Blood Redemption
Saber’s fangs shot out from his mouth involuntarily, but Napolean didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. “As I said, you aren’t even man enough to face the—”
“You are Napolean freakin’ Mondragon! Son of Sebastian and Katalina. Born to the house of Andromeda. You weren’t born to the Curse; you were made by the Blood itself—an original vampire. If you say that day should be night and night should be day, the sky itself bows down to make it happen. Yeah, I know who the hell you are.”
“Then you know that my word is my bond.”
“So?”
“So, why are you holding back, Saber? I said, speak freely.”
“As if it’s going to make any difference.”
“Probably not.”
“Yeah…probably not: I get the game, milord.”
“Do you?”
Saber snarled in frustration. “What the hell are you trying to accomplish?”
Napolean held up both hands, clearly undaunted. “I thought you got the game.”
“You know what I get?” Saber asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. “I get that you loathe my existence. I get that you’re accustomed to having absolute power, and you can’t stand the fact that my allegiance was to another house—is to another house. You can break me; you can torture me; hell, you can even execute me with a glance; but what you can’t do is change me. No matter how hard you press down on my neck, you can’t make me have a soul or a conscience. And that’s really what this all comes down to, isn’t it? I’m not worthy in your lofty eyes, yet the gods still saw fit to give Vanya to me. And Vanya still saw fit to give herself to me.”
Saber expected an instant rise out of the ancient monarch, but he didn’t get one. “And who are you?” Napolean asked. “Why do you think the gods would have given someone as precious as Vanya to a being as lost and worthless as you?”
Saber shook his head in insolence. “Maybe they didn’t know I would end up batting for the wrong team—growing up in a house of darkness?”
“So you acknowledge that you were born here, into the house of Jadon?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That is what you said.”
“I said—”
“You were batting for the wrong team.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “But never mind that. So you’re saying you prefer to belong to the house of Jaegar then? With all its obvious loyalty and affection toward you?”
“Cute,” Saber replied. “What the hell does it matter? I don’t know where I was born, who I belong to. I don’t even know who I am for that matter. Does that make you happy?”
“Me?” Napolean raised his brows and shook his head. “No.” He seemed to choose his next words purposefully. “Apparently, it doesn’t make Salvatore happy anymore, either. Or that other soldier—what was his name?—Achilles.”
“Watch yourself,” Saber warned.
“Or what?” Napolean asked. “You’re no threat to me. And from what I can see, you’ve got no ties to either house. Perhaps you’ve never genuinely cared about anything…or anyone.”
Saber felt his chest begin to tighten, his legs begin to shake. This was bullshit, and Napolean knew it. The king had stood right there and witnessed Saber’s breakdown, his overwhelming grief at the loss of his father and brother, and now he was throwing the whole thing back in his face as if Saber would not have rather died than fall apart in front of his enemy. “And I’m supposed to be the Dark One,” Saber bit out. “You wear it well, milord, much better than you think.”
“Wear what well?” Napolean queried.
“You know damn well how I felt about my father and my brother, that I just lost everything that mattered. And yes, Napolean,” he continued, his voice rising in intensity, “my dark, soulless family mattered! I bet that really turns your stomach, the fact that the house of Jaegar actually matters to me! That my one remaining brother, Diablo, matters more than anything or anyone else on this earth, including my life…or you.” The more he spoke, the angrier he became. “And isn’t that just the rub?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that the eight hundred years I spent on this earth, while utterly repugnant and worthless in your eyes, actually mattered to me. Matter to me, still.”
Napolean exhaled slowly. He rolled his head on his broad shoulders as if to release some tension. “And what about the princess—what about Vanya? Does she matter, Saber?”
Saber frowned. “I already told you: I never meant to hurt her. I certainly didn’t try to kill her. Not last night. Not the first time she came to my cell.”
Napolean looked momentarily perplexed, and more than just a little bit concerned, but to his credit, he let the statement go. “You just took what was presented to you when it was presented?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not sorry.”
“I don’t know sorry.”
“And you don’t love her?”
“I don’t know love.”
“Then why try to convert her? Why not just let her die and be done with it? Present yourself to the Blood in twenty-five days and call this whole miserable experiment quits?”
“Because I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Just can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I owe her, Napolean. At least that much.” He rubbed his brow in frustration. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Napolean nodded then, weighing all of Saber’s words carefully. When at last he moved to speak, his words rang out like distant thunder. “Let me tell you what I understand, Mr. Alexiares.”
Saber met the king’s gaze boldly, but he didn’t offer a flippant reply. And he didn’t interrupt.
“I understand that you loved your dark family, that love comes from the soul, which you do have, and I understand that you will always love your family because of it. I understand that your life has value to you, even if the only thing that sustains it right now is nursing your hatred toward us. I understand that you did not grow up dreaming of your destiny, imagining her voice, or waiting for the day when she would finally be revealed to you beneath the Blood Moon, that you have no reference for that type of emotion and no reason to suddenly feel it, simply because the sky and the moon change, and you are suddenly faced with the gift of a beautiful woman. And I even understand why you gave into your desire the other night with that same beautiful woman, although the thought sickens me to my core. But most of all, I understand why you need to try and save her…and your unborn son. Because if you value nothing else in that gods-forsaken hell of an existence you live in, you value loyalty, the very thing that Salvatore obliterated the other night in the Red Canyons, and make no mistake, the house of Jadon may not be the team you care to bat for, but the house of Jaegar will never be your home-base again. The bottom line is Vanya showed you loyalty. I get it. I get all of it.” He stepped away from the bars and uncrossed his arms. “But there are a couple of things that you need to get, maybe not right now, but eventually, if you even have a prayer of existing in any state other than agony, whether in this world or the next.”
Saber didn’t want to listen—what did Napolean care about his eternal state of existence?—but he couldn’t quite tune him out. He couldn’t quite forget the day Nachari Silivasi had sauntered into his cell and burned his own hellacious memories into Saber’s brain, replaying each scene from the wizard’s captivity in the Valley of Death and Shadows, moment by moment, detail by detail, until Saber had cried out from the horror of it all. Despite his defiance, Saber would have to be a fool to want to go there, to exist there…forever.
“We’re not all puritans in this valley, Saber,” Napolean continued. “And if you could pause for just one second, stop hating everyone and everything around you long enough to use that keen intelligence for something other than plotting evil and exacting revenge, you might just recognize that none of us asked for this Curse, this legacy, any more than you did. And maybe, just maybe, there are some t
hings you can respect, even value, right here in the house of Jadon: like courage, strength, and even loyalty. Perhaps they even exist here in a way they could never exist in the house of Jaegar.”
Saber looked away in an act of dismissal, pretending the king’s words fell on deaf ears.
“Look at me, son,” Napolean demanded, refusing to be dismissed. “Look at me.”
Saber met his eyes halfheartedly.
“You have taken cruel advantage of every olive branch we have offered you; you have pushed every warrior in this house beyond his endurance; and ultimately, you may have already destroyed the one and only soul in Dark Moon Vale that you did not wish to destroy. Your anger might be justified in your own mind—your hatred, a living, breathing entity—but your actions are reckless and indiscriminate. And even you can’t abide by the havoc you have wreaked at this juncture, potentially destroying Vanya and your own unborn son. So tell me, Angry One, when does it end?”
Saber didn’t reply.
“Does it…ever…end?”
Saber shrugged his shoulders; he was beginning to feel nauseated. “What do you want me to say?” he whispered.
“I want you to say that you get it. What you’ve done. Who you are. What you’re facing—and what Vanya is facing—because of you.” Saber started to speak, but Napolean held up his hand to silence him. “I do not know if we can save the princess at this stage—conversion during a pregnancy has never been attempted before—and even if Vanya survives, the babies will likely perish, both of them. Should they start to ascend before she is fully Vampyr, we will have to act quickly to euthanize her, spare her the agony of such a brutal death. Can you at least acknowledge that we can’t have an enemy combatant, an embittered wildcard, in the room, while this unfolds? That even if we can’t trust each other—even if we despise each other—we still have to rely on each other…to try and fix what you broke?”
Despite his unease, Saber was listening carefully now. He was no longer rolling his eyes or shrugging his shoulders. Whether Napolean realized it or not, Saber got the seriousness of the situation. In fact, the full breadth of it, the weight it placed on his exiled shoulders, was as foreign as it was revolting. To say he was a fish out of water would have been the understatement of the century. Saber was a vampire without a lair. A son without a father. A brother without a sibling.
He was a soldier without an army and a soul without a clue.
“I believe we have to try,” Napolean continued, bringing Saber back into the present moment, “and that is the only reason I healed your wounds and stopped Marquis from sending you to the afterlife. But you have to be willing to take direction. To stop lashing out long enough to do some good.”
Saber clasped his hands together and rested his forehead on his thumbs. He closed his eyes and simply concentrated on breathing. After a long moment of silence had passed, he nodded. “I do get it.”
“Say it again.”
“I do get it.”
“Louder, Saber!”
“I get it, Napolean: I get it.”
Napolean exhaled slowly. “Then I think we understand one another.”
eighteen
Saber kept his eyes cast downward, his vision focused like a laser, dead ahead, as he and Napolean made their way through the front door of the clinic. They walked, side by side, past the waiting room where Marquis, Ciopori, Nachari, and Ramsey paced fitfully back and forth, casting blatant, hate-filled glances in Saber’s direction, and down the long hallway to Exam Room Three, where Vanya awaited with Kagen for the conversion.
Napolean had spent the last hour and a half with Saber, coaching him on the dangerous procedure to come, going over every single aspect of what he had to do, every subtle nuance of what he could expect, and Saber had listened and learned with keen attention to detail. He had asked questions, envisioned various scenarios, and tried as best he could to prepare himself for every eventuality.
Yet, he knew he wasn’t ready.
This could either go fairly well—which would still be defined as pain, torture, agony, and a very close call—or this could go horrifically wrong. The fact that Marquis, Nachari, and Ramsey would be waiting just outside the exam room to rip his throat out should the conversion fail was hardly lost on him. The fact that Ciopori was being kept out of the room for fear of her emotional reactions and consequent volatility only made matters more dubious. The fact that Napolean had instructed all others in the house of Jadon to stay away from the clinic, despite their intense emotional and spiritual investment in the outcome, was at least a relief of sorts: Saber would not have an audience for the conversion, and there would be nothing to distract him from concentrating fully on the critical matter at hand—saving Vanya at all costs.
Saving his unborn child, if still possible.
Saber stopped short outside of the exam room and tapped his foot nervously on the floor, trying to maintain his cool. He felt like the ground was shifting beneath him, and his body just might begin to sway or, worse, topple over. He took a deep breath and drew on his resolve.
“Are you ready?” Napolean asked him, placing a steadying hand ever so briefly on his tense shoulder.
Saber shrugged it off instinctively—old habits were hard to break, and this was only a momentary truce. He swallowed hard. “I think so.”
“Not good enough,” Napolean said.
“Yes,” Saber replied. “Yes.”
“Very well.” Napolean turned the handle and gently opened the door, extending his other arm to usher Saber in first.
Oh, hell, Saber thought as he took that first step and his gaze immediately locked with Kagen Silivasi’s. The Ancient Master Healer was waiting just outside of a drawn curtain, his arms crossed snug against his chest; his jaw locked down so tight if he bit down any harder, his teeth might just crumble to dust; and his brow so furrowed, the lines could provide Saber with a roadmap: straight to hell.
Saber swallowed his pride and attempted a nod. “Kagen.”
The healer’s dark brown eyes flashed crimson, only for a moment, and then they returned to their rich, chocolate brown. “Saber.” At least he hadn’t said Dark One—that was a start.
Saber turned his attention to the drawn curtain and the pregnant female lying just beyond its veil. “Is she—”
Ready? Kagen interrupted telepathically, clearly unwilling to expose Vanya to any part of their conversation. To suffer? To die? To see the likes of you as it happens? Doubtful.
Kagen! Napolean’s censor was immediate and absolute. There will be none of that! Not right now. Take caution: I will not admonish you twice.
Kagen turned his attention to Napolean and nodded in assent. “Milord.” He spoke his acquiescence out loud, and the matter was closed.
“Is he here?” A faint female voice echoed from behind the curtain; and Saber’s heart skipped an unexpected beat—what was that all about, anyway? Vanya was clearly nervous, in a lot of distress, and by the quivering tone of her voice, she was also in a lot of discomfort.
Already.
Most likely from the rapidly progressing pregnancy.
“Yes, Princess,” Napolean answered immediately. And then, as if the other two were not in the room, he strolled behind the curtain and began to speak to her in soft, comforting tones. “I understand that Kagen has kept you at least somewhat comfortable with a sedative for the last hour or so?”
“Of course,” Vanya responded, sounding regal as always. “’Tis not the last hour I’m concerned about.”
Saber heard the soft rustle of a sheet, then the soft clasp of skin against skin, and he knew that Napolean had taken her hand. “I know,” Napolean answered softly. “And I’m sorry that you cannot remain sedated for the entire…procedure.”
Vanya chuckled softly then. Insincerely. “Procedure? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Conversion,” Napolean corrected.
“Attempted conversion,” Vanya amended, her voice wavering with the onset of tears.
 
; “Shh, now. None of that.” Was he stroking her hair? It almost sounded like he was, but Saber couldn’t tell.
“I need only honesty between us right now, milord,” Vanya said. “I don’t think I can bear it otherwise.”
“Of course,” Napolean answered. “Do you still have questions Kagen hasn’t answered?”
Vanya sighed loudly. “Just…just…if it’s not working…if you know…you see that it’s not…” Her voice trailed off, and she had to struggle to collect herself. “Then don’t wait too late. Bring Ciopori in, so she can say good-bye. She will…need that.”
Saber clenched and unclenched his fists.
Three times.
Trying to contain the errant energy swirling like a crosswind through his body. This was madness. Insane.
Surreal.
“I give you my word as your king,” Napolean answered.
Vanya choked back a sob. “Very well then. Is…is the dragon with you?”
Napolean sighed. “You know that he is; and I believe he is truly going to try on your behalf.”
Saber could not take another moment of this. Driven by sheer grit, he took three giant strides toward the curtain, swiftly pulled it back, and stepped to Vanya’s side. “I’m here, and I am going to make this work. Or die trying.”
Vanya’s dusty rose eyes grew large, and her mouth fell open. Once she had recovered from his hasty entrance, his sudden presence behind the curtain, she bit down on her lower lip and murmured, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“No,” Saber argued. “Not perhaps not. You know as well as I do that your focus, your belief, is as critical to this conversion as your body’s compliance. It will be so. That is the only acceptable outcome; and that is the only thought you will allow in your head.”
“I don’t—”
“It will be so. Nothing else.” He locked his gaze with hers in an indomitable battle of wills. “Nothing else.”
Vanya drew in a sharp intake of breath. “Forgive me, Dragon, but am I to believe that you suddenly care?” Before he could answer, she placed an absent hand over her belly and smirked. “Ah, but of course; I’m carrying your unborn son.”