Blood Destiny (8 page)

Jocelyn blinked back tears of alarm and scooted even further away.

Apology not accepted.

The vampire looked as if he were actually considering coming over to help her up again, but then he clearly thought better of it and stayed where he was.

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"I am Marquis Silivasi, Nathaniel's older brother. Please believe that I intend you no harm." His voice dropped an octave, so that it almost purred. "Know that I will not allow any other to harm you, either." And then his eyes narrowed into two, almost imperceptible bands of warning. "But above all, know this: I will not allow anything to happen to Nathaniel."

It was a clear, simple statement: There was no hint of menace buried in his tone, no overt threat warning her to behave. He didn't even growl or snarl. Yet, Jocelyn read it loud and clear: If she hurt Nathaniel, this one would kill her.

Nathaniel did not look pleased. "Why don't you ease up a little, Marquis!"

The male snarled. "The way I eased up with Shelby?"

Nathaniel frowned.

"Consider this, brother: We allowed Shelby to take matters into his own hands with tragic consequences, did we not? I will not make the same mistake twice. The same outcome will not befall you, no matter what has to be done. It is that simple."

Jocelyn stared from one vampire to the other, clearly reading the promise of enforcement in Marquis's eyes, but she didn't utter a single word of her own. She didn't dare.

The only thing more frightening to her than the male's dire vow of protection was Nathaniel's repeated claim of ownership where she was concerned. What did he mean, So you threw my woman across the deck? Surely, he didn't think she belonged to him—they hardly knew each other.

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Jocelyn tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her body in a tight little ball. With every moment that passed, she began to realize that she wasn't going to get out of this. She wasn't going to just walk away. And Nathaniel wasn't going to just let her go. The realization was surreal.

What were they planning to do to her?

She couldn't allow herself to think about the creature she had seen in the chamber, to think about the fate that had claimed the life of the poor suffering woman. Her sanity would not allow it. As it stood, she was barely holding on.

Marquis turned to face Nathaniel then and held both of his hands palms up in a gesture of peace. "So, are you done thinking you would like to fight me, brother?" he asked, smirking.

Nathaniel nodded. "I'm very relieved I won't have to."

Marquis chuckled. "You know I would never fight you, Nathaniel. I would choose to bind you to the deck first. Allow you to think for a bit. Cool down."

Nathaniel growled. "Don't be so sure you could, big brother. Perhaps you would be the one bound to the deck."

Marquis shrugged. "Perhaps, Nathaniel...perhaps."

He waved his hand as if to dismiss the silly conversation; then he suddenly became serious again. "Now, tell me what's happened. I saw the moon earlier...Cassiopeia...it is hard to believe..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, the red in his eyes receding back to the bluest black. He gestured at Jocelyn. "Tell me, how did you come to find this one?"

Jocelyn's eyes were as big as saucers. She made herself even smaller.

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This one?

She was nothing to these creatures.

Nathaniel looked at her as if he had read her mind, as if he could not bear to see the fear and resignation in her eyes. He glided across the deck with the easy grace of a swan and gently lifted her to her feet, turning around briefly to glare at Marquis. Then he softly brushed his hand against her cheek and led her to two arched doors, the entrance to his dwelling.

"Jocelyn," he whispered, bending to her ear. "I know you are frightened and have many questions. I will answer them all soon. Please enter my home and wait for me while I talk with my brother alone. Marquis is a bit"—he paused, searching for the right words—"high strung at the moment."

Jocelyn didn't have to be asked twice.

She would gladly enter hell if it would just get her away from the fierce vampire. She immediately reached for the handle to the door, but before she could disappear into the temporary sanctuary of the home, Marquis appeared in front of her. His severe eyes locked unerringly with hers, and his pupils once again narrowed into two tiny slits of menace.

"Do not think to escape this place while we talk." His deep voice was stern and unwavering. "Do not even try." He paused, carefully considering his next words. "Such a thing would deeply upset me as it would place Nathaniel in great danger, and that is not something I would permit...from anyone."

His voice remained steady...smooth...pure as the driven snow. Yet, the crystal clear threat lingered perceptibly in the air, almost alive with electricity and promise.

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* * * *

"Marquis," Nathaniel sighed with frustration, "I believe you were born high strung! And just for the record, would you please stop scaring the female senseless? Perhaps you should at least allow me to make a few inroads before you convince her that you are the devil, reincarnated, and I am one of your evil minions—here to cast her into the fiery depths of hell.

You are not helping me."

Marquis looked surprised...insulted. "I had no intention of frightening that woman," he said. "I only spoke the truth."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes in exasperation. He rubbed his forehead just above the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths. "One man's truth is another woman's terror, Marquis. And this man's headache."

Marquis sniffed, indignant. "Vampires do not get headaches, Nathaniel. Is this some sort of metaphor? If so, just make your point."

Nathaniel shut his eyes and hung his head, shaking it back and forth...slowly. This particular conversation was pointless, but one thing was for certain: If he ever did get a human headache, Marquis was going to be the one who gave it to him.

He took a deep breath and regarded his brother with purpose. "We need to concentrate on the subject at hand—

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how I came across Jocelyn, and what we will need to do to protect her."

Marquis slowly exhaled with relief.

He stretched out lazily in the nearest lawn chair, folded his arms across his chest, and placed his feet up on the matching foot-stool.

"At last," he said, without smiling. "I'm listening."

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Jocelyn was hunkered over in the corner of a soft beige sofa, hugging her knees to her chest, when Nathaniel entered the living room. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, and there was a vacant look on her face, as if she'd simply given up trying to reason or think.

"You look cold." Nathaniel sent a sharp bolt of sizzling blue electricity from the tips of his fingers into the fireplace. He focused the steady stream on a small pile of kindling until the logs caught fire and roared into a healthy blaze. He then picked up a green throw-blanket from the back of his favorite arm-chair and handed it to her.

Jocelyn didn't take it.

She didn't move or even look up. She simply stared blankly ahead into space, numb to the night's events, withdrawn from her fate.

Nathaniel unfolded the blanket and gently wrapped it around her narrow shoulders before kneeling down on one knee in front of her. "Jocelyn," he whispered.

There was no reply.

The crackling of the fire could be heard coming from several different directions at once as the acoustics in the vaulted great room bounced the sound from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and back again.

The stunning hard-wood floors were laid with large planks of knotted-pine, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Northern Mountain Ranges as far as 77

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the eye could see. The blood-red moon had vanished, and the now soft-white moonlight illuminated the earth tones of the room, with its ancient pieces of art, like a celestial lantern burning in the night sky.

With another wave of his hand, Nathaniel lit several candles and turned on a large granite water fountain that sat adjacent to the stone fireplace.

Without even trying, the descendants of Jadon often arranged their homes to flow in harmony with the universe around them. They included the basic elements of earth, wind, and fire in the physical structures, and paid homage to the celestial gods by placing each piece of furniture in perfect synchronicity with the natural rotation of the planets.

They were the ancestors of Celestial Beings, the prodigy of humans who had once mated with gods, becoming a race of people ruled by the moon and stars, a culture that had walked in perfect accord with the world around them before they had been corrupted. Before the Blood Curse. And some things had remained instinctual.

"Jocelyn..." He tried again. "Won't you please speak to me?"

She squinted, her eyes narrowing as if gazing through a blanket of fog, and then she just shook her head. "You promised," she whispered. "You promised."

Nathaniel looked away. "I know I did...." He sighed. "And there's absolutely nothing I can say to make up for breaking that promise." He looked back at her then. "But you have to believe me when I tell you; I had no idea this was going to happen."

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Jocelyn shifted uncomfortably. "You had no idea what was going to happen, Nathaniel?" She spoke in a tentative voice, looking up at him from behind dark lashes.

"The Omen."

"You mean whatever happened with the moon and the stars?"

"Yes."

She looked down at her wrist and studied it absently, as if she knew it was of great importance but had no idea why.

"Angel..." He took her hand and held it gently in his own.

"Look at me, please; do not just withdraw from the situation."

He brought the back of her hand up to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles. This was his future—his destiny—and she had much to learn.

She frowned and pulled back her hand.

"I know you're scared," he said, undaunted. "And I know you feel powerless. But I am willing to answer any questions you have...if you'll just ask."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Have you calmed down?"

He nodded. "You were never in danger, sweetheart. At least not from me."

"From the other one?" she asked.

"No." His tone was adamant. "My brother would never intentionally harm you."

Jocelyn shrugged and shook her head. "What difference does it make what I say or do, Nathaniel? You've already decided what's going to happen. Even your brother seems to have more control over me than I do." She sighed in despair.

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"So, tell me then, what do you need my opinion for? I'd honestly rather you didn't patronize me."

"Jocelyn."

"What?" she huffed, this time sounding more exasperated than resigned. "Nathaniel, just tell me the truth for once: Will it make a difference? If I ask every question I can think of; say everything you want to hear; do everything you ask me to do, will you let me go?"

Ouch. Nathaniel stroked her cheek. His heart was heavy.

"It's not that simple, tiger-eyes." He forced himself to smile, his own gaze deliberately softening as he stared into hers.

Jocelyn frowned and turned away. "Of course not."

A moment of awkward silence passed between them before she spoke again. "And by the way, Nathaniel, I'm not your tiger-eyes or your sweetheart." She sounded amazingly defiant, considering how helpless she looked. "And I'm not your woman either." She said the last statement in a somewhat softer tone, as if she suddenly feared that she might provoke him.

Nathaniel reached out and took her hand a second time, absently rubbing his fingers in slow, caressing circles just above her wrist. He knew she would continue to resist his touch. To resist him. But he also knew that he could impart far more warmth and reassurance through physical contact than with his eyes alone. He wanted her to begin to sense him, to begin to feel who he was, and he knew she had it within her to do so.

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He wanted her to become aware of her own attraction—the preordained chemistry between them—to remember who she was.

Nathaniel deliberately made his touch light, like a cooling balm on a hot day, even as he braced himself against the images he was picking up in her mind: distressing pictures of his own eyes glowing in the forest, disturbing flashbacks of him appearing more predator than man, unsettling glimpses of him confronting his brother on the deck...with fangs.

"Don't look at me like that," she said.

"Like what, angel?"

"Like you're reading my mind. Like you know me. Like I actually mean something to you."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you right now, Jocelyn. Yes, I am reading your mind—

and your body language—and your emotions. And you mean far more to me than you realize." He continued to caress her hand. "But make no mistake; I know exactly who you are."

"Really?" she said sarcastically. "Who am I, then?"

"You're mine."

Jocelyn winced and closed her eyes.

He found her listening to the trickling sounds of the waterfall in conjunction with the crackling of the fire, simply letting the ambient noise take her over for a time, while blocking out the overwhelming intensity of the moment, and he waited....

Nathaniel waited as she watched the flames dancing and dodging between the burning logs. As she tried to ignore the subtle heat she was beginning to feel in his touch. Her 81