Blood Awakening (23 page)

It had taken a great deal of pleading and
reasoning to get the male to back off, but not before he had siphoned at least
a pint of her blood from her carotid artery. Ciopori winced as she recalled the
pain; it was nothing like the gentle, erotic pleasure she had felt with Marquis....

Dear gods. Marquis
.

How would he ever find her?

She fought back the urge to cry. It certainly
wouldn’t help the situation any.

Looking around the room, she continued to scan for
something she could use as a weapon. She continued to brainstorm ways to escape.
If she could only get to the hallway, she might be able to call out to the gods
for assistance…without setting off that cursed orb Salvatore kept beside the
bed. The damnable cube was as evil as he was, sensing her every prayer, glowing
bright orange every time she even thought to use her magic. She was completely crippled
without the ability to call upon the heavens for assistance.

Salvatore stirred, and Ciopori held her breath,
remaining perfectly still.
Oh, please, go back to sleep,
she willed. The
cube flashed once.
And you, too!
she snarled in her mind, glaring at the
abominable thing. She quickly looked away before it tried to vaporize her or
something.

Great Cygnus,
why had she chosen to go for
a leisurely stroll through a dark forest without taking Nachari or one of
Napolean’s guards with her? It wasn’t like she didn’t have experience with
danger or understand the need to be careful. For the love of heaven, before
Jadon had whisked her and Vanya away from their home in Romania, danger was all
she had known.

Ciopori sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. She
forced her mind back to the present, contemplating how she was going to escape.
A subtle breeze brushed her cheek, and she instinctively turned her head in the
direction of the cool air.

Salvatore’s lair was air-tight.

There were no windows to welcome the sun, no fresh
source of air to break up the damp, musty smell that mixed with the strong
scent of incense, constantly burning from the base of a hideous demon statue. Each
statue was erected in one of the four directions, an aberration of the original
religion.

The liquid blood that ran from each demon’s eyes
represented the element of water. The unnatural flames that burnt beneath the
stone urns, heating the incense, represented the sacred element of fire. There
were ashes—from burned human corpses—scattered about the demons’ clawed feet: a
deviant tribute to earth. And the unholy breath that coursed like smoke in and
out of the demons’ mouths, as if the statues were actually breathing, paid
homage to the element of wind.

The gentle breeze brushed her cheek again, and she
blinked, still trying to identify its origin. There was something different
about the element: a kind, if not gentle, spirit creating the phenomenon. Whatever
it was, it was a sharp contrast to the energy Salvatore Nistor projected, even
in his sleep.

The breeze began to take form.

The fingertips of a strong hand brushed her cheek
and then traced her arms upward toward the manacles that kept her bound to the
head of the bed. Her breath caught as the outline of two mystical hands began
to fill in. She watched them grasp the chains in an unyielding grip, tightening
until the thick steel simply crumbled into dust beneath their enormous
strength.

Ciopori exhaled her relief as her taut muscles relaxed,
and she slowly brought her arms down to her side. And then his face flashed
before her—so quickly she wasn’t even sure she had seen it with her eyes. She
was almost afraid to hope….

Marquis
.

She started to reach out to touch him but quickly
caught herself. He was slowly peeling back the covers, gently sliding his hands
beneath her waist so that he could lift her quickly, removing her from
Salvatore’s reach before the evil male awakened.
And awaken, he would.

“
No!”
Ciopori mouthed, praying that Marquis
could see her face. “
No, you can’t!
”

His hands froze beneath her. He bent to her ear. “Why
not?”

His words were barely audible, yet she heard them
clearly, his deep, sultry voice breathing life back into her terrified heart.

“My ankle is—”   

Marquis pressed his finger to her lips to quiet
her. “I can read your mind. Do not speak aloud,” he cautioned.

Ciopori nodded.
My ankle is shackled to his.

She felt the air around her bristle with anger,
but he removed his hands from beneath her and slowly peeled back the covers from
around her feet.

Still unable to view Marquis’s physical form, she
watched in fearful anticipation as a sharp twelve-inch dagger appeared in the
air, wielded by the warrior’s semi-transparent hand, and slowly rose above
Salvatore’s ankle. In a harsh sweep downward, the blade caught the male’s foot
and sliced deep through bone and tendon, effortlessly hacking the limb from his
leg. Marquis leapt nimbly onto the bed in a crouch, the dagger sliding up his
sleeve as he released his claws and plunged at the sorcerer’s heart.

Ciopori scrambled out of the way. She leapt to the
side of the bed and inadvertently glanced upward. As her eyes focused on the
horror above her, a blood-curdling wail filled the room.

Whatever it was that Marquis was fighting, it
wasn’t Salvatore Nistor.

The dark son of Jaegar hovered beneath the ceiling
like a black widow spider, dangling from an evil web. His pointed fangs extended
at least seven inches in length, and his body twisted into an angry funnel—about
to touch down as a tornado of wrath.

His own claws were extended into hideous talons as
his arm shot forward in a mad thrust to puncture his enemy’s back…to extract Marquis’s
heart from behind.

The moment Marquis heard Ciopori scream, he
instinctively reached into her mind and leapt to the side. The image of
Salvatore hovering just beneath the ceiling and reaching out to take his heart had
transmitted not only to him but to the other four warriors as well.

What the hell is on the bed?
Marquis
demanded as he spun around to face his opponent, who was now crouched low in
front of him.

Astral travel,
Nachari answered.
The
body on the bed is Salvatore’s, but he removed his soul in order to strike you.

Marquis took a step back, confused. What the hell
was he up against?
Then this is a spirit standing before me?
He sounded incredulous
as he and the ancient Dark One began to slowly circle each other, claws
retracted into fists.
How can a spirit attack a physical body, and what the
hell do I kill? The soul or the body on the bed? Speak quickly, brother!

Marquis could feel Nachari’s energy expanding as the
Master Wizard worked furiously to interpret the spell Salvatore was using to position
himself in two places at once.

Salvatore laughed then, a harsh, wicked sound
reverberating from deep within his chest. “Perhaps you are out of your league,
warrior.”

Marquis snarled, a full set of fangs flashing in
warning. “Not from the likes of you, Salvatore.”

I don’t know how he did it,
Nachari
interjected,
but he switched the essence of his soul and his body. The solid
form on the bed is actually ethereal, yet his foot has already grown back. The
spirit in front of you is solid and can kill you as sure as if it had a body. I’m
honestly not sure....

Marquis would have to accept that.

Salvatore was an ancient, and he had dabbled in
black magic his entire incarnation: Who knew what forces he was calling upon to
achieve such a feat.
Very well, brother, then we will have to learn as we go.
Seal this room now! Do not allow any thought transmissions to go out from
Salvatore—spirit or body!

Nachari hesitated.
Perhaps I should contact Napolean
first. Perhaps he has knowledge of Salvatore’s spell.

Marquis shook his head.
We don’t have time.

Very well—as long as you understand that no
thought will go out
or in
. Napolean and his crew will not be able to
locate us or hear what’s going on if I do so, brother. Is this still your
command?

Marquis nodded.
If Salvatore calls for
reinforcements
,
we will have the whole damn colony down on our heads,
and all the knowledge of magic in the world won’t save us. Yes, I’m sure. Seal
the lair.
Now!

Marquis immediately felt the energy in the room
grow dense, and the presence of his brother became stronger and stronger as the
wizard became one with the elements in order to alter the kinetic grid.

Salvatore’s head snapped to the side in a sharp,
serpentine movement, and he glared at Nachari, who he had obviously detected in
spite of the wizard’s invisibility. “So, you bring this pitiful excuse for
magic into
my lair
, Silivasi?” He spat on the floor, and the spittle
began to coagulate, take form, until the body of a snake arose and slithered
across the floor toward Nachari.

Nachari shimmered into full view then, no longer
having reason to hide.

“Julien!” Marquis motioned toward Ciopori, no
longer bothering to speak telepathically. It no longer mattered if the ancient
sorcerer knew of the other warriors: He could no longer call for help.

The tracker flew across the room, materializing
into view even as his image was blurred by his speed. He grasped the princess by
the waist and flew back toward the door of the lair, moving her far away from
both Salvatore and the serpentine apparition.

As the snake approached, Nachari held out his hand,
palm facing up. It was almost as if he was encouraging it to strike. His dark
green eyes transformed into glowing white as he shot twin beams of pure energy
into the snake’s eyes. All at once, the cobra reared back and struck at the
wizard’s hand, but before the strike could land, Nachari opened his fist and a
large python swallowed the cobra whole. The python retracted back into Nachari’s
hand. The hand retracted back into a clenched fist, and Salvatore Nistor
suddenly grasped at his throat, struggling for air.

Marquis didn’t hesitate. He swiped at the dark vampire’s
jugular, missing the artery by less than an inch as Salvatore leapt away. Still
struggling for breath, the vampire flew backward toward the bed and landed in
his own body. And then, like mist from the sea, the fully combined figure rose,
hovering once again in the air as an orange and red glow surrounded him, and
his eyes blazed like fire. He was a fully embodied sorcerer now, drawing
infinite power from the universal forces of darkness.

The son of Jaegar drew in a deep breath, filling
his once constricted lungs with fresh air. Then he hurled two balls of fire
across the room in quick succession: one at Nachari, the other at Marquis.

While the brothers dodged the lethal missiles, the
last invisible warrior struck the Dark One from behind. Ramsey Olaru drove a
clawed fist through Salvatore’s back, penetrating deep into the chest cavity,
barely missing the heart. He quickly retracted his arm and prepared to strike
again, but Salvatore spun around before the warrior could take action, sending two
scorching beams of fire from his blazing eyes into Ramsey’s flesh, even as he howled
in agony from the gaping chest wound.

The sentinel’s flesh began to burn, but he didn’t
cry out. He launched himself at Salvatore’s front just as Marquis launched
himself at his back, pinning the wounded Dark One between them like a vise. Marquis
quickly spun the sorcerer around, drew back his fist—still coated with the
spiked cestus—and blasted the arrogant prick in the jaw, splintering the bone
into pieces, sending several teeth flying from his mouth. The sorcerer flew
back against the wall, where Ramsey then rushed him with a dagger, his arms
still smoldering from the burns Salvatore had inflicted upon him earlier.

“Go to hell, Dark One,” Ramsey bit out as he
plunged the dagger into Salvatore’s chest.

“Not quite yet, Ramsey!” Salvatore snarled.

He dissolved his body into molecular form, causing
the dagger to pass right through him, and then he solidified with his hand around
the dagger’s grip, wrenching it away from Ramsey and counter swiping in one smooth
motion.

Ramsey drew deftly away from the blade, taking
only a nick to his stomach as Salvatore spun the handle, crouched down into an
attack stance, and began to circle the two warriors counter-clockwise.

Marquis retrieved his own black-handled, silver-tipped
dagger from its scabbard and matched the Dark One’s stance. “He’s mine!” he growled.

Salvatore’s blood-red eyes lit up with a feral
glow, and his lips twitched incessantly as his fangs grew longer and longer. “Tell
me what happened to my brother, warrior.” He swiped at Marquis’s arm, but
Marquis spun out of the dagger’s path before it could strike.

Marquis laughed. “What didn’t happen to your
brother, Salvatore?”

The vampire snorted viciously. “Tell me!”

“We cut out his eyes, his ears, and his tongue,”
Marquis taunted. “We skinned him alive and removed his limbs. We wrapped his
intestines around his neck—after we sliced off his manhood. And then we set him
out for the sun to take him. Oh, but not before we scalped him…just for the fun
of it. Would you like to view the memories?”

Salvatore howled, shaking violently from head to
toe. Crackling whips of blue lightning danced from his fingers into his blade and
shot out the tip.

Marquis matched the feat, his own dagger spitting
red fire in response. “Shall we end this today, Salvatore?” he hissed. “Or just
continue showing off?”

 A slow smile replaced Salvatore’s scowl. “No
weapons,” he whispered. “No magic. No fire. Just you and me, hand to hand. The
strongest male wins.”

Marquis threw back his head and laughed. “You
would fight me vampire-to-vampire, Dark One?”

“Why not!”

Marquis shook his head. “Why not, indeed. It’s
your funeral.”

He tossed his dagger aside, careful to watch for a
trap. This would be the perfect time for Salvatore to lunge, but the sorcerer
tossed his dagger as well and motioned Marquis forward with his hands.

Marquis shut his eyes for a split second. The
primal pleasure of what was about to take place—what the fool was about to do—made
him heady. It felt almost erotic. They slowly danced around each other,
stepping sideways in perfect harmony, gliding frontward and backward in a
lethal tango, until at the same exact moment, both vampires lunged forward, grasping
each other in a death lock.

The ground opened up beneath them, and the granite
walls crumbled as the two powerful beings smashed around, each taking a turn
flipping the other onto his back. Violent blows landed to jaws and ribs. Arms
twisted. Claws slashed skin, and puncture wounds bled out. The lair echoed with
guttural grunts and snarls like the roars of ravenous lions feasting on a kill
as the two ancient males sought to destroy each other.

And then Salvatore made a mistake.

He plunged his clawed fist at Marquis’s heart in a
desperate attempt to end the brutal battle, leaving his throat exposed. Moving
with the same preternatural speed as his enemy, Marquis blocked the fist with
his forearm and lunged at the vampire’s throat. He locked his canines onto his
jugular and wrenched like a rabid animal. As blood began to spurt from the
wound, he went after the heart—and not to rip it from the chest with his bare
hands but to gnaw his way through it—to extract the organ with his teeth. This
male had protected Valentine: the evil rogue who had killed his baby brother. This
male had taken Ciopori and subjected her to gods knew what. He had burned
Ramsey and sent a mystical snake after Nachari. And even if all of that were
not true, Marquis was just generally ticked off. He would gorge on this demon’s
heart as the evil one lay dying.

“Marquis, no!” Ciopori cried from across the room,
her voice heavy with revulsion. “His heart is evil. Do not consume it!”

Marquis raised his head and turned in the
direction of her voice, but he was too far gone to process the princess’s words.
He was too immersed in blood-lust to stop. He sensed nothing but the powerful taste
and feel of the organ pumping blood through the Dark One’s body: a vampire’s
champagne. Snarling, he dipped his head back down and began to tear away the
layers of flesh.

And then the door to the lair exploded from the
hinges, thick pieces of wood scattering everywhere like haphazard missiles.

Zarek Nistor, along with three other enormous
males, flew into the room with glowing red eyes, spittle spraying from their twisted
mouths, fangs gnashing back and forth in unbridled fury. The three soldiers let
out a primal war cry and attacked, each one leaping at one of the sons of
Jadon, claws swiping as they connected.

As Nachari, Julien, and Ramsey tussled with their
dark brothers, Marquis let go of Salvatore and went for Zarek. Ciopori was no
longer guarded, and he knew the Dark One could take her life in a matter of
seconds if he chose to.

Sure enough, Zarek went straight for the princess.

He grabbed her from behind, placed one arm around
her waist, and seized her throat with his free hand, razor-sharp claws pressed
tightly against her jugular like a knife. He was ready to slice her throat at
the smallest provocation.

“Back off!” Zarek commanded, turning to face the
room. “Back off, or I’ll slit her throat and rip out her heart before you can call
her name.” He glared at Nachari. “You might be able to block transmissions,
wizard, but did it ever occur to you that I would wonder what was up when my
brother refused to answer my psychic calls?”

Marquis stood up and tried to catch his breath. He
had to calm down.

And fast.

Every muscle in his body twitched, aching to
attack. He knew he could move five times faster than the young son of Jaegar, just
as he knew he could take Zarek’s head in the blink of an eye—but Ciopori might
not make it.

He spit out a piece of Salvatore’s flesh and
snarled, “Let her go, Zarek, and your death will be quick and painless. Hurt
her, and you will suffer far worse than your brother Valentine suffered.”

Zarek’s eyes registered his surprise before
returning to a solid, smoldering red, and Marquis saw it clearly then: The
stupid son of Jaegar still held out hope that Valentine was alive. He shook his
head in disbelief. Just how arrogant were these demons to think that such
crimes would go unpunished by the sons of Jadon—their superior
cousins
, as
it were. “Did you really think that Valentine could take my brother’s wife and
live?”

Zarek hissed and drew a sharp line in Ciopori’s
throat, careful not to cut her artery just yet. He bent down and licked the
blood, his free hand tracing the contours of her waist before groping her
breast. “Did you really think you could waltz into my brother’s lair, take his bride,
and still walk away with your life?”

“
Bride
?”
Marquis growled low in his
throat, his enormous muscles bulging and contracting with such fury that Zarek
instinctively removed his hand from Ciopori’s breast and took a step back,
still holding the princess firmly against him. He glanced across the room. “Tell
your boys to stand down.”

“Boys?” Marquis hissed.

Zarek scraped a fang against the princess’s
shoulder, drawing both blood and a whimper. “Now!”

Marquis held up his hand, signaling his warriors
to back off. The fighting stopped abruptly as all eyes in the chamber remained
fixed on their respective leaders.