Blood Destiny (41 page)

Blood Destiny

by Tessa Dawn

the Master Warrior's presence, but gave him the outward appearance of a pregnant woman.

Marquis looked exactly like Joelle Parker.

He smelled like Joelle.

He moved like Joelle.

He even sounded like Joelle....

So that anyone entering the room would see Joelle—a human female in the advanced stages of pregnancy.

They would see the abomination of nature about to take place, the hideous ritual that would ultimately result in the birth of Valentine's twin sons: two more evil souls to expand the house of Jaegar.

And the time was approaching fast now—the hour when the evil spawn would break free from their wretched host, shredding her body and killing without mercy.

With intricate detail, Nachari recreated the illusion of the unborn twins, leaving no stone unturned that might alert their father of the trap awaiting him; he even provided two distinct heartbeats....

And so Marquis waited.

Lying ever still within the body of the murdered woman...anticipating his enemy.

And the son of Jaegar did not disappoint.

Valentine Nistor shimmered into view at precisely fifteen minutes before midnight. He appeared, all at once, standing at the foot of the bed, a wicked smile twisting his gloating mouth, his eyes focused narrowly on his prize as he laughed aloud...almost trembling with anticipation.

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Marquis could feel the Dark One's heart racing beneath his iron chest, rising and falling with excitement, as he slowly knelt on the bed...as he crawled over to where the sleeping woman lay...seemingly unaware.

Valentine straddled Joelle's legs just below her pregnant stomach, one huge thigh placed languidly on either side of her body. He stroked her belly and purred a welcome: a fatherly invitation to his unborn children. He closed his eyes and listened to the twin heartbeats, and a look of pure ecstasy swept over his face.

Marquis could smell the pungent odor of Valentine's arousal: a bitter-sweet spice that stung his nostrils and assaulted his senses, yet he lay perfectly still. Motionless.

Focused. As Nachari continued to maintain a steady, resting heart rate in his body.

Every muscle the warrior possessed was twitching in anticipation, the desire to kill rising like the turbulent waters of a flood, a torrent of rage that had been held back far too long behind a creaking, bending dam: a straining vengeance just itching to break free.

There were no weapons hidden beneath the pillows, no daggers or sickles tucked beneath the bed. There was nothing concealed along his body to aid in the battle. Marquis intended to kill the Dark One with his bare hands. And no other pleasure would do.

Marquis could feel the bed depressed on both sides of his waist, sunken where Valentine's knees were burrowed into the mattress, and it felt like an eternity lying still beneath the depraved creature. He measured the vampire's body 389

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temperature as it rose several degrees in response to his mounting blood-lust. He could smell the foul odor of the undead's breath as he leaned in closer to examine the human female; yet the Dark One detected nothing amiss.

Resting the bulk of his weight on the back of his legs, Valentine finally called out to his prey: "Joelle, awaken." His voice held a mixture of triumph and anticipation in its deep, gravelly tenor.

Slowly...lazily...the sleeping woman complied.

Feral eyes, the color of blood mixed with molten lava, snapped open, the pupils no more than two tiny slits of menace—their focused glare consumed with rage. A slow, hate-filled smile curved along the corners of Marquis's mouth as his own persona began to deliciously shimmer into view, and then his razor-sharp fangs exploded from his mouth and his dagger-like claws extended from his hands.

"Gladly, darling!" Marquis hissed.

The Ancient Master Warrior lunged forward then, utilizing the full force of his massive body. Valentine shrieked and leapt back, trying to scramble from the bed, but his reaction was way too late. The son of Jadon moved far too fast.

Using the element of surprise, Marquis struck swiftly. He plunged his fist into Valentine's chest, clutched the undead's heart with a full set of unsheathed claws, and tightened his fingers in a powerful, unyielding grip.

His grasp was like that of a mighty vise: seizing and twisting...but not extracting. There would be no swift death for Valentine Nistor: not this night. The vampire would suffer a slow, agonizing death.

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Valentine was stuck.

Frozen in place and unable to break free.

With the powerful Master Warrior's fist clenched tightly around his heart, any sudden attempt at movement would lead to the lethal extraction of the imprisoned organ from his body. Valentine's only choice was to fight—to struggle from a weakened, vulnerable position, hoping to wound his attacker before Marquis detached his heart.

Valentine struck back hard with a powerful counter blow, but the strike never reached its target. A howl of rage and terror shook the room as a bloodied stump made contact with the pillow where Marquis's face had just been. The skilled Master Warrior had evaded the blow with preternatural speed, bobbing his head to the side so quickly the motion was virtually undetectable, even as Nachari stood at the side of the bed, crouched down in a warrior's attack stance, still holding the ivory shaft of a steel dagger in his hand.

The wizard had come out of nowhere, unsheathing the ivory stiletto just in time to make a clean cut across the vampire's wrist, slicing Valentine's hand off before the dangerous claws had a chance to reach Marquis...who had long since moved out of the way anyhow.

Valentine's head snapped to the side, and he hissed at Nachari, his dark eyes burning with black hatred. "You want to join this battle, wizard?" It was a clear, unveiled threat, obviously meant to intimidate the younger, less experienced vampire.

Nachari laughed. His voice was a low snarl of contempt and menace. "I'm not seeing much of a battle, Dark One. But 391

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no thanks, I'll pass. In fact, I think I'll just sit back and watch the show from here."

He gestured toward a nearby chair. And then his hands began to move in a series of lightning quick movements as he withdrew a shiny, curved, sickle from the inside of his coat, spun it around in several smooth circles—like a ninja flipping a pair of nunchucks—and deftly sliced at Valentine's other arm, amputating it right below the bicep with deadly precision.

"Just as soon as I collect this trophy for my twin!" He spat the words.

Valentine shrieked in pain and snapped his head back around to look at his foremost enemy: Marquis. And then he released his only remaining weapon—his fangs.

The ancient Dark One was clearly determined to fight to the death with all he possessed. He lunged at Marquis's neck, exerting enormous pressure against the fist still tightened around his heart in order to keep it from dislodging, but once again, Nachari struck from behind.

Using the tip of the sickle in a movement so slight it required no more than a subtle flick of the wrist, he hooked the Dark One's carotid, taking advantage of Valentine's own forward momentum to sever the vital artery.

"I'm sorry," Nachari whispered, "I seem to be completely lacking in impulse control tonight. Wizards! We just don't have the discipline of you...warriors."

Marquis caught Valentine's throat in his hand before the creature's fangs could connect with his neck and watched as the Dark One's blood began to shoot out in a pressurized 392

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stream as if someone had just unscrewed a fire hydrant. And then he snarled a deep, throaty growl, warning his brother to back off of his prey.

"Nachari, stand down!"

It was an order.

He had allowed his youngest sibling a few acts of retribution, understanding his need to avenge his twin, but the vampire belonged to him. This was his kill. And damn it all to hell, if his little brother didn't stop soon, there wasn't going to be anything left for Marquis to do.

Valentine gurgled and choked on his own blood, a stunned look of disbelief carved on his face. Marquis knew the evil one was trying to call out to his own brothers telepathically, but it was far too late for that.

Nachari Silivasi had graduated the Romanian University as a Master in Wizardry. He now had dominion over the base elements, and he could manipulate the energies of light, sound, and vibration. Nachari had altered the energy field in the room long before Valentine had shown up, creating a static rift in the forces around them—an energetic barrier that made it virtually impossible for thought waves to transmit in or out of the carefully controlled space.

No one would recognize what was taking place in room four twenty-three of the Dark Moon Lodge: not Salvatore or Zarek Nistor...not even Nathaniel or Kagen Silivasi.

"Sorry," Marquis hissed. "Your back-up isn't coming."

Valentine howled like an injured animal. He roared his fury like an enraged grizzly bear, his powerful legs beginning to tremble beneath him.

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Marquis sat up then, careful to keep his fist tightly clamped around the Dark One's heart, reveling at the sight of Valentine's blood gushing out of him like a leaking sieve, the anguished look of pain stamped deep into his arrogant face.

With a clenched fist, he swung his free hand at the vampire's jaw, connecting dead center with the front of his teeth....

Ivory fangs cracked and erupted, exploding like shattered glass as they shot out of his mouth, leaving the staggered vampire utterly defenseless.

Marquis held up his own bloodied, lacerated hand and turned it over, staring at the jagged teeth marks in his skin.

He slowly unclenched his fist in front of Valentine's face, displaying his wicked set of talons...one finger at a time.

Extending the claw of his index finger, he engraved a bloody outline around the vampire's eyes—then around his mouth, his nose, and his ears—before slowly etching a harsh line down his chest, across his flat muscular stomach to his lower pelvis...where he stopped.

He looked his enemy in the eyes. "Pick your poison, Dark One. In what order do you prefer to be dismembered? Eyes first? Ears? Tongue? Or that vile tool you seem so eager to rape helpless humans with?"

Valentine snarled. "Release my heart, son of Jadon, and fight me like a man!"

The words came out gargled and muted, his missing teeth prohibiting his ability to properly form his words.

Despite his sweltering rage, Marquis laughed. "You sound like an imbecile." He turned to Nachari. "I don't know, 394

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brother, should I releath hith heart, tho he can fight me like a man?"

Nachari shrugged casually. "You might as well; what's he gonna do at this point? Kick you? He seems to be running out of options."

Marquis regarded the bleeding, dying monster lodged at the other end of his fist. "Hmm. Perhaps you should remove one of his legs first, at least make the kicking entertaining."

Nachari leapt up from his chair and flew instantly to the side of the bed, his ivory dagger already unsheathed and fisted in his hand.

Marquis hissed. "Sit down, brother. I was kidding."

Nachari frowned and let out a deep-throated grumble. He sauntered back across the room and took a seat by the window next to a stone-top table with a better view of the two warriors. He snapped the dagger back into its holster, leaned back, and crossed his arms, waiting to see what Marquis was going to do next.

Marquis snarled with disdain, took one quick swipe with his claws, and removed the vampire's manhood right through his jeans. "Problem is..." He glared at Valentine. "You're not a man anymore."

Valentine roared in pain and tried to wrench his body backward in a clear attempt to dislodge his own heart into the warrior's fist...to end his own suffering and humiliation.

Suicide was clearly preferred to the ongoing torture, but Nachari sprang forward again with preternatural speed and effortlessly held the enemy in place. There would be no escaping justice this night.

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Marquis slowly—and vindictively—removed the Dark One's eyes, one at a time. He shaved off his ears and carved out his tongue. He sliced a hundred shallow flesh wounds into his body, ripping off entire sections of skin as he went along.

He scalped the long, thick mane of crimson and black hair from his head and tossed it across the room. He dug random holes into the evil one's skull in a crude, makeshift lobotomy, and then he cut out a long string of intestines and carelessly wrapped them around the vampire's throat.

And still he was not satisfied.

Marquis checked his Rolex. "Four more hours until sunset."

His frustration was evident in his voice.

He gently withdrew his fist from the undead's heart, careful to keep him alive, and then he leapt up from the bed and placed a chair directly in front of an eastern-facing window.

Nachari helped him lug the heavy, unrecognizable heap of what used to be Valentine's body from the bed and place it—

along with all of its missing parts—in the chair. Marquis opened the heavy curtains and made his way back to the foot of the bed, where he sat facing the flat-screen plasma television on the adjacent wall.

"Did Nathaniel ever get the cable fixed in this place?" he asked Nachari.

Nachari nodded. "I believe so. I think he hired a new head of maintenance at the beginning of summer."

Marquis sighed. "Good, because we've got a lot of time to kill." He glanced over at the chair. "Do you think you can 396

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keep that thing alive until the sun comes up? I'd hate for him to miss the encore."