by Tessa Dawn
Nathaniel softened. “Nachari,” he said, once again commanding his full attention. “I think the point is: It’s all good now. Whatever it is. It’s all good. You’re home.”
Nachari met Nathaniel’s eyes with gratitude, and then, suddenly aware that someone was missing, he looked up at Kagen. “Where is Braden? Does he even know I’m back?”
“He knows,” Kagen answered, “and he’s waiting to see you at the naming ceremony—if he doesn’t have a chance to meet up with you before then—which I know he would prefer.”
“Good,” Nachari said. “I can only imagine what this has been like for him.”
“See,” Marquis pointed out. “Now, are those the words of some half-cocked, half-evil nut job? You’re not going to go all demon crazy on that kid or anyone else, Nachari. I’m not even worried.” He looked away for a minute. “Well, unless you want to do something wicked to Kristina—that might be okay. Speaking of which, can you bring the panther back at will?”
“Marquis!” Kagen and Nathaniel chided in unison.
“Now is not the time, brother,” Nathaniel explained.
“What?” Marquis retorted. “It was a reasonable question.”
“What happened with Kristina?” Nachari asked, ignoring Marquis’s antics.
“Later,” Nathaniel said. “There is much we need to tell you to bring you up to speed, but it can all wait until later.”
“She lost her ever-loving, redheaded mind; that’s what happened,” Marquis offered.
“Marquis,” Nathaniel barked at him. “Seriously, dude—chill!”
Marquis shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, but Nachari has to promise to call us if he has another mental breakdown so we can psychoanalyze the problem and fix it.” He turned toward Nachari and frowned. “Promise me this, and you can go back to your woman.” And then he winked.
Winked.
Marquis Silivasi was making fun of himself, and in that rare, unfamiliar moment, Nachari knew for the first time that things were really going to be okay.
twenty-eight
Deanna watched in utter fascination as Nachari wove an intricate pattern of designs in the air with his fingers. She immediately felt the energy stir all around her and became breathless with anticipation.
The companion that stood next to the Master Wizard was equally enthralled. His vivid, burnt-sienna eyes were wide with expectancy, and his mouth was practically hanging open; yet he stood so tall and proud, his back straight, his chest puffed outward. Clearly, Braden took his duties quite seriously.
Nachari had asked the young vampire to come to the clinic for the birth of their son. In a gesture meant more to appease the boy than assist with the event, he had told him, with all seriousness, that he would have to move very quickly to appease The Blood with the required sacrifice, and that meant Deanna would need a protector—someone to help with the baby—while Nachari was gone. The kid had been practically giddy with eagerness.
Deanna had to admit that she had shed more than one tear as she witnessed Braden and Nachari’s reunion; the fact that the boy had been utterly lost without him—that Braden loved Nachari dearly with his whole heart and soul—could not have been missed by anyone. The fact that Nachari clearly felt the same might have been more of a revelation, one she looked forward to watching unfold over the years to come.
Now, staring up at the swirling rainbow of color surrounding her belly, Deanna held her breath as Nachari bowed his head gracefully and begin to recite an eloquent prayer in the ancient tongue. Although Deanna did not understand the words, the rhythm was hypnotic and beautiful, mystical in its simplicity and purity.
And then, just like that, Nachari commanded his unborn son into the world, and the baby began to appear.
Beautiful, glistening light arced above Deanna’s belly, and a whooshing sound, like water rushing through a rapid river, filled the air. The luminescent colors began to coalesce into a dim outline—into the form of an infant—and slivers like that of gold dust flaked off in its wake. Deanna’s heartbeat increased as her eyes fixed intently on the miracle before her: Nachari reached out his strong hands, placed them just above her belly, palms open wide, and the child simply materialized inside of them.
Deanna gasped in wonder, struggling to sit up and see.
The infant was beautiful!
Beyond beautiful.
Perfect!
Stunning green eyes stared back at her, their hue a perfect match to Nachari’s; and copper-tanned skin covered his wriggling arms and legs, a perfect match to the tone of her own. His hair was thick and downy, almost black, but there were clear highlights of brown throughout. He was truly a mixture of both of them. “Oh, Nachari,” she breathed, unable to contain her adoration. “Let me hold him.”
The Master Wizard blinked back a tear as he placed the child in Deanna’s arms. “Sebastian Lucas Silivasi—meet your mother, Deanna.”
Deana laughed aloud as she heard Nachari speak the baby’s name for the first time; they had chosen to name him after her father, and thus, the Spanish origin of the name.
Braden Bratianu practically bounced up and down on his tippy toes—his eyes as wide as saucers now. “Can I see him? Can I see him?”
Nachari smiled in the gentle, fatherly way Deanna was already becoming familiar with. “Of course,” he said. “But be gentle with him.”
Braden gave Nachari a cross look and frowned. “I know how to handle babies. I look after Storm and Nikolai all the time.”
Nachari held his hands up in apology, his voice contrite. “Of course you do. My bad.”
Braden seemed to like this.
And then, Nachari brushed his fingers gently over the back of Deanna’s hand. “Sweetheart, I have to call the unnamed one now. Would you rather look away?”
Deanna nodded. “Yes, I would.” She turned her attention to the door and briefly closed her eyes. Both Jocelyn and Ciopori were waiting outside, should she need them. After all, the women had been with her through so much already—they had all waited together for Nachari to return from the Abyss—and Deanna hadn’t known, until that very moment, whether or not she would take advantage of their offer to help her through the birth. But now, as the inevitable approached, she knew she would benefit from their presence. “Nachari, would you—”
“Call your new sisters?” he supplied.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I’m sorry; I know this is supposed to be private”—she glanced at Braden and smiled—“semi-private, but I think—”
“No explanation needed,” he said.
“Thank you.” She turned her attention back to the child in her arms and waited while Nachari contacted the women telepathically. The door opened immediately, and Ciopori was the first to enter, her regal stride and unearthly beauty preceding her.
“Greetings, sister,” she called in her usual formal manner.
“Hi, Ciopori,” Deanna said, beaming as she gestured toward the firstborn infant.
Ciopori drew in a deep, bedazzled breath. “Oh my gods…” She hurried to the bed and sat down beside Deanna. “He is magnificent.” She looked up at Nachari and nodded her approval.
Jocelyn entered more quietly, her mood a bit more somber. She took a place on the other side of the bed beside Deanna, and reached out to stroke the baby’s cheek. “He is as handsome as his father,” she said appreciatively; and then she lightly tousled Deanna’s hair and smiled. “And how’s the mom?”
Deanna shook her head in disbelief. “Mom? That’s gonna take some getting used to.”
“Indeed,” Ciopori offered.
Nachari cleared his throat, clearly a little uncomfortable with the audience. “I’m sorry, sisters, but time…” He glanced at the clock. “We don’t have any.”
Ciopori turned to face Deanna directly then, her eyes locked only with hers. “Do you wish to see?”
“No!” Deanna said, without hesitation.
“Very well.” With a graceful arc of her hand, Ciopori wove an illusion much like
a dense fog over the bed and waited while it coalesced between Deanna and her belly. “You will see only us, then.”
Deanna had to constantly remind herself that Ciopori Demir-Silivasi was one of the original females—she was an ancient princess from a Celestial race—and consequently, she had access to a different kind of magic, a power no one else in Dark Moon Vale could rival. Grateful, she held Ciopori’s gaze and nodded. “Thank you…I’m ready.”
Without delay, Nachari called forth the second child, an evil hiss filled the air, and the room went deathly quiet. Even Braden looked away.
Deanna blanched. “Oh my God, what’s wrong? Is he—”
“Evil,” Jocelyn said. “Don’t look, Deanna.”
“But I thought they always came out acting and looking…beautiful…deceptive. Like that was also part of the Curse.”
The women listened in stunned horror as the Dark Child growled and spat at his father before releasing a pair of rapidly flapping wings. It was obvious that there was some kind of struggle going on as Nachari immediately switched into wizard-mode and began chanting a verbal spell to control the unruly being in his arms.
“I’ve never heard of one coming out as a demon, evil both inside and out,” Jocelyn whispered to Ciopori, immediately regretting her words. “Oh, Deanna—I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot.”
Deanna shook her head. Her greatest concern right now was for Nachari. While he knew the second child was soul-less, cursed from birth, an evil apparition that only appeared human—or vampire as it were—in order to fool and torment his parents as part of the Curse, this moment could not be easy. Nachari Silivasi had been prepared all of his life for this situation, and he was doing an incredible job hiding his inner turmoil. Still, Deanna knew that there was a war raging inside her newfound mate: that Nachari was struggling with the light or darkness of his own soul. Ever since his return from hell, there had just been something…distant…something he either didn’t care to talk about—or didn’t want to face. The emergence of a clearly evil child had to be a blow of epic proportions.
“The child is not of your soul, nor of Nachari’s,” Ciopori stated emphatically, speaking loud enough for Nachari to hear. “He is the spawn of the Blood, the progeny of malice, hatred, and vengeance. No part of your soul is in his.” It was almost like she knew what they were all thinking.
Deanna nodded, gathering strength for Nachari. In her mind’s eye, she could still see her very first drawings—the images that had brought her to Dark Moon Vale in the first place—and she would never forget the tortured soul on the stone. Nachari had suffered more than enough; he did not need any more pain.
“Take him, and get it over with,” Deanna said, her voice strong with conviction. “Then come back to me and Sebastian.”
Nachari had finally managed to silence the Dark Child, no doubt using considerable magic to do so. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His voice was steady and even, but Deanna knew that there was a world of turmoil simmering beneath it.
“We’ll be here,” Deanna offered, wishing she could say more.
Nachari nodded. “Okay.”
With that, Deanna reached up and gripped his forearm in a powerful grasp. “Nachari…”
His eyes locked with hers.
“We will be here.”
His gorgeous mouth turned up in a faint smile, and his eyes registered understanding. “Thank you.”
Nachari watched with calloused indifference as the ethereal hands of The Blood reached up with skeletal fingers, funneled through dense black smoke, and snatched the child from the altar, leaving the smooth granite basin empty once more on the large oval platform. He had offered the prayer of supplication with the same level of indifference and was beginning to wonder if he was even capable of feeling anymore.
The birth of Sebastian had been so amazing, yet the emergence of something so clearly evil, so obviously foul and unholy, had shaken him to his core.
Regardless of what Ciopori had said, he felt like his seed had created that monster: The child’s eyes had even shone a deep emerald green before flashing demonic red.
Nachari sat back on his heels and waited patiently for the shrill cries and shrieks to end, for the inky darkness to recede, and for the just plain exaggerated antics that The Blood always put on during its hideous, vengeful rituals to come to a close—wishing it would just hurry-it-up.
As if.
Nachari had spent over four months in hell, living in the Middle Kingdom with the supreme lord of darkness himself. This sick, vengeful aberration of all things holy was hardly worth his attention. Deanna had been right: Get it over with, already. “Forgive me if I’m not impressed,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
The Blood shrieked in angry defiance, but it was all smoke and mirrors. There was nothing it could do to him now…or ever again. He had fulfilled the demands of the Blood Curse, and he was, at last, free from it…forever.
When, finally, the macabre show had stopped, Nachari rose from the chamber and started to head home, to return to Deanna and his son, to begin building a new life with the woman who waited so devotedly for him.
And then he thought better of it.
Less than fifty feet away was another set of doors, a holding cell that sat adjacent to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement. It was one of several large halls that made up Napolean’s compound, the official complex behind his manse, which ultimately included the Death Chamber, and it was also the place where Shelby had lost his young life.
But Nachari had no interest in ever visiting that place again.
It was what stood beside it that held his interest: the cell where Napolean held Saber Alexiares until Sunday’s upcoming execution.
He licked his bottom lip, wondering if he should just leave well enough alone. Over the past forty-six hours, he had learned all about Salvatore’s insidious plot and Saber’s role in pretending to be Ramsey Olaru in an effort to get to Kristina. And he had learned about the incident in the hot tub with Deanna. There was nothing good that could come from standing face-to-face with another evil being so soon. The last thing he needed was to eat Saber, too.
Still, something extremely territorial—something programmed deep into his primal, Vampyr DNA—would not let him walk away. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the holding cell, and the enemy of his kind.
twenty-nine
Once the decision had been made, Nachari didn’t hesitate to stroll confidently into the rectangular holding cell where Saber Alexiares lay, chained with heavy manacles, to a narrow cot, his body revealing the evidence of recent, unhealed torture. And Saber’s guards hadn’t dared to try and stop him, although Ramsey had warned Nachari to leave the bastard alive.
Now, as Nachari stared at the enemy of his house—the monster that had attacked Deanna—he struggled to connect with his feelings.
Saber smiled like a lazy cat. “Wizard,” he said, his voice full of contempt. “I was wondering when you would come to see me.”
Nachari feigned indifference. “Well, good—then I don’t disappoint.”
“Come to exact your pound of flesh?” Saber asked.
Nachari shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Ah,” Saber drawled, “to chat then. Well, I would sit up and greet you properly, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”
Nachari scowled. “You’re in an unusual state of good humor for a male who’s about to be fed to the sun.” He watched Saber closely for any sign of reaction, but the Dark One’s face remained stoic. In that moment, Nachari knew that Saber Alexiares was truly a bad-ass in real life—he didn’t just play one on TV. This wasn’t just a front.
“Shit happens,” Saber said.
“Indeed it does,” Nachari retorted. He grabbed a metal chair, dragged it across the room, and straddled it backward directly in front of Saber’s cot. The male looked at him warily, and his heartbeat sped up, if only infinitesimally. Apparently, Saber wasn’t completely indifferent to pain and torture
. How well Nachari understood. “Do you have any idea how bad it’s going to hurt? The sun, that is?” Nachari asked, actually just wondering.
Saber didn’t smile then. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Nachari answered honestly. “For me, the sun’s just a good source of vitamin D. Maybe a tan. But for you…ouch.”
“That’s why you came here, Wizard?” Saber said derisively. “To taunt me?”
“In a way,” Nachari answered.
Saber gave him a cool, sideways glance, not quite able to figure him out.
“I came here for Deanna,” Nachari said, his voice remaining eerily steady, “not that you would understand that kind of loyalty or devotion.” He leaned forward in the chair and placed his folded arms against the back, elbows resting on the metal. “But I wasn’t sure until now what I was going to say…or do.”
“And now you’ve got some sudden sense of clarity?” Saber chuckled derisively. “Do tell.”
Nachari snickered. The male was quite the smart-ass, but it didn’t matter. “Do…tell…” he repeated. “Well, let’s see—what I could I possibly have to tell you…about where you are going: The Valley of Death and Shadows.”
Now this caught the Dark One’s attention.
“I could tell you that there are five provinces, each one ruled by a different prime lord, and that each territory has a kingdom…servants…minions…and slaves…a wasteland that surrounds it. I could tell you that our kind, the Vampyr, are used as slaves for the purposes of entertainment by torture at the hands of the demons—kind of like a show they put on to amuse themselves.” He shrugged. “They’re very creative, the demons: They like to break bones, pierce our flesh and joints, whip us until our skin falls off, boil us in scalding baths…the list just goes on and on. As does the torture and their amusement.” He pushed back from the chair and stood up then. “I can’t actually say that I saw any of your brothers—males from the house of Jaegar—during my enlightening stay, but I heard about them. And I knew that my fate with the dark lord Ademordna was their fate every day of eternity. That it’s going to be yours.”
