Blood Awakening

  Despite his lack of appreciation for the female, her words hit home.

  “This time two weeks from now, I’ll be incapable,” she added, sounding defeated. “And I won’t even care what the consequences are: your life or mine. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. That’s just how messed up I am. So I’m offering this to you, now.” She clenched her eyes shut. “At least give me that much control, Marquis.”

  Marquis studied Kristina carefully, and then he gently probed her thoughts: She didn’t want him, not by a long shot, so what was it she was after? Because this was about a lot more than fear. As he moved silently through the recesses of her troubled mind, he saw the trepidation and confusion she spoke of—and her determination to survive. But he also saw something else.…

  He saw a girl who had never felt safe a single day in her life, not even when she was working at the casino under the protection of the house of Jadon. Marquis frowned. They should have taken care of Dirk much, much sooner. But her insecurity went deeper than that. There wasn’t a single day in her hard, young life when she had felt peace. And that was something he understood.

  Very well.

  Staring into her deep blue eyes, he knew they would never share passion or Eros love. Theirs would be more of a brother-sister, father-daughter relationship, if they even achieved that—and how disgusting was that thought in light of what she was offering?

  Marquis shook his head to clear his thoughts.

  She couldn’t give him anything—because she had absolutely nothing to give. But he could give her something. Not love, not passion, not even eroticism, but safety, security, and peace. And wasn’t there some way to make love that wasn’t about the ultimate, primal ecstasy—bite and release—but more about those deeper, more meaningful things? If there was, he needed to find it and harness it…just this once.

  He sighed and held out his arm. “Kristina, come here.”

  As she hesitantly folded her body beneath his arm, nestling against his much larger frame, he sent her a deep sensation of warmth and security. He wrapped her from the inside out in a feeling of well-being, from her heart to her soul, down to the very toes of her feet. And then he watched as she let out a deep exhale—like someone who had been holding her breath since the day she was born.

  Gently running his hands through her hair, he bathed her in unconscious images of safety and security, ensconcing her in a thick cocoon of light.

  Tears escaped her eyes as she nuzzled in closer like a baby being held for the first time. It was as pitiful as it was sad, and certainly not the appropriate time for a man to seek pleasure from a woman…but this was what she had asked for. And Marquis did not see a deeper, more passionate connection ever occurring between them. No. This was all they had to exchange. She would give him twin sons, provide him with the requirements of the Blood Curse, and ultimately save his life, and he would give her one night of safety and security in exchange, with a promise to provide all of those things outside of the bedroom for the rest of their lives.

  Their very, very long lives.

  Marquis clenched his eyes shut. He couldn’t think of that right now.

  As Kristina gave into the warmth of his ministrations, she became like butter in his hands: not so much on an erotic adventure but melting, falling into a deep, spiritual trance.

  Marquis made his every touch gentle, distributing ever deeper waves of security as he softly stroked her arms, her neck, and the sides of her jaw with his thumb. Until he was finally able to bend down and kiss her without resistance.

  The kiss was short and soft. Just a flutter. A test.

  The depth of passion he needed to deepen or sustain the kiss just wasn’t there, but it still imparted trust and warmth, which in turn allowed her to relax even further as he gently laid her down on the ground.

  She was definitely in a spell of sorts, just not the kind she had expected. As tears rolled down her face—tears that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with how she felt about herself—he gently kissed them away, one at a time, slowly peeling back the robe to expose her soft flesh. His hand swept gently across her narrow waist and over the small, flat expanse of her belly, willing her into even deeper serenity. He was nothing more than a conduit now, using his body to illicit the spiritual healing she had craved all of her life. Taking nothing. Making no demands. Simply giving a starving soul the sustenance it craved.

  As Marquis continued to concentrate on her inner being, it became easier to touch her, caress her…kiss her. Nothing was about him.

  Nothing was about them.

  He would not enter her harshly or thrust away as he would a female he desired to pleasure...and be pleasured by. Rather, he would give her the experience of being cherished, of feeling worthy, until she completely surrendered for the first time in her life, and then he would gradually—carefully—enter her welcoming body. Careful not to hurt her with his size. Stretching her so slowly that she wouldn’t even notice.

  He would fill her with peace, tenderness—and seed—without a single thrust being necessary, and then he would just as gently withdraw.

  The preparation might take an hour. The sex, maybe thirty seconds. As she fell off into a peaceful sleep, he would command her to conceive, awakening her only when it was time to call forth his sons to materialize from her womb.

  And both of them could live with what had been done between them.

  Marquis had ascended to another level entirely.

  Like an artist with a canvas, or a poet with a pen, his own state of mind had elevated to semi-conscious awareness as the female beneath him parted her legs to accept him willingly. Her head tilted back, her eyes drifted shut, and warmth radiated from the core of her body like sunshine through a plate-glass window.

  As Marquis subtly shifted his body in order to blanket hers, he felt an odd, uninvited stirring in the energy around them.

  No. Not now! They were so close.

  He placed a strong barrier around Kristina, insulating her from the disturbance, and tried to refocus.

  Brother. The telepathic call slammed into his head.

  He ignored it.

  Brother!

  Marquis tried to quiet his mind. Ignore it, and it will go away.

  He used the massive strength of his thighs to gently push Kristina’s wider so he could gain entrance. And then he began to lower his pelvis to hers.

  Marquis!

  Marquis pulled up, threw back his head, and grimaced. Yes, he was providing an incredible spiritual service, and yes, he was detached from any deeper, erotic relationship, but hell, he was still a man. And this close to release, his body wanted to finish!

  Go away, Nachari! he demanded. I’m busy! I will contact you in a few minutes.

  But this is important.

  Later!

  Very important!

  Marquis slammed down a mental barrier and lowered his hips once again, the head of his shaft pressing firmly against Kristina’s moist core of heat. Despite his sage-like control, a low groan escaped his throat.

  Now, Marquis! Nachari pushed right through the mental barrier. What the heck are you doing?

  Marquis felt his face flush, and anger heated his resolve. He looked down at Kristina to make sure she was still feeling the enchantment. Brother, go away; or I swear, I will kill you! He tried to close the telepathic bandwidth, but was met with a strong current of resistance.

  And then he felt...a mind probe.

  Had Nachari lost his mind!

  Male vampires never invaded the thoughts of other male vampires. It was unheard of. Rude! Taboo. And rank was everything.

  Nachari was his junior, barely beyond a fledgling at five-hundred years old: a recently graduated Master Wizard who was still working on his final project! Marquis, on the other hand, was an Ancient. He had been a Master for over one-thousand years, and he was the elder male of the two, not to mention the head of the family now that their father was gone.

  This was heresy.

  Marquis
would throw the arrogant fool through a wall when he saw him next. He catapulted Nachari out of his mind, severed the telepathic line, and turned back to Kristina, whose eyes had now opened.

  Ah hell.

  He sent her a strong beacon of warmth and relaxation, and then he stroked her cheek with his hand. “Are you all right?” he drawled seductively, praying she was still with him.

  Her peaceful smile told him all he needed to know.

  As her arms wrapped around the steel cords of his back, her legs fell fully open. “I think I actually want this, Marquis.” Her eyelashes fluttered closed, and her deep blue eyes disappeared behind heavy lids.

  “No you don’t!” A commanding male voice sliced through the enchantment, echoing throughout the deep expanse of mountain behind the house.

  Kristina gasped in shock, and Marquis spun around so quickly he forgot he was naked. His manhood standing at full attention, he landed in an attack stance in front of his brother.

  Nachari blanched and covered his eyes. “Damn! I did not need to see all that!”

  Marquis growled in fury, waving his arm over Kristina to put her to sleep. He reached for his pants, using levitation to draw them into his hands, and pulled them on with preternatural speed. And then he hurled himself across the four feet of expanse between himself and Nachari, snatched the wizard up by the throat, and threw him into the air.

  Dark raven and emerald wings shot out of Nachari’s back as he hurled backward, flapping furiously in an attempt to stop his trajectory before he slammed into a tree. Hovering in the air, he reached for his throat to massage it.

  “Have you lost your mind!” Marquis thundered. “Do you have any idea what you just interrupted?”

  Nachari looked down at the sleeping, naked woman lying on Marquis’s robe. “Yeah, I would say I have a pretty good idea.”

  “You think this is funny?” Marquis picked up a stone and hurled it at his younger brother, hitting him so hard in the chest his collarbone snapped. “You have no idea!”

  Nachari looked stunned. “What the hell is wrong with you?” His breath came in short pants as he released venom into his hand, packed the healing serum against the protruding bone, and waited for the fissures to fuse back into place. The moment they were sealed, he waved his arm in front of him, constructing a magical ring of fire around his body. “I’m not going to fight you, Marquis.” He gestured toward the ring of fire. “I know I’m no match, but even you don’t want to cross a ring of magic.”

  Marquis chuckled loud and sinister. He hurled his own blazing arc of fire from his fingertips, struck the magical ring dead in the center, and added to its power. And then he pulled the combined conflagration back, like a cowboy with a lasso, and bathed in the scorching heat. Looking down at his own glowing body, he smiled at Nachari.

  And then he lunged.

  Nachari screamed like a girl. “Stop! Brother, please!”

  Marquis met Nachari in mid-air and threw him down to the ground. “You invaded my thoughts, little brother! And disobeyed a direct command!” This was the last straw. How much more could one vampire take?

  Marquis had lived a long, painful life.

  His twin had been sacrificed at birth, he had lost his parents to the lycans, and his cherished little brother had been indirectly murdered by his mortal enemy. And now, the only woman he had ever loved was gone as well. He glared into Nachari’s petrified eyes. The unlucky bastard had just pulled the pin out of a grenade.

  Apparently, Nachari realized exactly what was happening. Scrambling to his feet, he fell into formal protocol. He bowed his head, descended to one knee, and crossed his arms over his chest...waiting. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, a bead of sweat escaping his brow.

  Marquis stalked around him slowly, growling in disgust, trying to calm himself down. When he finally held out his right hand, Nachari took it tentatively. He bent to the ring on Marquis’s fourth finger—the one with the crest of the house of Jadon engraved in it—and kissed it with deference.

  Marquis snorted. “Speak.”

  Nachari raised his head but kept his eyes averted. “I would humbly ask this fellow descendant of Jadon, an Ancient Master Warrior, honored elder, and esteemed son of Lord Draco—for his forgiveness. I meant no offense, my brother.”

  “You entered my thoughts!”

  “Yes, my brother.”

  Marquis leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “In five-hundred years, you have never shown me such disrespect, Nachari. What in the world—”

  “Kristina is not your true destiny.” The words came out in a rush, and Nachari quickly dropped his head back down.

  Marquis froze then. He cocked his head to the side as if he had heard him incorrectly. “What did you say?”

  Nachari looked up but still avoided direct eye contact. “I said Kristina is not your true destiny. Ciopori is. Salvatore used the Ancient Book of Black Magic to switch them.”

  Marquis staggered back. “Look at me.” It was a harsh command, and Nachari met his brother’s stare head-on. Without pause, Marquis returned the offense and forced his way into Nachari’s mind, extracting everything but the gray matter.

  And then he sank to his knees, trembling.

  Slowly, Nachari approached the Ancient Master Warrior—who was too stunned for words. “Is it too late?” he whispered, gesturing toward Kristina. “Did you already...have you commanded her pregnancy?”

  Marquis looked up and slowly shook his head from side to side. “No.” He thought about the implications and almost collapsed. “Oh, gods,” he exhaled slowly.

  And then, without warning, he snatched his little brother up by the collar and pulled him into the strongest hug he had ever given another male. Unable to pull away, he buried his head in the wizard’s shoulder and shook. “Thank you, my brother.” He squeezed him even harder. “For being a wizard. For invading my thoughts. For coming here to stop me. For…for…oh hell, just thank you!”

  Nachari struggled for breath, and Marquis relaxed his hug. The wizard sighed with relief. “You’re welcome, warrior. And I love you, too.”

  twenty-two

  Salvatore Nistor watched as Stefano Gervasi, the ancient Chief of Council, shook his long, bony finger at the males seated at the table and then pounded his fists into the worn, limestone tabletop, drawing his own blood. “How many dead?” he thundered, sucking the blood from the wound.

  The council table remained quiet.

  “Demitri, what’s the final count!” Stefano demanded.

  Demitri Zeclos stirred in his high-backed leather seat and took his time answering, which made Salvatore smile...inside: Yes, there was a time and place for insolence and a time and place for obedience. And this was the time for the latter.

  “At final count, there were twelve guards, fifty children, one worthless nanny, and eighty-seven soldiers,” Demitri answered respectfully

  Stefano fell back into his chair, the burden of his seat clearly weighing heavily upon him. “Eighty-seven soldiers?” he repeated uselessly. “How?”

  Milano Marandici, another young hopeful councilman, leaned forward. “The guards were killed by our enemies’ teams. It appears they entered from both the east and the west tunnels while the colony slept. The children were slaughtered by the squad led by Marquis, and the soldiers were killed by Napolean.”

  “Single-handedly?” the chief asked, incredulous.

  Salvatore sighed with annoyance: The chief had heard the story a dozen times. They all had. Yes, Napolean Mondragon was far more powerful than any of them knew. And yes, he had melted a damn army of Dark Soldiers right in their own hallway by harnessing the light of the sun. Blah. Blah. Blah. Now could they just get on with it?

  “Yes, sir,” Milano answered.

  Stefano leaned forward, placed both elbows on the table, and glared at his second in command, Oskar Vadovsky. “Oskar, tell me you have crafted a plan in response.”

  Before Oskar could answer, Stefano turned back to Salvatore, s
o angry that spittle shot from the corners of his cruel mouth. “And the Ancient Book of Black Magic—the Blood Canon—it’s gone as well, is it not?”

  Salvatore growled. Now that ticked him off, too. He had possessed that book for nearly eight-hundred years before it was stolen. Fortunately, he knew most of the contents by heart, but still, the thought that some pretty little wizard boy could have stolen it right out from under his nose made him seethe. He glared at Milano, who unfortunately shared Nachari’s deep green eye color, and scowled. “Yes, Chief. I am sorry to report”—for the millionth time—“that Nachari Silivasi appears to have taken the tome from my lair when he exchanged my nephew.”

  Stefano stared at each man, one at a time, lingering a little too long over Milano, which was just plain creepy, before turning back to Oskar. “Your plan?”

  Oskar cleared his throat and made a tent with his fingers. As a fourteen-hundred-year-old ancient and a dangerous adversary, he was only slightly outranked by Stefano and not someone to be toyed with...not even by their reigning chief. His eyes roamed between Stefano and Milano, and he growled with disgust.

  Ah, so he had caught the strange vibe coming from the old geezer, too. True, Milano was rather disturbingly beautiful for a male, even with his short, disheveled hair, so typical of youth under five-hundred years old, but that was certainly not how the colony operated—males staring like that at other males, that is.