Blood Father by Tessa Dawn
Arielle shook her head. “No, Walker. I don’t think it has anything to do with you.” She stared at the water then, noticing how blue it looked in the haunting moonlight, how effortlessly her oar sliced through the rippling current, and the way the water sloshed off the blade of her paddle, dissipating into the river as if it had never crossed her path to begin with. One moment, it was there, an integral part of the resistance. The next, it was just gone.
She sat up straight, her spine stiffening, and recalled the words of the song once more.
Despite herself, she got the chills. After all, the white owl had almost touched her.
Her.
Not Walker.
Whatever it was, whatever it meant, the omen was for her.
And Ancestors be merciful, she prayed it wasn’t Tyrus Thane Montego, the ruthless king of the Lycanthrope, coming to claim her at last.
five
Dark Moon Vale ~ the next morning
Kagen Silivasi stood in the meadow, the valley that divided Dark Moon Vale from the bordering Red Canyons, the place where the house of Jadon’s civilized society began to merge into the forest, the wilderness, and beyond. He watched as Ramsey Olaru approached, a thin reed of grass protruding from his taut lips, his arms markedly empty of baggage or traveling gear.
“Sentinel,” Kagen called in greeting, eyeing the massive warrior suspiciously. “Where’s your pack, your weapons?”
Ramsey shrugged. He spit the reed out on the ground and brought his hand to his face, rubbing his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. “Bad news,” Ramsey said. “The king says it’s a no-go.”
Kagen’s eyes grew wide in alarm. “What do you mean a no-go?” Surely, Napolean Mondragon would not try to stop the Silivasis from entering Mhier, from going on the dangerous mission to try and find their father. It was their right as sons, their duty as vampires. It was their imperative as males of honor.
Ramsey shook his head and made a pacifying gesture with his hands as he spoke. “Not you guys,” he said, as if reading Kagen’s thoughts. “Me. My going with you. It’s a no-go.”
Kagen took an unwitting step back and stared at the Ancient Master Warrior, the sentinel, his light hazel eyes reflecting disappointment in their depths. “Can I ask why?”
Ramsey knitted his brow. “It’s pretty much all the unknowns…and the potential sacrifice.”
Kagen remained quiet, waiting for Ramsey to elaborate.
Ramsey angled his head to the side as if to say, What can you do? “As it stands, Marquis and Nathaniel are two of our strongest warriors. The loss of either one would be a devastating blow to the house of Jadon.” Leave it to Ramsey to get straight to the point, without mincing words.
“You,” he continued, “are our strongest healer.” He sniffed reflexively. “Oh, we have other acolytes, those who are training to become Master Healers, and a few who already practice the craft; but you are by far the most skilled of the lot. And Nachari? Is there a finer wizard among us? Especially since he spent all that time…” To his credit, he left out in hell—there was no need to say the words when the point was clear—Nachari had not only obtained and read the Blood Canon, the ancient book of Black Magic, but he had lived among the demon lords in the Valley of Death and Shadows for over four months. His knowledge, as well as his skill, was irreplaceable to the house of Jadon: The mission the Silivasis were about to embark upon was more than a family crusade, a personal vendetta, or an inter-species war; it was an incalculable risk to the house of Jadon. Napolean Mondragon was sending four of his best masters—centuries-trained warriors, a healer, and an accomplished wizard—into harm’s way with no guarantee, whatsoever, that any of them would return.
Kagen stood silently, contemplating Ramsey’s words. He was disappointed to say the least, but he understood the wise king’s reasoning. “So,” he finally said, “our Sovereign is not willing to risk one of the valley’s three revered sentinels as well, not even for Keitaro.”
Ramsey frowned, clearly understanding the implication. “It’s not like that, Kagen.” He glanced over his shoulder and inclined his head toward the gathering of vampires about twenty yards away in the thicket: Marquis and Ciopori; Nathaniel and Jocelyn; Nachari and Deanna; even Braden and Kristina were all convening in the grove, moving in and out of the pine trees, checking packs, sharing last-minute instructions, and trying to make peace with the imminent departure. “It’s not just a matter of who’s going. It’s a matter of who’s being left behind.”
Kagen breathed out a sigh of growing appreciation.
“You have to understand, Ciopori is still an original princess, a rare and precious treasure to the house of Jadon. Napolean isn’t willing to leave her with anyone other than himself or me; and Jocelyn and Deanna? Saxson is going to be staying at Nathaniel’s estate while the warrior is gone, and Santos is going to be staying at Nachari’s brownstone—there was no room for debate on either issue. Our lord thought about bringing the women to the manse or the lodge, but he didn’t want to disrupt the kids’ routines. As it stands, his own house will be…less protected.”
Kagen cringed, wrinkling up his nose in reaction to the news. He had been so busy concentrating on the trip to Mhier, he hadn’t considered what life might look like after they left, here in Dark Moon Vale. Yet, it all made sense. Of course, Napolean would not take any unnecessary chances—that wasn’t his way—but the thought of Nathaniel Silivasi, hell, Nachari, too, for that matter, sitting comfortably with the idea of other vampires, alpha males, living in their homes, with their mates and their sons, while they were away? Well, that was another matter entirely.
Ramsey laughed. “Oh yeah, I feel you, Chief.” He leaned in closer. “And I get to be the one to tell Marquis that I’m staying in his well-appointed homestead with Ciopori and Nikolai.” He grimaced, flashing his fangs for effect.
“Wouldn’t want to be you,” Kagen remarked, meaning it.
Ramsey chuckled low and deep. “Yeah, tell me about it.” He rolled his shoulders, as if to dismiss the repercussions. “There’s also another factor at play, something Napolean would be remiss not to consider.”
“And that is?” Kagen asked.
“Fallout,” Ramsey said. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Let’s say you do find your father”—he quickly extended his palm toward Kagen’s chest as if to say, Don’t overreact, healer; I believe that you will—“are the lycans just going to give him up at this point, after all these years? Are they just going to lay down their weapons, let a band of vampires come into their territory—hell, their hidden, protected world—and march out with a coveted prize, having rubbed their noses in their inherent inferiority?” The last statement was an added dig against the enemy, Ramsey’s way of saying, Screw the mangy bastards. “Who’s to say they won’t follow you out of Mhier, back into Dark Moon Vale, and wage a full-scale war once and for all?” His posture remained nonchalant, but his top lip twitched ever so slightly. “It’s not about Keitaro, Kagen, or how much our king reveres your father. He’s willing to take the risk of an all-out war for your family, for your sire. He’s just not willing to do it without lining everything up back here, without being prepared in the event that all hell breaks loose. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah,” Kagen said astutely. “He’s not willing to take the risk…without you.”
Ramsey tilted his head to the side and shrugged. He held up both hands in apology. “I’m sorry, healer. I truly wanted to go.”
Kagen placed his hand on Ramsey’s shoulder and gave it a firm clasp. “Thank you, Ramsey—that means a lot.”
Ramsey relaxed his bearing. “Eh,” he snorted, “you know me. When do I get a chance to kill on a large scale, indiscriminately? Blood spurting, guts spilling, and heads rolling? Shit, I hate to miss this one.”
Kagen chuckled then. He rubbed his hands together. “Shall we break it to the others?”
Ramsey inclined his head in the direction of the gathering, gesturing toward his own twin,
Kagen cringed. “On second thought, let’s wait a minute or two before we catch up with the others.”
“Did you hear this bullshit!” Marquis snarled, flashing a hint of fang at Kagen before crouching to drop a heavy pack full of silver ammunition on the ground at his feet.
“It’s not bullshit, brother,” Kagen said, his own voice steady and calm, if not mildly amused. “And yes, I’ve heard. Ramsey told me.”
Just then, Nachari Silivasi sauntered up to join Marquis and Kagen. He was decked out in loose-fitting jeans and a knee-length trench coat, his trusty scabbard and beloved sword sheathed neatly at his side, and the various bulges and pouches, concealed beneath the jacket, betrayed the presence of ancient weapons forged in silver: a curved scythe, a serrated dagger, and a well-concealed Beretta Px4 Storm. He looked far more like a warrior than a wizard. “Nathaniel bit Saxson,” Nachari said, his blasé tone at odds with his lethal appearance, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.
“What?” Kagen asked, incredulous.
“Bit him. Right beneath his ear. He was trying to go for his throat.”
Kagen recoiled, staring at Nachari like he wasn’t sure he was telling the truth. “And Saxson? What did he do?”
“He bit him back,” Nachari said in a matter-of-fact tone. He raised his left arm and pointed toward his armpit, moving his finger slightly to the right to indicate the heart region. “Right here, I think.”
Kagen shook his head. “Damn.” What else could he say? He turned to regard Marquis then. “Honestly, I thought it would be you, attacking Ramsey, if anyone was going to lose it.”
Marquis harrumphed, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Pshaw,” he said dismissively, and then he waved a glib hand through the air. “Ramsey.” He spoke the word with feigned derision. “That crazy bastard stood there the entire time he was telling me about the living arrangements with his trident in his hand, that crazy, medieval pitchfork he insists upon fighting with.” Marquis’s voice rose an octave, yet it was still harshly deep and laced with menace. “He was daring me to react poorly. I think he wanted to stab me.”
Nachari fingered the top of the scabbard, nestled snugly over his left hip, and patted his beloved sword. “I want to stab you, Marquis—I’ve always wanted to stab you—but I won’t because you’re my brother.” He chuckled heartily then. “I’m glad you didn’t provoke him.”
Marquis narrowed his gaze at Nachari, glaring at him with feigned contempt. Kagen wasn’t quite sure what he mouthed to the vampire, but it looked something like, I would kick your wizardly butt from one end of Dark Moon Vale to the other.
Nachari grinned for all he was worth. “You would try.”
“Okay…okay,” Kagen said, suddenly growing serious. They had a mission to embark upon, a foreign world to enter, and a father to rescue. “Are you guys ready? Do you have everything you need?”
Marquis stiffened, growing instantly somber. “We’re ready.”
Nachari followed suit, indicating a shallow metal bin with two handles on either side, resting at his feet. It contained all the objects the Silivasis would need to open the portal—gods be merciful.
“Then you should probably say your good-byes,” Kagen added.
As if on cue, Nathaniel and Jocelyn, along with Princess Ciopori, strolled over to the circle of vampires. Ciopori instantly sidled up to Marquis’s side, slipped her long, elegant arm around his back, and leaned her head lovingly into the crook of his arm. “It is time then?” she whispered.
Marquis drew her close. “It is, my love.”
Ciopori clenched her golden eyes shut and slowly nodded. She ducked out from beneath the warrior’s arm and stood directly in front of him, grasping his long black trench coat by the lapels with both hands. “You be careful, warrior.” She patted his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles she had just made. “I will petition the celestial god Perseus on your behalf, but you—” Her voice began to falter, and her eyes filled with pressing tears. “You come home to me, Marquis. Your son and I will be waiting.”
Marquis enfolded her in his arms and held her so close to his heart that it seemed he might just squeeze the breath right out of her. His arms were steady; he didn’t tremble, and neither did she, but the truth of their apprehension was written all over their faces.
Kagen turned away. The moment was far too personal, far too intimate, for his intruding eyes. When he noticed Nathaniel doing the same with Jocelyn, he took a measured step back, wanting to allow them some privacy as well.
Nachari and Deanna were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing each other as if the world might just end at any moment, as if their souls would only survive if they were interwoven, as one, and their mouths, their very breath, were the ties that would bind them together.
Kagen looked down at the ground.
His brothers had so much to lose, yet they also had so much to gain.
They had to succeed in their mission.
They had to.
When at last, Nachari and Deanna pulled apart, Nachari whispered in her ear: “It can’t be worse than hell, Deanna, and I survived that. I will come home to you. ”
Deanna nodded bravely.
“No tears, Draga mea. Never tears,” Nathaniel crooned to Jocelyn as she clung to his broad shoulders, careful to avoid the heavy belt of silver ammunition draped about his neck and hanging to his side.
“I wish I could go with you,” she said, a stubborn glint of frustration in her eyes. “Support you. Fight with you.”
“Ah, yes,” Nathaniel drawled softly, “but then, who would fight for our son?”
Jocelyn stuck out her bottom lip in a playful pout, and then she smiled, just a little, mischievously. “Saxson?” she said, pitching her voice just a tad bit higher.
Nathaniel growled deep in his throat. “I do not find this humorous, destiny of mine. The male is hardly six feet tall.”
“I think he’s six foot two,” Jocelyn said, laughing.
Nathaniel nipped at her ear. “Do not anger me before I leave, woman.”
Kagen laughed out loud, feeling a bit voyeuristic for listening to their intimate banter, but appreciating his sister’s sense of humor just the same. He was just about to walk away, put some real distance between himself, his brothers, and their mates, when Kristina Silivasi came storming into the clearing, stomping her delicate feet, which were strapped into three-inch heels, with Braden Bratianu following close behind her, his own confident stride laced with arrogant bravado and swagger.
“Ah, baby, don’t do me like that,” Braden called after Kristina.
Kristina threw her hands up in the air and marched directly over to Nachari and Deanna, interrupting another round of passionate lip play. “Nachari!” Kristina howled. “Tell him. Tell him now.”
Nachari pulled away from his mate, regarded Kristina with mild annoyance, and frowned. “Tell him what, sister?” he said, his striking eyes alight with sudden intrigue.
Kristina huffed. She planted her feet shoulder-length apart and side by side on the ground. She placed her hands on her hips and snorted. “Tell him that kissing is not a good luck charm.” She turned up her nose in disgust. “Tell him that a twenty-nine-year-old woman kissing a sixteen-year-old-boy is disgusting. Wrong. Pedophilia!”
Nachari laughed. “Technically, pedophilia refers to someone at or over the age of sixteen who has a…prurient…interest in someone thirteen or younger, and since you’re actually Vampyr, not human, the term doesn’t really—”
“Damnit, Nachari!” Kristina snapped. “I’m not playing with you. Tell him!”
“Braden, she doesn’t want to kiss you,” Nachari said, suppressing a slight, devilish grin.
Braden swelled up like a peacock. He drew back his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and flexed his biceps, before dropping his arms to his sides. In truth, the kid was growing taller, stronger, and more muscular by the day, so the blatant show of masculinity was not as unimpressive as it might have been, say, a month ago. “Ask her who she’s calling boy.”
Kagen bit his tongue to keep from laughing, too. He watched Nachari, waiting to see how the wizard would handle the situation now.
“I’m calling you a boy, Braden Bratianu!” Kristina sniffed, angling her petite frame to square off with him, vampire to vampire.
Braden flipped his chestnut-brown, shoulder-length hair out of his eyes with a proud toss of his head; and then he smiled roguishly, the barest hint of fangs gleaming beneath his full, teasing lips. “I tell you what, kiss me, and we’ll see if you still think I’m a boy then.”
Kristina turned the color of ripe, pink-lady apples just before the fall harvest. Her hands curled into fists, her pupils narrowed, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment.
Undaunted, Braden bent down to taste the proffered offering.
And Nachari caught him around the waist and yanked him back, tugging his feet a good twelve inches off the ground, just before his lips met Kristina’s. “Whoa there, cowboy,” he said. “You can’t take a woman who’s unwilling. There are rules, Braden. Etiquette.”
Braden shrugged out of Nachari’s grasp and shook out his shoulders, landing gracefully, if not quite stealthily, on the ground. “Yeah, well, tell my future mate that it’s inevitable. I’m her male, and she’s my female, so she may as well submit to me now.” He slowly licked his lips for effect. “And while you’re at it, tell her that I’m getting stronger every day. Bigger. And in more places than one.”
“Eww!” Kristina moaned.
Nachari recoiled, and his hands shot up in the air defensively, as if the boy had just brandished a dagger. “Whoa! Damn. Way too much Neanderthal, Braden! And way too much information.” He cringed and shook his head. “That’s…that’s just not okay. None of it. No woman wants to hear that.”