Maybe recalling the memories, her once-beloved father’s betrayal, the noose he kept tethered around her neck—all those years living with such a heavy weight on her shoulders had finally caused her to snap.
Santos braced her arm by the elbow, tugged her forward from beneath the table, and lifted her to her feet, even as he rose like a preternatural gust of wind, hauling her upright with him. His touch was exquisitely gentle. His manner was eerily calm. “The house of Jadon is a clan, a brotherhood; it is a faction of Vampyr from a specific line of paternity: from Prince Jadon’s royal lineage. The celestial gods are real, but they do not oversee human affairs. They are ancient beings, powerful deities who long ago mated with humans and created supernatural offspring. And yes, I am a vampire, but not like anything you have been taught in your human mythology and films. I am not undead. I was not made—I was born. And while I do drink blood, I do not kill my prey, at least not innocent humans. I can walk just fine in the sun.”
Natalia felt like she was going to puke.
Her stomach was doing summersaults in her abdomen.
Bracing the same with her hand, she fought against the nausea and tried to back up…to somehow shuffle away… This wasn’t happening. It. Just. Wasn’t. Real. “What is the Curse?” she murmured, unsure of where her courage came from. She just somehow felt it was important.
Santos licked his bottom lip, as if he didn’t even know he was doing it, and the gesture conjured images of animals…and bites…and trickles of blood flowing down a ravaged throat. “My people…my ancestors…the celestial and human offspring, they committed a horrible crime long ago, and they were cursed as punishment. It was then we were turned Vampyr; it was then we were told of our mates; it was then we were promised the moon and the stars as a sign that we had found our destinies…” Even as his voice trailed off, he reached out to take her left hand in his, turned her wrist over, and ran his thumb over the strange, enigmatic marks—the allergic reaction imprinted on her skin. “This isn’t an allergy,” he explained softly. “This is a constellation, a celestial deity: Delphinus, the Dolphin.” He traced one line after another with his forefinger, explaining something about quadrants and clusters of stars, naming their places in the cosmos. “If we were to go outside right now, the moon would be as red as blood, the sky would be dark as pitch, and this very constellation—my ruling lord—would be highlighted in the sky, all around it. It is a sign, Natalia, a sign for me…a way to recognize you.”
She gulped.
She had heard enough.
Her eyes misting with tears, she jerked her arm, yanking it free, and held both palms forward in front of her. “No. Not another word. I know I asked for an explanation, but…no more.”
“Natalia…”
“No.”
“Listen to me—”
“No!”
He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and waited for several anxious seconds before trying again. “Listen to me, angel—”
“I want to go home.” She sidestepped around him, spun on her heel, and made a beeline for the door, knowing full well he wasn’t going to let her walk out of that room.
He was suddenly behind her, his fingers brushing over her jaw, trailing the length of her neck down to the crook of her shoulder, and circling her jugular vein.
No!
He wouldn’t dare.
He couldn’t!
No. No. No. No.
But yes, he pressed his hard, unyielding chest against her back, encircled her waist from behind, and drew her snugly against him. And then he lowered his mouth to her throat, swirled his tongue over the exact same area, and bit her—just like that.
She started to gasp…from pain and shock… Her legs started to tremble.
But then a glorious warmth and an unearthly calm enveloped her, and she fell back against him. Every nerve ending in her body came alive. Her breasts tightened, and her stomach clenched. The hairs on her arms stood up, and she bit down on her lip to suppress a moan.
She felt his canines retract, leaving her bereft, even as he relaxed his grasp on her waist. And then he spun her around with the palms of his hands, cupped her jaw…ever so gently…and sealed his mouth to hers.
Santos Olaru kissed Natalia like he was moments away from drowning and she was his last gasp for air.
He bewitched Natalia.
He worshipped Natalia.
And he sealed his soul to hers—she felt it on a cellular level.
Whatever the vampire was doing, he was no longer relying on words…
And as his tongue swept seductively into her mouth, and her knees nearly buckled, she felt a stream of consciousness—like an internal film playing on her cerebral cortex—and her questions were all at once answered: A king. A castle. Two beautiful princes. A land far away in Romania.
Women, young girls, females being slaughtered…
One tragic sacrifice after another…
Until the blood of the victims, their celestial cry, rose up from the ether and cursed their tormenters: “You shall be made immortal. Condemned to roam the earth in darkness as reviled creatures of the night. Forever forced to feed on the blood of the innocent to survive… You shall never know the love or companionship of a female, nor shall you be capable of producing female offspring. Your sons will be born in sets of twins—two children of darkness, the spawn of human hosts who will die wretchedly upon giving birth—even as the firstborn of the first set will be demanded as a sacrifice of atonement…”
And then the righteous brother—the noble soul—Prince Jadon Demir fell to his knees. He begged the Blood for forgiveness, and he received four mercies: “You will walk in the sun…you will not be forced to take the lives of the innocent…you will be given one opportunity to claim a mate, and the sign of her arrival shall be heralded in the heavens… Your twin sons shall be born as one child of darkness and one child of light, and you shall be allowed to sacrifice the former while keeping the purer soul to carry on our noble race.”
Natalia pulled away from the enchanted kiss and stared into the vampire’s feral eyes. She had done more than process all she had seen, heard, and felt—she had gotten it on a primordial level.
She knew it.
She believed it.
She felt the certainty of the history, deep in her bones.
Santos was telling the truth.
He was a vampire, and she was his destiny—an enigmatic pantheon of ancient deities had chosen it long before their births. It was beyond comprehension, but it was simply and indelibly true.
Nonetheless, that didn’t make it palatable.
Natalia Giovanni felt flustered, overwhelmed, intrigued…and trapped.
And everything in her soul wanted to weep. She had led the vampire right to her door with all her artful hacking and her childish flirting. She had danced with a ghost inside her machine, and the ghost had come out of the shadows to claim her.
Chapter Eight
Later the same night
The private line in Luca Giovanni’s study began to ring just as he sat back in his favorite fireside armchair, relaxed against the luxurious burgundy leather, and raised a crystal glass of scotch to his lips.
Who the hell was calling him at ten o’clock at night?
He set the scotch down on the rich cherry end table, leaned forward in the seat, and glanced at the display: Oskar Vadovsky.
Not again.
The man was insufferably arrogant, a roguish bully, and he didn’t afford Luca half the respect and obsequience the billionaire had become accustomed to. He didn’t show Luca the appropriate amount of fear.
Just the same, Luca could not deny that Oskar was likely his most crucial and irreplaceable ally, the one business associate he could not stand to lose. Not ever. Oskar must have spent upward of three million dollars each year, purchasing women from the southern wing of The Fortress at $150,000 a head. Well, he didn’t necessarily acquire them all personally, but when the peculiar, terrifying males showed
up, every last damn one of them with some form of black-and-red banded hair, regardless of the style or cut (it must have been some sort of secret fraternity), all they had to say was Oskar sent me, and Luca knew their money was good. They had never failed to come up with the cash, not even once. And whatever they did with the women, they never left a trace of their dalliances.
Or their crimes.
They were virtually zero risk.
Beyond that, Oskar Vadovsky was charmed. While it was true that Luca had more nefarious associations and powerful men in his hip pocket than one corrupt man had a right to—judges, senators, CEOs—his power and influence paled in comparison to Oskar’s. Oskar Vadovsky did not show up in any public records; he virtually lacked a vital-statistic footprint. Yet the tall, imposing cutthroat could make unprecedented miracles happen: bodies disappear, district attorneys change their minds, legal cases vanish into thin air. If Oskar wanted someone to do something, they did it. If he wanted someone to change their mind or course of action, it was a foregone conclusion. If he wanted to hide something, it vanished. And if he needed a resource, a weapon—hell, a supernatural intervention—the assassin conjured it out of thin air.
It was positively uncanny.
Yes, Oskar Vadovsky was a force to be reckoned with, and as long as Luca and the “Chief of Council”—whatever the hell that meant—remained aligned, business was more than just smooth sailing. It was charmed. And that’s why Luca had agreed to turn over his most valuable and cherished possession to the six-foot-two extortionist: his exquisite daughter, Natalia.
Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“No” was simply not a word Luca could use with Mr. Vadovsky.
Reaching for the base of the phone, which was still ringing off the hook, Luca pressed the speaker-button and tried to infuse some animation into his voice. “Mr. Vadovsky, so nice of you to call.”
“The phone rang fifteen times, Luca. Next time, pick it up on the first fucking ring.”
Luca sucked in air. He wanted to say something commanding to set the bastard straight, something like, You do understand who I am, do you not? I respect you, Oskar, but you need to watch your step…and your tone. He chose silence instead.
Oskar cleared his throat. “It’s late, Luca, and this isn’t a social call.” Blunt and to the point as usual.
Luca reached for the crystal glass of scotch, slammed it down in one gulp, and thrummed his fingers along the arm of the chair. “Very well. What can I do for you at this late hour, Oskar?” He wished he’d never given the bastard his private line.
“Natalia,” Oskar bit out.
“Natalia?” What the hell did that mean? Luca had already promised his daughter to Oskar in marriage; what more did the overbearing tyrant want?
“Dinner at the country club; a night at the theater; supervised visits in your private limousine,” Oskar ranted, “enough of the dog-and-pony show. You promised to give me your daughter when she was yet a child, and I waited for her to grow up. At this point, I have courted the full-grown woman for the last several months. You have agreed that the two of us will be married this year and Natalia is aware of the arrangement. She’s mine, Luca. All that’s left is for the ink to dry on a certificate. Fine. You want pomp and circumstance; you desire a traditional ceremony—I’ll play ball to appease your Catholic sensibilities, but I’m done waiting for what’s been promised.”
Luca wrinkled his nose in confusion. What the heck was Oskar saying? “You’d like to move up the wedding? August isn’t soon enough?”
At this, Oskar chuckled, and the sound raised the hairs on Luca’s neck. It was downright creepy, maniacal. Luca would have almost called it evil if he believed in such a thing, but he didn’t. There were only wolves and sheep, Darwin’s law in full effect. The wolves ruled by sheer strength and dominance, and the sheep got slaughtered. There was no good or evil—only power.
“No, Luca. The date is fine,” Oskar scoffed. “It’s the seventeenth-century chastity bullshit that I have a problem with. If you would like me to continue the public performances…the incessant dating ritual…then so be it. I can keep it up until August 5th, but between now and then, I desire Natalia’s private company, her intimate attention and personal loyalty, and I refuse to wait any longer.”
A period of silence lingered on the line as Luca swallowed his revulsion. “Oskar, please, do try to understand. We are a traditional family, as you mentioned, Catholic, old fashioned. It is important that Natalia walk down the aisle wearing white, both symbolically and literally, if you get my meaning.”
At this, Oskar nearly growled. “You’re a cold-blooded killer, Luca Giovanni. You worship no other god than yourself. You enslave little girls and sell them for slaughter, and you order the death of men like some order take-out. Can we please dispense with the bullshit? And really, here’s the thing: I’m not asking. I’m demanding.” A tangible spark of electricity shot through the phone, and it literally hummed with malevolent energy. “Tomorrow is Friday night, and I intend to send a limousine of my own for Natalia…at eight. I would like her groomed and dressed for the evening, the same as she would if we were attending the orchestra. I will pick her up, alone, and I will return her in the morning. All you need to tell her is that Oskar is taking her somewhere special. Do we understand each other, Luca?”
Luca held his breath, his blood beginning to boil, and then his inner anarchist came out. “Oskar, you know that I have the deepest regard for you, our business relationship, and our long-term friendship. You know that I am deeply committed to a mutually prosperous future, and that includes seeing you married to my only daughter. My beloved only child. But with God as my witness, if you hurt her, Oskar, if you defile Natalia or treat her like one of the insignificant whores you purchase—”
“Shh…” Oskar cautioned, sounding more like a snake than a man, “no need to get testy or paternal, Luca. I will take great care of my future wife, as I am equally committed to the future. But do know this: We have never been friends, and the only warning that matters is mine. There is no god—in heaven or on earth—that could bear witness to what will happen to you, Luca, if you ever dare to threaten me again. Have Natalia ready at eight. I will return her in one piece when I am done with her.”
He didn’t wait for Luca’s answer.
He simply hung up the phone.
Oskar Vadovsky paced around his private lair, avoiding several of the natural stalagmites rising from the cavern floor. The room was dimly lit with torchlight—he often preferred fire to modern illumination—and the heavy, antique furnishings loomed like medieval statues, scattered about the expansive grotto.
Perhaps Salvatore Nistor was correct: Humans were no more than diminutive bugs to be squashed beneath a vampire’s feet, and their petty, Homo sapien games grew tiresome at best. Perhaps Oskar should just take Natalia tomorrow, breed his sons once and for all, then scrub Luca’s mind spotless of the memory that he’d ever had a child to begin with.
Perhaps it was time to be finished with the whole sordid mess.
But then…
He would also have to scrub the minds of all Luca’s guards and companions, his servants and associates…blah, blah, blah. He would have to destroy vital records, clean out Natalia’s room, and remove every trace of her existence from the opulent mansion: quite a laborious task just to tap an exquisite piece of ass.
And besides, Oskar was not ready to relinquish the thrill and the pleasure the whole distraction gave him. He stared at a box full of gold-foiled condoms—magnum, extra-large—resting on a fifth-century, black-and-gold commode, and he cringed. He’d never used the damnable things before—he simply killed his humps before they could swell with child—so this would be a new adventure in its own right. And while he was trying to embrace it wholeheartedly, the necessity of using a condom rankled his gut.
In truth, the Dark Lord Ademordna was quite capable of producing an infertility serum, one he had once given Salvatore Nistor in a small blue vial
. The serum rendered a male vampire infertile for at least thirty days, and possibly up to sixty. In short, it made the guy shoot blanks. Salvatore had pleaded with Ademordna to provide the house of Jaegar with just such a weapon for years, and the Dark Lord had finally gifted the sorcerer with the powerful elixir following Saber Alexiares’ capture by the house of Jadon. As the plan went, the elixir was to be ingested by Dane Alexiares, Saber’s baby brother, and infused into Saber during the sacred rite of feeding—the eldest son taking sustenance from the youngest—during a clandestine midnight meeting between the house of Jaegar and the house of Jadon deep in the communal Red Canyons. If all had gone according to plan, Saber would have been rendered infertile, unable to fulfill the demands of the Curse, and the child stolen by the house of Jaegar, only to be returned to his rightful tribe, would have died in the sacrificial chamber…
Regrettably, the plan had not worked out.
Unfortunately, Ramsey Olaru—that pit bull guardian—had interfered just in time, and Saber had never ingested a drop. Beyond that debacle, Lord Ademordna had forbidden the elixir’s use as anything other than a weapon, wielded against the house of Jadon. To the dark deity’s way of thinking, blocking procreation was sacrilege—a mortal sin. He wanted his progeny and his servants to procreate, prolifically, not to practice birth control.
Alas, Oskar had thought about the elixir so many times…
He had thought about the high cost of obtaining it—two hundred female virgins, slaughtered on a makeshift altar, their hearts carved out while still beating, their bodies offered in smoke and fire—and yes, he had thought about just how difficult it had been for Salvatore to procure two hundred female virgins of child-bearing age in such a wicked, immoral world. Yet and still, Oskar would have gladly hunted the earth and collected two hundred virginal girls in order to buy extra time with Natalia Giovanni: to brutalize…then heal her…time and again.
To screw her blind, so to speak, until she lost her fragile sanity.