Blood Shadows

by Tessa Dawn

  “Yes,” Kagen answered, holding her gaze. “I was.”

  “And I was following you to your car,” Nathaniel added. “That is the presence you felt around you.”

  “But…how…why?” she asked.

  Nathaniel sighed. “Because we suspected that you might be Nachari’s destiny, and we needed to keep you safe…and close by.” He held out both hands palms up. “That is the truth, Ms. Dubois.”

  “And,” Kagen added, “your drawings…we don’t understand them any more than you do, but we have been desperate to try and save our brother…to hold him to us, keep him on this earth. Perhaps you have answers that can help.”

  Deanna shook her head vigorously as if she could simply erase the reality of what she was hearing with the motion. “No…this isn’t possible. None of this is possible…people don’t get sucked down through the earth…or belong to other people—”

  “We are not people,” Kagen said softly.

  Deanna looked up at him then, noticing that his golden-brown eyes, with their deep silver speckles, were practically glowing. “You’re…you’re a vampire?” she repeated, half disbelieving that such outrageous words were even coming from her mouth.

  Kagen nodded slowly, and there was an emerging kindness in his eyes.

  She smiled almost sarcastically, feeling suddenly light-headed. “Then show me your fangs, Mr. Vampire.”

  Kagen looked at Marquis for permission, and the huge one nodded almost imperceptibly. He took a step back then, almost as if he were trying not to frighten her, and his eyes flashed a solid red before two long, razor-sharp points began to extend from beneath his upper lip, causing it to curl back in a wolfish snarl. A barely discernible growl escaped his throat, but Deanna heard it for what it was—raw, animalistic, and not at all human.

  The ground dropped out from beneath her feet.

  As the doctor glided forward to catch her, it no longer mattered that she might be insane. It no longer mattered that she had come to Dark Moon Vale of her own volition to find the mysterious man from her drawings. It no longer even mattered that she felt inexorably drawn to Nachari—or that a part of her needed to help him.

  It only mattered that she escape these creatures.

  As Deanna’s terror continued to mount, she fought and screamed like a madwoman. She clawed at Kagen’s face with unrestrained ferocity. She bit and kicked him violently as if her very life depended on it. “Let me go! Let me go!” she shouted as she landed blow after furious blow.

  “Oh to hell with it,” she heard the huge one Marquis grumble. “Sleep, woman.”

  “No!” she shouted in protest—

  And then the turmoil went away.

  seven

  The Valley of Death and Shadows

  The Dark Lord Ademordna stormed into the large marble bathroom and made his way to the deep claw-foot tub, his tangled hair streaming behind him as if blowing in the wind, his hooved feet pounding against the cold tiles. “Have you fed well?” he said to the small audience of demon subjects that surrounded Nachari, blood still dripping from the corners of their mouths.

  “Yes, master,” a small winged creature with the face of a lizard hummed, sounding imminently satisfied.

  “And you, Noiro?” Ademordna said. “Did you enjoy the show…again?”

  Nachari’s stomach turned over as he waited to hear the evil demoness’s response. Of course she enjoyed the show. She always enjoyed…the shows.

  Noiro rotated her hips in a sultry motion, taking a cautious step toward Ademordna. “Immensely,” she purred, licking her fetid lips.

  Ademordna nodded, and then he abruptly reached down into the tub, yanked Nachari’s head back by his thick mane of hair, stroked his jugular three times as if petting a kitten, and sank his fangs deep into the wizard’s neck.

  Nachari jerked, and then he quickly braced himself to keep from reacting. He could endure this. He had done it before. He chanted several soft refrains in Latin, using a separation-spell to release his mind from his body—to drift away from the tub, where he could watch the scene like a spectator. The pain would still be acute, but the awareness of it would be lessened. And at least he could feel like he wasn’t directly in the putrid demon’s grasp. Illusion. Wasn’t that a huge part of what magic was anyway?

  Nachari waited for what seemed like eternity for Ademordna to drink his fill, and then having been abruptly released, he slumped down into the tub and tried to maintain consciousness.

  The dark lord licked his lips. “Exquisite. You are that, my dear wizard.”

  Nachari stared straight ahead without answering.

  “Look at me!” Ademordna shouted, growing instantly angry at Nachari’s insolence.

  Nachari blinked, but he didn’t turn his head. He was thinking about Shelby now, clutching his twin’s amulet in his imagination and remembering a particular day in the valley when they had raced a pair of ATVs. Shelby had left Nachari in the dust, pushing his Arctic Wildcat to the outer limits and beyond. A high-pitched humming interrupted his thoughts, catapulting him back into the moment.

  “You will acknowledge me, boy,” Ademordna growled, low and insistent. “By all that is unholy, you will meet my eyes, and you will call me lord!”

  Nachari cringed inwardly. What now? What manner of indescribable punishment would the dark lord dream up…now? And why couldn’t Nachari just give in and comply—become obedient—at least try to lessen the frequency and intensity of his daily tortures?

  Ademordna reached across the tub to a low, free-standing table that stood just beyond the raised base and retrieved a four-inch-wide iron bit. He grasped Nachari’s jaw with two long talons, forcing his mouth open so that he could insert the bit, and then forced the wizard to clamp down on the crude device.

  Nachari trembled inside: a bit…between his teeth? Dear Celestial gods, what was the demon about to do to him? He swallowed his fear and waited, desperately willing his mind to become a blank slate. In this one fleeting moment—if he could only escape from his shadowed body—he could at least enjoy the sensation of being pain-free…

  Until the next moment arrived.

  It was how he lived. How he endured.

  One torturous moment at a time.

  Ademordna waved his hands erratically over the tub, threw back his hideous head, and began to laugh between harsh, guttural syllables—some sort of dark, summoning chant. Before Nachari could interpret the words, he felt the result: spiders and scorpions.

  They filled the tub like smoke rising from a damp fire.

  Nachari held his breath as the spindly legs and claws clambered for perch against his skin, crawling along his legs and arms, huddling above his chest, clinging for perch on his jaw, his neck, his fingers. He held himself perfectly still as he felt the creatures enter his mouth from around the bit…and grab hold of his manhood, further down.

  Great God Perseus, please…please let me die, he prayed inside. Kagen, brother…

  He projected his soul as far outward as he could, pleading with some unknown force to carry his words, his feverish plea, to his brother’s ears. Release me, Healer, he begged. Please let my body die…oh gods, Kagen…help me.

  Ademordna beckoned to Noiro to come closer. “Come, Demoness; watch your lover writhe in pain.”

  Noiro smiled as she sat on the edge of the tub, clearly unafraid that the creatures would touch her—either that, or not caring if they did.

  Nachari glared at her with such hatred and fury in his eyes. One day. Somehow. He would kill that witch…if it was the last thing he ever did.

  And then he clamped down on the iron bit, grunting in pain as the spiders began to bite and the scorpions began to sting him all over his body. His eyes rolled back in his head, and sweat began to pour from his brow, even as his body convulsed to the left, then the right, writhing desperately in pain, uselessly trying to escape his porcelain cage.

  Oh gods in heaven, he could not endure this any longer!

  He shook his head from side
to side, grunting, screaming, and resisting the need to vomit. There was no end in sight. No way to force himself to pass out. No escape. He pulled at the thick diamond-coated chains linked to his ankles and wrists, calling upon all the strength he had as a vampire to break free.

  Nothing.

  And it was not just because of the diamonds.

  It was this place. The Abyss: The Valley of Death and Shadows that kept him so helpless and weak. So defenseless to his captors.

  There was a different set of rules in hell—the laws of physics were altered—and everything bowed to the will of the demon lords. His knees clattered together, causing water to swish over the edges of the tub—please gods, let just a few of the hideous creatures wash out of the tub…away from my flesh.

  He bucked. The poison was mounting in his bloodstream now, burning like fire, eating away at his body from the inside out. He felt his sanity slowly ebbing away, and he greeted the inevitable fracture of his mind: Any break from reality would be welcome.

  No, no, no! he shouted inside, angry at the tears he could feel welling up in his eyes. Think, Nachari! There has to be a spell…an incantation. If death of your mortal body is the only way out, then so be it. Conjure death. Command your body on earth to die! You are a Master Wizard. Concentrate!

  Grim Reaper, Death, Eternal Sleep,

  harken to my voice;

  Beseech the gods on my behalf,

  grant me now, this choice:

  Extinguish breath; expunge my life—

  to earth from lands below;

  return my heart to join my flesh,

  At last, release my soul.

  Just then, a powerful current shot through him like an enormous pulse of electricity, and he felt his soul hurtling forward, traveling at enormous speeds, even beyond that which he knew on earth as a vampire. The sound of wind was deafening, the feeling of being encased in a tunnel beyond what his senses could comprehend, and then all at once he was there!

  At the Dark Moon Vale Clinic…in the parking lot…his ethereal body less than fifty feet away from his mortal flesh. If only he could get to his body, repeat the refrain one last time, he could end his life for good—once and for all.

  Yes, he could do it. He would do it.

  Grim Reaper, Death, Eternal Sleep,

  The hour’s drawing near;

  return me to my resting flesh—

  Just then, something caught his attention.

  As he drew closer to the ground, in an effort to locate his body, a startling scene swept up to meet him, commanding his attention and bringing him up short.

  His brothers…all three of them…they were standing in the parking lot, surrounding a woman; and she was the most beautifully exotic creature he had ever seen. Instinctively, he drew closer.

  They called her…Deanna.

  “You belong to Nachari,” Marquis said in a harsh voice. “It is that simple, and now you must come back inside with us.”

  Nachari jolted, awestruck. Somehow, his vision suddenly came into clear, dramatic focus, and he instinctively glanced up at the sky…and then at the woman’s wrist.

  Perseus: his reigning constellation.

  A Blood Moon.

  Was this really happening?

  His heart stopped beating for a second: The woman was his destiny; and she was there in Dark Moon Vale, at the clinic.

  And his brothers had her surrounded.

  She was in their care.

  His determination instantly faltered, and he abruptly lost his focus, launching back into the tub in the Abyss, descending into an otherworldly body covered with spiders and scorpions, convulsing in pain. He screamed in agony as the pain seized him like a long lost lover, and his teeth clamped down around the thick bit of iron. As he grappled for air, forcing his lungs to expand and contract, he tried to process what had just happened.

  If only for a moment, he had left his prison in the Valley of Death and Shadows. He had traveled, however briefly, to earth, and he had seen…

  His destiny.

  Nachari locked eyes with Ademordna and nodded his head in vigorous compliance, trying desperately to gain the dark lord’s attention.

  “What’s this?” the dark lord snarled. “Do you wish to speak?”

  Nachari nodded again.

  Shrieking his delight, Ademordna waved his hand over the tub, and the creatures immediately ceased their assault. He reached down and yanked the bit out of Nachari’s mouth. “Speak now, Wizard—and do not try my patience.”

  Nachari stumbled over his swollen tongue and fought to keep the dark lord in focus as he slowly bowed his head. “I…I acknowledge you as…my lord,” he stuttered.

  Ademordna froze, clearly taken aback by the unexpected entreaty.

  “Say it again!” he thundered.

  Nachari steadied himself. “I acknowledge you, milord.”

  Ademordna cocked his head to the side, and then he bent over and licked Nachari’s cheek with his long, slithery tongue, leaving acid-burnt skin peeling away in its wake. He held Nachari’s gaze, eye to eye, on the same level. “Good boy,” he whispered. And then he patted him on the head.

  Nachari did not turn away; rather, he averted his eyes in a pretend gesture of respect.

  Noiro jumped up then, looking both shocked and disappointed. “But I was just starting to have fun.” She stuck out her bottom lip and stamped her foot against the ground. “He’s soooo beautiful when he screams.” Her ridiculous red hair swayed in time to her emphatic gesturing.

  “That is enough…for today,” Ademordna said, his voice full of self-satisfaction. He turned to the winged creature standing in the background panting with excitement. “Clean him up, Devion, and bring him to my throne room. He will rest for an hour or so. And then we will begin his torment…again.”

  Nachari dropped his head and held his tongue, fighting to stop his body from convulsing.

  Yes, he would accept an hour or so of rest. As often as he could.

  He would comply with the revolting bastard, and he would gain strength.

  He had used his Magick to escape the Abyss once—if only for a fleeting moment—and that meant he could use it again.

  It could be done.

  As Noiro bent to kiss the top of his head, he forced himself to remain perfectly still.

  Not to shudder.

  And not to pull away.

  As her acidic lips touched his scalp, he let out a barely audible moan of contrived pleasure, low enough that only she could hear. Her shocked, hopeful expression told him all he needed to know; yes, she would be his pawn…to use and command, eventually.

  Blinking rapidly, she stepped back and stared at him in yearning desperation. He winked, allowing her a moment’s reciprocated gaze into his deep emerald eyes. Not too much too soon, he thought. And then he abruptly looked away, leaving her forlorn.

  If the foul female thought she loved him—as sick, twisted, and demented as the freak of evil nature was—then so be it. At the least, she needed his seed to sire her idea of some beautiful, vampire-wizard-demon super child.

  As if!

  Well, two could play that game.

  It was time to stop resisting and start planning. It was time to become strategic. Nachari Silivasi had a destiny. And she was alive and on the earth…already in Dark Moon Vale.

  He had thirty days to return to her—less than that, really, if the required sacrifice was to be made in time—so he would use Noiro, Ademordna, and every demon in hell if that was what it took to make it back home to his female.

  Yes, he would rest for an hour.

  And then he would begin…anew.

  eight

  Dark Moon Vale

  Kagen, Nathaniel, and Marquis sat in the Healer’s second-story office above the clinic’s main floor in deafening silence, each one staring off into the distance. The rustic, corporate feel of the large, majestic space with its wide-plank wood flooring and two-story stone fireplace provided the perfect backdrop for what they were feeling
: overwhelmed and powerless to act against the whims of nature.

  Why had the gods chosen now—this time—to bring Nachari his destiny? Kagen wondered. He shifted uncomfortably against the soft velvet chaise and met the eyes of his brothers for the first time, each one in turn, as they sat across from him in large, leather armless chairs.

  Marquis practically glowered with anger. He cleared his throat. Twice. “Did anyone make an official record of the time?”

  Nathaniel stirred. “Seven o’clock PM.”

  Nachari’s Blood Moon had occurred at precisely seven o’clock PM on Monday, January 25th, which meant the male had until precisely seven o’clock PM on Wednesday, February 24th to make the required sacrifice, or—

  Or what?

  Marquis seemed to read Kagen’s thoughts. “And if he and Deanna have not…come together…by then, we are to wheel him in on a stretcher to the chamber of sacrifice so the Blood can exact its pound of flesh?”

  Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath but didn’t respond.

  “That’s insane,” Marquis added.

  “Agreed,” Kagen said. “But I don’t think—”

  “Perhaps it is time for a war between heaven and hell,” Marquis grunted, cutting Kagen off in mid-sentence. “Because all hell will break loose before I turn Nachari over for failing to appease the Blood…when he isn’t even conscious!”

  The earth began to shake beneath them, causing the furniture to slide gently to the left before settling back in place on the wooden floors.

  “Brother,” Nathaniel cautioned, staring into Marquis’s phantom-blue eyes. “Please…check your emotions. It will not help Nachari to have the clinic fall down around him.”

  Marquis’s large chest rose and fell with the weight of his breath—and his burden—but he managed to calm down.

  Kagen spoke up then. “I spoke to Napolean briefly. Our king will visit the clinic first thing in the morning to discuss the situation with us, perhaps to add some deeper insight.” He paused. “In the meantime, there are vital matters we must discuss.”