Blood Awakening

  Marquis lowered his head, opened his mouth, and tried once again to offer the supplication. Once again, nothing came out. By now, the swirling mist had transformed into a black, angry cloud. Taking the shape of mangled claws, it rose from the ground, perched over the altar, and reached out to claim the infant, who was now screaming at such a high pitch that it hurt Marquis’s ears. Red stains, like blood, dripped down from the sharp talons, and the room began to shake as Marquis concentrated…and forced the words.

  “To you who were righteous and without blame, to you who…” His voice trailed off, and the apparition exploded in anger. The dark cloud formed a dangerous funnel, swirled around the altar, and sucked the baby up into its spiraling fury: It was waiting, demanding the supplication.

  Dear gods.

  Marquis looked on with horror: Now he was the one without mercy. Evil or not, the child was suffering between life and death, battered about, awaiting the pronouncement of his body as a sacrifice.

  And then a strong hand settled on Marquis’s shoulder, and he spun around to find Nathaniel standing behind him, a look of startling intensity in the warrior’s eyes. “Brother, let me help you. Release your voice to my control, and let me help you.”

  An arc of lightning shot out from the cloud. It struck the tip of the altar, bringing a horde of snakes to life. They began to slither along the ground toward Marquis, hissing and rising up to look him in the eyes with demonic stares. When a fissure split through the ceiling, Marquis knew he was running out of time.

  Nathaniel tried to reach into Marquis’s mind then—to take control without his permission—but it was sealed like an iron vault. What under heaven was wrong with him? He had a mate now. A son! Nikolai. He couldn’t die like this. Not here. Not today.

  Kagen and Nachari materialized in unison; one stood before him, the other behind him.

  “Brother,” Kagen implored, his eyes wild with trepidation, “give Nathaniel your voice!”

  Marquis stared up at his brown-eyed brother, noting the hard set of his jaw, and slowly shook his head. Kagen didn’t understand. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to do it; he simply could not. In that fateful moment, there was only Shelby—his beloved younger brother—and the injustice of his murder. Marquis’s indignation—his guilt—was a living thing, and his voice would not betray him. Gods in heaven, he was going to die.

  “Look after my son,” he muttered as the reality began to sink in. He could not speak those words.

  Nachari knelt before him. He began to chant a hypnotic spell, while weaving a golden aura around his throat. He intended to force Marquis’s words with magic.

  “No!” Marquis yelled. “No.”

  Momentarily stunned, Nachari lost his place. He rushed to start over, but it was too late. The mangled claw came out of the cloud and grasped Marquis by the throat. Determined to pierce the golden aura, the razor-sharp talons slashed deeply, three times, tearing through Marquis’s jugular like a knife through butter. The snakes began to strike, and a high-pitched shriek shook the chamber walls.

  Napolean was there in an instant. He pumped his hand full of healing venom and quickly thrust the soothing balm against the ancient warrior’s throat. As the king was the only male, outside of a child’s father, who could make the Blood Sacrifice, he hastily began the Supplication: “Pentru tine, care au fost drepţi şi fără—”

  “Cease!” A thunderous voice rang out in the chamber, halting the king in his tracks. “His heart will not yield. Your supplication will not be accepted!” A bolt of fire flew out from the cloud and struck Marquis in the heart. It melted instantly into liquid acid, launching a slow burn inside of his body. Despite his resolve, he cried out in pain; his energy waned from the steady loss of blood.

  “We are only getting started!” the Blood roared. “We will bleed you out until you are helpless; we will sustain your torture for weeks! You will beg for death before we are through!” The rage shook the building, and Marquis felt his bones begin to break, one after another.

  My love! What is happening! Ciopori’s voice cut him deeper than the slayer’s, yet he still could not find the words. Please, warrior, do not leave me alone to raise our son. Say what must be said and come home. Please, Marquis!

  Using the last amount of energy he possessed, Marquis shoved Ciopori out of his mind. She could not witness his pain.

  He could see his brothers’ lips moving, and he could feel the urgency in their commands, but their words no longer registered. The Blood would not allow Nathaniel to take Marquis’s voice or Nachari to use his magic, and Kagen looked…more helpless than he had ever been.

  Nachari grasped Marquis’s face in his hands, his indescribable eyes filled with tears and pleading.

  Pleading.

  Marquis held his brother’s gaze with a warrior’s stare as he felt his liver and his kidneys begin to twist inside. Bile rose in his throat, and he pushed Nachari aside just before he vomited all over the floor. The look of terror and grief on the wizard’s face was the most horrific sight Marquis had ever seen, but before he could crawl away, a slimy hand grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him along the floor.

  He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the torture to come. Where were they taking him? Ah yes, of course, to the sacrificial chamber—where they could do their worst. The pain in his body was already unbearable: Days? Weeks? How could he endure such a thing? Nikolai’s face flashed before his eyes, and his heart filled with regret. Yet as sure as he was a warrior, he knew that such words of contrition would never leave his lips: He was an Ancient Master, trained in the art of war, the leader and protector of his family. Honor was everything. Duty was supreme. Shelby was his brother, and to speak such words would be to dishonor Shelby’s life—to once again fail to live up to his duty.

  What he could not give Shelby in life, he would give him in death.

  Marquis could not go back and place himself in those fateful moments: when Valentine took Dalia, when he brutally raped Shelby’s destiny and denied the fledgling a son. He could not go back and save his brother’s life, but he was here now.

  And this was no longer about an ancient sacrifice, an infant soul already lost, or a baby who would surely grow up to kill him if given the chance. It was about a male from the house of Jadon who had been wrongly accused and murdered: a sibling he had vowed—and failed—to protect.

  The Blood had murdered Shelby Silivasi, and it was not innocent.

  Marquis closed his eyes in resignation: He could feel his body being torn apart, his skin peeling back from the bone. Consumed in the delirium of his pain, he heard his brothers shouting words he could no longer understand. He was what he was, and he had been wrong to believe that he could ever stand in this place, see where Shelby had died, and dishonor him to save his own life. Not even for Nikolai. Not even for Ciopori. He held onto the knowledge that his brothers would raise his son as if he was their own. They would take care of his princess.

  And then all at once a strange sense of peace overtook him, and the pain slowly abated.

  Had he died...so quickly?

  Despite the promise of torture, his heart felt elevated, and his insurmountable grief began to lift. Perhaps it was absolution. Perhaps he was finally to be given the forgiveness he so desperately needed—not that of a bunch of twisted, dead females, for a crime committed centuries before him, but that of one pure soul whom he had failed.

  Marquis sighed, almost afraid to hope. “Can you forgive me now, Shelby?” His words were broken and pitiable. A white light surrounded him, and his clarity returned in rapid waves. Everything in the room fell into sudden, sharp focus.

  The doors to the back of the chamber flew open, and Ciopori rushed in carrying Nikolai in her arms. Her face was gaunt with pain and tears, and the grief-stricken eyes of his brothers reflected the same agony…yet he felt no urgency. There was only peace.

  And then he felt it: a firm, warm hand gripping his shoulder.

  He slowly turned his head in the di
rection of the touch, only to find a radiant male standing before him. His mouth dropped open and his lips trembled, but no words escaped.

  Shelby.

  Flawless, luminescent features shone with pride and grace beneath a wealth of blond curls, and deep green eyes, the same shade of Nachari’s, glowed with compassion. There could be no question, Marquis had to be dead. But when he looked around the room, he saw the same look of awe on the faces of the others. Even the king looked stunned.

  “Brother.” Marquis tested his voice, and it worked fine for a throat that had been so viciously cut.

  Shelby smiled, and his radiance lit up the room like the noon-day sun. “Greetings, my eldest and most honored brother.” He knelt beside the shaken warrior and grasped him by the shoulders.

  The Blood roared in defiance and lunged at the ghostly visitor, but the mystical outline of a dragon suddenly appeared, blocking its path.

  Marquis gasped. “Lord Draco!” He blinked several times, gaping at the silhouette of the blazing celestial dragon—the sacred god of his constellation.

  The dragon spoke through a ring of fire, and the very foundation beneath them shifted to the cadence of its words. “Marquis is from my line, and as such, he is under my protection while we sort this out!” The fire became as liquid gold before transforming once again to ether and settling over Marquis’s body. His peeled skin slid back in place; his broken bones fused together; his twisted organs healed, and the blood spurting from his ravaged arteries simply ceased to flow.

  “You have no right!” the Blood hissed.

  The dragon spun around and squared off with the ghostly entity, eyes the color of the sun glowing in its skull. “I have every right! By the laws that govern the afterlife, the Valley of Spirit and Light has jurisdiction over the Valley of Death and Shadows. And by our law, a blameless soul, one who has lived a life of innocence, may be called upon in prayer to intercede on behalf of another. Should any such prayer be accompanied by a gift of ultimate sacrifice—the willingness of one being to lay down his life for another—then the gods may hear his petition.” Draco’s eyes shot across the room and landed on Nachari. “The wizard prayed to his twin for the life of their brother, even as Marquis resigned to give his life for the same. Shelby has interceded on the wizard’s behalf, and the gods have granted him audience.” He gestured toward the altar where the battered child still lay, mercifully unconscious. “You will still have your sacrifice—or your vengeance—but not before this Blessed One has his say.”

  The Blood howled its rage. It screeched and released its fangs. Its gnarled, ghostly hands curled into fists.

  Draco stood to his full height then. His tail slashed back and forth through the air, sharp-edged scales glowing with the threat of retribution. He laughed a menacing snarl. “Do not test me. You may be powerful, but I am a god. You will not win.”

  Enraged, the entity retreated.

  Marquis looked up into his baby brother’s face, ashamed. “Shelby,” he uttered, “I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

  Shelby’s grip tightened on Marquis’s shoulders, and his eyes held him in an unyielding stare. “It was not your fault, brother.” He looked up and one by one met Nathaniel’s, Nachari’s, and Kagen’s eyes. “It was nobody’s fault.”

  The brothers drew nearer, tears falling without reservation.

  As if he could no longer restrain himself, Shelby stood, turned around, and embraced Nachari. “Brother,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, “flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, heart of my heart; twin of my soul, I have heard your prayers—today and every day. You must forgive yourself for not being here...for not saying good-bye.”

  Nachari wept into his brother’s shoulder, clinging to him like his life depended upon it. The two shared an intimate exchange of words, using a private bandwidth, and then Shelby stepped back and removed an amulet from his neck. “Take this,” he implored. “I will not be able to walk with you anymore—not until you come home to the Valley of Spirit and Light—but you can call me with this amulet, and wherever I am, I will hear you. And whenever I can, I will answer you. You are the twin of my soul; death will not keep us apart.”

  Nachari clutched the amulet, slid it around his neck, and pulled his brother back into his arms. When they finally let go, Shelby placed his hand over Nachari’s heart, and a soft yellow light entered. “My peace is yours, brother. Live for both of us.”

  He then turned to face Nathaniel, but the Master Warrior’s emotions were too intense to appease—his anger too great, his pain too raw. Shelby held out his arms, and Nathaniel stepped back, moving away from the brother he so adored.

  “It’s okay,” Shelby whispered.

  Nathaniel shook his head. His grief and regret—his apology—was so powerful that it leapt between them. “No.” Nathaniel continued to shake his head.

  “I have seen your wife and your son,” Shelby said softly, holding Nathaniel’s tortured gaze. “They are beautiful! And you named my nephew after Father: Keitaro Storm Silivasi. I am pleased for you.”

  Nathaniel put his head in his hands. “No!”

  Shelby took a tentative step forward. “I forgive you—although there’s nothing to forgive.”

  “NO.” Nathaniel slumped down onto his knees, and Shelby followed in one fluid motion.

  “Nathaniel…brother…”

  When Shelby wrapped his arms around the proud Master Warrior, Marquis held his breath. Like everyone else in the room, he was overwhelmed by the intensity of Nathaniel’s anguish. The male’s heart-wrenching sobs racked his powerful chest in endless waves of sorrow, and it seemed like an eternity before Shelby whispered in Nathaniel’s ear and, once again, placed his hand over a troubled heart, imparting peace.

  And then he stood and turned to Kagen. “Dr. Jekyll,” he teased, “my brother, the healer.” His broad smile sent waves of warmth into the ancient’s heart as the two slowly approached each other and met in a warm embrace.

  Kagen stroked Shelby’s hair like he was holding a child, gripping him like he was the most precious thing on earth. “By the gods, I have missed you, Shelby.” Kagen’s voice caught. “I wanted to follow you into the next life.”

  Shelby nodded, his deep green eyes sparkling with kindness. “I know, Kagen, I know. But you’re far too important; your gift is needed here. Brother, I will wait for you in the Valley of Spirit and Light, and we will be together again one day—but not now. It is not yet time for you. Live in peace, brother. For me…live in peace.”

  Kagen held on until Shelby finally, gently, pried him away, and then he simply stared at him as if he were memorizing every line and detail of his face. “I love you, Shelby.”

  Shelby smiled, perfectly content. “And I, you, brother.”

  And then he turned back to Marquis.

  He approached the Ancient Master Warrior slowly, calmly kneeling down on the floor. “Marquis...” His voice held the cadence and purity of a song. “I knew if any would try to follow me, it would be you. If any would stop living, it would be you. If any would lose his way, it would be you. And then I watched as events unfolded—the vengeance you and Nachari took on Valentine.” He lifted his head and regarded Nachari, holding out his hand to give his twin a well-deserved fist pound. “Thank you, my brother; that was righteous justice if ever I saw any.” And then he once again turned to Marquis. “But it did not ease your suffering.”

  Marquis just stared at him, unable to answer.

  “I watched as you found the females.” He gestured toward Ciopori. “Greetings sister.”

  “G…g...greetings,” Ciopori stuttered.

  “May I see my new nephew?”

  Ciopori came forward and knelt before Shelby, her hands trembling. She brushed a quick kiss along Marquis’s temple as she showed Shelby the baby.

  “Whoa, Marquis,” Shelby muttered appreciatively. “I think Nachari might finally have a contender.”

  Marquis wished he could answer, but his guilt simply would no
t allow him the reprieve.

  “He is absolute…perfection,” Shelby said, bending over to kiss the child on the forehead.

  Marquis felt his eyes gloss over with tears, and then Shelby grabbed him firmly by the lapels of his shirt. “You absolutely cannot die here today, my brother! Do you hear me? I forbid it.”

  Marquis grumbled, finally shaken out of his stupor. “I have no wish to die, Shelby, but I cannot dishonor you with those words.”

  To Marquis’s amazement, Shelby laughed. “What is past is past. You cannot bring me back by dying with me. You cannot change the Curse by defying it. You cannot honor me by leaving our brothers, your nephew, your mate, and your son to suffer without you.” Shelby lifted his hands from Marquis’s lapel to brace him by his jaw, not caring that it was a tender act rarely displayed between males. “Do you think that I question your dedication for a moment? That I don’t know you would die for me? That you would kill for me? That you would sacrifice anything—everything—your very life for me?” He swept his hand around the room. “For any of us?” He shook his head. “Marquis, you have been a teacher, a father, a stronghold in times of trouble, and a wise counselor since the day I was born. You have always been my refuge, my pride, and my honor. Do you understand?”

  Marquis swallowed hard and held Shelby’s gaze, even as hot, searing tears trickled down his face.

  “But it is your turn to live now. Your turn to love. Your turn to receive.” He gazed at Ciopori. “For the love of the gods, do you not see what they have given you?” He touched Nikolai on the head. “Would you deprive this child of all you gave to me?”

  Marquis looked down at his son.

  Shelby took him by the arms and shook him gently. “Brother, if you do this thing—if you die here today—then you will kill me all over again. What Valentine did is not your fault, and his soul pays dearly every day in the Valley of Death and Shadows. I came here, and I bowed before that altar and spoke those words because I understood that there is a debt to be paid—whether or not we see it as fair—and because I knew the love of my life, Dalia, would soon meet me in the afterlife once she had completed her own lessons. We are free now, and we are together. And eternity is far too long to give up your soul.” Shelby sat back on his heels and sighed. “Marquis…brother…if I asked you to, would you kill for me?”