Blood Awakening (14 page)

The short, bald guy beside him slugged him in the
arm. “Damnit, Donnie, don’t adlib!”

“What?” Donnie snapped, his nerves clearly frayed.
“He might have dry cleaning…maybe for his cape or something.”

“Shut up already, Donnie,” the male who had reminded
him of the women shouted. And then they pushed him forward. “Go with the
coffin.”

“What?” Blondie whispered.

“
Cleaning his coffin
.”

Donnie turned back around to fully face Marquis. “Oh
yeah...” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s-apple protruding from his throat. “And
we can clean your coffin at night—and guard it when you sleep.” He ran a
trembling hand through his ruffled hair, now damp from perspiration. “And if
you’re afraid to let us go, then that’s cool too. Yeah, we don’t mind living...you
know...in your lair...or wherever. Just let us know—whatever you want, man…” 
He ducked then, waiting for the blow he was sure was coming.

“
Master
,” his sidekick whispered.

“Huh?”

“Say master!”

“Oh yeah…yeah…just let us know,
master
.” Donnie
knelt down then and bowed his head.

Marquis exhaled before he slowly bent over, drew
back his hand, and slapped the kid across the face, cuffing him so hard that his
eyes bulged out for a second before snapping back into his skull.

Donnie looked up and began to wail like a
three-year-old girl, groveling in his own puddle of urine. “Wh...wh…what did
you do that for?” he sobbed. And then he whispered, “master” again.

Marquis snarled, “That was for your horrible taste
in movies…or books.” He stood up straight. “Great gods, where do you humans get
this crap?”

He stepped back and viewed the herd as all of the men
quickly fell down into a kneeling position next to Donnie, their heads bowed so
low that they rested in the dirt. Marquis began to probe their minds, one at a time,
and just as he suspected, these weren’t the hard-core members: These were the
followers, the rejects, and the wannabes—none of them willing to die for their
girlfriend-beating buddy, Dirk.

“Will you sing me to sleep?” Marquis asked, suddenly
amused.

Donnie looked up from the ground. Surprised, he quit
crying. A faint light of hope illuminated his gray eyes. “Oh...yeah...yes!
Absolutely
.
Anything you want!”

Marquis took a step back. “The Star-Spangled
Banner?”

Donnie eyed the other men; they were all bobbing their
heads up and down like a chorus of synchronized yo-yos. “Yes!” he exclaimed, pleading
with his eyes.

Marquis cleared his throat. “Well, stand up and
show me then.”

The men stood up slowly, clearly afraid that it
was some kind of trick, that the vampire was going to play with them before he
ate them.

“Turn your backs to me,” Marquis ordered, unable
to stomach their pitiful expressions a moment longer.

The men slowly turned around and began to quake, a
couple of them outright crying. And then Donnie led the charge:
“Oh, say can
you see, by the dawn’s early light
...”

The male who had offered the brilliant coffin idea
joined in then, even though he was clearly tone-deaf. “
What so proudly
we
hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming...”

Reluctantly, the last two got on board
. “Whose
broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we
watched—”

Marquis swept his hand over the tops of their
heads, silencing the obnoxious noise and wiping out their short-term memories
at the same time. As far as any of the idiots knew, they had gone to a wild
party, had way too much to drink, and left the next morning a few buddies short.
As they would not remember where they had gone, they could not come back to search
for their missing comrades. When Dirk, Spider, and Doc Holiday—aka Bruce Lee—never
returned, they would just assume they had left the gang.

Glad to be rid of them, Marquis watched as one by
one, they returned to their banged-up Harleys, searched for bikes that still
worked, and started to ride off. The four of them had to ride double as there
were only two working bikes left.

As the last of the Pagan Brotherhood rounded the
bend, Marquis turned his attention back to Dirk, wondering if the pitiful
excuse for a man was still alive. He rustled through the remaining heap of
metal, bikes, and corpses until he found Dirk’s mangled body and then pulled
the gasping imbecile from beneath a dark purple Sportster.

He was still breathing.

Snarling, Marquis knelt over Dirk, grabbed him by
the shirt-collar, and forced him to meet his angry gaze. “You will never touch
another woman again, Dirk. You made your last mistake when you touched mine.” Hissing
with disgust, he added, “I hope your god has mercy on your pathetic soul.”

With that, he drew back his arm, struck through
the chest cavity, and grasped the feeble human heart—

Just as a series of jacketed, hollow-point bullets
sliced painfully
into his arm—three, to be exact.
Marquis winced as one of the bullets went straight through its target, and the
other two lodged painfully in the muscle.

“What the hell—” 

“Let him go!”

He turned his head just in time to see Kristina standing
on the porch like a crazed lunatic, holding a gun in her hand.

She raised it a second time. “Don’t do it, Marquis!
Let him go. Take your hand out of his chest,
now
!” She aimed the gun
right at him, and then, holy hell, she pulled the trigger
again
.

Marquis reacted with preternatural speed, his
predatory instincts kicking into high gear. In one fluid motion, he ripped the
heart out of Dirk’s body, hefted the corpse up like a shield, and caught the next
round of bullets with the carcass.

Kristina cried out in horror. “No!”

Marquis was flabbergasted.

Was it even possible for a male’s
destiny
to try and kill him, let alone love another male—
a human man
—so much
that she would actually prefer him? Never in his fifteen-hundred years had he seen
anything like this. What in all of Hades was going on?

Marquis squatted down, staring at the bullet-ridden
body beneath him. His anger boiled over in a fevered haze. His powerful
shoulders trembled with rage.

How dare she defy him like this!

After all the Silivasis had done for her over the
years: the job, the apartment, the ridiculously high salary—
rescuing her
from the Dark One who would have ripped her throat out and bled her dry.
Even
allowing Dirk to live when they should have killed him long ago...

He threw his head back and roared like an enraged
lion, leaping to his feet with equal stealth and grace. Like it or not, this
female
belonged to him.
And if she couldn’t love him, then she would
most certainly obey him.

Marquis’s muscles rippled and his joints popped as
he turned to face his
destiny
. She had tried to kill him.

Kill him!

His predatory eyes narrowed on the female’s terrified
face as he embraced his iron resolve. Well, didn’t this make things easy? Etiquette
and words were simply no longer necessary. All the playing nice-nice was over.

Kristina Riley was his to do with as he pleased,
and he intended to make that crystal clear. A feral hiss escaped his lips as
his tongue swept over his fangs.

She had tried to kill him…

The Ancient Master Warrior stalked across the front
yard of his remote mountain home like a native cougar homing in on its prey. The
pain in his arm spurred him on. He glared at the wisp of a woman standing on
the porch, still holding the gun she had used
to shoot him three times
in
her hands. She was shaking like a jackhammer as she watched his approach.

Good!

She needed to be afraid.

Maybe she was finally starting to get it.

This wasn’t a game. His life was on the line. Her
life was on the line. That piece of trash she had just shot him over had fully
intended to kill her.

Marquis had read Dirk’s mind as easily as a
billboard on the side of the freeway, and his intentions had been crystal clear.
But then, she knew that, didn’t she? She just didn’t care. She would rather
kill Marquis than the fool that had wanted her dead.

Kristina stepped to the side as he came closer,
her deep blue eyes as wide as saucers, but Marquis adjusted his position
accordingly, keeping the defiant female directly in front of him. She quickly stepped
in the opposite direction. He just as quickly made another adjustment.

Back and forth they went, his stealthy approach
becoming a slow waltz of madness between the two of them. Yet Marquis had no
intention of dancing with Kristina. He had tolerated more than enough of their
dancing.

The Ancient Warrior was resolute.

They were never going to love each other. Hell,
they probably wouldn’t even like each other after this night. So that just left
the basics: thirty-days to convert her. One full moon to produce twin sons and
provide the required sacrifice.

That was it.

That was all.

And the process was going to begin right here and now.

Marquis leapt onto the porch from ten feet away,
easily wrenching the gun from Kristina’s hand. By the way she screamed, one
would have sworn he had just tried to wrench her head off her shoulders. Marquis
could not have cared less.

Let her scream
.

He snatched her up by the waist, turned her
around, and sat down hard on the porch. Her slight form flopped into his lap
like a rag doll, and she fell back against him, her back instantly molding to
his powerful chest. As her derriere sunk into the cradle of his hips, he
encircled her upper body with his injured arm and locked her to him like an
iron vice.

And then he did the same with his legs. Sweeping two
powerful thighs over her weaker, lean ones, he anchored her down in an
unbreakable hold. Involuntarily, her head fell back against his shoulder, and she
began to struggle, her voice shrill with panic.

“Marquis!
Marquis!
Please—”

The sound of his long, snake-like hiss cut her off
midsentence. Marquis could have heard a pin drop as he smoothed her wild red
hair away from her neck with his free hand, and slowly tilted her head to the
side in pursuit of a more favorable angle.

The pulsing artery taunted him beneath her creamy
white skin as the vein rose and fell with her frantic gasps of hysteria. The
beat of her heart rose to a thundering crescendo like the bass of a rock song
that had just hit the chorus. “No!” she wailed. “Oh God, Marquis—don’t. I’m
sorry. I’m sorry! I swear it, I’m so sorry…”

Marquis may as well have been deaf.

He lowered his head and licked her jugular...once...twice…as
he slowly released his incisors, the razor-sharp teeth vampires used to inject their
powerful venom—the teeth the sons of Jadon used to convert human
destinies
to their species.

And then, without hesitation or apology, he sank the
twin ivory fangs deep into Kristina’s neck and began to inject the poison that
would change her forever.

Nathaniel Silivasi materialized on the front lawn of his eldest brother’s home
about ten seconds before Nachari joined him.

“You felt it too?” Nachari asked.

Nathaniel frowned, his dark eyes scanning his
surroundings. “Absolutely, and it wasn’t his typical
I just mopped the floor
with someone who crossed me
energy. Something is really wrong with—” 

His voice cut off abruptly as his eyes swept the
front porch. Marquis was perched in deadly silence, bent over the limp body of
Kristina as she lay across his lap like a flimsy doll. The feral vampire’s jaw
was locked on her throat, and his eyes were glowing crimson red.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. Releasing a low whistle,
he inclined his head in Marquis’s direction, urging Nachari to take a look.

Nachari eyed the scene on the porch and blanched. He
took a few tentative steps toward Marquis and then stopped abruptly in his
tracks as the warrior’s head snapped up ever so slightly, his eyes darting back
and forth between his brothers in warning. A low, territorial growl rumbled in Marquis’s
throat, and his top lip twitched several times. Instinctively, he tightened his
arms around his female and scooted further back on the porch.

Kristina appeared to be either unconscious...or
dead.

Nathaniel listened for a heartbeat and sighed in
relief when he heard two distinct sets: the vampire’s and his mate’s. Slowly
nodding at the Ancient Warrior, he put his arm out to motion Nachari back. “Whoa
there, little brother; you need to step away.”

Nachari swallowed a lump in his throat and did as
Nathaniel suggested.

It was obvious that Marquis was in no state of
mind to deal with his family right now. In fact, the male didn’t appear to be
in
any
conscious state of mind at all. He was pure instinct. Wholly predator.
And he would perceive any move in his direction as a threat against himself and
the female he wasn’t about to relinquish.

In reality, he couldn’t.

Once a male began the process of converting his
destiny,
it was too dangerous to stop before the procedure was finished:  Short of
completion, the female would have too much venom inside of her to survive as a
human, but not enough to sustain her as a vampire. And during the process, the
male couldn’t speak—not verbally or telepathically. He couldn’t let up, and he
couldn’t give in to the female’s pleas for mercy.

Conversion was an incredibly painful event. Nathaniel
ought to know.

As if on cue, Nathaniel’s mate entered his mind,
her psychic voice heavy with concern.
Is everything all right, Nathaniel? Is
Marquis okay?

Jocelyn’s steady, loving presence soothed him as
always. He had only had his
destiny
for a couple of weeks now, yet he
could hardly remember life without her or their new baby son, Storm.

It depends on how you define ‘all right,’ my
love.

Jocelyn sighed.
What’s going on?

Nathaniel knew the water was frigid, but he dove
in anyway.
He’s converting Kristina—

No way! Tell me you’re lying, Nathaniel. Already?

He cringed.
Yes, already—and
on the
front porch.

Jocelyn gasped, no doubt remembering the extreme
pain of her own recent conversion: Even when one’s mate was gentle and had his partner’s
full love and devotion, it was a traumatic event.

I can’t believe she consented so quickly,
Jocelyn
quipped.
I mean...maybe she’s a helluva lot stronger than me, but there is
no way I would’ve come willingly into your arms less than twelve hours after
meeting you, let alone given you control over my heart, life, and body…accepted
what was going on as my true destiny.

Nathaniel knew that Jocelyn was referring to the sacred
siring ceremony that took place between mates before conversion, the reverent
words that were spoken to one another, as well as the gods, as part of the
sacred mating. He sighed.
I can assure you,
Iubirea mea
, there was no
consent or ceremony between these two.

Jocelyn became deathly quiet.

Darling?

He wouldn’t!

Nathaniel knew better than to respond.

He didn’t!

Again...nothing.

Oh God...that poor girl! Is she hurt?

Nathaniel glanced over at the porch and frowned, choosing
once again to say nothing.

Nathaniel, please tell me he hasn’t hurt her. I
mean, I know he’s a bit…severe…but even I didn’t think—

She’ll be fine, Jocelyn. I don’t think Marquis
is going to let anything happen to Kristina—

Anything but him!
Jocelyn snapped, her tone
daring him to argue.

Jocelyn…darling...I did no such thing to you,
remember? He
is
my brother.

She took a slow, deep breath.
I’m sorry,
Nathaniel: You have enough to think about without adding me to the mix. I
just…wow...honestly, I feel sorry for both of them.

Nathaniel sighed, searching for a way to change
the subject.
Is our son still awake?

Jocelyn’s voice eased then.
Is that a trick
question? Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! This kid isn’t going back to sleep for
hours.

Nathaniel snarled.
He is beginning to disrupt
our...private time...together. That kid.

Jocelyn laughed.
Good grief, Nathaniel; we made
love three times today, already. What more do you need?

A deep, sultry growl rumbled in Nathaniel’s throat.

Jocelyn cleared hers.
I see
, she murmured.
Well,
I’ll tell you what—you take care of your brother, and I’ll go make some warm
milk, see if I can’t get this boy back to sleep.

Nathaniel hissed and sent a visual image of him sinking
his fangs into the smooth shelf between Jocelyn’s neck and shoulder, his hands
slowly roaming lower and lower… 
Try hard, my love.

Jocelyn purred a soft invitation to her aroused
mate and closed the communication.

When Nathaniel turned around, Nachari was standing
there with his arms crossed over his chest, a look of disinterest in his eyes. “Not
the time or the place, brother.”

Nathaniel grunted.

Nachari rolled his eyes and gestured toward the
porch. “What are we going to do about
that
?”

Nathaniel gave him a stern glare and shrugged.
“Stay the hell out of it, that’s what.” He turned his back and started to walk
the boundary of the yard, pointing out the large pile of metal, rubble, and
bodies strewn about at the apex of the looped, gravel driveway. “This must have
been a lot of what we felt.”

“No doubt.”

When Nathaniel squatted down over a mangled body,
Nachari simply materialized at his side and crouched down beside him. The young
wizard frowned. “Is that Dirk Warner?”

Nathaniel lifted the head by the back of the neck,
careful to keep the blood off his hands. Jocelyn didn’t need to know the full
extent of what had taken place at Marquis’s estate earlier that night, and even
if he tried to wash the blood off, with her new and improved vampire skills,
his mate would smell it on him. “Looks like it.”

“Damn.” Nachari stared at the gaping chest cavity,
which was clearly missing a heart. He stood up and walked toward the pile of
metal. Then he bent over and picked up a bald, severed head by the two-inch
mustache hanging off the mouth. He held it up in the air. “You know this guy?”

Nathaniel shrugged and tilted his head to get a
better look. “Never seen him before.”

“Hmm.” Nachari gave the head a good once-over
himself.

“Maybe you can try and read Marquis’s energy...
wizard,
”
Nathaniel said, emphasizing the last word with mock contempt.

Nachari sneered. “I’ve just about had it with this
warriors-are-superior
crap,
brother
.”

“Yeah, well, by the looks of this yard, we are.”

“Oh, please,” Nachari jeered. “Storm is what? Four
or five days old now? Given another year or two, he could’ve taken care of
these humans himself.”

Nathaniel laughed.

“Hell, even Braden—”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and just stared at
his baby brother.

“Yeah...you’re probably right,” Nachari conceded.

They both knew that Braden Bratianu—bless his
little human-turned-vampire heart—would have been strung up in a tree somewhere.
And that would have been the best possible outcome.

Nachari dropped the head, held his hands out level
to the ground, and closed his eyes...then frowned. “Unless his mother named him
Bruce Lee, aka, Doc Holiday, Marquis didn’t know him, either.”

Nathaniel chuckled then. “Marquis always did enjoy
his battles.” Although clearly, this had been more of a slaughter.

Nachari kicked at some metal. “He ruined some
really nice bikes, though. My guess is that Dirk’s riding buddies decided to
come lend a hand.”

Nathaniel winced. “Poor souls. Are you getting
anything else?”

Nachari closed his eyes again, held out his hands,
and made a funny face.

“What?” Nathaniel asked.