“I did it,” she whispered. “I can’t believe the insanity that has become my life these last weeks—but I did it.” She reached down and tentatively took his hand in her own, wondering at how soft yet strong it was, how smooth and warm his skin felt against hers, how perfectly his fingers, nails, and bones were structured. His hands could have been used as a prototype for a clay praying statuette: Even now, she could picture them in perfect bronze. Or a golden inlay.
She could picture them in the flesh, so to speak, reaching out for her, touching her hair, her cheek, her waist…
Making love to her with all the grace and power that was embodied in his flawless form.
She shivered and started to release his hand—to step away—but she stopped herself.
No. She could not keep her distance forever.
She could not continue to see him as a stranger when they were practically married—more than married really—connected at the very chains of their DNA. He lived inside of her now, even if he couldn’t stir from the bed.
Deanna swallowed her fear and sat down next to him, her hip brushing against his. She took a deep breath and turned to gaze at his face, looking closer than she had ever looked before. She reached out courageously and brushed a thick lock of hair behind his ear and smiled. “It’s not fair, you know—why men always get the best hair.” She imagined him smiling the way Jocelyn, Ciopori, and even Braden had described, a nearly stellar event that rivaled the moon and the stars in its brilliance…and beauty.
She imagined his green eyes lighting up, using the memory of what she had seen reflected in the Raven as her guide. “I guess I should say thank you,” she whispered, “for what you did tonight…for helping me through this.” She considered the event and sighed. “It was weird to say the least, going through that with your brothers, but I have to admit, I’m glad you weren’t here…I mean, in the flesh. I don’t think I would want you to experience me that way.”
She shuddered and released his hand. “Oh, god.” She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know how to do this! The truth is: You scare the good sense out of me!” She laughed nervously. “I mean, honestly, does it get any more intimidating than a six-foot-tall vampire wizard who everyone describes as this wonderful, magnificent soul who just happens to be gorgeous enough to challenge the gods for attention?” She swept her own hair behind her shoulder. “Not that I’m insecure…because I’m not.” She leaned in closer then, as if to whisper conspiratorially. “Just between us? I’ve heard the words arrogant and proud tossed around a lot when people talk about you—not the cocky I’m better than everyone around me arrogance that really comes from insecurity, but that solid, self-assured knowing that says, I know my place in this world, and I’m not going to pretend that I don’t. I’m not better than anyone else, but I’m certainly not worse.” She smiled. “That’s always been my motto, too, so—I have no problem with your infamous…pride.”
She boldly stroked his cheek. “In fact, I rather prefer it in men. But still…” She sat back and just stared in silence for a minute. “You scare the hell out of me, Nachari Silivasi: You really do.”
As a wave of exhaustion rolled over her—and why wouldn’t it? She had been up all night dying in order to be reborn—she got a crazy idea, an overwhelming impulse, and fought not to dismiss it. She got up from the bed, grabbed the thick brown throw she had come to favor, and returned to Nachari’s side with her own pillow. Fluffing it, she placed it gently beside his head, careful not to move or disturb him in any way, and then, with an effusion of resolve, she slowly lay down beside him and draped the throw around her body.
As the bed was too small to accommodate them both lying on their backs, she eventually shimmied into a feasible position on her side, her leg resting over his with a bent knee, her arm lying gently across his belly, her head resting partially on his arm. Using her newly enhanced sense of hearing, she tuned in to the chirping of the monitors—to the very electricity pulsing through the wires—listening for even the smallest fluctuation, wanting to be sure that her presence, her weight, did not jeopardize him in any way. After several seconds passed, during which she nearly held her breath, she finally relaxed against him.
“Good night, Wizard,” she whispered.
And then she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Nachari Silivasi lay awake in his prison chamber, staring up at the damp ceiling, replaying the night’s events in his mind, over and over: He had come through the night’s torture in Ademordna’s throne room with no memory of the event, and Deanna had come through the conversion without harm. He said a silent prayer to the god Perseus for giving him the strength and the power to take flight in the Raven’s form—to be there when Deanna had needed him most.
His brothers had been stunned by what they had seen.
Even Marquis had broken his promise to stay away; eventually, even he had entered the room in order to glimpse the phenomenon taking place—the fire surrounding the bed Deanna lay on. No doubt, each of the Silivasi brothers had hoped to see their youngest sibling emerge from the flames, to hear him talk and reveal his presence once again for the first time in months—but Nachari had not been…himself.
He had been something other. Something more. His own essence combined with the Universe around him. The substance of his ruling moon united with his burgeoning magic. He had been pure will and intention with only one goal: to see Deanna through the arduous conversion she had submitted to.
And what a sacrifice she had made for a male she had never met!
Nachari stirred restlessly, wondering more about her: Who was this exotic, beautiful woman who had so much courage, determination, and grit? What manner of power had brought her to Dark Moon Vale in the first place? And what supernatural talents did she possess—what had made her aware enough to follow the impulse and trust her instincts?
Deanna Dubois had to be an incredible judge of character. She knew enough to ultimately trust Nachari’s brothers, as well as her own inner voice—her soul: Why else would she accept the truth of the Blood Curse, of her and Nachari’s fate? How else could she have known that their bond was true, that their connection was right—know enough to submit to it in spite of never meeting him? Of never falling in love?
She was there.
In Kagen’s clinic.
Surrounded by an entire community of strangers.
Yet she wasn’t wilting like a delicate flower or fleeing in spite of what had to be a healthy amount of fear. She was surviving one moment at a time, existing in the now—where all true creative power lay—and trusting her heart and decisions, one after another, to carry her forward, without needing to know the ultimate outcome.
For the first time in ages, Nachari Silivasi smiled.
Genuinely smiled.
This was the right mate for a Master Wizard. Whether Deanna had any formal training or not, her soul was wise…and evolved. Without even knowing it, she had mastered a basic foundational tenet of simplicity, embraced an elusive truth which millions of beings who touted complicated theologies never got hold of: Trust your inner voice…above all others.
Acknowledge your fears, but never, ever let them guide your decisions.
And walk forward in faith by embracing your now, even if you are blind to the path in front of you.
Nachari shook his head in wonderment. He could not wait to meet Deanna Dubois, and now that he had channeled his power in such a spectacular way, he was beginning to believe, more and more, that it would happen.
It had to happen.
And soon, for that matter.
There were ten days left in his Blood Moon, only eight days left in which he could still impregnate his mate…or forever forfeit his future.
The sound of an iron key turning in an ancient, rusted lock brought his attention back to the room and his immediate circumstances. Was it Noiro coming with another gift? What time was it, he wondered. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the elements around him, sensing their
position and passage through space: It had to be at least four or four-thirty in the morning. Who else would be visiting him now?
He sat up on the edge of the bed and waited, hoping like hell it wasn’t Ademordna seeking another round of torture-play simply because the demon couldn’t sleep. As a shadowed form slunk through the doorway and into his room, Nachari blinked several times. He recognized her—or so he thought he did—from one of his many torture sessions: the demoness Suirauqa—the twin energy of Aquarius.
The female was as odd-looking as she was distasteful: evil, with green skin and strangely pale eyes that were deeply set in a sunken skull, her narrow face surrounded by thinning white hair and crooked teeth.
“Suirauqa?” he said hesitantly, not waiting for a formal introduction.
She smiled chillingly. “Ah…Wizard. You are better, then? Recovered from your recent bath?”
Nachari frowned. “Why are you here?” Ademordna was very possessive and clear about his trophy prisoner: No one was to look or touch without his invitation.
Without warning, the female demoness sprouted wings and flew across the room, diving directly at him. Nachari reflexively swung his fist, connecting solidly with the center of her face just before she could bite him. The female recoiled, flew backward, and slammed into the rock wall, knocking several stones loose. She hissed a sound mixed with fury and desire at the same time.
What the hell?
Nachari leapt to his feet as the demoness cartwheeled off the ceiling, landed on her toes, and began to circle him slowly. “I’ve been watching you,” she screeched in a high, devilish voice. “Day after day in Lord Ademordna’s throne room, and I’ve come to exact my own pound of flesh.”
Nachari blanched and tried to summon a protective ring of fire around him, but the dense quality of the Valley of Death and Shadows prevented the ring from forming a solid barrier.
“You are in my domain, Wizard!” she shouted. “And I am the Gamma ruler of the eastern realm, the providence of the marsh and sea. Your Celestial Magick will not work in my presence.” She sent a flaming bolt of fire from her fingers to his groin, and he instantly felt his organ swell. “But other things will.” She laughed almost hysterically. “It is this flesh that I seek to pound.” Screeching once more, she leaped at him again, only this time, she moved so fast that she was on top of him before he could react. Normally, on earth, he could match, and even surpass, such acrobatics—his heightened vampire abilities made it effortless—but here, everything was backward.
Nachari strained his neck to the side to avoid her kiss and grimaced as her protruding teeth sank deep into his throat. He pressed his hands to her chest to push her away, even as he felt his own clothes dissolve along with hers. Two enormous thighs straddled his hips.
Great Celestial gods, he thought. Not even in hell!
As he struggled to dislodge her—a feat that should have been easy as pie for a 500-year-old vampire who could lift a truck as easily as a stone—he was shocked by the total immobility of her mass. It was as if she were an extension of his own body: immense and immovable. He recoiled as he felt a slippery heat begin to attach itself to his manhood, and then he made an instantaneous decision that could very well cost him his life.
He would have to kill her before she joined their bodies—slam a fist through her chest and extract her heart before she could fully mount him.
He was just about to release his deadly talons, draw back his fist, and plunge forward at the speed of light, for all he was worth, when a violent explosion of bone and flesh began to rain down upon him from above.
Noiro had appeared out of nowhere, spinning about like an enraged contortionist, clawing, scratching, and gouging out pieces of the demon temptress’s body. She twisted Suirauqa’s head until it hung from a thread of dangling tendon, gouged her eyes from their sockets, and dug at her internal organs with a swollen, bloodied fist, screaming and screeching in in a wild display of unleashed fury.
Nachari pressed his lips tightly together, trying to keep bits of flying carcass from entering his mouth. He turned his head to the side to avoid taking any errant pieces in the eyes, and he watched in stunned silence as Noiro grinded the other demoness into nothing more than a pile of otherworldly burger beside him…and then kept right on pounding it.
“Noiro,” he said sternly, trying to get her attention. “Stop.”
The crazed demoness kept right on screeching and pounding. “He’s mine! He’s mine!”
“Noiro,” Nachari repeated with a shout.
She didn’t look down. “He’s mine!”
A deep, resounding voice rang out like thunder as Ademordna stormed into the room and backhanded Noiro off the bed—off the pile of meat. “No, bitch! I believe he is mine.” He threw his head back and roared like an angry lion. “What the hell is going on in here?” His face was a twisted mask of unrestrained fury and disbelief.
Noiro cowered against the wall, finally coming to her senses, and began to stutter. “My liege…I…I…I found Suirauqa trying to—”
Ademordna hurdled the bed in one graceful leap and snatched Noiro up by the throat. As his clawed fist closed around her windpipe, he shouted, “Are you insane!” He shook her like a rag doll. “So what if Suirauqa—or a thousand other demons—want to mount the wizard until the end of time! That is my concern. My issue to deal with. The vampire is my property—not yours!”
Noiro struggled against Ademordna’s grasp, trying to wrench his hands free from her throat, to no avail.
Oh gods in heaven, Nachari thought. Please don’t let him kill her. He did not have a plan B; and time was running short.
Ademordna held Noiro high in the air above him by one arm, tilted back his head, and screamed until the very foundations of the fortress shook, and then his eyes turned a ghostly white, he opened his mouth, and he began to inhale.
The essence of Noiro’s soul.
It poured out like black fog, streaming out of her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, funneling down Ademordna’s throat in a swirling vortex.
Nachari stilled his mind and began to chant inwardly, weaving a web like a black widow spider, an incantation designed to catch another’s rage in the interwoven threads and spin it into a silken ball.
Slowly, reluctantly, Ademordna’s fury began to cool until he finally stopped sucking Noiro’s life force and dropped her to the floor, limp and barely breathing. He bent over, his back a horrible, twisted arc of disgust. “If you live, you will never, ever kill a demon for a vampire. You will never, ever turn on your own kind again!”
Noiro lay flat against the cold stone floor, too close to death to even tremble or respond.
Ademordna kicked her hard in the side, breaking several ribs as well as her back. “From this day forward, you will stay away from the wizard; do you hear me? You are not to attend his torture sessions—you are not even to speak his name!”
Noiro tried to nod her head but was too weak to do it.
Turning to glare at Nachari, Ademordna paused for a moment, and the wizard wondered if he hadn’t just inhaled his own last breath. And then, the demon pointed at the pile of meat that used to be Suirauqa and spat in the center of the pile. “And that’s what you get, Witch, for touching what was mine.” Regarding Noiro one last time, he hissed, “Clean up this mess, then get out of my captive’s room. And don’t ever come back!”
The door shook on its hinges as Ademordna stormed out of the chamber.
Waiting just long enough to ensure that the demon lord was not coming back, Nachari rose from the bed, walked slowly toward the broken demoness on the floor, and crouched in front of her. “My lover,” he whispered, pouring every ounce of contrived compassion he could muster into his voice, “are you okay?” He knew his next action would cost him dearly, spiritually, but it had to be done.
Times were desperate.
He bent to her mouth, parted his lips, and exhaled his own pure essence into her mouth.
As she took what he offered, their br
eath mixed, and it assailed him like maggots and worms, crawling up his airway into his nostrils, before squirming inside of his brain. When at last Noiro had enough essence to maintain consciousness, she pulled herself into a sitting position. “You give me your pure soul, Wizard?”
“Shh.” Nachari placed his finger over her lips to silence her. “Listen to me carefully, Noiro. Ademordna will never allow you to carry the child you wish to create…with me. He would never have allowed it before today.” He braced her body with his arm and began to rub gentle circles along her broken back, willing it to heal. “But you were right all along: Our son will be more powerful than even the Supreme Ruler of the Middle Kingdom himself. He will have the powers of darkness and light. He will have the speed and cunning of the Vampyr and the sorcery and skill of the Demon. He will weave spells like a wizard and rule souls like a deity. He will have my beauty and your…savvy. You must not allow Ademordna to stop us now.”
Noiro looked at him with shocked incredulity. “Why do you say this now, Wizard?” She clearly distrusted his words.
Nachari shook his head. “Come on, Noiro. You are smarter than this. Do you think I don’t hunger for retribution—thirst for revenge? Do you think I have endured all these lashings and beatings, baths in boiling water, without imagining my own rise to power someday? Wanting to dole out my own form of torture to those who have injured me?” As a demon, she would have to believe this to be his true motivation—as a being of pure carnal darkness, she couldn’t conceive that there might be anything in the world worth living for that was greater than hate, power, or vengeance. “Our son can give me the retribution that I seek”—he paused, choosing his next words very carefully—“but like a bastard son banished from his father’s homeland only to return many years later in victory, our child cannot be sired or raised in the Abyss. We must find our own place…on earth…to give life to this dream, to this hunger—so that we may also return one day when we are strong and ready to take back what is ours. The moment you come to me with the remaining talisman, you will have disobeyed Ademordna, and your life will be worthless to him. Just as it is worthless now.” He bent slowly to her ear. “Ademordna did not spare your life, Noiro: I saved you with my Magick. And now, you, too, have a secret that could destroy me.”