by Tessa Dawn
Two sips of rage, one deep gulp of cruelty, a long, open-throated swallow of vengeance, arrogance, and self-absorption. The more he drank, the drunker he became, and the faster the goblet refilled with decadence.
But now, as he reclined beneath the tree, drunk, sexually sated, and needing to catch some shut-eye, all he felt was envy: Before now, he had been relatively content to serve as the de facto head of the Colony Guard—a punisher, an executioner—to do what he did best, violence for the sake of violence, brutality for the reward of release. But the more he drank from the goblet, the more defiant he became.
He had served the Dark Council for hundreds of years, kept them alive, protected and defended them, and they should have elevated his position—why hadn’t they? Achilles should have been one of the most important vampires—if not the most important vampire—in the Dark Ones’ Colony by now. He had equally tolerated Salvatore Nistor, provided safe space for the sorcerer to practice his magic, unimpeded, and that should have counted for something…more.
Much more…
Yes, Achilles was starting to yearn for more.
He didn’t know what more actually looked like but more power, more praise, more authority. And if he had to build the damn castle—the Lair of Achilles—one stone at a time, then so be it. If he ever got out of this forest, if he ever returned to the Colony, Kristina Riley Silivasi would help him do it. A new set of offspring every seventy-two hours—he would allow her one full day and night to rest between breeding—a patriarchy of sons, and hopefully daughters, to build Achilles an empire.
He would not have to worry about destroying a body.
He would not have to worry about hunting farther and farther away from the valley.
He would not have to find new prey to inseminate.
He would be the lone male, the only dark soldier, with a vampire-female from the house of Jadon, a destiny of sorts to call his own. Superior bloodlines. Superior worth. Only, he would know how to treat her—how to break her, how to command her—unlike his weak, self-righteous vampire cousins.
He would follow the lead of the ultimate patriarch, Prince Jaegar Demir, at the time of The Curse, stopping just short of slitting her throat to drink her blood. His fangs—and her jugular vein—would do just fine.
He folded his hands behind his neck and let his bulging arms fall to the sides.
Sleep was calling…
Time to rejuvenate.
Perhaps he would have sweet dreams of a better siren…a submissive siren…a siren he could claim forever. Perhaps he would have prescient dreams of Kristina.
Chapter Twenty
Dark Moon Vale ~ 1:00 a.m.
Alone in the front parlor of Napolean’s manse, Prince Jadon stood in stoic silence. As he awaited his royal sisters, he tried to steady his nerves by admiring the living history all around him: The artistry on the ceiling was positively divine, all the intricate detail in the hand-painted mural of Zeus and Apollo, both exquisite and stunning. The myriad of collected artifacts were as intriguing and they were provocative, so many statues and timeless mementos amassed over so many centuries, from Romania, Greece, Persia…even Egypt…
Napolean had truly seen the whole world.
And every corner of the sitting room—every window, niche, and archway—was encased in hand-carved white moldings, not unlike the castle Prince Jadon had grown up in, and the various windows, the glass itself, were constructed of frosted panes festooned with scenes of ancient battlements and engravings of the gods. Prince Jadon would have liked to spend hours in this rectory, to spend hours with Napolean—to spend hours, going forward, with his sisters—but the much-needed, long-awaited reunion with the latter had been forced to wait until this anxious moment, due to more imminent, pressing matters.
First, there had been the matter of Braden’s mother, Lily Bratianu—she had needed to be sutured, bathed, and dressed in a ceremonial robe before she was laid in repose, and Nachari Silivasi as well as his mate, Deanna, were still aiding the bereaved family with the heart-wrenching preparations, supporting Dario Bratianu and his young son, Conrad.
The female’s death had been so sudden and overwhelming…
The entire spectacle—the unnecessary slaughter—so gruesome…so heinous…so tragic.
Prince Jadon drew a cleansing breath and forced his ire to cool and his thoughts to pivot. There had also been the matter of Marquis Silivasi and Saber Alexiares, a matter that was still ongoing…
Prince Jadon wrung his hands together in both angst and contemplation. There was no way—absolutely no way—the warrior and the “dragon” were going to go along with Prince Jadon’s proffered agreement. As far as the two powerful males were concerned, it may as well have been a pact with the devil. And come what may—whether Prince Jadon prevailed in the final battle, or Prince Jaegar won the night—hell would freeze over, thrice times afresh, before the vampires would turn over their mates to be sacrificed.
And should the worst-case scenario occur, there was also the matter of Kristina Silivasi—something drastic had to be done to return her to the house of Jadon, where she belonged. The warriors, along with their sentinel brethren, were readying for war, and alas, that was the reason Prince Jadon had chosen—and offered—3 a.m. for the final conflict: Should something go desperately awry, he did not want his duplicitous brother to have a chance to regroup, to go back to the Colony, devise a new plan, and strike, once again, at the house of Jadon. Come what may, he wanted the outcome to be final…
He wanted Prince Jaegar’s time on earth to be finished.
And finally, there had been the matter of the Council of Wizards meeting with Fabian Antonescu, Niko Durciak, and Jankiel Luzanski, as Nachari Silivasi had remained tied up with the bereaved family and the delicate preparations. The wizards had been desperate to divine, once and for all and with absolute finality—or at least as much certainty as possible—whether or not Prince Jadon’s soul would wane along with the Millenia Harvest Moon and depart the body at 3 a.m., or not until moonset, at 11:46. They had been frantic to determine whether Braden would return, or whether they would be forced to bury his body next to his mother’s. Yet and still, there had been no conclusive answers.
Prince Jadon pinched the bridge of his nose, sucked in a long draw of air through his nostrils, and fingered the outline of a particularly exquisite Grecian statue, wondering at the skill of the artisan. He had not the time to discern the mysteries of the Millenia Harvest Moon, nor could he speak to the will of the gods—what the celestial beings planned to do, if anything, whatever they were doing, with the life and soul of Braden, even as their vampire children labored to fight for their future and to choose wisely, here on earth. He only knew that he had to prevail in the battle yet to come. This time, he had to win the conflict.
He had to slay Prince Jaegar.
The fate of the house of Jadon was resting on its patriarch’s shoulders.
His sisters’ lives were hanging in the balance, Marquis and Saber not excepted, and the honor of the female who had given her life—nay, lost it in such a violent, unnecessary demonstration of savagery—was his to avenge. To make right.
“Brother.” Ciopori’s lovely, expressive voice pierced the silence like a cool summer’s wind, and Prince Jadon spun around to behold her.
Goddess, she was as breathtaking as he remembered…
She was clad in a stately, flowing garment of ivory silk, with gold and auburn leaves embroidered into the fabric; her long, midnight hair billowed to her waist; and her golden eyes, dotted with amber sparkles, still shone like sun-drenched diamonds. Though her countenance was heavy, her brow was smooth and light, her bearing equal parts regal, composed, and elegant.
“Sister.” He crossed the room in an instant, enfolded her in his arms, and held on like she might evaporate if he let go of her, simply breathing in her familiar, springtime scent. “Ciopori,” he whispered in her ear.
She clung to his shoulders with equal ardor, and then she began to
sob. “There’s so much to say, so much to ask…I hardly know where to begin.”
He nestled his chin in the thick of her hair and nodded, feeling the same. And then he felt Vanya’s sweet, unmistakable presence as she tentatively approached her siblings. Prince Jadon released one arm, extended it outward, and grasped his youngest sister, encircling her shoulders and drawing her into the tight, intimate circle. “Vanya!” He laughed but not in gaiety. He laughed in relief. He laughed in pure joy. He laughed in love and gratitude. “My gods, the two of you made it!”
Vanya’s heart-shaped mouth curved upward in a smile, the soft edges of her full lips thinning. “Indeed, my brother; your efforts paid off. We survived the wilderness; we survived the long journey; we survived the long sleep until we were awakened.” She pulled free, took a graceful step back, and cupped Jadon’s face in her hands. “We survived to look upon your face once more.”
Jadon clasped his hands over Vanya’s and squeezed. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. There were no words—there simply were…no words—as the children of King Sakarias and Queen Jade remained in a familial circle, drew closer, and pressed their foreheads together. Arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists, the ancient royal family wept.
And time stood still…
Seconds became minutes…
Minutes threatened to become…too many.
An epoch of emotion flowed between them, and their souls embraced in timeless unity.
Finally, Prince Jadon spoke: “We haven’t much time—how deeply I regret this—but I must meet your children. I must hold them at least once. I must know how you are faring, and what happened when you arrived in this valley. Not from the perspective I held whilst in the spirit world but from your own mouths, your own stories. I must know that I did right by you both, so that it will fuel my resolve and guide my hand later this night, when I meet our wicked brother.”
Princess Vanya sniffled. “And we must know what happened that night in the alps of our homeland, what happened on the desolate mountaintop.”
“So that we might aid you as well, dear brother,” Ciopori said, “only this time, with our considerable magick.”
“Aye,” Jadon said, drawing back once again to take their full measure, “you are both so…grown up. So beautiful. So majestic. I haven’t the slightest doubt your powers are now considerable.”
Vanya’s laughter was like a robin’s song drifting upon a summer’s breeze. “And you, my brother, so strong…so handsome. I had almost forgotten how striking you were.” She swiftly corrected, “How striking you are.”
“I concur,” Ciopori said softly. “Your eyes…your smile…oh Jadon, how we’ve missed you.”
Prince Jadon smiled with warmth, appreciation, and he took his sisters’ hands. “I will cherish this memory forever, you know. Hold this singular image in the fore of my memory. And should the celestial gods smile upon us in the canyon—should the gods favor me with victory in battle—then I bid you, always hold the ones you love dear to your hearts. Live fully in every moment. Drink in their sweetness, their spirits, their presence. Remember that each moment is a blessing.”
A heavy set of footfalls preceded a silent, stealthy gait as Marquis Silivasi, followed by Saber Alexiares, passed through the archway into the sitting room and strolled toward the three ancient siblings, each vampire with a child in tow.
“Marquis,” Prince Jadon called by way of greeting.
“Greetings, my prince, my ancient…brother,” Marquis said reverently.
Prince Jadon held the warrior’s gaze a moment longer than was customary, in stark acknowledgment of the intimate blood tie. And then he turned his attention to Saber. “Dragon,” he said, using the soldier’s informal moniker. “How are you holding up? How is your son?”
“Brother…Your Grace,” Saber said, making note of each important title, and then he smiled. “Your nephew is doing fine—full of piss and vinegar.”
Prince Jadon chuckled.
Overwhelmed with joy, and living in the moment, just as Prince Jadon had bid them, Ciopori released Prince Jadon’s hand and pointed toward the raven-haired two-year-old, the bouncy child sitting atop his father’s shoulders. “This is Nikolai Jadon Silivasi,” she said proudly, emphasizing the child’s middle name.
Prince Jadon’s breath caught in his throat. He met Ciopori’s twinkling eyes and inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Her eyes glossed over with tears. She bit her bottom lip and nodded.
“And this little boy, the one full of piss and vinegar, is Lucien Sabino,” Vanya said, chuckling. She gestured toward the smaller child wriggling to break free from his father’s hold, and Prince Jadon couldn’t help but notice—the child’s eyes were the color of burnished coal, mixed with hazy, bronzed reflections, as if Vanya’s pale rose and Saber’s coal black had met in the middle, tussled, and merged.
Lucien Sabino and Nikolai Jadon…
Prince Jadon could barely conceal his emotion—it was truly overwhelming.
He waited for both sires to set their children down, and then he sank to his knees and opened his arms, ushering his nephews forward in a prayerful, heartfelt welcome. “Come,” he said, his voice thick with longing. “Come meet your uncle Jadon…” He almost choked on the children’s names as he spoke each one with veneration. “Nikolai…Lucien…my two little warriors.” He curled his lips around his teeth lest he utter something nonsensical…
Lest joy, gratitude, astonishment…and love…burst from his heart like a fountain.
He did not want to frighten the younglings or get so swept away in the moment that he forgot his perilous duty, his obligation to the house that revered him, the limited time he had left in this parlor to catch up with his sisters…get to know his new brothers, or the critical battle he had yet to prepare for.
Besides, he hadn’t any tears left to cry.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hear that?” Zeus asked, his spotted black and gray eyes hardening like granite. “The cacophony…the brutal symphony…the screams, the wails, the agony?”
Avoiding his piercing gaze, Kristina stared instead at the Dark One’s gnarly, pointed beard, using it as a focal object to obscure his savage features. She leaned back and away from his towering body, closer to the sulfuric pool and the loud, bubbling water, pressed both hands over her ears, and tried to dial down the noise. The rumble of the sulfuric pool and the bluster of the repulsive vampire.
Of course she could hear it…
Even through the thick limestone walls of an underground cavern…
Women screaming…
Sadistic vampires moaning…
The Dark Ones celebrating the Millenia Harvest Moon in the most despicable manner imaginable.
“I asked you a question,” Zeus snarled.
Kristina’s eyes met his, and she shivered. There was no soul inside this male. His savagery was more blatant than his piercings. This one was wild, barbaric, and way too keyed up. He was needling her, and he was looking for a reason—any reason—to attack, to make Kristina just another voice in the brutal, terrifying symphony. “Yes,” she murmured, trying to appease his sadism. “I can hear just fine.”
He took an intimidating step closer, his tight, rock-hard abs now at eye level, and bent over to run his fingers through her hair.
She drew back, turned her head to the side, and winced. “Don’t.”
He snarled again, and the tips of his ivory canines flashed beneath thick lips framing the rings in his mouth like a backlight.
Gross.
Kristina shut her eyes.
She needed a second to think, a chance to formulate a plan, but before her brain could come online, Zeus let go of her hair. He let the ringlets fall to her shoulders and squatted down in front of her. “Look at me…bitch.”
She grinded her teeth, opened her eyes, and glared right at him.
“You’re a hot-tempered little thing, aren’t you?” He paused
. “Princess Red?” The corner of his mouth turned up in an evil, condescending smirk. “You should guard your thoughts more carefully—your memories are like an open book.”
Fuck you. She thought it deliberately. Can you hear that, asshole?
Oh, hell, what was she doing?
The backhand came out of nowhere, flipping her off the edge of the pool and into the natural sulfuric hot springs, her head ringing, her teeth rattling, pain overwhelming her senses. And as she flailed her arms, gulped a mouthful of water, her childhood, early years, and entrance into the house of Jadon flashed before her in an instant: her mother and all of Kiki Riley’s cruel, predatory boyfriends; life on the streets, the constant threats while being a homeless child; the Dark One who had attacked her in Dark Moon Vale; Dirk and his fist, his boots, his razor-sharp tongue, all the degrading insults and humiliating beatings.
The pain…
The rage and shame…
And the insufferable nature of all of it.
She shot out of the water and gasped for air, her silk black vest molding around her breasts and waist like a corset, her raspberry skirt drenched and clinging to her hips.
No more!
Reaching across the limestone ledge, she quickly scanned the low, angular outcropping for a hanging stalactite, broke it free from the cavern, and spun around in one smooth motion, swinging it like a baseball bat. The jagged edge caught Zeus by the upper jaw, opened a gash in his cheek, and ripped out his lip ring. “I’m no longer human!” Kristina shouted. Fuck, she was committing suicide! But she had attended all of Nathaniel and Jocelyn’s self-defense classes—hell, she had even worked privately with Mateo Devera.
And she was no longer human…
Zeus reached up in shock, grasped the side of his face, dipped his fingers in the blood, and just stared at them. Then he roared like a prehistoric creature, shaking several stalactites loose before diving across the pool at Kristina.
