Blood Genesis

  “I’ve seen a million suns go down,

  and pearly white moons rise;

  with edges smooth, so softly round,

  I’ve loved your moonlit eyes.

  Your ivory smile has been my friend,

  your voice seduced my ears;

  while lying under olive skin,

  I’ve lived one million years.

  Within this love,

  my life exists.

  I need so much, your strength…

  your kiss.”

  Having recited the ballad, she linked her fingers in his, praying that he could somehow feel her touch. By all the gods, he had to know that she loved him, that she would always love him. He had to know that no man could have ever been more gentle, kind, or attentive, that no lover could have ever been more skilled or adept.

  He had to know that as tragic as her story was, her life had been blessed…

  Because of him.

  She was stronger for having known his strength, wiser for having known his insight, and more alive for having known his love.

  Surely, the gods were lending her their peace in this moment because Jessenia had no idea how she was keeping it all together. She had no idea how she would endure what was yet to come, when the sun made its inaugural trek across the horizon and she was commanded to make that final walk up the eastern hill…to the executioner’s stone.

  She did not think she could bear it.

  But now, in this unparalleled moment, she would have given all her days on earth just to see Timaos’s eyes: open, alert, and regarding her with love.

  “Please, Timaos,” she whispered once more, “wake up, my love. Let me see your eyes and hear your voice, just one more time.”

  Throughout the rest of the night, Timaos Silivasi drifted in and out of a restless sleep, at times rising to the surface of consciousness where he thought he heard Jessenia’s voice—and she was speaking softly in his ear—at others, sinking deeper into slumber, becoming ever more mired in an endless void of darkness where all was lost but the fitful dreams…

  Timaos had bounced back and forth between peaceful dreams and horrific night-terrors for what felt like time without end. In the tranquil dreams, he was making love to Jessenia, and all was right with the world. But in the dreadful nightmares, he was something else—something primitive, wild, and savage—and the world, nay, the very cosmos from which he was begotten, was inexorably upside down.

  Now, as he shifted his battered body against what felt like a hard, cold stone, he felt another nightmare coming on, rising from the shadows of his quiescent mind, ascending like a ghost from the tomb of his unconscious.

  He felt the hunger rising once again.

  The dream always started the same way: The sun was shining over a golden field, and Jessenia was sixteen years old again, waiting for Timaos beneath the low-hanging branches of a willow tree, her luminous, steel-blue eyes filled with an adoring mixture of fear, desire, and anticipation. They had planned this meeting—this union—for months, and as he approached the meadow from the east, just as he had told her he would, she spun around to welcome him.

  It was then that the dream began to change.

  That Timaos began to change.

  All at once, the sun grew dark, fading into the backdrop of the pale-blue sky like a servant dismissed by his master, and then the moon crept forward, subtly taking the sun’s place, casting eerie, haunting moonbeams across the land like flickers from a torch in a narrow cavern. And, inexplicably, the light shone a deep, crimson red.

  Timaos blinked at the change, the rapid, enigmatic shift, not understanding how such a thing was possible. He shuddered and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, feeling a sudden, rising fear for Jessenia.

  He began to prowl toward her, to stalk instead of walk, to move with errorless, feline grace, every muscle in his body both awake and alert. The hard, unyielding ground beneath his feet became soft and pliable, as if he and the land were one, as if he had the power to command the very elements. His senses grew unnaturally acute, inconceivably hyper-sensitive—he could smell the spoor of wolves half a mile away; he could see the tiny ants scurrying about the bottoms of the trees; and he could literally taste Jessenia’s desire as she waited for him to approach. He growled, deep in his throat, an animalistic sound, reveling in the new intoxicating sensations, luxuriating in the wonder of his dominance and power.

  By all the gods, he felt as if he could leap mountains, soar with the birds, pass straight through matter without sidestepping around it. He felt as if he could wrench the willow tree up by its roots without ever breaking a sweat. And he knew—he absolutely knew—that he could move faster than the human eye could see. He could leap from his perch across the meadow and be on top of Jessenia before she ever knew what had hit her.

  He could tear into her throat and drink to his heart’s contentment, and she would be utterly helpless to stop him.

  He chuckled deep inside—such a thing was not even necessary. He could command the female’s mind if he chose. He could direct her very thoughts. By all that was sacred, he could tell her what to think, what to believe, and what to feel. She was the perfect prey: beautiful, alone, and unsuspecting. And he could make her say or do—or want—anything he chose.

  The thought brought him up short.

  Dearest Ancestors, what was happening to him?

  How could he even consider such a thing?

  This wasn’t just any female. This was Jessenia, his beloved.

  The beast inside him snarled, as if battling for control. He tuned into the steady, strumming beat of Jessenia’s heart, and harmonized it with his own. The twin beats were like music to his ears, a siren’s song calling him to love, to taste, and to feast.

  No…

  No!

  This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all.

  What was happening?

  Just then, Jessenia raised her graceful hand and waved at him, her brilliant smile illuminating her delicate features, adorning her lovely face…

  And he pounced.

  He leapt across the meadow in one smooth bound, released his throbbing fangs, and sank them deep into her jugular, tearing through the flesh like a starved, raging beast.

  four

  Sunrise

  Everything happened at once.

  Timaos came awake with a shout, shooting straight up on the stone as if trying to flee a horrific nightmare, and three of Jaegar’s guards rushed into the dungeon chamber, each dressed in ceremonial garb: one, to take hold of Jessenia; another, to seize Timaos; and the last, to stand in the doorway and watch, lest one of the prisoners try to make an escape.

  The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the horizon, shining through the tiny, banded window, and casting ominous shadows against the earthen floor in the shape of three iron bars.

  Jessenia knew her time had come.

  But it was too soon, much too soon. Timaos had remained unconscious all night, writhing on the stone in response to pain and fitful dreams, and she had not been able to awaken him. Now, as he gasped for air, his deep forest-green eyes wide with the horror of whatever he had seen in his nightmare, her heart raced rapidly in her chest. She had to get through to him, and she hadn’t much time.

  Spinning around to face him, even as a tall, burly guard manacled her wrists behind her back, she put all the force she could muster into her voice. “You bastard!” she shouted, demanding his full attention. His startled, confused gazed met hers. “You said that you loved me! You said that you would die for me—nay, that you were willing to die with me—and yet, all through the night as you dreamed, leaving me here in this cell all alone, you spoke of nothing more than Prince Jaegar’s brilliance, of your desire to side with his loyalists.” She leveled a hate-filled glare at him, trying to make him understand. “I will never forgive you, Timaos Silivasi. I will haunt you from the grave.”

  Timaos recoiled on the stone, and in his horror, he bounded to his feet in order to take a
step toward her, forgetting the awful wounds on his back. At the same time, the guard who had seized him slammed a fist into his back, and he cringed in inner and outer agony. “Jessenia…”

  She shook her head in defiance, ignoring his obvious pain. “No, do not speak my name.” And then she glanced over her shoulder at the vile brute with a horribly scarred face who was holding her by her bound wrists. “Let me say a final good-bye to this traitor. Give me at least this one last pleasure.”

  The hideous male glanced back and forth between Timaos and Jessenia, immediately suspicious and wary, and in that one tentative second, he relaxed his hold and she rushed across the room at Timaos. “Hear me now, warrior,” she spat with disdain, hoping to convince the guards to let this play out. She immediately switched her tongue to Latin, praying that the sentries were too uneducated to understand her words. With his privileged upbringing, Timaos had been schooled in all the principal languages, and he had taken it upon himself to teach several of them to Jessenia, Latin being the first.

  “Listen to me, my love,” she began. Although her words were desperate and caring, she was careful to keep her voice harsh and accusing. She wanted the guards to think she hated him. “We only have moments, and you must hear my words. I do not have time to ask you about your nightmare. I do not have time to say my good-byes, but what I tell you now is of the utmost importance. If you ever loved me, then hear my words.”

  Timaos blinked several times in quick succession, almost as if he were still trying to pull himself out of the nightmare, as if he were struggling to process such rapidly changing events. Yet and still, to his credit, he held his tongue and locked his gaze with hers, listening intently.

  “I love you eternally, Timaos, and I always will. But you must renounce your rebellion. You must convince Prince Jaegar that you were wrong to oppose him, wrong to hide me in the cellar all this time. You must do whatever it takes to live!”

  Timaos shrank back in disgust, and in his confusion, he forgot to speak in Latin. “Jessenia, no…do not do this. I will never, ever—”

  She raised her voice and shouted over him, as if they were having a heated argument. “Timaos, shut up and listen!” He blanched, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. “I saw a vision of the future, and I know that it is true. If you ever loved me, if you ever trusted me, then hear me now: Before the sun sets this night, every male in this kingdom will be punished—they will be changed into vile creatures of the night, forced to feed on the blood of the innocent. They will be cursed by the blood of the slain, but Prince Jadon will beg the apparition for mercy.” She knew it sounded insane, beyond fantastical, impossible, but she had to make him understand. She had to make him believe her. “Do not question me, Timaos. It will come to pass. And you—you have a critical role to play in the future. All that our race has ever been—or ever will become—is dependent upon the survival of a single child, and his life is in great jeopardy. You must survive to protect him, to slay his enemy before the Curse comes to pass. You must destroy the high priest, Ravi, before mid-afternoon today.” She gasped for air, trying desperately to organize her thoughts and speak her entire piece before their time was cut short. “You will be the father of many generations, and your descendants will be strong, proud, and honorable. They will be good men, as the gods always intended. Stay alive, Timaos! No matter what it takes, you must stay alive. You must pretend to side with Prince Jaegar and then pledge your formal allegiance, once again, to Prince Jadon before the Curse occurs.”

  The disfigured guard who had inadvertently released her was quickly losing his patience. He stepped forward, grabbed her by her shackled wrists, and wrenched her backward, tugging her away from Timaos and dragging her to the door of the cell. Timaos started to lunge toward him, no longer restrained by his baffled guard, and she shook her head furiously, begging him with her eyes to play along.

  “Siste!” No! she shouted in Latin. “Please, pretend to hate me, Timaos. Do not fight this useless battle. Fight for the only thing which matters, the only thing our race has left—the future.” As she struggled to keep her balance and slowly backed away, she gazed into his eyes one last time, wishing she could stay there for all eternity. “Timaos, please, promise me.”

  He gasped, but he stopped rushing toward her. He halted his suicidal lunge at her guard, and his throat worked convulsively as he fought to swallow his anger and frustration. The muscles in his arms literally twitched with the need to strike out, to fight for his beloved one last time, but bless him for his courage, he restrained the impulse.

  He just stood there staring into her eyes…and shaking.

  Holding his tortured gaze, she nearly faltered, but she drew a deep, steadying breath, stiffened her spine, and bit down on her torment. “Remember, once I am gone, you must seek out the high priest and destroy him. Kill him, Timaos, no matter what it takes! And then pledge your loyalty anew to Prince Jadon—if you do not, you will not receive the Blood’s mercy.”

  The pained look of betrayal that swept over Timaos’s face was agonizing in its intensity, and the breath rushed out of Jessenia’s body. He was beyond horrified. He was beyond dazed. He was the walking, breathing embodiment of grief. It was evident that he did not want to live without her. He would rather die fighting than live by paying homage to her enemies. She knew him all too well.

  “Jessenia…” He breathed the word like a prayer, his haunted voice trailing off on a rasp. His eyes and the slight shake of his head said all he couldn’t say: I love you. Please forgive me if I don’t comply.

  Jessenia wilted, feeling as if the battle had already been lost, as if her life and their love would ultimately be lost, in vain. This time, she allowed true tenderness to reach her eyes as she nodded. “I know,” she whispered, “ego quoque te amo.” I love you, too. Then still speaking in Latin, she added, “But if you love me, because you love me, do this one last thing for me. Let me go, Timaos. There is no help for me. There is nothing to be gained by your death. But if you live to bring about a brighter future, so that my death—so that all the senseless deaths—will not be in vain, then all that we had will live on.” As the impatient guard dragged her out of the doorway, she tried to study each one of Timaos’s features one last time. “Remember, always and forever, that I loved you more than all the stars in the celestial skies, that I always have, and I always will.”

  Timaos staggered where he stood.

  His powerful, masculine knees buckled beneath him, and he sank to the floor in a heap of affliction, dropping his head in his hands.

  He couldn’t reply.

  His only answer was a plaintive moan.

  Jessenia could not bear to watch him suffer. She could not bear to prolong this wretched good-bye. Gathering her courage, she turned away and let her captor lead her down the inner corridor of the ancient dungeon, toward the final holding cell where they would prepare her body for sacrifice. After that, they would take her outside, usher her through the Courtyard of Justice, and then lead her up the steep, grassy slope to the executioner’s stone, where they would offer her blood to the gods.

  She fought to keep from trembling as she mindlessly placed one foot in front of the other and tried to walk a straight line, and then she felt the ground quake beneath her, the earth shift back and forth on its plates, and she instinctively knew it was a metaphysical phenomenon: The earth itself was reacting to Timaos’s grief.

  She could only hope that he had heard her, that he would heed her dying wish.

  That he would do whatever it took to stay alive and destroy the wicked priest.

  Timaos Silivasi stared blankly at the floor, his mouth hanging open, his mind spinning in dizzying circles, in nauseating waves of disbelief.

  What the hell had just happened?

  And what the hell was he supposed to do?

  Every cell in his body wanted to rise up and rebel, to use all his years of martial training to fight—to lash out and kill as many of Jaegar’s guards as he could be
fore they struck him down.

  Before they dragged him, much like Jessenia, down the narrow dungeon corridor, outside into the Courtyard of Justice, and finally ended his life.

  Took his head on the guillotine.

  But he was so deeply confused and conflicted.

  He would rather rip out his own innards and consume them as he died than swear allegiance to Jaegar Demir, than pretend to go along with this wicked, soulless scheme. He would rather spend eternity in the Valley of Death and Shadows than a lifetime in the Valley of Spirit and Light if it meant betraying his love for Jessenia.

  Just the same, he hesitated.

  Jessenia had said so many irrational, unbelievable, unknowable things: The Blood would curse the males? They would survive to create a new civilization, and he would be the father of many generations?

  Nay, he would never, ever love again.

  By all that was holy, he would die of a broken heart the moment Jessenia was gone—she was all he had ever lived for, and the boy child, the one he must save? Who was she speaking of? She had only given him one directive: Kill the high priest before mid-afternoon today. What if he failed? What if he had to make a second attempt? Was there any leeway in her instructions?