Blood Possession

  Salvatore wiped the sweat from his brow. The memory had inflamed him almost as much as the real thing, and now that his state of arousal was too great to deny, he would require a physical release. He wondered if one of his fellow Dark Ones had a female captive close by, but then he realized that his need went beyond what a woman could provide.

  Salvatore craved extreme adrenaline, violence, and pain—the erotic strikes of venomous snakes, the awareness of the serpents’ lethal poison being attacked by his own, and the sweet sensation of nimble scales slithering over his warm flesh, bringing him to satisfaction again…and again. He rose from the bed and headed for the colony’s Chamber of Cobras.

  As he glided through the underground halls, his thoughts returned to Napolean one last time. Indeed, the wretched king would die this time, too. With the help of the dark lord, Ademordna, Salvatore Nistor would accomplish what no other Dark One had been able to do in twenty-eight hundred years: He would end Napolean Mondragon’s life. He had finally found a way to make it happen. As he entered the final hall that would lead him to his erotic fantasy, Salvatore picked up his pace and laughed at the brilliance of his plan…

  Napolean Mondragon would continue to be haunted by endless nightmares.

  Confusion, guilt, and insanity would torment him relentlessly…until it finally wore him down. Salvatore would never let up until he broke him. Until at last, the ancient one could bear his existence no longer. And then—when Napolean was agonizingly desperate, confused, and completely vulnerable—the ghost of Napolean’s father would offer him a way out of the madness…an opportunity to atone for the one great sin of his past. The one thing he had never shared with his people.

  The shameful secret the dark lords of the underworld had revealed to Salvatore, alone.

  In exchange for freeing the ghost’s eternally tormented soul, Napolean’s father would order Napolean to take his own life. And at last, no one would need to defeat the unconquerable Napolean—because the all-powerful king would be the instrument of his own demise.

  Napolean Mondragon would kill himself.

  At his father’s command.

  three

  Brooke took a large gulp of her coffee and slammed her mug down on the short, round table in the corner coffee shop. “Well, so much for a bright, promising future.”

  Tiffany smiled sheepishly. “Now, Brooke. It wasn’t that bad. In fact, I think it was one of the best presentations I’ve ever seen.” She added a second package of cream to her own vanilla latte.

  Brooke glared at her friend, resenting her pitiful stab at compassion. “Yeah, I’d say so: Brooke Adams, up and rising star of PRIMAR—dressed to the nines in a sleek, smoky gray suit, mind you—walks confidently to the front of the room, gathers the hushed anticipation of all eyes, clears her throat, turns toward the presentation screen, and breaks a four-inch stiletto heel, falling promptly on her ass in front of everyone!” She gestured wildly with her hands. “But does she simply catch her balance and readjust? Nooo, of course not. That would be too easy. She has to put on a complete jackass clinic: flailing her arms like some kind of spaz while grasping wildly at the whiteboard, only to take it down with her—on top of her, mind you—before hitting the ground, spread-eagle, with her skirt jacked up to her waist as she shares her…assets…with the whole room.” She dropped her head in her hands. “Yeah, I would say it was quite the presentation.”

  Tiffany sighed, trying hard not to laugh. Again. “Aw, Brooke. It really wasn’t…I mean…I don’t think anyone thought—”

  “Thought what?” Brooke whimpered, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “That I was a complete idiot? Or that I’d make a great stripper if things ever went south as PRIMAR?”

  “Now, Brooke.”

  “Hey, red g-string, black stilettos, bared ass to a room full of men—if it walks like a duck…”

  Tiffany frowned, her eyes soft with compassion. “Brooke, it was an accident. No one thought less of you. In fact, everyone was really concerned for your safety.”

  Brooke glared at her friend—a real threat emerging in her expression this time. “Stop. Just stop. You know as well as I do that the men got a cheap thrill, and the women—well, they probably loved witnessing my downfall. No pun intended.” She shook her head slowly back and forth. “Oh God, just kill me now.”

  “Brooke—”

  “Did you see Halloway’s face!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in proportion to her anxiety. “His eyes were wide as saucers! Like a five-year-old kid at a carnival. And his mouth? It was literally hanging open! I don’t think he knew whether to laugh, help me up, or—or stuff a dollar bill in my waistband.” She banged her head softly against the tabletop three times. “How many people actually got up and left the room just to keep from laughing?” She moaned.

  Tiffany shook her head, feigning ignorance. “I really didn’t notice anyone leaving the…”

  Her voice trailed off before she could complete the…lie.

  Taking a deep breath, Brooke sat back in her high-backed, wooden chair and brushed a sprinkling of sugar crumbs from the table, her eyes averted downward. She rubbed her temples then, wishing she could transport herself to another universe. “No one made eye contact with me the entire presentation, Tiff. I was so mortified! Oh my God, why did I have to wear a g-string today? I mean, really? What are the odds of something like this happening? Ever?”

  Tiffany gently grasped Brooke’s forearm. Her sea-green eyes were muted with kindness. “Oh, sweetie…okay, so it was an…unfortunate moment. A very unfortunate moment. But honestly? The presentation was really, really good—once you got back on your feet.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Don’t you mean, once I got back on my bare feet?” She brushed Tiffany’s arm away and took another slow sip of her coffee. “Oh hell, I think I took the entire women’s movement back a century today.” Despite her gallant attempts at humor, her eyes welled up with tears. “I have never been so humiliated in all my life. That presentation meant so much to me!” Her shoulders sagged and she curled into herself, dropping her head down on her arms.

  Tiffany stood up then. She hurried to the other side of the table, sat down next to her friend, and brushed a wayward lock of brunette hair away from her face. “Listen to me, Brooke…”

  Brooke frowned.

  “I mean it. Listen!”

  “What?”

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yesss—what?”

  “You know as well as I do that what made the presentation important was not the delivery but the information. You showed Halloway a solid way to make a boatload of money, and you backed it up with concrete facts and figures. You introduced an entirely new way of thinking about things that the top brass never even considered, and that, more than anything, got their attention.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “So you had an unfortunate moment—so what? Money talks, Brooke, and that presentation spoke loud and clear. As far as I’m concerned, you took a ground-breaking idea, sold it in a half an hour, and wrapped it all up in a gorgeous silk bow—namely, a really great ass!” She smiled broadly. “Add a little damsel-in-distress theme to the mix, and frankly, there wasn’t a man in the room that wasn’t sold. And the women? Well, luckily for you, Halloway has the final say. You mark my words: This whole incident is going to end up working in your favor.”

  Brooke peeked at her friend from beneath her hands. “You have the strangest way of looking at things, Tiff. Do you really think I still have a prayer?”

  “Yes,” Tiffany answered emphatically. “Are you kidding me?”

  Brooke sat up a little straighter. “Man, I really hope so.” She offered a halfhearted smile. “At the least, I hope Halloway doesn’t hold it against me.”

  Tiffany laughed then, her kind eyes brightening with a twinkle. “You know, for such a smart woman, you can really be dense sometimes.”

  Brooke frowned.

  “What is Halloway?” Tiffany asked.

  Brooke wrinkle
d up her forehead. “The boss?”

  “What is Halloway?”

  “The CEO—”

  “No! Before that. After that. What is Halloway?”

  Brooke shook her head.

  “He’s a man, Brooke.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. “Maybe, but a very discerning, professional man—who I doubt makes decisions based on some primal, male instinct.”

  “Agreed,” Tiffany stated. “And if your ideas and your presentation sucked, then I don’t think standing in front of the room buck-naked would’ve helped you. But that’s not the case. And all things considered, you really do have a great ass.”

  Brooke laughed then. She couldn’t help it. Leave it to Tiffany to find the silver lining in every cloud. “I kind of do, don’t I?” At least she hadn’t flashed anything she had to be ashamed of.

  Tiffany smiled. “See, there you go!”

  Brooke sighed, feeling a little better. A little. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Trust me, darling,” Tiffany assured her. “You won’t be waiting long.”

  Brooke shrugged then. She crumpled up her napkin and tossed it in a large gray wastebasket just behind their table. “I think I’ve had enough caffeine for a while.” She stood up, walked to the bin, and dumped her coffee, careful to brush an errant crumb of coffee cake off her skirt before turning back to face her friend. “You ready to get out of here?”

  Following suit, Tiffany cleared her place and dumped her trash. “Yep. Two more sessions this afternoon, then we’re home free.”

  Brooke cringed, not wanting to think about facing her coworkers so soon. “Can we take a little break before we go back to the conference?”

  Tiffany smiled. “Sure. Maybe we can do a little sightseeing before we turn in the local rental car…get back to the lodge. It gets dark fairly early around here, so let’s try and visit some of the historical sites while there’s still some daylight.”

  Brooke nodded. She retrieved her itinerary from her purse and gave it a cursory glance. “I have Time Management from noon to two and three, short breakout sessions between three and five. What about you?”

  Tiffany shrugged and held the door open for her friend. “I think I’m in the noon session with you, and afterward, I have to do some teaching—the PRIMAR branding concept, integrating the new software system, that kind of thing. Either way, we should be packed, in the cab, and on our way to the airport no later than six.”

  Brooke stepped into the brisk mountain air and took a deep breath. “I hope no one mentions the…incident again,” she said.

  “They won’t,” Tiffany replied, almost convincingly. She reached for her keys to the rental car. “You just hold your head up and expect good things to happen. Trust me on this one, Brooke.”

  Brooke nodded and tried to look on the bright side. They only had seven more hours to go. She could do this. She had certainly dealt with far worse things in life. And what was a little embarrassment among professionals, anyway? She winced. Yeah, whatever. It sucked. But she would get through it. Besides, once she allowed herself to look past the humiliation, she knew Tiffany was right: The presentation itself had been stellar. Unless Halloway was a truly shallow individual, he had to see the brilliance of her strategy.

  Forcing herself to project confidence, Brooke deliberately raised her chin, drew back her shoulders, and climbed into the passenger seat of Tiffany’s rental.

  A few more hours in Dark Moon Vale.

  Then back to San Francisco.

  Napolean glanced up at the high, pearl-white ceilings in the dimly lit meeting room of the ancient Hall of Justice. Lantern light was still used to illuminate the circular space, and the muted glow cast ghostly shadows against the surrounding stone walls as the males gathered to discuss the business of their enemies.

  Napolean drew in a deep breath and counted backward from ten to one as he felt the life-affirming energy fill his lungs. He regarded Marquis Silivasi with a stern look and slowly exhaled. “The boy is simply too young to attend the warrior’s meeting, Marquis,” he repeated for the third time.

  “Nonsense,” Marquis grumbled, shifting the smiling infant on his lap and repositioning the slobber-covered rattle in his hand.

  “He’s four weeks old,” Napolean reiterated.

  Marquis smiled then, the grin of a proud father, and it was a welcome sight to Napolean’s eyes, a rare expression of unqualified joy on the face of a male who had lived a very difficult life…until recently. Marquis had met his destiny just over one month ago, and she was a beautiful and strong mate, not to mention one of the original females of their celestial race. Perhaps this was why Napolean had let the discussion go on this long: The male was a valued Ancient Master Warrior, the closest thing Napolean had to an equal in the house of Jadon, and the mate of an original princess: Vanya’s sister.

  “He’s sitting up by himself,” Marquis explained, gesturing toward the boy’s straight—well, semi-straight—back. “And he has the grip of a gladiator.”

  As if arguing for his own right to stay, the child looked up at his Sovereign and cooed.

  Napolean sighed. Indeed, little Nikolai Silivasi was strong and alert—clearly bright, and unnaturally handsome, even for a vampire—as Marquis was quick to remind anyone who would listen. But the truth remained—he was not the only baby ever born to the descendants of Jadon, he was clearly far more interested in cutting his teeth on his rattle than strategizing on how to organize teams of executioners to hunt Dark Ones, and Marquis would have to come back to earth soon or they would all lose their sanity.

  “Do not worry. You’re perfectly sane!” Marquis argued, inadvertently reading Napolean’s thoughts.

  Napolean growled a subtle warning—purposeful or not, the mind of another vampire was sacred ground, not to be tampered with—to which Marquis simply waved a dismissive hand. Napolean stepped back, more than a little surprised by the casual license his subject was taking with him: Had the entire world gone mad?

  “Marquis! You will do well to remember your place, warrior; and you will take your son home to—”

  “Milord…” A soft voice interrupted the exchange before it could become heated, not that Marquis—or any other male in Dark Moon Vale for that matter—would dare to openly defy the ancient ruler.

  Napolean looked up just in time to see Ciopori Demir-Silivasi saunter into the chamber and make her way down the narrow, center aisle toward her mate, a look of solemn purpose and apology on her face. “Greetings,” she sighed as she stopped before the two of them. “How it pleases me to see you this night, my king.” She kissed Napolean softly on the cheek.

  In front of his men.

  In front of Marquis.

  Marquis’s eyes flashed red, and Napolean groaned inwardly. True, it was an instinctive male reaction that Marquis—or any other male vampire, for that matter—could hardly be expected to restrain. They were territorial creatures to put it mildly; nonetheless, the room full of warriors perked up, watching with apt fascination and more than a little amusement as Napolean hissed beneath his breath, warning Marquis to control himself.

  Truly, the world was out of alignment.

  “Please forgive me,” Ciopori continued, seemingly unconcerned by the not-so-subtle displays of dominance and aggression. “I asked Marquis to keep Nikolai for the afternoon while I went out to do some shopping. I’m afraid I lost track of the time—”

  “And refused to answer your cell phone!” Marquis snapped, feigning irritation.

  “Now, Marquis,” Ciopori said in a sweet, cajoling voice.

  “Don’t Marquis me!” he replied. “You also failed to answer my telepathic calls, woman. This is not acceptable.”

  Ciopori laughed, a carefree, lyrical sound, and smiled. “Oh, stop your grumbling, warrior. You seem none the worse for the experience. Besides, sometimes a woman needs a moment to herself.” With that, she reached down and scooped up the baby, who immediately began to wriggle his arms and legs in excited an
ticipation of his mother’s embrace.

  Napolean felt the energy around them stir and knew that the two of them were finishing their conversation telepathically. He had no intention of interfering—Ciopori was perhaps the only individual in the valley who was a true match for Marquis Silivasi and his…socially challenged…personality. She could give as good as she got.

  Once the energy settled down, Napolean nodded at Ciopori, conveying his understanding. After twenty-eight hundred years, he was not a male of infinite patience—and the order he kept in the house of Jadon was not a small matter—however, he had a hopeless soft spot for the surviving female children of King Sakarias, and there was no point in pretending he did not. Truly, after so many years of believing all females of their race to be extinct, all the males in the house of Jadon treated the princesses with infinite respect and awe. It was still hard to believe the two females had survived that terrible time.

  Napolean blinked, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “I understand, of course, Princess. Thank you for coming for Nikolai.”

  “Of course.” Ciopori reached out and gently touched Napolean’s arm, and a collective hush settled through the room.

  Few beings touched Napolean so casually.

  Few of his subjects took such informal liberties with the most ancient and feared of their kind, and it was still a bit unsettling for the males to witness such a simple—yet powerful—connection with their leader. Indeed, the princess rarely shied away from him.

  Marquis stirred in reaction.

  A low, almost inaudible growl resounded in Marquis’s chest, and Napolean instinctively displayed a lightning-quick flash of deadly fangs. It was a clear, unambiguous threat…a prominent, unequivocal show of dominance. Normally, Napolean found humor—if not delight—in the possessive ministrations of his males, but he would not be challenged, warned, or corrected in front of an assembly of his warriors, not even by Marquis.

  Not even if the male couldn’t help it.

  “Blessed Andromeda,” Ciopori sighed, rolling her eyes. “Vanya and I must get working on an anti-testosterone spell immediately. There must be some magic-spell in the coffers somewhere…” Her voice trailed off.