by Tessa Dawn
If only that were true…
“So, what’s on your agenda?” Nachari asked.
Braden’s eyebrows hitched up and his jaw dropped open. Was he kidding?
Nachari shook his head. “I meant this morning. One hour, one minute at a time. Lots of ceremonies and festivities today—you’re welcome to all of them, any of them, just as long as you stay tight with your entourage.”
Braden nodded. “Yeah, I get the protocol.” He pushed off the sink, folded his arms beneath his pecs, and quickly changed gears, shifting back to Nachari’s question. “Fabian said that last night’s moon will fully set by 10:49 a.m., and tonight’s moon will begin rising at 8:59 p.m., ‘to be exact.’ So, my thought is, hop in the shower, swing by the Dark Moon Lodge to visit with my parents and Conrad, then maybe meet up with the sentinels, Napolean, and Fabian by 10:45. You know, just to be safe.”
Nachari nodded in agreement. “Makes sense to me. Were you thinking the King’s manse?”
“No,” Braden answered abruptly. “Not the manse.” He shook his head, emphatically. “The queen will be there, at least in and out, and Tiffany will be wherever Brooke is, with Roman in tow, and that’s to say nothing about all the decorating and preparations going on in the courtyard, whatever Ciopori and Vanya are whipping up for tonight’s Homage Ceremony. Nachari, I don’t…” He paused to collect his thoughts and choose his words more carefully. “I don’t want anyone who doesn’t have to be around me—that close around me—to be anywhere near me when the harvest moon rises. Does that make sense?”
Nachari nodded slowly. “So then…”
“What about the lake?” Braden offered. “I mean, not the huge one outside the Dark Moon Lodge, or the southeast basin near the hot springs, but Santos’ private reservoir, part of his hidden cove? The way I figure, the sentinels have to be with me anyway, right?”
“True.”
“Do you think Napolean and Fabian will mind?”
Nachari shook his head. “I think Napolean and Fabian will be mostly in and out. While they’ve divided their duties and placed others in charge of the various ceremonies, events, and sacred rites, I’m sure they’re still gonna want to stop in, participate here and there. But definitely by 8:59, they’ll make their way to the lake house if that’s the place you desire.”
Braden closed his eyes. “Oh, shit.” He opened them and frowned. “What about Natalia and Zeri—they’ll still be there, won’t they?”
Nachari averted his eyes for a second, focusing inward as if puzzling it out. “No,” he finally answered. “I’ll give Keitaro a call. I’m sure he won’t mind if Natalia and Zeri join him and Zayda at the Homage Ceremony this night, then remain at the homestead until morning—Zayda and Natalia are very good friends. But do you mind if I ask…” His voice trailed off as Braden waited. “If I ask about Kristina? Don’t you want to see her, hang out with her today, maybe at least—”
Braden waved his hand through the air, cutting Nachari off in midsentence. “I already handled that last night.”
“Handled that?” Nachari drew back, his expression instantly wary. “What does that mean?”
Braden swallowed a lump in his throat and avoided direct eye contact. “It’s not what it sounds like.” He sighed. “I just meant…” He paused to catch his breath—what did he mean? “I already went to see her last night, before I showed up at the compound. We said everything we needed to say.”
Nachari’s forehead creased with concern, and his expression dimmed. “You said everything you needed to say?” He repeated Braden again. “Son?”
Braden shook his head. “I, um, I can’t, Nachari. Can we just leave that alone?”
Nachari became the epitome of stillness. His brow smoothed out, but the wariness still showed in his eyes. “The two of you are promised, Braden. Maybe not right now, but sometime in the future, Kristina will be your—”
“Leave it alone,” Braden repeated, his voice sounding deeper than he remembered.
Nachari took a measured step back and linked his hands behind his back, appraising Braden thoughtfully. “A lot on your plate, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Braden said.
“I get it. I do, but just keep in mind, son, that fear is a horrible counselor. You’ve got this, Braden. We’ve got this, Braden. Everything is going to be okay.”
Braden met the wizard’s thoughtful, penetrating eyes and held his gaze for a pregnant moment.
Nachari didn’t know that.
No one could possibly know that.
The blood of an ancient, powerful prince was flowing through Braden’s veins, and when the clock struck nine—okay, well, 8:59 to be exact—how had Fabian put it? The celestial gods would drench the earth with power and open a channel between the celestial sphere and this planet, allowing their offspring access to pure, undiluted energy from all six directions. As would the dark lords…
And while, technically, Braden was not the offspring of the original celestial ancestors—he had been made Vampyr, sired, not born—that blood in his veins was still churning: Drink this blood and welcome life. Fabian had placed Prince Jadon’s blood in Braden for safekeeping, and he had commanded it—no, conjured it—actually bonded the blood itself to this night’s Millenia Harvest Moon. According to the High Mage, who had done the deed, the blood would ripen, fully awaken, and activate.
Sure, it was originally supposed to be a catalyst, an insurance policy to protect the princesses, make sure they were found wherever Fabian had placed them to rest in an enchanted sleep, but now?
Who the hell knew…
Not Fabian.
Not Napolean.
And despite the goodness in his heart, not Nachari Silivasi, though Braden wished his mentor were right.
“Son, are you okay?” Nachari asked.
Braden nodded, unconvincingly.
“You sure?”
He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head in a brief come-what-may gesture.
“What about Kristina?” Nachari held up one hand in a sign of both peace and apology. “Not gonna pry. I’ll leave it alone. Just tell me one thing: With regard to the two of you, is Kristina okay?”
Well, wasn’t that just the million-dollar question, the one Braden refused to dwell on. He couldn’t. He just…couldn’t. But Nachari was way too insightful to bullshit. He had to give the Master Wizard…something. “Truth?”
“Always,” Nachari said.
“No. I doubt she’s okay.” There. He had said it. He moved the topic along, just as swiftly, uncrossing his arms but stiffening his shoulders. “But she will be. I’m sure of it.”
Nachari didn’t press any further. He gestured toward the large, walk-in shower, encased in slabs of marble, frameless glass walls, and fitted with a sleek copper Roman soaking tub at the back of the enclosure, and did his damnedest to lighten the mood and change the subject. “Well, you’d better hop to it. I’ll go get dressed, myself. Just one more question?”
Braden started to frown, but he caught it and checked it, on purpose.
“The Dark Moon Lodge: Whose Mustang are we taking? Your King Cobra or my vintage Calypso?”
Braden smiled, immediately perking up. “I say both. Maybe we engage in a little harvest moon competition of our own?” His smile ripened into a mischievous, taunting smirk. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid to race me.”
Nachari’s ensuing laughter filled the lofty brownstone to the rafters. “Afraid to race you...”
“You’re repeating me again.”
That grin…that regal, stunning, arrogant grin…the one that made females swoon and males roll their eyes; Nachari was the same proud, powerful male he had been that night Braden had accompanied him to meet Jocelyn Levi, Nathaniel’s newfound destiny, in the Ancient Master Warrior’s downstairs living room. So maybe…
Just maybe…
Nothing had changed.
At least, for this moment, all was right with the world.
Kristina stood in the narrow, s
oftly lit hallway just outside her penthouse front door, her bare feet nestled on dark, large-planked floors, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a plain white envelope, as she watched a skinny, batshit-crazy human practically run down the hall and dart into an elevator, having just handed Kristina the envelope.
“I have an urgent message from Bray-den-brat-ee-ahn-ooo.” She’d pronounced Braden’s name so slowly and carefully, emphasizing every single syllable as if her life depended upon her diction, that Kristina had been rendered speechless. “He said to keep it a secret.” And then just like that, the slight, skinny woman had turned tail and run. If Kristina hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the crazy lady thought Kristina had a hidden gat and, any moment now, she was going to pull it out and shoot her.
Kristina had almost stopped her.
She had almost run after her.
But the poor, loony female had been perspiring like she’d just finished a two-hour cardio workout, and her knobby knees had been trembling so violently, she had run in wobbly, unbalanced zigzags.
Who the hell knocks on a stranger’s door at seven in the morning, anyway?
Just fifteen minutes after sunrise?
And where the hell did Braden find this crazy female?
Why?
He could’ve just called Kristina…
Curiosity getting the best of her, she glanced one last time down the hall toward the elevator, then padded back inside. The moment she locked her front door behind her, she leaned back against the eight-foot, solid mahogany-and-glass panel and tore open the envelope.
The letter was at least a page long, and the handwriting—
This wasn’t Braden’s!
The loops were too lavish, as in not from this century, the strokes were too bold, and the ink, well, it didn’t resemble a Bic pen or Sharpie—it looked more like deep black oil, as if someone had actually used a quill and liquid toner.
Her stomach tightened.
Something wasn’t right.
Braden would have never taken the time to do something this lavish—he would have just hit Kristina up with a text.
She started reading…
Princess Red,
Kind of has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Or at least it could if you would give me a chance…
I’m not one for wasting time or words, so I’ll cut right to the chase—I want you. I always have.
Seems to me your life in the house of Jadon is only half what it was meant to be: living all by yourself in that lonely penthouse apartment, waiting for the day when you might—or might not—mate Braden Bratianu, assuming he doesn’t find another, or the gods don’t give him a chosen destiny. Stranger shit has happened in the vale!
By now you know I’m not just a human, and you also know I do my research. Fuck yeah, when I really want something…someone…I go all out. And that’s how I know how the house of Jadon has really treated you: how Marquis killed your lover, Dirk (guy was an asshole, no doubt, but still, not Marquis’ call to make); how Marquis claimed you when he didn’t really want you, all the while messing around with Ciopori behind your back; how he agreed to take care of you like a favorite puppy, pay all your bills and “house you” close to home (the car was a nice touch, but damn, you’re meant to be a princess, are you not?). It’s also how I know that Saber played you, that “Ramsey” played you, and that Braden is playing you now. You’re like that one single vampire female that no one really wants, but everyone likes to toy with. Sure, you’re a member of the family but always on the perimeter, kind of like the redheaded stepchild…with braces. LOL No pun intended.
Don’t hate, Kristina. Truth is truth. Except for the “truth” you’ve been taught about the house of Jaegar.
No torture, no death, no trading your soul for immortality.
No submission, no degradation, no constant rejection—
AT LEAST NOT FOR YOU. Never for you!
You’re different, Kristina. You’re already a vampire. You, my love, would be treated like a queen. The one and only queen in the entire house of Jaegar. You would live in wealth and splendor; you could come and go as you please; sex, pregnancy, and bringing a child into this world would not be a death sentence, not for you and me. Our children would be demigods. Hell, they might even be born female. And don’t get it twisted, I would never share you—when was the last time a man loved you so well it made your toes curl as you screamed his name? When was the last time your body caught fire and burned with so much pleasure you forgot your own name? When was the last time you felt wanted, safe, and completely worshipped? Probably never.
Think it over, Princess Red—what have you got to lose?
What do you stand to gain…
Other than power, pleasure, privilege, passion, and position.
You weren’t created to be with a boy—you were perfected to be with the best. I see it. I know it. I want it.
I want you, Kristina. Forever by my side.
Yes, in the house of Jaegar, among your own kind. So don’t knock it until you try it. Just let your mind wander a bit, consider the possibilities…my hands on your breasts…my lips on your...
Every day.
Every night.
Come to me, Kristina. No compulsion, no tricks, no fear of abduction—come to me of your own free will and let me love you as you were meant to be loved. Think about it. I’ll be in touch.
Forever, your not-so-secret admirer,
AZ
P.S. I didn’t mean to frighten you last night—I only wanted to catch you alone so the two of us could talk.
Kristina dropped the letter like the paper was on fire. She leaped away from the door—and the letter—prancing on her tiptoes, as if it might grow teeth and bite her. And then she ran to the other side of the room. She gagged, almost retching in her mouth, as she stared at the unfolded paper on the foyer floor and shivered.
AZ.
Achilles Zahora.
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…
What the actual hell?
Why?
How?
Since when?
Achilles wanted Kristina!?
No way.
No. Way.
This wasn’t happening.
She drew several deep breaths in through her nose, out through her mouth, her petite chest rising with every breath as she tried to calm her nerves. She should call Deanna, or maybe Vanya? Perhaps Ciopori—she was both family and a powerful princess!
No, she should call Keitaro or Marquis—
Fuck that—maybe she should just go straight to the king!
And Braden…
Holy shit…Braden!
Braden would be apoplectic; enraged wasn’t even the word.
And he had so much on his plate right now, the Millenia Harvest Moon…
Shit—that was today, wasn’t it? The omen was already here…
Dear gods, she didn’t know what to do.
Three hard, crisp knocks sounded against the penthouse front door, and Kristina nearly leaped out of her skin. Her adrenaline surged, the hair stood up on her arms, and her heart began to race in earnest. Eyes frightened and wide, she froze in place, her feet planted to the floor like two concrete blocks cemented to the plush ivory throw rug. She scanned the room, glancing left then right, before eyeing the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass sliders that provided a panoramic view of the vale.
The patio!
She couldn’t shape-shift or fly like Braden, but she was Vampyr—she could jump.
She could call out to Keitaro again…and jump!
“Room service.” A human male called out from the other side of the door, and Kristina knew he was human because she recognized the concierge’s voice: Adam Dorsey. He had been at the casino longer than Kristina, and although she had never pried or asked, she assumed he worked directly for Marquis, one of the house of Jadon’s loyal human servants from a generational family who knew about their kind.
Still, she couldn’t be sure.
Achilles ha
d gotten to the skinny blonde woman, the one who had delivered the letter. No wonder she was so strange—scared shitless. What kind of compulsion had he seared into her head? And he could possibly get to Adam too.
She gulped, her Adam’s apple rolling up and down. “I didn’t order anything, Adam,” she croaked from across the room.
Nothing.
No response.
He probably hadn’t heard her.
She tiptoed quietly across the floor to the door, all the while glancing back and forth at the patio sliders—she might not have time to open them, but it didn’t matter. She was a vampire. She could heal. If she had to run and dive through the glass, so be it. If Adam touched the door, if the handle moved, even an inch, if she heard a crack, a pop, anything that felt suspicious…
Run!
She held her breath for a protracted moment, then gathered every ounce of courage she could muster. “Adam.” She projected her voice through the thick mahogany panel. “I didn’t order anything from room service.”
“Good morning, K!” he called in a perfectly normal, cheery voice. “I know that. I have some flowers for you.” He sounded so pleased, so excited.
The horizontal glass panels in Kristina’s front door were stacked one above the other, between alternate panels of solid wood, and heavily frosted for privacy. No one could see in or out. And since Kristina didn’t have her smartphone in hand—nor was she seated in front of her monitor—she could not make use of the hallway security camera. She rose to the tips of her toes and glanced through the old-fashioned peephole. Yep, Adam Dorsey, all five feet, nine inches of the prim and proper concierge, his meticulous dark brown hair combed into place, standing in the hall with his chin up, back arched, and spine ruler-straight, holding a gargantuan, heavy, exorbitant glass vase filled with twelve long-stem red roses, the petals the deepest red Kristina had ever seen, the thorns shaved away, and all surrounded by baby’s breath and resplendent pale green foliage.
Against her better judgment, Kristina stepped back and opened the door. It wasn’t that she had lost her wariness or that she trusted Adam, fully—it was just that she needed a minute to think. She needed Adam to go away. She needed a chance to collect her wits, and it was only a vase full of flowers. Besides, what if the arrangement was from Braden?
