Blood Possession

  “Damnit!” Kagen snarled. He ripped the boy’s shirt off and scrambled for his medical bag. The others watched in stunned silence as he quickly lined up a syringe filled with medicine, an IV bag of saline, and some kind of kit containing a catheter. “I have to put him under,” Kagen insisted. “Now!”

  “Wait!” Marquis ordered. “We have to know what is possessing Napolean first.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Kagen scowled, turning to glare at Marquis. He took a cleansing breath, and his voice was suddenly calm. Too calm. “Get on with it then,” he purred softly.

  Nachari shuddered. He knew that placid tone all too well: the one that masked the barely leashed rage just beneath the surface. The all-too-reserved Dr. Jekyll who obscured the Mr. Hyde. He held his breath, eyeing Kagen warily: Whoever had hurt Napolean—whoever had hurt this kid—would be better off facing Marquis, Nathaniel, and all the other warriors in the house of Jadon than this seemingly composed Healer.

  Braden continued to scream.

  Nachari said nothing.

  He simply watched as Kagen pressed his hands over Braden’s protruding ribs and gently held them in place. “I’m sorry,” Kagen said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Braden’s, “but before I can put you under—before I can stop this pain—we must know what has taken possession of our king.”

  Marquis scuffled a foot away from Kagen and took Braden’s hand. He squeezed it to get his attention, and then he spoke to him in a voice heavily weighted with compulsion. “Focus on my eyes, son.”

  Braden’s expression was stricken with anguish as he swallowed his pain, forced himself to stop screaming, and stared at Marquis.

  “You have to be brave, son—just a little while longer—and tell us what you know: What is possessing Napolean?”

  Braden trembled uncontrollably, and then he stopped to grind his teeth. “A worm,” he ground out. His breathing grew shallow from shock. “The dark lord…Ademordna.”

  Kagen shut his eyes, then reopened them. “Thank you.” With dizzying speed, he snatched the kit, ripped a sterile package open, and expertly inserted a long, thin needle into Braden’s antecubital vein. He had just begun to attach the IV when Braden reached up and clutched his wrist.

  “Wait!”

  “What is it?” Kagen rushed the words.

  Nachari placed a steadying hand on Kagen’s shoulder. “Tell us, Braden.”

  “The dark lord has total control of Napolean,” Braden said ominously. “He is going to…rape…his woman. He is going to kill our king!”

  Nathaniel’s eyes flashed red.

  Kagen rocked back on his heels.

  And Marquis was so angry he…smiled.

  Holy shit, Nachari thought. All hell was literally about to break loose.

  eighteen

  Nachari Silivasi shut off his cell phone and sighed with relief. He dropped it into his front hip-pocket and considered the news: Katia Durgala, Kagen’s head nurse, had assured him that Braden was going to be okay. The moment the anesthesia had taken effect, the brutal assault on Braden’s body had ceased, and the boy had gone—blessedly—to sleep.

  Kagen had then used powerful injections of vampire venom, as well as special poultices, to repair the teenager’s broken ribs. Beyond that, Braden had been treated for dehydration, strained muscles, and a hoarse throat. Kagen had also given him a long-acting sedative in order to keep him comfortable, and according to Katia, he was now sleeping peacefully in a private room on the second floor of the clinic.

  One less thing to worry about.

  If only he could change what was surely coming next…

  Nachari ran a weary hand through his thick, raven hair and turned his attention to the problem at hand: Napolean’s possession by Ademordna and the imminent danger it posed to the house of Jadon. Not to mention to Napolean’s future with Brooke.

  He turned to watch his eldest brother Marquis, who was pacing restlessly—not unlike an angry tiger forced to remain in a narrow cage—about five hundred yards away. The male patrolled the banks of the Snake Creek River just beyond the cabin that Napolean—no, Napolean’s possessed body—now inhabited with his new destiny, Brooke. Marquis’s right hand was adorned with his favorite ancient cestus, and the sharp iron spikes gleamed in the waning sunlight as the Ancient Master Warrior clenched and unclenched his fists, again and again, to the rhythm of his impatient footsteps.

  Although Nachari may have appeared calm on the outside, in truth, he shared his big brother’s sense of urgency, as well as his frustration.

  They had been at it for hours.

  Planning, strategizing, divining…

  Trying feverishly to come up with a plan to subdue Napolean without harming his newly found mate.

  The going was painfully slow.

  After all, the stakes could not have been higher: Napolean was not just another member of the house of Jadon, and there was absolutely no room for error in their execution. The clock ticked painfully slow for Brooke—gods only knew what was happening to her inside that cabin—yet the males could not just rush in like a bunch of Wild West gunslingers and steal her from Napolean’s arms. They had to face reality. Napolean Mondragon was the most powerful being on the planet, and he was absolutely unmatched in cunning, strength, and ability…not to mention supernatural powers. Putting it bluntly, to oppose Napolean—and make a mistake—was to surely die; and although Marquis, Nathaniel, and Ramsey were all formidable in their own right, none had forgotten how Napolean had singlehandedly annihilated eighty-eight warriors in the house of Jaegar during Ciopori’s rescue, no doubt all accomplished fighters in their own right.

  Blessed Perseus, and may the gods show mercy, Napolean could harness the power of the sun! He could kill with his rage alone.

  Nachari winced.

  While Ramsey and Marquis might be able to dance toe to toe with the ancient monarch for a short while, they would surely have to attack to kill in order to get Brooke away from him; and neither Napolean’s death nor Brooke’s were viable options. Not to mention, Napolean’s powers were only half of the problem: There was also Ademordna and his wicked, supernatural powers to contend with. A fact Nachari Silivasi was becoming more and more aware of with every moment that passed.

  A fact that might require more of Nachari than he was truly ready to give.

  Ademordna was a shadowed deity: a demon.

  A dark lord whose very soul embodied evil, and knowing that, Nachari shuddered at the thought of what he was about to be asked to do…

  He had just decided to take a seat on the ground—a feeble attempt at calming his nerves—when two severe-looking vampires approached him, their faces grim with foreboding.

  “Wizard,” they greeted, speaking in unison.

  “Niko,” Nachari said softly, “Jankiel…” He stood back up. “I can’t say I like the looks on your faces.” He steadied himself. “Then what we discussed earlier…you consulted the fellowship, and they agree it is the only way?”

  Niko Durciak momentarily averted his stone-gray eyes before forcing himself to meet Nachari’s discerning gaze. “We have. And they do.”

  Jankiel frowned, the gesture revealing four horizontal age-lines in an otherwise youthful face, two creases on either side of his mouth. “You are by far the most powerful of the three of us, Nachari, or I would offer—”

  Nachari politely waved his hand to quiet his friend. “There is no need to go there, Jankiel, although the sentiment is appreciated. It is what it is…yes?”

  Jankiel nodded. “Yes…” What else could he say?

  Nachari offered his fellow wizards a reassuring smile. “Very well then: I need to be the one to tell Marquis.”

  Niko looked beyond Nachari’s shoulders and glanced at the warrior in question. He let out a slow, apprehensive sigh. “Agreed.”

  “Why don’t you call all three of your brothers and tell them together,” Jankiel suggested. “It will be more…expedient to explain it to all of them at once.” His voice held a slight note of apolo
gy in it—but Nachari understood: Time was of the essence.

  The decision would be difficult for his brothers to accept, and time was ticking. Just the same, he wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

  Brothers, he said telepathically, we need to speak…face-to-face.

  Marquis looked up immediately, no doubt recognizing the heaviness in Nachari’s psychic voice. He turned to face the circle of wizards, took perhaps two dozen efficient strides, and then stopped abruptly in front of Nachari, squaring his shoulders as he did so. “What is it?” he asked.

  Nachari waited for Nathaniel and Kagen to materialize beside Marquis before he started speaking. Once all three brothers were standing before him, he took a deep breath and steadied his resolve. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” he said. “I think we’re ready…we finally have a plan.”

  Nathaniel nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”

  “We’re listening,” Kagen said, his voice reflecting his concern.

  “I assume you know how to go after the demon then?” Marquis asked.

  Nachari nodded.

  “We do,” Jankiel answered.

  “Then speak!” Marquis barked. He was clearly running low on patience, a virtue he wasn’t blessed with a large portion of to begin with.

  Nachari looked directly at Marquis, said a quick prayer to the gods, and measured his words carefully: “The warriors will follow the plan you, Nathaniel, and Ramsey already crafted.” He squatted, picked up a stick, and drew a rough diagram in the dirt. “You will rush the cabin and create a decoy with only one goal—to distract Napolean long enough for Nathaniel to use Kagen’s tranquilizer on him.” He drew several circles on the diagram representing each male’s position. “As we discussed earlier, you will only have a matter of seconds to get in and engage Napolean, so there should be no attempt made to either capture him or free Brooke: The whole strategy hinges on Kagen’s ability to produce the perfect formula.” He stood up, crossed his arms, and turned to regard his only brown-eyed brother. “Kagen, the dosage has to be exact. The anesthetic must put Napolean under—quickly and decidedly—on the first try. There are no second chances.”

  Kagen nodded, understanding. “I’ve been working on it all afternoon.” He glanced at Nathaniel then Marquis in turn. “As long as one of you can get it in him, he’ll go down.”

  “Good,” Nachari responded. He took a deep breath. “Once Napolean is under, Kagen will need to…drain his life force—ensure that he actually flat lines—so that Ademordna will be compelled to leave his body.”

  “Excuse me?” Nathaniel asked hesitantly. “As in—”

  Nachari held up his hand to stop Nathaniel’s question before he lost his momentum. He needed to get this all out—finish explaining the plan—before he lost his nerve. “Brother, a possession spell requires a physical death in order to transfer a soul: Ademordna took possession of Napolean at the exact moment his previous host died, and it will require Napolean’s brief death to cast him out. The dark lord cannot remain in an expired body.”

  Kagen cleared his throat, the expression on his face one of grave concern: “You realize we are more or less talking about killing our king in order to force his possessor out of his body. Some might consider that sedition. If something were to go wrong…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “In a sense, yes,” Nachari responded, “but you will bring him right back to life so quickly that there will never be any real danger of losing him.” He narrowed his gaze and held it steady. “Napolean is immortal—an ancient vampire. It will take far more than a temporary…loss of blood…to end his existence.” He eyed each of his brothers in turn, staring deep into their eyes to convey his conviction. “Our king’s…lack of sentience…will be temporary and short, I assure you.”

  Niko Durciak stepped forward, cleared his throat, and added, “Ademordna will leave the instant Napolean flat-lines.” His voice was firm and unwavering. “We would never propose such a thing if there was any doubt.”

  “Okay,” Marquis said, sounding somewhat dubious, “so how do we keep Ademordna from jumping right back into Napolean’s body once we revive him?” He glanced around the circle. “And what is to stop him from possessing someone else?”

  Nachari placed a hand on Marquis’s shoulder. “You guys don’t. I do.”

  “How?” Nathaniel asked, rolling his shoulders to relieve some tension. His brow was creased in a frown, and his midnight-black eyes reflected a host of unanswered questioned.

  Nachari glanced from Niko to Jankiel, and the latter nodded his head in encouragement. “I will be there to meet the dark lord the moment he is forced from Napolean’s body.” Nachari’s next words were clipped with an uncharacteristic staccato—probably because he was straining so hard to just spit them out. “I will do whatever I must to keep Ademordna from re-entering our Sovereign’s body. And as for possessing someone else? He can’t. The spell was specific to Napolean. It takes a tremendous amount of blood—not to mention sacrifice—to procure the sanction of a deity in an act of Possession: The Dark Ones have not paid for another soul, nor have they had time to conjure another spell.” He tried to force a half-hearted smile in an effort to reassure his family. “Once Ademordna realizes that Napolean is protected—that our king is no longer vulnerable—he will do what is natural for him, return to the Valley of Death and Shadows.”

  A hushed silence fell upon the group.

  After several minutes had passed, Nathaniel shifted his weight from one foot to another, kicked up a divot of grass with the steel toe of his boot, and slowly raised his head to stare at Nachari. “What aren’t you telling us, little brother?” There was no trace of malice in his words, only concern. “As far as I know, you are an impressive wizard, but even you cannot consort openly with deities, nor can you see or talk to ghosts—at least, not last I checked. So how then do you plan to protect Napolean from a dark lord?”

  When Marquis eyed him sideways, and Kagen raised his eyebrows, Nachari knew they were finally catching on. He swallowed a lump in his throat and briefly closed his eyes—the moment of truth had arrived. “You’re right. I exist in the realm of the living, while Ademordna exists in the realm of the dead—it takes a spirit to confront a spirit—and that is why Kagen will need to drain my life force…before he drains Napolean’s.”

  Nathaniel frowned, and—as if such a thing were even possible—his dark, ebony eyes grew even darker. A hint of red rimmed his pupils. “Come again?” His voice was clipped.

  Jankiel stepped in then. “Nachari has to…cross over before Napolean does. He has to already be there—waiting on the other side—when Ademordna exits Napolean’s body.”

  “He has to buy Napolean some time,” Niko explained.

  Marquis laughed—a humorless, wicked sound. When he spoke, a low growl edged his throat, and his jaw tightened. “You mean Nachari has to die long before Napolean does, and if you intend to bring him back to life—and I presume you are at least planning to humor us with such an attempt—Nachari’s resurrection is to occur significantly after Napolean’s. Unless, of course, my youngest brother is lost somewhere in the netherworld, tangled up with a demon lord.” Leave it to Marquis to go straight to the heart of the matter.

  Nachari ignored the sarcasm, recognizing it for what it was: a defense meant to deflect Marquis’s concern…for him. “I fully intend to come back, brother,” Nachari assured him. “Trust me, I have no desire to leave the earth right now, but our king’s survival is far too critical: You know this to be true. When Ademordna steps out of Napolean’s body, someone has to be there to prevent Napolean from being—”

  “And why does that someone have to be you?” Nathaniel interjected tersely. His eyes were a full crimson red now, and the tips of his fangs had extended toward his bottom lip—which was also pulled back in a snarl. “I can’t believe you are going to actually stand here and ask Kagen—your brother and my twin—to kill you, Nachari? To live with the consequences should you not make it back?
Forgive me for asking, but are you insane?”

  Nachari sighed. “Nathaniel…please…do not do this. Not now. Do not make this any harder than it already is.”

  “Why you?” Marquis demanded. He fisted his left hand tightly over his right—which was still gloved in an ancient cestus—causing blood to seep from his palm where the spikes bit into his skin.

  Nachari concentrated on keeping his voice both respectful and calm: “Because I am a Master Wizard, Marquis. I am trained in second sight, and I have knowledge of both worlds. Not to mention, I also have possession of the Blood Canon—the ancient book of Black Magic—and I’ve read it from front to back. I know more about the dark lords than any of you.” He rubbed his temples. “Even if I don’t understand them, at least I recognize how sorcerers like Salvatore think—I see the intention behind their spells, the machinations beyond the darkness, the laws that govern the misuse of their power.” Before Marquis could respond, he turned to face Nathaniel. “And to answer your question, brother, perhaps it is insane, but it is also the only way. We all know that the dark lord will not relinquish Napolean’s body, just walk away and leave it behind, unless he is forced to do so. And he will not be forced to do so unless Napolean is truly—and permanently—dead. Would you let that happen, Nathaniel? Would you, Marquis?”

  Marquis grinded his teeth together and then absently licked a trail of blood from the palm of his wounded hand. “But your death,” he snarled, “this is acceptable?” He muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.

  Nachari shook his head. He understood that emotions were running high for all of them. “I won’t die, Marquis.” He quickly turned to look at Kagen, whose normally handsome face had turned gaunt. “I am hoping that this excellent healer will be able to sustain my body while I am…gone.”

  Kagen looked distressed. Clearly disliking Nachari’s pitiful attempt at levity, he said, “Don’t make light of this, Nachari.”

  Nachari placed a gentle hand on Kagen’s shoulder. “I’m not, brother. Trust me. All I’m asking is that you keep me on life support while my soul travels. Maintain my heartbeat and provide oxygen to my brain…no matter how long it takes.” He tightened his grasp. “You can’t resurrect me immediately—like you will Napolean—but that is only because my soul will not be available to reanimate my body; however, there is no reason why you cannot revive my body as soon as possible and keep it alive until my soul returns.”