Blood Awakening (39 page)

Shelby placed his hand over Marquis’s heart and
infused it with peace. “Let it go, great warrior. Let it go.”

Marquis slowly stood and approached the altar,
kneeling once again before the damaged platform. Taking in a long, deep breath,
he slowly exhaled and bowed his head:

“To you who were righteous and without blame;
pentru
tine, care au fost sacrificate fără milă: Am venit pentru a
rambursa datoria mea. Pentru păcatele de stramosii mei, şi pentru
că eu nu au reuşit să-şi sacrifice primul nascut fiul meu,
am oferi propria mea viata în ispăşire.
Have mercy on my soul and
accept this child's life in exchange for my own.”

With an angry scowl, the entity hovered over the
altar and snatched up the now sleeping baby, retreating with a long drawn-out
cry.

It mattered not. It was over.

“Shelby,” the dragon god’s voice cut through the
silence like thunder piercing a clear blue sky, “you have done what you came to
do. It is time to go.”

“Wait!” A desperate female voice echoed through
the chamber as Nathaniel’s wife, Jocelyn, shimmered into view holding a now
plump and growing baby in her arms. “Your nephew,” she panted.

Shelby stared at the beautiful woman, no doubt
taking in her magnificent multi-colored eyes, and then he looked down at the
child—his entire countenance glowing with pride and joy. “Greetings, Storm,” he
whispered, brushing his hand over the smiling infant’s cheek. He leaned over to
kiss Jocelyn on the temple. “And to you as well, my sister. Thank you for this
treasure.”

Jocelyn exchanged a knowing glance with Nathaniel.
“You’re welcome.”

For a fleeting moment, Shelby’s features reflected
a deep sorrow, though he tried gallantly to hide it. He nodded as he looked
around the room, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I will watch over
you all.” He turned to Nachari. “My twin, call out to me; our souls cannot be
separated. I need the communion.”

Nachari nodded and clutched the amulet.

And then he addressed Napolean. “Milord, thank you
for staying with me at the hour of my death.” His voice became barely audible. “I
cannot imagine what that took out of you—what you have given to our people over
the years in such sacrifice.”

Napolean simply nodded his head. “You are deeply
missed, Shelby. Go with honor and peace, my son.”

Shelby nodded, walked over to Marquis, and
embraced him one last time. “
Live, pentru mine
.
Live!”

Marquis wiped a tear from his cheek and placed his
hand over his heart. He swept his arm around Ciopori and looked down at his
newborn son. Truly, he was blessed beyond measure and had much to live for.

Peace was a balm Shelby was offering, if he was
only willing to take it.

Love was a gift he had waited a lifetime to receive,
and now it stood loyally at his side in the heart of a princess.

The future was alive in the bright amber-blue eyes
of his son: Nikolai Jadon Silivasi, heir to the house of Jadon, divined of the
god Perseus, nephew of a prince, grandson of a king, and the embodiment of two
worlds—celestial and Vampyr.

He looked around the room at the faces of his
brothers. Life with him might not be easy, but they had come to his aid so
quickly, pleaded so mightily…

They loved him deeply.

Yes, he was a blessed male with much to live for.

He scooped up a handful of crimson diamonds, his
own blood tears, and placed them in Shelby’s hand. “Until we meet again,
beloved brother, I will live.”

800
BC

“Napolean, run!”

The ten-year-old child stumbled backward, his
eyes wide with fright. His father’s commanding voice shook him to his core.

“Run son, go quickly!”

“No, Father. I don’t want to leave you! Father,
please—”

“Go now!” Sebastian Mondragon clutched his
stomach and fell to the ground. His hands and fingers curled into two twisted
balls, and his body contorted in an agonizing spasm. The transformation had
begun. Writhing in pain, the once-fearless warrior panted the warning a third
time. “Napolean…son…please, run! Hide!”

Napolean heard his father’s words as if from a
distance. He wanted to flee, but he was frozen in place. Mesmerized by the
horror that surrounded him, he swallowed hard and simply watched as the thick,
inky fog swirled around his father’s writhing body. Long, skeletal fingers with
hooked claws and knobby knuckles clutched at his father’s throat, raked deep
gashes along his chest, and dug mercilessly toward his innards. Blood seeped
from Sebastian’s mouth as, inexplicably, his canine teeth began to grow,
assuming the shape of—

Fangs.

But it was his father’s unrelenting cries of
agony that finally forced Napolean’s retreat.

Napolean ran like he had never run before, his
little heart beating furiously in his chest, the need for air burning his lungs.
He weaved through the morbid courtyard, dodging fallen bodies and clasping his
hands to his ears to block out the endless wails. All around him, males fell to
the ground, cursed, and moaned. Some died immediately from the shock…or pain.
Others drew their swords from their scabbards and took their own lives. Still
others succumbed to the brutal torture, helpless as the darkness embodied them.

They were being punished.

 Changed.

Transformed into an aberration of nature by the
ghostly spirits of their victims.

The Blood Curse was upon them.

Napolean focused his eyes straight ahead, never
losing sight of his destination: the imperial castle, a would-be fortress. He
and his friends had hidden there so many times in the past, playing
hide-and-seek, avoiding angry parents, hoping to catch a glimpse of a member of
the royal family. Napolean knew the grounds like the back of his hands, and so
he pressed on, desperate yet determined to get there, resigned to hide as his
father had bid him.

At last, he arrived at the familiar gray castle
gate.

He scurried into a small hole beneath the
fortified wall and drew himself into a tight little ball. He tried to become
invisible. Although he could no longer see the carnage in the village, the
haunting cries continued to batter his ears like thunder against a stormy sky.

 Napolean shook, remembering the moment Prince
Jadon had emerged from the castle, his dark onyx eyes glazed with fear. He had
gathered his loyalists to his side to explain the pronouncement—their
punishment—what was soon to become a new way of life.

With so little time to prepare his men, Jadon
had tried the best he could. Napolean had understood none of it, save one
thing: The followers of Jadon needed to pledge their loyalty to the twin
monarch as quickly as possible, before the transformation began, or they would
meet a much worse fate.

Though Napolean’s father had served for years
in the royal one’s secret guard, fighting to defeat the ever growing armies of Prince
Jaegar, Napolean had been too young to join. Consequently, it had been
imperative that he formally align himself with the
right twin
— for those
who followed Jaegar were to receive no mercy.

And so, like all of the others, Napolean had
knelt to kiss Prince Jadon’s ring, recited the sacred pledge of loyalty—before
it was too late—and braced himself against what was to come….

Napolean shivered, bringing his attention back
to the present moment.

He wanted to be brave, but fearful tears stung
his eyes.

Then all at once, he heard cruel, disembodied
laughter, the sound coming closer and closer, assaulting his ears.

“No. No. No,” he whimpered, drawing further
into the hollow cavity for protection, quivering so hard his bones rattled in
his skin.

The fog swirled into a miniature cyclone, rose
up from the ground, and dipped low as if it had eyes that could see…

Him.

Hiding.

“You think to escape, child?” the ghostly
aberration hissed, laughter ricocheting through the small cavity. Flames
exploded from the center of the darkness. “Die, little one! And be reborn the
monster that you are!”

Napolean screamed so loud the sound became a
cosmic explosion in his ears, yet the fog kept coming. It wrapped itself around
his meager body, entered his mouth, and descended into his chest.

And then the pain began.

The excruciating, unrelenting, unbearable pain.

Acid flowed freely through his veins. Fire
consumed his internal organs. Bones reshaped. Cells exploded. His entire
composition changed, transformed…died.

He heard his own shouting as if it belonged to
someone else, someone wretched and pitiable. He clawed at his skin, hoping to
tear it from his body. He bit through his hand and pounded the ground. He
writhed, thrashed, and tried to crawl away, but nothing stopped the assault.

Dear Celestial Gods!

He prayed for death, but it wouldn’t come.

How much time had passed before the agony had subsided,
he had no idea. Had it been minutes? Hours? Perhaps days? It could have been a
lifetime for all he’d endured before it had ceased…and the craving had begun.

A gnawing, all-consuming, primal thirst.

For blood.

It was the craving that had brought him out of
the hole, crawling along the ground like an animal, stumbling through the
darkness, searching for his father.

Now, as bitter tears stung his eyes, he
absently wiped them away only to find smears of blood on his hand.

Great goddess Andromeda, what had he become?

Finally reaching the village square, he
staggered to a halt beside an aged stone well. As his vision adjusted to the
darkness, he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye: No, it couldn’t be.

Please gods, no!

The grisly scene unfolded in slow motion as Jaegar
Demir, the evil prince, hunkered over his father’s body. The prince’s eyes were
wild with insanity as he bent to Sebastian’s throat, tore into the flesh—as if it
were mere parchment—and drank his fill of…blood. Napolean could neither move
nor turn away as the macabre scene unfolded before him. As the evil prince
drained his father’s already-gored-and-tattered body of life.

And then…

Horrified, trembling, and defeated, Napolean
watched like a coward as Prince Jaegar withdrew his sword and took his father’s
head.

When at last the terror released him, he fisted
his hands and howled at the heavens.

 “Noooooooo!”

He shouted until his throat bled: “Father!
Father! Father! Father…”

Buzzzzzz.

Napolean Mondragon hit the button on the alarm
clock hard. He sat up and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Great gods, not
again.
He swung his feet over the edge of the large canopy bed and rested
his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

This was the third time this week he’d had the
nightmare.

As the sovereign lord of the house of Jadon, the
only remaining male living from the time of the Blood Curse, the memories
occasionally plagued his sleep, but never this often.
Hades
, the
nightmares must have been provoked by the sight of the male he had seen in the
shadows just a few weeks back: the one who, impossibly, looked just like his
murdered father.

The father who had been dead for twenty-eight
hundred years.

Napolean rubbed his eyes and wrinkled his brow.
Gods
,
he could use the sweet affection of the princess right now—the touch of her
gentle hand, the gaze of her compassionate eyes, the warmth of her soft lips
against his.

“Ah hell, Napolean. Why torture yourself?” He
wrung his hands together and shook his head. Vanya Demir had been a bright
light in an otherwise dark, unending life. Her presence in the mansion had
brought song and laughter and joy to a heart that had known nothing but duty
and solitude for twenty-eight hundred years. The attraction between them had
been magnetic, undeniable. She had become the best reason he’d had for rising
in the morning in centuries.

And that was part of why she had left.

That, and the invitation she’d received to go live
with Marquis, her sister, and their newborn baby. Family was everything to
Vanya, and she was not about to pass up the chance to help raise her nephew…or
to be with her sister. In addition, Napolean had begun to mean far too much to
the female, and she had been afraid that she might fall in love with a male she
couldn’t have—a male who was destined to only one woman in an eternal lifetime.

A woman that wasn’t her.

Vanya was not Napolean’s true
destiny,
and
she had lost too much in her life already to risk losing once again.

Napolean shrugged, forcing his thoughts elsewhere.
What difference did it make—why Vanya had left? She was gone. She wasn’t coming
back. And that was that.

Rising from the bed, he headed toward the shower
and turned on the water. No, he would not obsess over the princess again. He
had far too many pressing concerns with the recent discovery of the Dark Ones’
colony. With the recent string of dead—no,
murdered and
drained
—human
bodies showing up all over the place in Dark Moon Vale.

And hell and brimstone, if that damnable nightmare
was not beginning to unnerve him. Why now, after all these years, would his
memories come back to haunt him so? Would he never be free of the guilt? Would
he always feel ashamed of the day his father died?

And just who was that male he had seen in the
shadows?