Santos Olaru’s hand shot out, intercepting the tiny fangs before they could lock onto Legend, while Saxson cradled the seeking babe beneath his head and buttocks. He drew him to his chest, pressed a kiss on his sweet-smelling forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Take the Dark One to the living room; I need to awaken Kiera. Then I will have you sit with her while I go to the Chamber.”
Santos Olaru pressed his thumb and forefinger on either side of the Dark One’s jaw, preventing him from biting. “Would you like me to call Ramsey? Do you want someone to go with you?”
Saxson shook his head.
The question required no audible answer.
They were sentinels in the house of Jadon, and the laws were written on their hearts…
There would be no second-guessing or hesitation, no need for supportive backup.
As mercenaries when needed, enforcers when called, and the extended hands of Napolean Mondragon, the sacrificial ritual would be clinical, obedient, and exact.
Understanding his brother’s answer, Santos disappeared from sight, taking the Dark One with him.
“Kiera, angel, wake up,” Saxson called, nestling beside her on the bed.
Her beautiful trusting eyes fluttered open, and Saxson smiled for all he was worth. “Legend Dominic Olaru, meet your amazing mother.” He offered the child to Kiera, who sat up, braced her back against a pillow, and took the child in her arms, cradling him against her chest.
She gasped in surprise and wonder, unable to find any words. Her eyes shot from Legend to Saxson, then back to the cooing infant.
“I know,” Saxson whispered. “He’s…perfect.”
Kiera closed her eyes, inhaled the baby’s scent, and pressed her forehead to his, even as Saxson placed a strong, loving arm around her shoulders and nestled his chin in her hair.
They were a family.
She was home.
And his contentment was truly legendary.
Chapter Forty
Saxson Olaru adjusted his bow tie for the sixth or seventh time, rolling his tense shoulders in the charcoal-gray tuxedo. He paced a new tread in the chapel’s anteroom carpet as he waited for the mostly human ceremony to begin.
“Photographer, caterer, and cake: check,” he mumbled beneath his breath. “Wine, ring, and pillow: check,” he continued. “Santos will hack into the county clerk’s records, upload a sample marriage license, and forge the proper paperwork for Kiera’s parents…check.”
“Brother,” Ramsey Olaru snarled, stepping into his path to stop the pacing. “Calm the hell down. You’re starting to make me nervous, and that shit just doesn’t happen.”
Saxson blinked in annoyance. “Move.”
Ramsey smiled. “Nope.”
Saxson stepped around him and continued to pace. “So Nachari, Niko, and Jankiel will meet every human guest at the chapel door and implant some basic memories—the fact that Kiera and I have been dating off and on for a year?”
“The Master Wizards have it covered, Saxson.”
Saxson frowned. “Implanting deep, long-term memories requires an exchange of blood, and often venom, brother. It’s not quite as simple as a passing compulsion or a superficial substitution—‘You’re wearing blue shoes, not red; you had turkey for dinner, not lobster; you won’t remember a word you just heard…’ So the wizards have to touch the guests—hell, the wizards have to taste the guests—without interrupting the seating or being noticed.”
Ramsey pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “Thanks for the HOJ science lesson, brother. I always wondered how that shit worked.” He rolled his eyes in mock disgust. “I repeat: The Master Wizards have it covered.”
Saxson nodded, turned on his heel, and began another circuit, this time a few feet away from Ramsey to avoid any further obstruction. “And you were there, in the room, when Kiera reassured her parents that she’d fallen in love, that I’m the only one for her, and she didn’t desire a large, lavish wedding—just an old-fashioned chapel with her parents and their closest friends?”
“I was,” Ramsey answered.
Saxson nodded. “And you think they bought it?”
Ramsey reached into his tuxedo lapel, withdrew his familiar silver case, and stuffed a toothpick between his front teeth. “They did.”
Saxson sighed with relief, and then his heart constricted in his chest. “Ramsey…do you think Kiera meant it?”
Ramsey fingered the toothpick, shook his head, and curled his lip into a scowl. “Now you’re just being stupid,” he barked.
Saxson flipped him the bird. “Okay,” he started on a new train of thought, “so the Master Wizards know what to do…at the reception…right? They’ll work the crowd, flush out all the humans who have seen Kiera in the last nine months, and weave memories of a developing pregnancy into their existing recollections?”
“That about sums it up,” Ramsey said, taking no offense at the previously flashed third finger.
“But, in the meantime, they won’t really catch it…they won’t really wonder…about the baby when we bring him into the ceremony?”
Ramsey huffed in exasperation. “Brother, the wizards have it all under control.”
Saxson felt a little calmer, and then his breath whooshed out of his body. “Tiffany does have the baby, right, Ramsey?”
This time Ramsey growled, and his pupils deepened into an irritated reddish hue. “Nah,” he replied sarcastically. “We stuffed him in a basket and placed it in the swimming pool. You wanna see Mommy and Daddy again? Get out of that hamper and swim. Hell, you’re already thirty-six hours old; what the devil is your problem, nephew?”
Before Saxson could reply to the unnecessary hyperbole, the door to the anteroom swung open and Santos Olaru strolled in, wearing an identical charcoal-gray tux, only without the decorative tails. Apparently, he had finished seating the remaining guests. “How’s it going?” he asked in an upbeat manner. He took one look at Saxson, turned to scrutinize Ramsey, and back-pedaled toward the door. “You look slightly green,” he said to Saxson. When Saxson didn’t answer, he cocked his brows, cast a side glance at Ramsey, and gestured with his chin. “He looks kind of green,” he repeated.
Ramsey snarled. “He’s working himself into a dither. He needs to just man the hell up.”
“And you need to be more supportive,” Saxson quipped.
At this, Ramsey let out a full-throated laugh. He spread his massive, rock-hard arms out to the side and crooned: “Ahhhh, I’m sorry. Does my bubby need a hug?”
Saxson pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed with him. “You’re such an ass, Ramsey.”
Santos flashed his pearly-whites in that familiar lady-killer smile and visibly relaxed. Angling his head to appraise his baby brother more thoroughly, he asked, “Seriously though; you all right, Saxson?”
Saxson just shook his head. “Why do humans do this shit, Santos? Seriously, who needs a wedding? Way too much planning, way too much drama.”
The sound of processional music began to play in the chapel, stifling any further conversation. Santos vanished, as if in midair, and Ramsey gave Saxson a firm clap on the shoulder.
It was time.
Adorned in a gown of elegant silk, exquisite lace, and an impossibly intricate bodice festooned with beadwork, Kiera Sparrow gripped her father’s arm with trembling knuckles and followed him to the chapel’s inner doorway. As Santos Olaru joined them from the rear, she refused to think about Kyla or her parents’ disappointment, having learned that her twin wouldn’t be there—she refused to think about anything but Saxson and the life they would share going forward.
Jackson, Kiera’s father, hated the fact that there hadn’t been a short rehearsal, but she had assured him, over and over, that it was simply a twenty-foot walk, no more than a dozen pews on either side of the sanctuary, and the tall, handsome engineer would do just fine.
Jackson nodded at Santos as the sentinel offered his elbow to Kiera’s mother and ushered her into the doorway. Pam would be play
ing dual roles for the impromptu ceremony: mother of the bride, and resplendent maid of honor.
Kiera turned her attention to the altar, watching as Saxson and his best man, Ramsey, entered the chapel through the anteroom door and took their respective places: beside each other, and in front of Napolean Mondragon.
Her breath hitched in her throat, and her heart skipped a series of beats.
Saxson was positively breathtaking.
A handsome prince, straight out of a fairy tale.
Well, a striking, lethal vampire, straight out of a tumultuous Blood Moon, but why split hairs?
And Napolean Mondragon, the ceremony’s officiant—holy mother of all that was sacred, terrifying, stunning, and magnificent! There were simply no adequate words to describe him. The ancient king of the house of Jadon was awe-inspiring…timeless…the full-blooded embodiment of power itself.
The procession began with Santos and Pam making their way down the aisle and taking their respective places on either side of Napolean: Santos next to Ramsey; Pam awaiting Kiera. An enchanted moment passed between mother and daughter as they exchanged eternal, heartfelt glances, and I love you was shouted from the rafters without the utterance of a single word.
A little girl named Mia Lawrence—the daughter of a loyal human family who had served the Vampyr for decades—clutched her dainty flower basket in one hand, Keitaro Storm Silivasi in the other, and began to drag the wide-eyed child down the aisle beside her.
Storm was just under one year and-six months old, but Saxson had assured Kiera that vampires matured much faster than humans, and the little male could handle both the walk and the ring-bearer’s pillow. Right now, he seemed more interested in finding his grandfather. “Papa?” he kept inquiring at the start of each new aisle, his voice getting louder as he passed each row without an answer. “Papa? Papa! Papa!” About midway through the chapel, he dug in his little heels, grasped the arm of a pew, and held on for all he was worth. “Papa!” he shouted defiantly, and then he snarled like a tiny, savage animal.
A faint rainbow of vapor-like colors swept through the chapel, and Kiera knew in her gut that the wizards had captured the sound and turned it into something more palatable…for the humans.
“I no go wiffout my papa!” Storm squealed as little Mia became a little mama and began to tug on his arm, trying to wrench his knuckles free from the pew, even as she held onto the flower basket.
Oh, Lord, Kiera thought, watching the scene play out. Please don’t let this child flash his fangs.
Keitaro Silivasi was not at the service.
He had more pressing matters to attend to.
And while the wizards were good, could they really—
“Boy!” Nathaniel Silivasi rose from his seat at the back of the chapel, like a ghost rising from a shallow grave, and his dark, silky voice swept over the audience, traveled along the center aisle, and rushed into Storm’s little ears like an icy blast of wind.
He only spoke that single word.
Storm’s wide, striated, brown-and-green eyes shot to the imposing figure, and he watched with fixed attention as Nathaniel gestured with his chin, indicating the floor of the aisle and the altar toward the front of the church.
Nothing more needed to be said.
Storm released his grip on the pew, tucked his chin to his chest, and began to march down the aisle like an obedient soldier, grasping Mia’s hand in earnest: Apparently, Papa Nathaniel had more pull than Papa Keitaro. Either that, or he inspired the fear of God in the child.
The vampires laughed without reservation.
The humans chuckled nervously.
And Kiera breathed a sigh of relief.
And then the organist, another human servant, began to play the wedding march, and Kiera’s stomach twisted into knots.
The congregation stood, and Kiera clutched her bouquet.
“Are you ready, baby?” Jackson whispered in her ear, and all her fears went away. He held out his elbow, and she linked her arm in his. Eyes forward, shoulders back, she walked with her father down the aisle, until Napolean Mondragon stepped forward.
“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”
Jackson smiled like the brightest star in a dazzling sky; his eyes were positively twinkling. “I do.” And then he placed Kiera’s hand in Saxson’s.
Kiera bit down on her lip and sniffed—she was not going to cry!
She could do this.
“Be at ease, destinul meu,” Saxson whispered in her ear. “Be at ease, my destiny; I’ve got you, and I don’t ever plan on letting go.”
Kiera’s heart swelled with love. “Good, because I wouldn’t let you,” she whispered.
Napolean cleared his throat, glanced down at an itty-bitty cue card secured in the palm of his hand, and Kiera had to stifle a chuckle—vampires had perfect memories, but apparently, the king wasn’t willing to take a chance.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Saxson Eliaz Olaru and Kiera Renee Sparrow in holy matrimony…”
His voice faded into the background as Kiera swam in Saxson’s eyes, not wanting to look away, not even for a second. The sentinel cued her through the exchange of vows, the trade of human ceremonial rings—although hers was not a diamond solitaire, but a smaller version of the HOJ crest ring: a braided platinum band with the crest from the house of Jadon on it—and the final pronouncement.
And then the king cleared his throat again. “Nachari Silivasi, if you will…”
The humans looked momentarily confused, if not unsettled, as the green-eyed wizard strolled to the front of the chapel and commanded the audience’s gaze. With a string of sweet-spoken Latin words and a gentle wave of his hand, all who were not Vampyr were instantly swept away into a web of wistful enchantment: They would hear, they would see, but they would not understand the vows that were about to be exchanged, nor the child who would enter the chapel. They would experience the vampiric ritual like a romantic dream, something they had read in a novel. And when the peculiar, unfamiliar service came to an end, they would not experience any loss of time. The spell was one of magical transportation, and they would awaken as if from sleep: Nachari Silivasi would take them wherever he chose, for as long as he must, muting their sense of reality, then weaving it back into place.
Napolean Mondragon turned his undivided attention to Santos Olaru, the eldest of Saxson’s brothers, as Tiffany Matthews-Olaru, Ramsey’s mate, entered through the anteroom door and placed a sleeping baby in Santos’s arms. Santos cradled his nephew with love and waited while the beautiful blonde strolled quietly to Ramsey’s side.
Napolean’s dark, seeking gaze met Saxson’s. “It is with great joy that I greet you this day, my brother, a fellow descendant of Jadon, a Master Warrior and honored sentinel, husband to the daughter of Cetus, father to this newborn son of Leo, the lion, who makes his home in the region of Sickle, a cluster of six sacred stars. What name have you chosen for this male?”
Saxson’s hazel peepers beamed with pride and love. “Should it please you, milord, and find favor with the Celestial Beings, the son of Leo is to be named Legend Dominic Olaru.”
Kiera was swept away by the beauty and sanctity of the ceremony.
She watched as Napolean studied the child from a distance, memorizing every line, plane, and feature on his face, taking him into his care as much as his ancient house. “The name pleases me, sentinel, and there is no objection from the Celestial Beings.”
Santos stepped forward, handed the child to Napolean, and the vampire released his fangs.
Kiera should have been nervous—perhaps even afraid—for her newborn angel, but she wasn’t. There was so much power, protection, and honor amongst these fearsome, immortal males. Nothing—and no one—would harm her son.
She waited patiently as Napolean Mondragon siphoned an ounce or so of Legend’s blood, sealed the precise, clean punctures, and held the baby high in the air before all the vampires in the chapel. “Welcome to t
he house of Jadon, Legend Dominic Olaru. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.”
He handed the child back to Santos, who repeated the beautiful refrain and kissed his nephew on the forehead. Then Ramsey took the child and repeated the words.
Once Legend was safely back in Santos’s arms, Napolean turned his attention to Kiera and Saxson as a couple. The light in the chapel seemed to dim on its own, casting a spotlight all around them, and the sweet fragrance of roses, flowers beyond the chapel’s decorations, permeated the air all around the altar. “By the laws which govern the house of Jadon, I accept your union as the divine will of the gods and hereby sanction your marriage.”
Kiera’s heart settled in her chest like a softly banked fire nestling in the hearth of a home.
“Kiera Renee Sparrow, do you come now of your own free will to enter the house of Jadon?”
The entire Blood Moon flashed through Kiera’s mind in the space of two or three seconds: her captivity in Owen’s loft; her twin sister’s betrayal; and the afternoon she had made love to Saxson in his gorgeous secret garden. Despite all the pain and sorrow, there was no doubt or hesitation. “I do.”
Understanding what came next, she held out her slender wrist, and Napolean accepted the offering. His sharp, ivory fangs struck quickly—and cleanly—his lips forming an airtight seal; then he drew from her essence, memorizing its imprint, until he had finally taken enough. Withdrawing his canines and sealing the puncture with venom, he nodded his head in approval. “Congratulations,” he said to both of them, and then he turned his attention to Tiffany. “The child,” he whispered.
Tiffany smiled, her beautiful features brightening with warmth. She took the baby from Santos’s arms and strolled to the back of the chapel, exiting through the anteroom door.
Napolean cleared his throat and glanced in Nachari’s direction. “Wizard, go ahead.”