two
Marquis and Nachari stared at the ancient sovereign king of their people with more than a little concern in their eyes. In all their years of living, they had never seen the powerful ruler so rattled. The male could hardly pull himself together.
He paced a quick lap around the formal receiving room of his four-story manse—for the fifth time. He glanced down the hallway toward the bathroom, where the females had retreated to bathe before dinner, and then he glared at Marquis and Nachari as if he had half a mind to throttle them both. For what, they had no idea.
“Jadon and Jaegar’s sisters,” Napolean rambled. “Alive after all this time.” He wrung his hands together and sat back down on the sofa. “Remarkable, don’t you think?”
Just as Marquis started to speak, the sovereign lord jumped back up.
Lap six.
“Nachari,” Napolean spoke gravely, “you are a wizard now, are you not?”
Nachari glanced at Marquis. “Yep, last time I checked.”
Marquis shifted uncomfortably and shook his head, regarding his little brother harshly. Do not be so arrogant, he admonished telepathically, wondering where the question was headed. After all, Napolean had already posed the same query. Twice.
Sharing Marquis’s sentiment, Napolean spun around, the silver slashes in his deep onyx eyes growing harsh: “Watch yourself, son. Do not think to be that informal with me, even under circumstances such as these.”
Nachari paled. His strong shoulders drew back as he bowed his head. “Forgive me, milord; I meant no offense.”
Napolean turned to look out the window then. His waist-length, black-and-silver hair shifted along his back. His proud frame became rigid. “You know, Marquis…” He didn’t turn around to look at the Ancient Warrior. “The county fire department is still extinguishing several blazes as we speak; public service has been pumping water back into the rivers all afternoon; and there are several cleanup crews removing boulders and debris from the roadways.”
Marquis was too old and too hardened to placate the sovereign lord, although he knew exactly what he was referring to: his earlier outburst at Shelby’s grave. The dangerous results of his unchecked emotions. Marquis remained quiet, waiting to hear what the king had to say.
“If it was anyone else, there might be consequences.” Napolean turned around to regard the warrior then. “But I know the weight of what you carry, and how long you have carried it. Marquis,”—he said his name with veneration—“there were several humans injured.”
Marquis frowned. “Were there any deaths?”
Napolean sighed and turned back toward the window. “No…fortunately.”
Marquis remained quiet. There was nothing to say. Don’t let it happen again was implied, and Marquis already knew the gravity of his actions. He also knew that their king had far too much respect for him to reprimand an Ancient Master in front of his younger brother of lesser status. He and Napolean were two of the oldest males in the house of Jadon. Though Marquis understood clearly who his Sovereign was, the two were more like equals than king and subject.
Realizing that Napolean had said all he was going to say, Marquis distracted himself by looking around the room. As many times as he had stood in the foyer or entered the Hall of Justice, this was the first time he had ever sat in the king’s private living quarters: Napolean kept his personal life primarily hidden from his subjects, and seeing the interior of the house for the first time was fascinating.
The sovereign lord’s manse was certainly a home befitting a king: dignified, formal, and reflective of all twenty-eight hundred years of the Original Male’s life. There were four levels to the private rectory, which was linked to the public Hall of Justice by a sealed tunnel that gave the king easy access to the three, ceremonial chambers: the chamber that held the tomes of the Vampyr race, containing the laws, histories, births, and deaths of their people; the chamber where the first-born sons were relinquished to atone for the sins of their forefathers; and the chamber containing the insufferable circular hall, where the sons of Jadon—those who failed to satisfy the Blood Curse—spent their last, agonizing hours.
The chamber where Marquis’s beloved younger brother Shelby had so recently spent his last unthinkable hours.
Marquis shifted once more on the sofa, forcing the memory from his mind: That was not a safe place to go. Looking up at the ceiling, he gazed at the artistry, his eyes taking in the intricate detail of the hand-painted mural at the top of the dome: It was a scene from the ancient Greek myth about the god Zeus and his son Apollo. Now that was certainly fitting, Marquis thought. Glancing at Napolean, he could envision the king in the exact same pose, a lightning bolt shooting from his royal hand. Hell, he’d actually seen that vision a time or two in battle, already.
As his gaze drifted from the ceiling to the walls, he noticed that every corner—every window, niche, and archway—was encased in hand-carved white moldings, and the actual windows themselves were made of frosted glass, adorned with scenes of battlements and pictures of the gods etched skillfully into the iced canvases.
While the walls were painted in soft hues of grayish blue, the furniture was far bolder, displaying deep royal blues with red and green accents.
There were art-niches and custom inlays everywhere, each one containing a timeless treasure, items dating back as far as the Barbarian Migrations to the east Roman Empire…when it was still ruled by Constantinople. And the mementos were as eclectic as they were valuable: reflecting the varied cultures of Greece, Persia, and Egypt, as well as North America. Marquis shook his head: The place was equal parts museum and monastery, which just meant that Napolean lived as he ruled—always a king first, an individual second. It was a good thing their king was so private: If a human being ever got wind of these treasures…
Marquis smiled. Now that would be a sight to see: Napolean versus an army of humans. Just as Marquis began to play out the scene in his mind, the ancient lord began to speak.
“I asked you here for a purpose, Nachari.” He placed his hand on the glass window and declined his head with a seriousness of purpose.
Nachari sat up straight. “As always, I am at your service, milord.”
Napolean nodded. “Good...because there is a great deal we need to do in a short amount of time.”
Nachari raised his eyebrows but remained, respectfully, silent.
“As a wizard, you are one of the few among us who might be able to make sense of what Fabian did to the women.” He rubbed his jaw. “We do not yet know if they share our immortality, whether or not they are impervious to human disease, what strengths and vulnerabilities they possess. There is much to be learned in a little amount of time if we are to adequately protect them.” With that, the king turned back to the window and became absorbed, once again, in his own thoughts.
Nachari waited to be certain Napolean was done speaking before he replied. “I am honored, milord, and I will do my best to serve you and the daughters of our ancient king.”
Marquis glanced sideways at his polished younger sibling. King or no, Napolean Mondragon was the greatest warrior among them, and his knowledge of magic was legendary...frightening. Indeed, it was a great honor for him to request Nachari’s assistance. And, of course, Marquis could not have agreed more: The safety of the two original females was paramount.
Nachari smiled, and his eyes seemed to twinkle. You seem to have taken a rather...personal...interest in all of this, my brother.
Marquis snorted: I’m glad you’re so amused, Nachari; I see no humor in the situation.
Nachari leaned back, crossed his legs, and chuckled. Of course you don’t, Marquis.
Stay out of my business, boy, Marquis warned.
Nachari patted him on the knee and sighed with satisfaction. Oh, I’m afraid I just can’t do that, Master Warrior. I have waited over four-hundred years for this: You have no idea.
Waited for what? Marquis scowled.
Before Nachari could answer, a door at the
end of the hall opened, and a single set of footsteps advanced along the polished marble floors. It was the princess Vanya, and she was wearing a garden motif dress with a draped bodice and a flowing sash in the center: one of several garments Napolean had requested delivery of earlier that afternoon. She looked like a walking Monet painting: both stunning and timeless.
Nachari leaned forward on the sofa, and Napolean turned away from the window. Both males were unmistakably breathless. And despite his best resolve, Marquis exhaled slowly. No offense to human women, but the Celestial gods certainly knew how to perfect a female.
Vanya Demir was a princess in every sense of the word. Her body was slender with sleek, regal lines and she sashayed as she moved, her head held at a slight upward angle, her shoulders pulled back and straight. Her soft, sculpted lips were set in a gentle but stern line, and her keen, attentive eyes took in everything around her with noble acuity.
The young celestial female had long, flaxen hair with light blond highlights that fell well below her waist, and her eyes were an unusual pale rose: as stunning as they were unique. She knew she was beautiful. She knew she was royalty. And she knew she commanded the moon and the stars. It was in her every movement, her every breath.
The princess stopped at the entrance to the hall and gracefully curtsied as Marquis and Nachari stood. Napolean quickly advanced across the room, and then all at once, he stumbled over an antique coffee table—nearly falling over.
Nachari swallowed a gasp and shot a bewildered glance at Marquis. What the—
Not a word, Marquis growled. Not a single word.
Napolean shot them both a harsh, reprimanding glare, and Nachari took a step back. Tell me we are not broadcasting our thoughts on a public bandwidth, Marquis. Please...
Marquis frowned. Of course not, brother. I do not believe he can hear us speak to one another—but he can certainly perceive our visual images and read our emotions.
All at once, Marquis sensed a powerful shift in his younger brother’s energy, and then he caught the deliberate, fixed image of the ocean planted in Nachari’s mind. Four hundred years at the Romanian University to become a Master of Wizardry, and you conjure an image of the ocean to conceal your thoughts? Well, that makes sense—coming from a male who lives in the Rocky Mountains.
Nachari rolled his perfect eyes.
“Good evening, princess.” Napolean spoke in the Old Language, motioning toward a cushioned, high-back chair. “Are you feeling any better?”
Vanya took a seat, her elegant back arched with imperial posture. “A bit.”
Despite her response, her eyes were swollen, and her words came out hollow: Marquis knew that she had been crying off and on ever since they had awoken her. Ever since she had learned that all she once knew was gone. That she had outlived her brothers, her parents, her people...and her civilization. It was an enormous amount of grief to carry, and Vanya was clearly still in shock.
Napolean took a seat beside her and gestured toward Nachari. “You have already met the Ancient Master Warrior Marquis, but this is his youngest brother, the Master Wizard Nachari. He is here to help us sort through this...situation.”
Vanya looked up at Nachari and smiled faintly. “’Tis an honor to meet you, wizard. How do you and thy brother fare this evening?”
Nachari gulped. “Very well, thank you.”
Marquis took a seat. “Is Ciopori...is your sister...okay?”
“Indeed,” Vanya replied. “She will be joining us soon, warrior.”
Nachari sat back down as well, and put his hands in his lap.
As the king cleared his throat to speak, his severe silver-pupils were fixed on Vanya’s face like lasers. “I took the liberty of bringing in a temporary chef to cook for you and your sister until we figure out something more permanent. You will both be staying here for the immediate future.”
And no doubt, the security will be greatly increased, Nachari commented absently to Marquis.
Vanya nodded. “Thank you. I’m sure the accommodations will be lovely. You did not yet have a chef to your liking, I take it?”
Napolean wrung his powerful hands together like a teenage boy fidgeting, and then he promptly...stuttered: “We...uh...we...we don’t eat...food.” He swallowed an obvious lump in his throat.
“I see,” Vanya responded cordially, pretending not to notice.
Nachari put his arm along the ridge of the sofa and leaned back as if taking in a very interesting show. I believe our king is...drooling...Marquis: I swear, in all my years, I have never seen Napolean react like this…to anything.
Marquis didn’t respond.
Although, I can hardly blame him; she is breathtaking, is she not? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful creature in all of my life.
All at once, Napolean’s head snapped to the side in a wicked, serpentine movement. His eyes flashed from onyx to red—then back again—the warning so swift it was almost imperceptible. His top lip twitched in the same rapid manner, displaying a lightning quick flash of fangs.
Nachari shot back on the sofa and looked down. I don’t care what you say, Marquis; he can hear us!
Well, perhaps you should shut-up then, little—
Of course I can hear you! Napolean’s eyes never veered from Nachari’s. I have the blood of every male in the house of Jadon in my veins, including your own: I know where each one of you is and what each one of you is doing...at all times. Trust me: I can do far more than intercept your private communication at will. I am your Sovereign, and I can reach into places you do not even know exist, youngster. There was a clear note of warning in his voice.
Oh gods—Nachari shrank down on the sofa—I’m sorry...milord.
Napolean smiled then. You are young and proud, wizard. There is no offense taken...yet.
Just then, Nachari’s cell phone went off, and he reached into his back pocket so fast one would have thought the thing was on fire. “Excuse me,” he said, opening a screen to read a text. He immediately turned to Marquis. “Brother, Chad has been trying to reach you for the last hour; is your cell phone off?”
Marquis shrugged. “I don’t know...maybe.” He checked all of his pockets. “I must have left it in the truck.”
Having the ability to either fly or materialize at will, vampires rarely drove their vehicles. Unfortunately, Marquis had needed a way to transport Ciopori and Vanya to Napolean’s, and it wasn’t possible for a vampire to materialize carrying anything more than fifty-pounds at one time. As for flying, he could have easily carried them both, even cloaked their appearances for safety; however, soaring through the air at supernatural speed might have been a bit much for Vanya at the time. Of course, learning about the automobile had been an adventure in its own right for both females.
“Well, it looks like there’s a situation at the casino,” Nachari explained, showing Marquis the text.
Marquis took the phone from Nachari. Chad Baxter, his security chief at the Dark Moon Casino, rarely, if ever, tried to get a hold of Marquis at home, unless there was something really pressing going on. “Do you mind if I step outside and make a call?” Marquis asked, addressing his Sovereign.
“Not at all,” Napolean answered.
“Thank you.” Marquis headed for the door. On his way out, he heard Vanya whisper to Napolean—
“What’s a...call?”
Marquis just shook his head. Communication was going to be a major challenge between himself and Ciopori for a while. He was hoping like hell he could simply transfer huge blocks of information to her at one time: the same way he could with his Vampyr brothers. Otherwise, she was looking at relearning everything—including a new language.
Marquis dialed the casino and smiled at the thought of spending that much time with Ciopori.
“That you, boss?” The voice on the other end of the phone sounded anxious.
“You texted Nachari: What is it?”
Chad sighed like he had something to say but was afraid to say it.
&
nbsp; “I haven’t the time, Chad,” Marquis warned his employee.
“It’s Kristina...and Dirk.”
“Again?”
“Yeah...”
“How bad?” Marquis asked.
“Well, she certainly can’t work her shift tonight, and I’m afraid if she goes back home...he’s gonna kill her this time.”
Marquis frowned. Kristina Riley was more than just the casino’s most productive cocktail waitress; she was a close friend and ally to the Silivasi family: Only eight years earlier, the human female had been a homeless runaway when Kagen Silivasi had brought her into the house of Jadon. He had been flying over the outskirts of Silverton Park one night when he heard a woman cry out from the back end of a dark alley. Though vampires rarely got involved in human affairs, the unmistakable scent of a Dark One had permeated the air, and Kagen had known, instinctively, that one of two things was about to happen: Either a Dark One was about to feed on a human—draining her of every drop of blood she had—or worse, he was going to take her back to his lair, impregnate her, and force her to undergo a gruesome ritual which would end in her agonizing death and the birth of his twin sons.
Marquis shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to remember his youngest brother’s recent death at the hands of Valentine Nistor—a son of Jaegar who had done the exact same thing with Shelby’s destiny, leaving the youngest Silivasi brother to die at the hands of the Blood Curse.
Fortunately for Kristina, Kagen had slain the son of Jaegar and brought her back to the Dark Moon Health Center before the Dark One could carry out his plan. After learning of her circumstances, he had given her a temporary place to stay and worked with Marquis to find her a job at the casino.
Kristina had worked out beautifully.
And over time, she had become an ally if not a friend.
Due to her deep gratitude and absolute ability to keep a confidence, Kagen had not erased her memories. He had allowed her, instead, to retain full knowledge of who and what the sons of Jadon were, knowing that every now and then, having a human who could go human places, do human things, and move undetected in the deepest arenas of the human world came in handy. Having a second set of eyes at the casino had proved to be especially useful.