Blood Ecstasy (Blood Curse Series Book 8) (23 page)

At this point, Braden cleared his throat and glared at Nachari. “And you haven’t brought up the invitation: whether or not you’re going to let me meet with this vamp and settle the score.”

Ramsey visibly blanched. “Whoa, son; what do you mean by settle the score?”

Braden’s shoulders stiffened with anger. “This guy, whoever the hell he is, played me for a fool. I may be young, and I may be inexperienced. But I’m not a fool.”

Ramsey furrowed his brows. “No one thinks you are, son. But if this is Ian Lacusta, and he has survived for nine hundred, fifty-seven years on his own, if he has mastered enough alchemy to cloak his hair as blond and travel as the mist, then you are no match for his cunning, fledgling. You cannot dance toe-to-toe with this vampire.”

Braden shrugged, seemingly undaunted. “Maybe not, but I’m brave enough to be a decoy. I can lure the ass hat into a trap, and then maybe you guys—or better yet, Julien—can settle the score.”

Saber snickered. “Ass hat?”

Nachari shook his head and waved his hand to dismiss the comment. “It’s just…it’s another word for jackass.”

“It’s another word for
asshole
,” Braden cut in.

Ramsey harrumphed. “Fine, we all agree. The vampire’s an
ass
, one way or another.” He leveled his gaze on Braden. “And yes, you could lure him into a trap, and we could dispatch him. Or he could possibly strike faster than we could track or intercept, and we would have your parents and the king to answer to.” He turned to regard the other sentinels. “And I’m not trying to be disagreeable here, but let’s say this
is
Ian, and Braden’s plan could work. Which one of you is going to deny the tracker this kill? Go back to Julien and tell him Ian is dead, and we did it for him. After all this time?” Once again, the room grew quiet, until finally, Ramsey cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

“About 11:45,” Santos said.

Ramsey nodded and turned his attention to Nachari. “What say you, Master Wizard? Should we wait until morning, or should we wake the king? Let our Sovereign make the call?”

Nachari’s chest constricted with the heaviness of the moment.
 

Vampires were nocturnal beings, even though they often adjusted their schedules to accommodate their human counterparts, attend to their various business enterprises. One way or the other, Napolean was likely to be awake.
 

And if he wasn’t…

Nachari strolled back across the room, coming to a halt at Ramsey’s side. “Yeah,” he murmured softly. “It’s time to rouse the king.”
 

twenty

Julien lay awake on Rebecca’s cozy bed, holding his
destiny
in his arms as she slept somewhat fitfully on his chest, feeling way too large for the queen-sized mattress beneath him. While Rebecca had returned his passionate kiss, and for a moment, she had even been swept away by his ardor, she had stopped him before the interplay could go any further.
 

Despite the fact that his body—hell, his very soul—had been on fire, she had still been grieving, reeling…adjusting, and making love to a woman whose eyes were brimming with tears, whether from confusion, compassion, or anxiety, was just not Julien’s style.

Just the same, the two of them had made a real breakthrough.

Forged a sincere connection, however tentative.

No, they had not made love or exchanged promises for the future. They had not found solace in the sweat, heat, and embrace of each other’s welcoming bodies, but they had entered into a more peaceful, contented union: forged a truce of sorts, a quiet and more intimate understanding.
 

And now, as Julien reclined on Rebecca’s bed, simply holding his
destiny
in his arms, he felt deeply honored just to share the moment, just to lie beside her, to finally have her permission. Rebecca was an enigma to him, and what she had shared about the birds was nothing short of a miracle, the fact that they had been connected, so long ago, without even knowing it, the fact that she had named her beloved pets
Analise and Evangeline
.

The story had touched something deep in his soul.
 

He braced his arm behind his head and slowed his breathing, all the while thinking about Rebecca’s VOSU support group and the imminent needs of the women: the boyfriends, ex-husbands, and sometimes strangers he still needed to track.
 

And destroy.
 

He wanted to wrap up the nasty business as quickly as possible so he and Rebecca could return to Dark Moon Vale. He was not at all comfortable lodging so far away from the valley’s warriors or its strategically placed wards, not when Rebecca could still be at risk to the Dark Ones. Should someone in the house of Jaegar get wind that Julien and his
destiny
were alone in Denver, separated from the herd, then all hell could break loose in an instant.

It just wasn’t an optimal position to be in.
 

He ran an absent hand through the length of Rebecca’s hair and sighed: Many times, he had thought about locating the stalkers himself, then reaching out to Santos or Saxson, perhaps Nathaniel Silivasi, and asking the warriors to finish them off. He had even considered asking one or more of the sentinels to come to Denver, to sit with Rebecca and watch over her, as it were, while he handled the miscreants, swiftly and with finality; but his inner predator, his possessive, territorial core, resisted that possibility.
 

Still, he had to do something, and he needed to make a decision, once and for all.
 

His chest constricted with a gnawing ache as he wished, for the millionth time in his lifetime, that he possessed the awe-inspiring powers of Napolean Mondragon. While Julien was, without question, the best tracker the house of Jadon had ever produced, he was no match for the ancient king when it came to the ability to strike at an enemy from an indeterminate distance. As far as rumor had it, Napolean Mondragon could sit in a chair in his living room, sipping from a goblet of blood, and send his psychic body forward into any dimension of time or space. He could virtually follow the slightest vibrations in the cosmos, track a being via his or her thought patterns, disposition, and date of birth, and home in on them from anywhere on the earth. And then he could strike like a serpent, snuffing out the fragile life-force without ever breaking a sweat, without ever leaving his home.
 

Without ever spilling a drop of blood from the goblet.

But that was not the king’s foremost—or even secondary—duty.
 

It was not a good use of the monarch’s energy, nor was it in the best interest of the house of Jadon. What if something happened while the king was out of his body? What if the enemy struck back or somehow bested Napolean, as impossible as that seemed, and he never returned to Dark Moon Vale? What if an emergency cropped up while the king was mentally, physically, and spiritually elsewhere?
 

No, unless it was a matter of personal Blood Vengeance, and the king felt the need to protect or avenge
his own
, he did not risk his immortal life on matters of personal vendetta. Dark Ones were like weeds: The moment one was plucked, another sprang forth, eager to wreak havoc on
the world around him, and while destroying the enemy,
any enemy
, was always a worthwhile cause, it was not a duty for the ancient and sovereign lord of the house of Jadon.

As ugly as it might sound, Napolean Mondragon was vital; whereas, Julien was replaceable. As awful as it was to admit, every male in the house of Jadon was ultimately replaceable, save the infamous king. And besides, until recently, Napolean had not had a successor. Now, he had Prince Phoenix, Prince Paris, and Prince Parker, but he had not yet had a chance to train them, to raise them. The children were still neophytes, mere fledglings, with so very much to learn. They needed their father desperately.
 

Julien bristled inside, knowing that at any time, over the long, torturous centuries, he could have gone to the ancient king as a brother, as a servant—hell, as a male who was truly in need—and beseeched the imperious leader on bended knee to find Ian for him, to sort through all the scattered, ever-changing patterns of energy and deal with the abomination himself, but Julien had never been able to bring himself to do that, to risk the house of Jadon or to compromise the king, not for his own fragile sanity.

It just wasn’t that important in the broader scheme of things.
 

Rebecca stirred fitfully beneath his arm, and Julien stroked her hair, once more wondering at the softness and beauty that rested beneath his fingers. It was so strange to have her there, in his arms at last, to finally lie next to his chosen mate.
 

And truth be told, he hardly knew what to do with her.

His groin hardened in protest, and he had to stifle a masculine chuckle.
 

Well, yes, he knew exactly what to do with her in terms of
male-meets-female
, and gods be merciful, he was burning inside to do just that; but the operable words were
with her
, not
to her
.
 

He had already made enough mistakes.
 

He sent a peaceful current of energy through his fingertips, directed the pulse to circulate around her scalp, and she settled back with an adorable sigh. And that’s when he felt the energy all around him stir:
 

Julien.

His ears perked up at the telepathic call:
Whose voice was that?
 

Tracker.

Holy hell.
It wasn’t every day—or night—that the noble king of the house of Jadon just appeared inside one’s mind.
Milord?

We have a situation,
the king said bluntly.

Julien stiffened, drawing to instant attention.
Has something happened to one of the sentinels?
It was the only thing he could think of.
 

No,
Napolean said brusquely, putting that fear to rest.
 

Is there some sort of threat to the house of Jadon? Are my services needed in Dark Moon Vale?

The king paused, perhaps for a while longer than was natural.
No more—or less—than usual. No, warrior. I’m afraid this has to do with you…on a personal level.

Julien furrowed his brows, growing increasingly wary.
I’m listening.
 

The king cleared his psychic throat, which was unusual for the implacable male.
Is your
destiny
close by?
he asked.
 

She is. She’s in my arms.
Julien glanced down his nose at Rebecca’s sweet, placid features and grew inwardly still. Her visage was inexplicably calming.

Ah
, Napolean said, with an approving exhalation,
that’s good, tracker. That’s good.
He immediately reverted to a more serious tone.
However, I need you to be calm.

At this, Julien’s forefinger twitched, and he removed it from Rebecca’s hair.
If it’s all the same, milord, and with my deepest respect, please; just get to the point.

Napolean paused again, but only for a heartbeat this time.
Very well.
We have reason to believe that Ian is in Dark Moon Vale.

Julien drew in a sharp inhale of breath and his fangs began to throb.
Ian, who?
It was a ridiculous question—he knew only one Ian—but still, after so many centuries of searching, the statement seemed impossible, if not surreal.

The king answered his question with silence, and he knew.

And son of a hyena, he had felt it the night of his Blood Moon, when he had awakened in his master bedroom, that eerie night when a dark, errant energy had jolted him out of his slumber.
What’s happened?
he asked, biting down so hard on his tongue that his teeth pierced his flesh.
 

Napolean relayed the past events in a concise and no-nonsense summary, hitting all the major points, conveying all the pertinent information, without displaying even the barest hint of preconception or emotion.
 

Julien nodded slowly.
I see.

The king filled the awkward silence for him.
We had quite a heated discussion as to whether or not to alert you at this precarious time, considering your
destiny
and all, but there was no way—

Julien growled across the connection, cutting the king off in the middle of his sentence, and then he quickly reined in his beast.
Forgive me, milord.
In spite of his desire to sound deferential, he clipped the last two syllables, almost with disdain.
 

Yet to his enormous credit, the king proceeded with his usual grace.
 

No need for apologies.
He lowered his voice and spoke in a deliberate, soothing tone.
I have already spoken to Saxson Olaru and Nathaniel Silivasi about your situation and your reason for traveling to Denver.
I wasn’t spying on you, son, but Ramsey relayed the reason for your trip, the promise you made to Rebecca.
He paused, presumably to allow Julien to digest the information.
At any rate, if you bring the files and transfer your mental data and impressions to the warriors, they will be happy to follow up. They may not be seasoned trackers, but they can find and dispatch an assorted batch
of human excrement without any difficulty.
 

Julien closed his eyes, grateful for the momentary change in subject, an opportunity, however brief, to discuss tactics instead of evil brothers.
Why Nathaniel Silivasi?
he asked curiously, even though he had considered the Ancient Master Warrior, himself.
 

Napolean snickered, albeit in the most dignified manner.
On one hand, I am not willing to divert more than one of my trusted sentinels from Dark Moon Vale. On the other hand, Nathaniel rather enjoys this type of…sport.
 

Julien grunted.