by Tessa Dawn
Nathaniel spoke softly in the ancient language of their ancestors, offering a prayer for peace—a final benediction—and then he requested safe journey to the Valley of Spirit and Light, making an impassioned plea to the Spirit of Jadon himself, to grant Shelby absolution for his failure to relinquish a son.
Nathaniel watched helplessly as his cherished little brother descended deep into the ground, never to rise again. Despite his best efforts, two burning tears escaped his eyes—each one instantly transformed into a single heart-shaped diamond: the color, crimson red.
"Travel well, my brother. Go in peace."
Chapter Two
Jocelyn lifted the canteen from the weighty, navy blue backpack and took a long drink of water. She checked her compass once again, glancing furtively at the sky to determine the position of the sun. She was making great time. There was plenty of daylight left, more than enough to reach the cave before sunset. Placing the canteen back in the pack, she adjusted the weight evenly on her shoulders, her mind continuing to analyze information as she headed deeper into the forest.
Jocelyn knew that she didn't have permission to move on the tip her informant had given her. She wasn't supposed to be there. And if anything went wrong, she was on her own.
But she also knew that it couldn't wait. Human trafficking.
Ritualistic killings. The entire case was so bizarre.
As an agent of ICE, a highly specialized department within homeland security, Jocelyn Levi had been investigating one particularly shocking human-trafficking ring for months.
Unlike more typical rings that forced young women into sexual slavery or sold children into forced labor, these victims were being taken for much darker purposes—to be used as sacrifices in ritualistic killings.
But by whom?
Jocelyn shook her head, carelessly tucking a handful of thick brown hair behind her ear. Over the last two months, her unit had discovered three freshly discarded bodies, each one showing signs of the same hideous brutality. The sight of the mutilated corpses had been abominable, but they were close to finding the head of the ring, or at least finding the man who was selling the women. Still, they had no idea who was doing the actual killings: what kind of cult could be behind such gruesome acts of evil. They had never managed to uncover an actual crime scene.
Jocelyn sighed, hoping that today would be a major breakthrough. If the information her source had given her about the cave was correct, then she was about to make a huge discovery.
Her informant had assured her that she was not walking into a danger zone, that the site he had told her about was no longer being used by the ring. As always, they changed locations frequently, moving around to avoid detection by the authorities. Unfortunately, this meant that there would be no fresh forensic evidence, but the information Jocelyn hoped to uncover was of a different kind anyway.
Jocelyn slowed her pace as a series of tall, reddish-rock formations appeared in the distance, strangely shimmering into view like a desert mirage on a hot day. An eerie chill swept through her body, raising the hair on her arms, and a deep sense of foreboding settled into her stomach. She shivered and stared ahead. There was something about the peculiar canyons that shook her to her very core.
Although most people would have turned back, most people would not have been there in the first place.
Jocelyn was not most people.
Solving difficult crimes was her life. Stopping the really, really bad guys. And she was very good at it. She had always had a sixth sense, an uncanny ability to stay one step ahead of the criminal mind. It wasn't like she was psychic or anything. She just had a way of feeling things. Walking into a crime scene and knowing. As if the very essence of the place whispered secrets to her of the people who had been there.
Now, after months of dead ends, she finally had a reliable lead; and she had no intention of letting the information go to waste.
Jocelyn drew in a deep breath of crisp mountain air, her lungs working overtime to adjust to the altitude of the Eastern Rocky Mountains. The beautiful expansive territory ran along the Front Range of North America, full of hidden canyons, dense forests, and towering, majestic peaks; under different circumstances, it might have been an idyllic place to vacation. Her sense of dread grew stronger with every step she took, so powerful that it almost felt as if there were an invisible hand holding her back, something warning her away.
She shook her head in an effort to clear her mind as she pushed forward against the invisible barrier.
She had come way too far to turn back now.
The faces of the victims—their broken and tortured bodies—continued to replay in her mind like a gruesome, private slide-show, reminding her of just how much was at stake.
Picking up the pace, Jocelyn headed deeper into the canyon.
The oddly shaped, underground cavity, at the end of a series of narrow limestone tunnels, was exactly where Jocelyn's informant had said it would be: beneath a thin arced entrance at the back of the cliffs, just beyond a waterfall.
Jocelyn wondered how something so beautiful could be used for something so evil.
It was well after sunset when she reached the cavern.
She had slowly worked her way through a long labyrinth of passageways, going deeper into the earth with every step, until she had finally emerged in a gigantic chamber with enormous cathedral ceilings and jutting white columns. The scattered limestone pillars were erected haphazardly, as if a divine hand had simply tossed them about, and there was a small pond of stagnant water toward the back of the chamber, just beneath a series of low ledges. The cave itself was eerily dark, humid, and chilly. The air was musty and damp.
Jocelyn abruptly shut off her flashlight as a faint sound caught her attention. She thought she heard an echo coming from one of the adjoining tunnels. It sounded like a woman softly moaning.
She instinctively crouched down, her senses fully alert.
She reached for her gun, removed it from the holster, and ran to the rear of the cavern. Then she quietly waded through the sulfuric-smelling water, slid down onto her belly, and crawled like a snake beneath an extremely low rock overhanging. She repositioned her slender frame in the tight space so that she could still see out into the chamber, and burrowed in as deeply as possible.
God, I hope there are no spiders or bats in here, she silently prayed as the sound from the tunnel grew louder.
Whoever was out there was clearly coming her way.
It was then that she saw the firelight erupt—as if on its own—illuminating the entire structure like a dark sky on the fourth of July.
Crude, ancient torches were anchored into the limestone walls in perfectly spaced increments, running all the way around the structure in a flawlessly level circle, and Jocelyn almost gasped as her eyes took in the details of the ancient cavern for the first time. Fiery orange blazes illuminated every nook and cranny of the chamber, revealing carefully carved structures placed purposefully throughout the room. It was an amazing circular fortress, no doubt created naturally by the earth over centuries of dissolution.
But it had also been carved by human hands into a ceremonial hall.
Jocelyn held her breath, hoping she was deep enough into the crevice not to cast a shadow into the stagnant water. For the first time, she noticed that there were three ledges spaced diametrically apart like the points of a triangle along the cavern walls, and each one led to a steep drop. A certain death should anyone try to escape.
The thought was bone chilling.
In the center of the room, there was a large stone slab with a smoothed surface, much like a bed made of granite, and there were intricate carvings on either side—ancient symbols that Jocelyn didn't recognize. But the color at the top of the stone was unmistakable. Jarring and unsettling. Jocelyn cringed as she imagined its purpose.
The center of the stone was a deep crimson red, the obvious result of years of decaying blood that had crystallized into the stone's pores. This was clearly not th
e work of a serial killer or a regional group of fanatics. This chamber was ancient. And these crimes were generational. The room spoke of a hidden way of life that had belonged to a people—a culture—for hundreds of years.
Adrenaline coursed through Jocelyn's body as the horror of the chamber sank in.
She held her breath and strained to see more.
On both sides of the blood-stained slab, there were additional manmade structures carved into granite: a raised altar on the left with a small basin smoothed into the top, and a wide bench on the right containing a backrest with arm-holds for comfort. Each structure sat about three feet away from the head of the slab.
Jocelyn shuddered.
She could feel the darkness and the unspoken pain etched into the fiber of the chamber, and once again, her stomach lurched. The hair on her arms stood up.
It was then that they entered.
A tall, dark, heavily muscled man. He was graceful yet intense, striking but dangerous. He was definitely malevolent.
Not human.
And he carried a very pregnant woman in his arms, obviously the one who had been moaning.
Dear God...
Jocelyn didn't know how she knew the creature wasn't human. She just knew. He looked like any other male, except that he was far too stunning—handsome in a way that seemed impossible. His long hair fell just below his shoulders in perfectly groomed waves, and his chiseled features were flawless, as if he were a statue rather than a man. But what really gave him away were his eyes. They were vacant...empty...soul-less.
Dark as the night and just as lifeless.
They might have held a strange beauty if they hadn't been so...dead.
And the color of his immaculate hair was unnatural too: It was a deep raven black, interspersed with blood-red tendrils, highlights that had not been added with dye. Jocelyn thought it shimmered like the surface of a lake beneath the moonlight; it was almost beautiful...in a demonic sort of way.
She hunkered lower and held her breath as she continued to watch, mesmerized.
The pregnant woman's eyes were open, but she looked unaware, like someone in a trance. She appeared to be young, maybe nineteen or twenty, with beautiful black hair and stunning green eyes. Her pale face was etched with...something...like a frozen look of terror from a nightmare. Thank God, she was so checked out.
With a wave of his hand, the chamber began to fill with the smell of incense, and a dense gray fog began to hover just above the ground. It surrounded the blood-stained slab in the center of the room, instantly adding a ghostly feel to the chamber. Jocelyn couldn't scoot any further back into the crevice, so she tried to make herself smaller, willing her physical body to disappear.
There would be nothing she could do if he saw her.
Somehow, she knew, even as she cradled her gun in her hand, fully loaded and ready to fire, that her fate rested upon remaining hidden. There could be no detection. Luckily, the creature appeared far too engrossed with the pregnant woman to scan his surroundings—far too confident in his overwhelming power to concern himself with checking the chamber for others. And the sulfuric-water she had waded through was a powerful mask of scent. Or at least she hoped it was.
There was a strange exhilaration gathering around him now. A sense of great expectation. Power radiated from the male as if it were seeping through his pores.
He glided to the blood-stained slab in the center of the chamber and slowly laid the woman down on the pallet. For a moment, Jocelyn thought she saw a hint of tenderness in his actions until she heard a faint laugh rise from deep within his throat. A twisted cross between a leopard's snarl and a hyena's hackling that made her skin crawl.
"Dalia, awaken," he commanded. His voice was like a velvet song, a rich cello from a concerto, as pure as the night and deeper than the ocean. He bent over the pregnant woman and kissed her. She awoke as commanded.
"Valentine, help me!"
She gulped the words in a desperate plea for mercy. Her eyes were wide with fright, and then, as she surveyed the chamber, a shriek of unbridled terror escaped her throat.
Jocelyn was not prepared for the sound that filled the cave.
The cry was so full of anguish that it momentarily stole her breath, even as it filled the room with electricity. It was unlike anything Jocelyn had ever heard before—the woman's misery was beyond comprehension.
Jocelyn had the sudden urge to vomit and had to struggle to remain quiet as her stomach protested, threatening to give her presence away. Fortunately, the agonized screams drowned out the sound of her gagging.
The woman was in labor and something was terribly wrong.
She writhed and screamed. Tried frantically to crawl away.
But the man simply leaned over her, watching with indifference as he placed one powerful hand against her chest, pressed her down, and held her to the stone.
Jocelyn shook her head and blinked several times, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare, hoping it was all a bad dream.
The pain continued.
The torture persisted.
The cries went on for what seemed an eternity, sweat pouring from the woman's forehead, her hands clenched in a contortion of anguish, as the dark male sat quietly watching the whole scene with a look of pleasure gleaming in his eyes.
The man shifted back and forth on the hard bench.
He appeared to be deliberately controlling his breathing, and there was an erotic quality to his movement. It was as if he were deriving sexual pleasure from the woman's suffering,
struggling to restrain himself from touching her while she labored.
Unable to bring his excitement under control, he bent over and pressed a hard kiss against her mouth as she moaned in pain. It was beyond sociopathic.
And then, what happened next was so shocking that it left Jocelyn both hypnotized and repulsed at the same time: The creature's perfect lips drew back like a predator's snarl, and his canine teeth slowly lengthened into two razor-sharp...fangs. And then he scraped them back and forth over the woman's neck—again and again—leaving deep, jagged gashes in his wake. Groaning in a low growl of ecstasy, he finally sank them deep into her flesh, his body shuddering with pleasure as she cried out in pain.
The entire scene was unspeakably brutal. Jocelyn felt like time was standing still as she lay motionless on the floor of the cave, desperate to conceal her own presence from the monster.
Helpless to save the suffering woman.
And then the woman's struggle reached a fevered pitch.
Her cries grew so forlorn that Jocelyn actually considered drawing her weapon and revealing her own presence just to end her suffering.
There was no time.
Muscles began to stretch. Bones cracked and ribs popped.
As a terror that could only be described as unholy rose in the form of a plaintive wail from the woman's throat. The baby was not moving down through the birth canal, but up...up...into the chest cavity. Jocelyn fought to hold back her own terrified scream, and her mouth fell open in horror as the woman's ribcage exploded outward. Fragmenting as it bust open, it exposed her heart and lungs.
The dark creature sighed in contentment.
He stood up over the broken body, reached into the gaping cavity, and lifted out what appeared to be two perfect newborn infants—both males—with thick, raven black hair.
Hair striped with demonic strands of crimson red.
When the creature strolled to the raised altar, he seemed to falter for the first time, like he was struggling to remain in control. He placed the firstborn of the two sons gently into the basin, pausing only long enough to stare into the child's eyes and place a soft kiss on his forehead. It was as if he knew he couldn't keep the child. The tenderness was bizarre.
Instinctively, he held the remaining infant close to his chest and moved back from the altar. He watched the abandoned baby squirm, and his eyes became as cold as ice.
The dark fog moved then.
It swirled, beco
ming increasingly solid and thick.
It took the form of two long arms with extended, skeletal fingers as it reached and grasped. Moaned and wailed. In a shrill, high-pitched cry of victory.
The wail became louder as the fog swirled closer to the altar, where the child lay waiting.
And then Valentine's muscles clenched. His forehead wrinkled with tension. And his gaze became a fiery red ember of loathing as he watched the fog approach the child.
Yet, he didn't move a muscle as the grayish-black mist surrounded the crying infant. As it reached out to tighten its ghostly fingers around the newborn's neck....
Then just like that—the child was gone.
Valentine growled a low, angry snarl, his powerful frame trembling with rage, and then he simply turned away, lifted the remaining child high in the air, and smiled, a twisted grin exposing his perfect white teeth.
"You shall be named Derrian," he declared in a deep, resounding voice. "And now the Blood Curse shall never claim me. I am forever immortal." A wicked smirk crossed his face.
"While Shelby Silivasi—the beloved descendant of Jadon—is forever dead."
He spat the words sarcastically, his laughter echoing all the way to the high cathedral ceilings.
"And this woman..." he gestured toward the stone where Dalia lay dead, her eyes still open wide in horror, "was truly a waste of a beautiful body, don't you think?"
He laughed again and held the newborn baby to his soul-less heart.
Waving a carefree hand over Dalia, he sent the tortured body up in flames, cremating her as he sauntered out of the chamber.
Softly singing a lullaby to his son.
Chapter Three
Jocelyn raced frantically across the winding mountain path.
She ran with all the speed she could muster, dirt and rocks kicking up behind her as her feet left the ground. The limbs of nearby trees reached out to scratch her skin when she got too close. Her heart pounded uncontrollably as images of the horror she had witnessed replayed in her mind.
