo so enormous it shook the stones loose from the cylinder before crackling outward in waves across the valley.

  Another bolt of lightning shot up from the well—not down from the heavens—and the pure electrostatic discharge radiated outward in a horizontal circle, wave after wave of lethal energy
coursing sideways through the air like a burning scythe chopping wheat from a field.

  Nachari threw Gwen to the ground, dived beyond her body, and leveled Deanna and Kristina before the wave could hit them. Braden lunged on top of Gwen’s back and shielded her body with his heavy torso. The once high-pitched whir became a piercing, deafening drone—a never-ending, cascading echo across the valley—as the group hovered beneath the fire line waiting for the sudden mystical storm to pass.

  “Build a holding cell, Braden!” Nachari shouted from the other end of the well. “Draw carbon from the living organisms around you and bond each atom covalently to four other atoms.” Even as he spoke, his hands were working furiously, and a thin, sparkling dome was beginning to form over the vampire and the two other women.

  Braden arched his back, pushed up on his biceps, and raised his body a few inches off Gwen to call out to the Master Wizard. “A holding cell or a restraining cell? You want me to construct it out of diamonds? Nachari, that’ll neutralize our power! It’ll leave us completely defenseless!”

  “I’ve already called out to Marquis. When the storm is over, he’ll come and unlock the barriers; but yes, you need a multiple layered cell, constructed from the strongest element possible. Build it to contain and restrain—nothing in, nothing out. Braden, the only energy surge I’ve ever seen like this was from Napolean Mondragon, when he was harnessing the freakin’ sun. This storm is being created by a vampire, and whoever he is, he’s drawing from my power—he’s a thousand times stronger than you or I. If you don’t build that cell, you and Gwen will die.”

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  The vampire’s arcane heart beat in his chest at a steady, even rhythm just as it had done for decades…centuries…millennia.