by Tessa Dawn
As if he were a spider dangling from a web, Nachari reappeared above the dazed animals spraying silver bullets in a fountain of lead. The lycans slumped to the ground.
On the far side of the gorge, about fifty yards in front of the cabin, Jocelyn watched in horror as Marquis was taken down, tossed onto his back, and thrown to the ground. As a blanket of snow-matted fur descended upon him. There were so many wolves; the odds seemed impossible.
Cringing, she covered her mouth and turned to glance at Kagen. He seemed completely unaffected by whatever she was witnessing; his attention focused solely on healing Braden's neck. His faith in his brothers' abilities was absolute.
Marquis's movements were undetectable: a blur of preternatural speed.
Did he use daggers or claws? There was no way to tell. The blurred image looked like an invisible blender, a storm of sharp blades engulfing the wolves, the snow, and the very air around them. He was a whirl of silver—spinning and turning in every direction—slicing the lycans into dozens of pieces...even as they twisted and turned this way and that trying to get a strangle hold on the vampire's constantly shifting neck.
Although the cuts didn't kill them, they left the wolves incapacitated; they were unable to leap, turn, or lunge—their great, muscular frames carved into mere remnants of the powerful creatures they once were. Covered in scattered and bloodied body parts, Marquis sprang to his feet; he went from flat on his back to vertical in the blink of an eye like some kind of ninja. He was positively graceful, his movement fluid and effortless.
He turned up his palms and spun a pair of daggers, one in each hand, and then he began to carve out the hearts of his enemies...one after the other. A fourth lycan leapt at the vampire, undetected and closing in from his blindside, just as Marquis was thrusting a dagger into the third lycan's heart.
Marquis was hit in midair by the awesome force of the hunter, only to spin around, draw back his arm, and throw a fierce uppercut with a spiked fist...a fist cloaked in an ancient cestus. And then there was a hail of silver bullets, a strike of deadly precision, as the lycan hit the ground, already dead.
Nathaniel: from all the way across the yard.
He sat perched like a bird of prey on a high branch of a snow-covered birch tree, surveying the scene from above, covering his brother's back like a sniper. He was orchestrating the battle like a general as he reached into his coat to retrieve a fresh clip and reload.
Jocelyn drew in a sharp breath; he looked like a wild thing.
Part warrior. Part animal. No part human. The vampire took her breath away. She could hardly believe he was real.
One after another, the lycans approached the tree, trying to gain Nathaniel's ground. They leapt up at his perch, using powerful hind legs as spring-boards. She even saw one huge male shape-shift back into the form of a human in order to climb an adjacent tree. He took out an automatic weapon and tried for a straight shot at Nathaniel.
The lycan fired, getting off a clean round of shots, but once again, Nathaniel simply moved faster than the bullets. He sped out of the line of fire and threw off the trajectory using the force of his motion...the vacuum created by his velocity.
It was as if he had a built-in radar system: as if he controlled the laws of physics.
In one effortless leap, he cleared the distance between him and the hunter, landing in the adjacent tree, a sickle extended from his arm like a silver extension of his own hand.
With one smooth flick of his wrist, he started to whirl the weapon around, creating a high-pitched humming sound like the buzz of a helicopter blade.
Jocelyn never saw the weapon connect.
She never saw any interaction at all between the two mortal enemies. She simply saw a suspended moment in time where both creatures stood still, perched in the same tree, their feral eyes locked together like two savage animals; and then the hunter's head rolled off of his body and tumbled to the ground.
Jocelyn slowly exhaled as the reality of what she was witnessing struck her. Even with all she had seen—all she had learned about Nathaniel in the last couple of days—she she still had no idea whatsoever of the power the vampire possessed: the lethal potential he wielded. The sons of Jadon were simply—for all intents and purposes—invincible.
And they knew it.
No wonder Marquis had left the cabin with a wink and a smile. This was child's play for them.
And then, without warning, Jocelyn saw movement coming from the edge of the forest, the unmistakable image of lycans tangling with...vampires.
Her eyes shot back and forth, trying to understand what she was seeing, stretching to account for all the combatants.
Nachari stood only yards from the cabin, taking inventory of the dead bodies surrounding him, searching vigilantly for any remaining enemies.
Marquis had moved away from the shed and was heading toward Nachari, reloading the double-barreled shotgun in his hand as he moved on the balls of his feet, his senses flaring out in all directions.
And Nathaniel had come down from his perch in the tree.
So who was fighting at the edge of the forest?
Jocelyn's heart began to race and she swallowed hard.
There were red and black bands of hair—wild manes the color of a king cobra—blowing in the snow-gusted wind, as several Dark Ones warred with their werewolf enemies.
Jocelyn watched, spellbound, wanting to cry out, to say something to Kagen—she needed to alert him—but she was too paralyzed by her own fear to get out the sound. She was catapulted back into the cave with Dalia and Valentine; she was still in the shed staring into a crazed creature's eyes as he lay strapped to a guillotine; she was still witnessing the quick, easy work the Dark One had made of Willie the moment she had released him....
And she was frozen with the knowledge of who—and what—they were.
These creatures had the same speed, the same capacity to become invisible, the same weapons as Nathaniel and his brothers. These were enemies of equal ability.
In a very short time, the world had grown silent, and the land in front of the cabin was still. There were no more lycans. Only blood. And bodies.
The forest had ceased its own violent show as the last of the hunters had fallen, and Nathaniel and his brothers were now walking toward the cabin, each nursing various injuries, none of which seemed life-threatening, at least not from a distance. And then all at once the brothers spun around facing the forest, their backs turned to the cabin.
They spread out in a wide semi-circle, facing their new enemy as the Dark Ones approached like powerful jungle cats: pacing...turning...slowly creeping closer and closer....
"Kagen!" Jocelyn finally managed to croak out his name, but not before her own body unwittingly sprang into action.
Whether out of instinct born of too many years in the field, or just a primal reaction to the threat to Nathaniel, Jocelyn forgot the pain in her arm. She forgot that she was human, and she forgot that Nathaniel had ordered her to stay inside...no matter what occurred.
She only knew that there were four of the Dark Ones, warriors from the house of Jaegar, slowly approaching the cabin, and only three of the Silivasi brothers to meet them.
Why she didn't wait on Kagen, she would never know.
Chapter Twenty-one
Fingering her Beretta with all of the comfort and expertise of years of training, Jocelyn headed out the front door and ran toward Nathaniel.
Nathaniel spun around with a look of pure menace on his face, anger flaring deep red in his eyes as he watched her approach. The fearsome look caught her by surprise and almost stopped her in her tracks.
"Get back to the cabin," he hissed, slowly turning his body to shield hers, placing his broad, powerful frame between Jocelyn and the dark vampires.
Jocelyn stood frozen for a moment, uncertain of what to do: She did not want to incur Nathaniel's wrath, not after what she had just witnessed with the lycans—and Nathaniel's eyes looked absolutely furious—but she was there now
. And she was not some helpless maiden in constant need of being rescued.
She was his destiny.
His other half, right?
It was time for her to start acting like more than just a scared victim. Like more than just a captive. If this was going to be her new world, then she might as well enter it with a bang.
Jocelyn squared her chin. "No."
Somehow, it sounded a lot more confident in her head.
She took a step forward, attempting to join their line.
Nathaniel moved like the wind then, completely cutting her off. His hand caught her wrist in an iron grasp, twisting with such force that she thought her bones might crumble, even as Kagen closed in on her flank. And then Nathaniel shoved her behind him, trapping her between his own body and his twin's.
Jocelyn grimaced, but she refused to cry out in pain: to even acknowledge that it hurt. And then with a courage she didn't really possess, she pushed her way next to Nathaniel and turned her head to face the Dark Ones in a show of solidarity.
This was her family too now, and she would fight with them.
As all four of the undead slowly turned their heads to measure the defiant female, glaring directly at her with four pair of hate-filled eyes, Jocelyn's knees began to buckle and her stomach turned to jelly.
The piercing glares seemed to burn right through her, and then a depraved smile curved along the lips of the tallest male. He was standing closest to the front and took an almost imperceptible step forward as his eyes measured her up and down, stopping momentarily to sneer at the nine-millimeter in her hand.
Oh hell, Jocelyn thought, as common sense finally began to replace valor, and the desire to survive finally began to trump her previous fanatical impulse to...do what?
She was standing in front of four supernatural beings: vampires. Each one baring lion-sharp fangs. Each one possessing the ability to move so swiftly that she would be dead before she ever saw them coming. Not one of them was capable of being shot, and all of them were more than capable of becoming invisible. Yet there she stood: holding a weapon loaded with silver bullets, a method that only worked on...werewolves.
As if the tall Dark One could read her mind—and truth be known, he probably could—a low, wicked laugh rumbled in his throat. Their evil gazes turned back to the males, but she was certain her stupidity was now the main element of Nathaniel's strategy. She had placed him in a much more vulnerable position than he had been in before, and the growing awareness made her sick to her stomach.
As if the battle with the lycans had not been enough for him, Marquis's hand began to twitch, and his eyes lit up...turning from red to yellow then red again. He fingered a dagger just inside of his coat sleeve, allowing the silver blade to slide noiselessly into his hand.
"Ready to play when you are," he hissed, his mouth turned up in a smile.
The tall one turned ever so slightly to regard Marquis, and then a sudden, unexpected movement startled him from behind—a strong hand placed on the leader's chest in a gesture of...restraint. The confusion was palpable. The tension unbelievable. As they all stood...waiting...to see what the male was going to do.
Jocelyn recoiled, immediately calling unwanted attention to herself, but she couldn't help it. She'd know those familiar eyes anywhere.
Until the day she died, the enraged look of those pupils, the deep lines of desperation etched into the male's brow, the feel of that tangled mass of hair beneath the pads of her fingers would be scorched into her memory. In the throes of life and death, she had stared at that face...and taken in every nuance.
She had memorized every detail. She had been terrified by his overwhelming desire to kill. She had been drawn in by his desperate yearning to survive....
It was the vampire from the shed—the one who had been manacled to the guillotine. As he stepped beside the leader, he looked her over—thoughtfully—his face still reflecting the unmistakable malevolence so characteristic of his kind. Yet there was something else reflected in his features as well: a recognition in his eyes, a reasoning that went beyond instinctual.
Nathaniel looked from the Dark One to Jocelyn...and then back to the Dark One again...immediately picking up on the unspoken connection between them.
He saw it. And he didn't like it.
A low growl of warning rose in his throat as he subtly shifted his posture; his sinewy muscles expanded and contracted with the promise of lethal attack. His focused glare burned like a laser straight into the Dark One's eyes, and his face held the swift assurance of death.
The Dark One hissed in response, but his eyes never left Jocelyn's. And then he exhaled and inclined his head in a faint nod. "And you are?"
The Dark One waited, his eyes fixed on hers.
Jocelyn cleared her throat, trying to find her voice:
"Jocelyn."
The sound was hardly a whisper.
Nathaniel's head spun around and he glared at her with unadulterated scorn. She felt a strange constriction in her throat—a numbing, like paralysis—and she knew Nathaniel had taken control over her voice: She could no longer speak.
Jocelyn would not utter another sound—not even if she wanted to.
The Dark One seemed wholly unaffected by Nathaniel's blatant show of authority. "I am Saber...Alexiares." He introduced himself...to Jocelyn.
Marquis, Nachari, and Kagen all caught their breath at the same time, stunned by the Dark One's audacity—his blatant provocation to battle.
"You wish to decree your own death-sentence, Dark One?"
Nathaniel asked, his voice as hard as stone. "Do not be a fool!
Such arrogance will not go unpunished."
The Dark One quickly turned his gaze to meet Nathaniel's and nodded with deference...a clear understanding that Jocelyn belonged to him. "The female is yours. I meant no disrespect."
The tall vampire standing in the front snapped his head around and hissed at Saber, clearly incensed, but the male continued. "We have one wounded in the forest, and a dead child who was taken yesterday behind the shed." He gestured toward the cabin. "You have an injured child as well."
This time when his eyes scanned Jocelyn, it was not a direct connection with her as much as an indication to Nathaniel. "For this night only, let us gather our dead and our wounded and return to our homes; we can kill each other tomorrow."
Marquis grunted, then snarled. "You are already dead, foolish one."
Saber hissed, his muscles twitching in a clear effort to maintain control. He obviously wanted to fight as much as Marquis did, and the insult didn't sit well with him. But he looked once more at Jocelyn...and took another deep breath.
"Perhaps." His eyes remained focused on Nathaniel.
The sons of Jaegar standing beside him were visibly staggered. They looked completely appalled, as if his words were a direct affront to their pride, and they weren't sure how to handle the unexpected situation.
"We do not need permission from ones such as these, Saber, to gather our dead and our injured. What the hell are you doing?" It was the prominent one who spoke.
Saber shook his head. "Rest assured, I am not asking permission of anyone." He turned to regard the one who spoke as their leader and indistinctly bared his fangs. Then he gestured toward the shed and the forest and began to walk away. When the others reluctantly followed, it became blatantly clear who their leader really was.
Jocelyn exhaled as relief washed over her. Nathaniel would not have to fight anymore tonight; she might actually get to live until tomorrow, and hopefully, he would not grow any angrier than he already was. She had escaped her own foolishness...this time.
As she watched the dark vampires walk away, she couldn't help but take one more look at Saber Alexiares. Had her actions in the shed had anything to do with his decision?
As if he was reading her thoughts, he turned to look over his shoulder, and the faint corner of his cruel mouth turned up just a fraction. "If only for this night," he snarled, the truth of what he was evident i
n the evil hiss of his voice, "the enemy of my enemy...." His voice trailed off.
Jocelyn looked down at the ground, not wanting to incur anymore of Nathaniel's wrath.
"What does that mean?" he hissed.
Jocelyn put her hand to her throat; it was a gesture asking him to release her voice. As she felt her vocal cords relax, she cleared her throat. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. In the shed...earlier...I saved his life. And he saved mine."
Nathaniel looked up toward the forest, staring at the son of Jaegar incredulously. "Dark One," he called, "is this true?" He looked every bit as stunned as the other vampires had been only moments earlier. Kagen, Nachari, and Marquis looked equally astonished.
Saber shrugged his shoulders and stopped to face the brothers. "Don't worry, sons of Jadon: I would've killed her if you hadn't shown up." He ran his hands through his thick black-and-red-banded hair. "The lycan was just a more...immediate concern." He inclined his head. "But she was wise to reason the outcome...and brave to take the chance. And that is the only reason we do not wage war here tonight." He winked at Marquis. "Tomorrow, warrior; there's always tomorrow." And then he disappeared behind the thick wall of the forest.
Jocelyn covered her throat with her hands, realizing just how close she had come to dying earlier that night. "I had no other choice," she whispered. "I was already dead." And then she immediately turned to walk toward the cabin.
She was shocked when her head hit the hard resistance of what felt like a cement wall, and she immediately realized she had never been in any danger at all: Nathaniel had placed her in an invisible fortress much like Marquis had done to Braden earlier. He had constructed a barrier that was next to impossible to penetrate for the ensuing battle. She felt embarrassed. Humiliated. Yet she waited without a word to be released.
"Never...ever...for any reason," Nathaniel thundered,"believe that one of the Dark Ones is your friend! He will be back to kill you...if for no other reason than because he let you go tonight. And I thought I told you to remain in the cabin!"
Nathaniel was too angry to speak another word. Too enraged to release her. He stared at her for a long moment, disapproval heavy in his eyes, and then he simply turned his back and walked away.
