Blood Father

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Deanna teased, leveling a sideways glance at her mate, a gaze that was heated with innuendo. “Some of us like to know our men…are men.”

  Ciopori giggled and took Marquis’s hand. “Indeed.”

  Jocelyn laughed out loud. “What say you, warrior?” She winked at Nathaniel, who practically purred in response.

  “You think this is funny?” Kristina said to no one in particular, wringing her hands in frustration. She turned to glare at Nachari. “He just tried to molest me. You saw it! Make him stop, Nachari.”

  Nachari nodded. He planted a large hand on Braden’s shoulder, squeezed tightly enough to make him wince in pain, and then shoved him away from the crowd. “Come here for a second, son. We need to have a quick talk.”

  Kristina stood there seething, rolling her eyes and smacking her gum as they all waited for the two vampires to return. When at last Nachari and Braden strolled back to the group, Braden lowered his head in a gesture of respect and then sheepishly eyed the angry redhead. “I’m sorry, Kristina.”

  Kristina huffed and leveled a sidelong glance at him, churlishly.

  “It won’t happen again,” he added. “At least not until you want it. And then”—he did a little hip-hop dance move and rolled his hips in a circle—“and then it’s on.”

  Nachari rolled his beleaguered eyes and shrugged. “Progress comes in little steps,” he told Kristina. “Take what you can get. He won’t molest you again.” He glared daggers at Braden then. “You won’t molest her again. Hear me?”

  Braden rolled his eyes in turn, and the entire group laughed.

  Kagen had to admit: The humor was undeniably welcome. At least for one moment, no one was thinking about the upcoming voyage, the danger, or the uncertainty, the unspoken but ever-present high stakes.

  At least not until Kagen glanced at the sky and cleared his throat.

  Fixing his gaze squarely on Nachari, he said, “We do have to go, wizard. It’s time to open the portal.”

  Nachari bent to retrieve the necessary objects from a large leather pouch on the ground and slowly nodded his head. Turning to regard his mate with tenderness, he whispered, “Deanna…” He glanced at each of the other women in turn and said, “Sisters, the energy for the spell has to be pure. There can be no doubt, worry, or conflicting desires present when I conjure the portal.”

  “In other words,” Kagen said, “you can’t want it to open and hope that it doesn’t, all at the same time.” He smiled then, his soft demeanor radiating warmth. “You can’t love your mate so much that you support him in this journey, while needing him so badly that you wish he wouldn’t go. The intentions are…conflicting. And they have to be pure.”

  “Precisely,” Nachari said. “We have to do this part alone.”

  Braden’s playful manner grew all at once serious, his childish antics evaporating like a droplet of water in the sun. The silly adolescent, the would-be suitor without any manners, both were instantly gone, and a determined vampire from the house of Jadon stood in the child’s place. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “We need you to stay,” Nachari replied. “Not only can you help conjure the spell, but there are other things we need from you, just in case.”

  “Just in case of what?” Ciopori asked, her tone dripping with authority and malaise. She wanted to know the whole of it, and she wanted to know now.

  “We don’t know how the portal is going to behave, my love,” Marquis said solemnly. “That is all.”

  “We don’t know if the doorway is going to remain open, if it’s going to vanish altogether, or if it’s going to close the moment we enter Mhier,” Nathaniel added for clarity. “And we don’t know if we can reopen it from the other side.”

  Deanna nearly swayed on her feet, but she quickly caught herself and righted her posture. “And even if you can, reopen it from the other side, that is,” she said quietly, “you can’t guarantee that Nachari will still be with you to do it when you return.”

  Nachari reached out to take her hand. “Sweetie…” His voice trailed off. What could he really say? None of their fates were certain.

  If silence could be felt as a vibration in the concert of the soul, reverberating as a clashing symbol or a deafening roar, then the entire valley became one sustained note in that solitary moment, a virtual amphitheater of comprehension and dread.

  Kristina finally pierced the silence. “And that’s the real reason why Bray isn’t going, isn’t it?”

  The term of endearment, the shortened version of Braden’s name, was not lost on anyone, least of all Kagen. The volatile redhead, with all her hot-tempered protests and understandable misgivings about her future, being promised to a teenage vampire, cared more deeply about the silly boy than she let on. It was written all over her face: the fact that she felt the awesome weight of Braden’s responsibility on her own shoulders, the fact that she was infinitely relieved that he wouldn’t be accompanying the Silivasis on their mission.

  “One of the reasons,” Kagen said, answering her question as honestly as he could. Braden was also far too young and inexperienced as a warrior to embark upon a journey into the land of the Lycanthrope, but Kagen wasn’t about to say that out loud.

  “It’s only wise to make sure that more than one practitioner knows how to open this door,” Nathaniel added, winking at Kristina. “Just a precaution.”

  Kristina nodded, and Deanna turned away. Clearly, the implication was too much for her to handle.

  “Braden,” Nachari said softly. “You remember what we discussed, right? For the next thirty days, no matter what, you will return to this meadow, every hour on the hour, to this exact spot, and you will reopen this portal. Understood?” He turned toward Deanna then. “Baby?”

  She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

  “It’s just a precaution,” Nachari reiterated.

  She nodded more emphatically.

  Braden drew back his shoulders and raised his head. “I understand. Starting at twelve o’clock noon until twelve o’clock midnight, I need to open the portal twelve times each day—if only for a minute or two—and then close it.” His eyes narrowed with intensity. “I’ll be here, Nachari. I swear, I will.” He turned to look at all the males and placed his right hand over his heart in an unspoken pledge. “I’ll be here.”

  “Good,” Marquis said. “Because we’re counting on it.”

  “And what happens after the thirty days?” Deanna asked. Her voice rose with angst despite her best effort to remain stoic.

  Nachari’s luminous eyes softened with compassion. “Then Braden will begin opening the portal twice each day: at noon and at midnight.”

  Deanna’s face grew pale. “For how long?”

  Nachari shook his head in an attempt to dismiss her worry. “We’ll be back by then, my love. Have faith.”

  Before Deanna could reply, Kagen cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said, hoping to move things along. What point was there in hashing over all the morbid, unspoken possibilities? They all needed to believe things would unfold exactly as planned, that everything would work out, and quickly. He gestured toward the distant grove of trees, indicating that it was time for the women to go. After all, he couldn’t expect Marquis, Nachari, or Nathaniel to do it—the parting was just too hard, and their first instinct, their foremost duty, was always to see to their destinies’ comfort. “It is time, sisters,” he reiterated. “We will see you soon.”

  Watching as the women hugged and kissed their mates one last time before turning to amble from the meadow, Kagen added silently, “And if the celestial gods are willing, our Blood Father will be with us.”

  six

  Kagen watched in rapt fascination, the methodical, scientific part of his mind that sought to unravel puzzles observing every step Nachari and Braden took with objective curiosity. The two vampires laid out the contents of the leather pouch in a perfect circle in the center of the meadow: the bark from a northern tree placed in the north; stones
from the eastern cliffs placed in the east; a sealed container of water from the Winding Snake River set gently in the south; and a chunk of stone, removed from the Red Canyons, positioned in the west. With each placement, Nachari spoke a rhythmic phrase in Latin, and then he placed Tristan’s remains, Nathaniel’s grisly trophy from his brutal kill, in the center and buried it just below the surface. He ushered each of the males forward, beckoning them to stand within the circle, and Braden stepped out, placing a wide berth between him and the other vampires.

  “Marquis, as firstborn, you need to stand in the north. Nathaniel, you will stand in the east. Kagen, stay as you are, in the south, and I will take the west.” Nachari shuffled to the side, about three or four feet, and then held out his hands.

  The males linked arms, each brother grasping the wrist of the brother next to him in an unbroken loop. Nachari took a deep breath and turned toward Braden. “Bring the supplies,” he said.

  They waited, a million unspoken words passing between them, as Braden hefted and dragged the heavy backpacks full of supplies—the tents and the medicine, the extra, cached ammunition and venom, and the stored, bagged blood—into the center of the circle, being careful not to bump any of the Silivasis’ arms, not to break their link. “That’s everything,” the youngster muttered.

  Nachari nodded his approval and gestured toward a far-off tree, at least thirty yards away, with his chin. “Stand back, way beyond the circle,” he said.

  Braden started to walk away, and then he stopped, turned around, and stared at Nachari, almost as if he was afraid to look away. “I just…I mean…you’re like a…” For whatever reason, he stopped just shy of saying the last word.

  “I know,” Nachari said softly, his stark green eyes deepening with affection. “And you are like a son.” Neither male actually said the word cherished, but it was clearly spoken just the same.

  Braden raised his head, drew back his shoulders, and tried to appear brave. “Be well, Master Wizard.”

  “Be well, young acolyte,” Nachari said, winking at the kid affectionately.

  Braden cleared his throat. “Marquis, Nathaniel, Kagen…be well.”

  The brothers didn’t answer him with words. They simply inclined their heads in the manner of warriors, of vampires, and Braden walked away, continuing to take long, measured strides, until he stood far off, beneath the branches of a limber pine.

  Nachari looked at Marquis. “Are you ready, warrior?”

  Marquis snorted. “I was born ready.”

  Nachari chuckled. “And you, Nathaniel?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Kagen?”

  The healer nodded in consent.

  “For our Blood Father then,” Nachari whispered. His voice was barely audible.

  “For our Blood Father,” all three replied in unison.

  With that, Nachari shut his eyes and began to chant. As his mystical words drifted up toward the heavens, the lyrical intonation of his speech grew more and more fluid until his words, unwittingly, reverted from English to Romanian and flowed like an ancient, mystic wind, eddying to the ears of the gods, and the circle began to take form.

  Blue and violet light began to rise from the ground, the soft, incandescent beams radiating outward like a halo, beyond the circular boundary; and the center began to glow a fiery red. It emerged from the soil like an otherworldly geyser, a stream of conical light, spinning in tapering waves of sight and sound—and ethereal substance—shimmering as the portal began to open.

  Nachari spoke more rapidly then, the words flowing off his tongue as if someone else was speaking them: They were as haunting as they were beguiling. And just like that, the gateway opened.

  The entrance to Mhier emerged.

  The Silivasi brothers broke their link, drew back their arms, each one reaching for a different hoard of supplies, and then, without hesitation, they stepped through the portal and entered the land of the Lycanthrope.

  The landscape was inexplicably vivid in Mhier. The blues were bluer; the greens were greener; and the yellows were so endless in variation and texture that it was like a virtual explosion of color everywhere one looked. One glimpse at the Mhieridian sunrise was like sampling a honeycomb, a dozen sunflowers, and a golden goblet all at once. Yet the strangest omen of all was the sun’s shadow: A full timber wolf moon stood directly behind the sun’s emerging rays, even at 6:45 in the morning. The soil was rich in texture and minerals, and the vegetation—the trees, bushes, and grass—were as lush as they were tall and bountiful. It was like stepping into a prehistoric Garden of Eden. Everything was inexpressibly beautiful and larger than life.

  Kagen immediately set down his pack and reached for the map in order to determine their whereabouts. The rolled-up scroll was tucked like a cherished keepsake into the top, most easily accessible compartment of his backpack, and he laid it out on the ground, placing several stones atop the parchment to keep it flat. He immediately began comparing the drawing to their new surroundings.

  Nachari squatted down beside him, placing both hands flat, palms down, against the earth, in order to start divining the native energy—he was taking the spiritual temperature of the land, so to speak.

  Marquis and Nathaniel took on a different role, entirely.

  The role of Master Warriors.

  They stood back to back like Vikings of old, guardians of an ancient treasure, each one hovering protectively over the healer and the wizard as they sent all six senses outward, seeking, in all four directions. They listened for danger; sniffed for the scent of an enemy; tasted the faintest vibrations in the air with their tongues, all the while, feeling for subtle variations in the atmosphere with their skin as they also scanned the skies, the ground, and the countryside in order to detect any imminent threats.

  Like astronauts running through a final checklist before launching a rocket into space, they tested their vampiric powers, one by one.

  “Hearing?” Marquis grunted.

  Nathaniel grew deathly quiet for a moment. “There’s a deer running in the woods about fifteen miles northwest, a snake sunning at the edge of a swamp ten miles due east, and I can hear two streams—no, three—about forty miles northeast.”

  “Sight,” Marquis barked.

  Nathaniel’s eyes grew narrow, and the pupils constricted ever so slightly as he turned his head to the left and the right, snaking it back and forth in an eerily serpentine motion. He was scanning the area using infrared vision. “There’s a family of squirrels in that nearby tree, a large colony of ants with an intricate system of chambers directly beneath our feet. I don’t detect anything human or Lycanthrope in the immediate vicinity.” He cringed then. “But there’s a hell of a lot of motion going on in those Skeleton Swamps nearly fifteen miles away—large, lumbering movement, like that of gigantic beasts.”

  “Speed and flight,” Marquis said, ignoring the last comment.

  Just like that, Nathaniel shot into the air like the aforementioned rocket. He released his glorious, raven-black wings and soared effortlessly through the sky, dipping, spinning, and tunneling downward with dizzying speed in an effort to test each of his aviation skills. When at last he headed for the ground, his feet took purchase with a soft, graceful landing; his wings fluttered softly, then flashed in and out of view; and the silky black annexes retreated once again into the smooth, even musculature of his back. “Everything seems to be fine,” he said, rolling his shoulders to realign his muscles.

  “Strength?” Marquis asked, moving immediately to the next item on the list.

  Nathaniel dematerialized from their watchful position. He reappeared at the trunk of a nearby tree—the ancient redwood was nearly thirty feet in diameter at the base, at least three hundred feet high from trunk to tip, and it had to be at least a thousand years old. Nathaniel wrapped his arms around as much of the base as he could and proceeded to rip it out of the ground as if it were nothing more than a dandelion cluttering a pristine garden. He stepped back swiftly and let it hit th
e ground with a resounding thump, careful to remain clear of the falling timber. “Feels the same,” he said, returning to Marquis’s side.

  Telepathy? Marquis asked next, speaking on the family bandwidth.

  I can hear you just fine, Nathaniel replied.

  Marquis nodded with satisfaction. “Mind reading?”

  Nathaniel reached out to touch his twin on the shoulder and bowed his head with respect. “Forgive me, Kagen.” With that, he burrowed into Kagen’s mind and retrieved his last several thoughts, recounting them to Marquis. “He believes we are somewhere near the southern border of the realm, perhaps ten or fifteen miles east of the southern pack’s territory, perhaps fifteen or twenty miles southwest of the Skeleton Swamps. Thane’s castle and the slave territory are much further away, on the northern end of the territory, perhaps one to two days’ travel by foot.” He placed the tip of one finger on Nachari’s shoulder next, even though the touch was not necessary to garner the information. “Nachari agrees. However, he also believes that we are no less than ten miles away, as the crow flies, from the lowest convergence of the Lykos River, where the main waterway curves sharply to the right, coming out of the Mystic Mountains before it heads back into the rocky gorge. However, it is his judgment that, even if we lose a little time, we should take a back route to the slave encampment, travel through the cover of the swamps, along the ternary rivers, and over the Mystic Mountains. We should avoid the most direct, exposed route. ”

  “Get out of my head, Nathaniel,” Nachari said quietly. “I can’t concentrate.”

  Kagen rubbed his brow and grunted. “Tell me about it.”

  “Very well,” Marquis said. “I’m satisfied with your report, Nathaniel.”

  Just then, Nachari shrugged his right shoulder brusquely and frowned. “I mean it, Nathaniel. Get out. And stop touching me.”