Blood Possession (2 page)

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 had 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 who 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?

one

Brooke Adams smoothed her pencil skirt, flipped a wayward lock of ebony hair out of her eyes, and turned back to her PowerPoint presentation. It was Friday morning, the last day of the weeklong sales conference, and this was her moment to shine.

Her eyes scanned the audience.

Good
. Tom Halloway seemed visibly impressed, and he was the one she needed: the CEO of PRIMAR,
Professional Image & Marketing, International
. Jim Davis, on the other hand, was noticeably confused, but what was new? He was in way over his head in the department anyhow, and there was no way to explain such a complex—and if she dare say so herself,
brilliant
—marketing strategy to the likes of
Jimbo
,
a
name he had chosen for himself. And Lewis, well, Lewis was…distracted. His beady eyes bounced back and forth between the large, drop-down screen and Brooke’s breasts like an out-of-control yoyo—up, down, drool; down, up, drool; drool, stare, drool…

Annoyed the heck out of her, really. But the presentation was far too important to interrupt now. She had put too much time and energy into this moment. She didn’t dare break her rhythm to chastise Lewis-hit-on-everything-with-legs-Martin. Not today. Unless, of course, he raised his hand.

Which he just did.

Seriously?

Raised his hand?

What was this, kindergarten?

“Yes, Lewis?” She put on her best professional smile.

His beady eyes narrowed, and he licked his lips. Probably had some drool to catch. “Could you unbutton your blouse?”

Brooke gasped. “Excuse me?” Her eyes darted around the room, waiting, as she fully expected one of her male colleagues to come to her rescue, snatch Lewis up by the collar, and escort him out of the meeting—that’s if Halloway didn’t fire him right on the spot first.

No one moved.

In fact, no one seemed even the least bit offended by Lewis’s request.
What in the world?
She swallowed a lump in her throat. Apparently, it was up to her. Squaring her chin, she gave Lewis her best I’m-gonna-mop-the-floor-with-you sneer and nearly snarled. “I beg your pardon, you little jackass, imbecile, son-of-a—”

And that’s when her alarm had gone off, mercifully ending the nightmare.

For the love of Pete, this presentation was going to be the death of her.

Brooke wrapped the soft, Egyptian-cotton towel around her head and swallowed an aspirin: Such strange dreams always gave her headaches. Or maybe it was just the anticipation of the actual presentation. She glanced at the bright blue numbers on the digital clock. In less than one hour, she would be standing in that hotel conference room, all eyes focused on her, as the annual event came to a close, pitching the largest marketing proposal she had ever dared to envision to the entire PR department, head honchos included. And Tom Halloway, the company’s CEO, would be sitting right there in the front row.

Good Lord, what if Lewis really did ask her to unbutton her blouse? How would she handle such an unexpected hiccup?

Yeah, right. Get it together, Brooke
.

She reached for her cell phone and punched in the number of the most reasonable person she knew, her favorite coworker and trusted confidante—who also happened to be her best friend for the last ten years—Tiffany Matthews.

Tiffany picked up on the second ring. “Hey. What’s up, Brooke.”

“I think I’m completely losing it, Tiff. I had a dream that I was in the middle of the presentation when Lewis asked me to unbutton my blouse.”

Tiffany’s laughter echoed through the phone. “Sounds about like Lewis.”

Brooke frowned and peeked out the hotel curtains to check the weather: cool but clear. A perfect day for her presentation. “Tiff, it’s not funny. I swear, I think I’m caving under the pressure.”

“You’re not caving, Brooke. And you’re not going to cave.” She sounded amused.

Brooke bit her lower lip, a nervous habit that just reinforced her point. “How do you know?”

Tiffany sighed. “Because you’re the best presenter we have, and other than some insane, repressed paranoia you tend to harbor, you never bomb on anything.
Miss perfect?
Are you kidding? Halloway is gonna love your idea, and hey—if for some reason, he doesn’t, your dream already told you what to do.”

“Huh?” she asked, confused.

“Unbutton your blouse!”

Brooke couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, that would be great. Halloway could fire me, and then he could ask me out on a date.”

Tiffany snickered. “True. True. Maybe not the best idea.” She paused then. “Brooke?”

“What?”

Tiffany’s voice was all at once serious. “Girl, tell me you are dressed and out of bed…please.”

Brooke rubbed the towel over her thick, shoulder-length hair to speed up the drying process and stared at the ruffled hotel sheets beneath her.

“Brooke?”

“What?”

“Brooke!”

“I’m out of bed.”

“Oh hell, Brooke; you aren’t, are you?”

Brooke sighed. “Okay, okay, so maybe I climbed back in bed, but I’ve already showered and washed my hair…and I’m getting back up…right now.”

“Brooke! I swear—”

“I’m up!
I’m up
!”

“I’m coming over,” Tiffany said.

“No, you’re not.” This time Brooke spoke with authority.

“What’s the room number again?” Tiffany asked, her voice heavy with insistence.

“Tiff, don’t. I’m twenty-nine years old! I think I can dress myself by now.”

“
Room number
?” Tiffany’s tone brooked no argument.

Brooke absently glanced at the plastic key-card on her nightstand:
Dark Moon Lodge, room 425.
She rolled her eyes. “How many times have you been to my hotel room, Tiff?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Missy,” Tiffany warned.

“Fine,” Brook said. “Four—two—five.”

“Be there in ten.”

Brooke laughed. “Make it fifteen and bring me a doughnut? I need some sugar.” She put an extra ounce of pleading in her voice.

Tiffany huffed her annoyance. “Now just where am I supposed to find a doughnut shop in Dark Moon Vale? Have you actually seen one since we’ve been here?”

“No,” Brook admitted, feeling the promise of a nice, sugary-sweet pastry rapidly slipping away. “But I’m sure they have a bakery somewhere. If not, maybe try a local coffee shop or the grocery store.
Please
?”

“Oh, good grief,” Tiffany grumbled. “The conference starts in forty-five minutes, you’re not even dressed, and your top priority is finding a doughnut!”

Brooke stifled a laugh. “Think of it this way,” she said, ignoring the anxiety-producing reference to time, “maybe you’ll get lucky and there’ll be a specialty souvenir-slash-pastry shop right next to the lodge, fully staffed with big, handsome mountain men.” She groaned. “Big,
naked
mountain men with huge…axes.”

Tiffany sniggered. “Yeah, that’s going to happen.” She sighed, ruefully. “With my luck, it’ll be fully staffed with toothless, mutated psychopaths, all recently transplanted from
The
Hills Have Eyes
.”

Brooke couldn’t really argue: Tiffany’s luck with men was just that bad. “Just get me a fresh chocolate éclair if you find one, ’kay? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Maybe,” Tiffany teased, trying to sound maternal. “In the meantime, you just get dressed and concentrate on your presentation. Think about what you’re going to do with all that bonus money when Halloway falls in love with your proposal and offers you the director of marketing position.”

Brooke smiled. Now
that
would be the perfect outcome. Not that the idea of hot, naked mountain men serving pastries—with big axes—didn’t also rank pretty high on the list. “Oh, and Tiff?”

“Yeah?”

“Bring your black stilettos in case my navy pumps don’t work with my skirt.”

Tiffany giggled on the other end.

“What?” Brooke asked, failing to get what was so funny.

“You have an IQ over 140, yet you still rely on sexy legs to give yourself an edge.”

“Hey, Mama didn’t raise any fools, right?” The moment the words left Brooke’s tongue, she regretted speaking them. Not only were they untrue—Mama hadn’t cared enough to raise anyone—but her
mother
was a subject better left alone. And thoughts of the heartless woman were not about to steal her joy—or her confidence—this time. Not today. She deliberately made her voice cheery. “Every possible advantage, right?”

Tiffany cleared her throat. “I’m telling you, Brooke, you’re not gonna need it. Anyhow, hop to it; I’ll be there in a few.”

“Okay,” Brooke replied, “see ya soon.” She hung up the phone smiling and took a deep, cleansing breath. She might not have much in the way of family—and boy, was that the understatement of the century; outside of her precious grandma Lanie, there was virtually no one related by blood who cared for her—but she had struck gold when it came to finding a best friend.

And, who knows, maybe Tiffany was right: Her presentation was going to be a knock-out. Halloway was going to fall in love with her ideas, every bit as much as her sexy shoes. And the conference in Dark Moon Vale was going to go off without a hitch.

Brooke rubbed the towel energetically through her still damp hair, tousling the thick, heavy strands as she grinned. If all went well, in less than ten hours, she would be headed home to San Francisco with a tentative contract in her hand and an even brighter future on the horizon.

Tiffany was absolutely right.

What could possibly go wrong?

two

Salvatore Nistor raised his arms languidly above his head, crossed his feet at the ankles, and sank deep into the comfortable mattress in his underground lair as he replayed the events of the previous night in his head. He could still see the female he had used…and exterminated…so vividly in his mind. He could still taste her fear, and the thought hardened his groin even now.