Blood Redemption (12 page)

Lorna stared at Napolean in quiet dismay; her high cheeks flushed a ghostly white.
“I understand,” she finally murmured.

“Very well,” Napolean said. “Will nine o’clock work for you, Vanya?” When he met Vanya’s
gaze, his eyes were soft with compassion—and perhaps, a bit of remorse.

Vanya nodded confidently, but it was only a disguise.

Dearest goddess Andromeda, what had she gotten herself into?

“Nine o’clock will do just fine.”

Vanya waited anxiously with her lethal entourage at the edge of a narrow ATV trail
that led into the heart of the Dark Moon Forest. The trail was a well-worn path that
snaked through the woods, crossed densely treed meadows, and traversed rocky hills,
covering some of the most beautiful territory in Dark Moon Vale. It would offer the
pair privacy, provide a clear line of sight for the guards, and leave the princess
several options to choose from should she need to run or hide. Not to mention, the
warriors would have plenty of room to maneuver should they need to engage in battle.
Should they have to take Saber to task.

It was the perfect mixture of seclusion and protection.

Vanya clutched the bunched material of her layered jade skirt impatiently. She had
chosen to a wear a loose-fitting top over the long but fluid bottom and a knee-high
pair of kick-ass boots just in case: The sharp, pointed toes would come in handy if
she needed to protect herself until one of the warriors could step in; and the heels
were short and square enough to allow her to run, unhindered, if she had to blaze
a trail. She glanced absently at the forest canopy, her eyes narrowing on a dark satin
shape perched atop a high tree branch. It was Nachari Silivasi in his newly acquired
panther form. The Master Wizard was perilously alert as he crouched low on the tree
branch, his glowing emerald eyes fixed on the princess’s position. He flexed his powerful
haunches lazily, as if merely stretching his muscles, and the cat’s body exuded raw,
unrestrained power: Nachari would be following the pair from above, ready to pounce
at a moment’s notice.

Vanya turned away from the awesome sight and cast a sidelong look at Napolean Mondragon,
instead. The formidable king was just as fearsome and alarming as Nachari, despite
his far-too-poised, laid-back demeanor. It was clearly a ruse, the calm before a violent
storm. The king wore a pair of non-assuming, faded black jeans, a form-fitting cotton
shirt, and a pair of heavy steel-toed boots that looked strangely out of place on
the regal patriarch. Like Vanya, he had come prepared for confrontation, as if Napolean
Mondragon needed an advantage. Sweeping her eyes along his commanding arms and hips,
she noticed that he wasn’t carrying any weapons. There were no harnesses concealing
guns or scabbards encasing swords, no hidden daggers or throwing stars, nothing that
said
conflict imminent
, other than the self-assured king’s bearing and the iron set of his jaw. Napolean
had no fear whatsoever that the situation might get out of hand: Should Saber in any
way provoke his wrath, Napolean would simply level a glance in the soldier’s direction,
and his once-immortal life would come to an end.

Vanya shivered. She was grateful for the support but equally afraid of the consequences.
She wasn’t even sure what she feared the most, that Saber might be cut down too soon…or
not soon enough. She was well aware that her sense of duty was warring with her survival
instincts: She was right to give Saber this one last opportunity—to do what?—yet she
dreaded coming in such close contact with the lethal predator once again.

What a mix of jumbled emotions!

On one hand, she was his chosen
destiny
, and that meant there was a powerful inborn connection between them, whether she
liked it or not. On the other hand, his life had taken a cruel, unforgiving turn,
and their differences were likely irreconcilable because of it.

She turned at the distant rumble of a pickup truck, Saxson’s GMC Sierra, and stared
down the long expanse of dirt road, watching as the oncoming headlights rounded the
bend and crept in her direction. Saxson was driving with Santos riding shotgun, and
Ramsey was seated in the bed next to a bridled and chained Saber Alexiares.

Vanya cringed in revulsion. Despite her horrific run-in with the dangerous male, she
still found it appalling that any being with a soul should be treated so inhumanely.
For a moment, she could almost understand his rage.

And then the truck drew nearer, about twenty feet away, before careening to a halt.
Santos and Saxson climbed out of the elevated cab and quickly joined Ramsey at the
rear of the vehicle to help remove Saber from the elongated bed. They practically
dragged the male by his twisted, bound arms, as if forcing him to an execution at
the gallows, rather than leading him to the side of the princess for a casual stroll,
one which Saber had requested—and Vanya had to exercise incredible patience not to
speak out on the prisoner’s behalf. For heaven’s sake, if they were going to execute
him, they should just do it and be done with it, but this ongoing humiliation was
a bit much, even for her. And she reviled the male.

Saber appeared to take it all in stride. Either that or he concealed his emotions
very,
very
well.

As they slowly removed his bridle and his leg irons, Vanya stole a scrutinizing glance:
The male had recently showered, and his thick mane of hair had been thoroughly combed,
giving it a clean, groomed appearance, despite the impact of the wind. There was a
brilliant sheen illuminating the silken tresses, and they shone like moonlight reflecting
off a roiling ocean, deep, dark, and luminescent. His creased black slacks and charcoal
gray sweater only added to the effect. Clearly, Lorna had gone shopping for her son,
and the results were arresting.

The male looked as handsome as he did deadly.

Vanya watched with unabashed curiosity as Saber shook out his long limbs, now free
from their restraints, and held his arms out in front of him, waiting patiently while
Ramsey re-shackled his wrists in a more comfortable position. As he took his first
step toward her, Vanya’s heart sped up. She couldn’t help but recall their last encounter,
the way he had spoken to her with such calloused authority, pressed his body against
hers with such flagrant ownership, taken liberties he had no right to take, and all
in such an ill-fated manner.

She couldn’t help but recall her dream about the fire-breathing dragon.

She took an unwitting step back, and he froze in his tracks, studying her with far
too perceptive eyes. Trying to swallow her fear, she nodded her head, and he started
forward once more, covering a great deal of ground with his purposeful strides. Despite
his circumstances, his arrogant gait commanded attention, even as his black-and-red
hair swayed to his hypnotic motion. When he finally stopped within a couple of feet
of her, a shrewd, devious smile curved his lips.

“Good evening, Princess.” He drawled the words seductively.

Vanya sucked in air. She tucked a long lock of hair behind her ear and turned to acknowledge
Santos and Saxson instead. “Good evening, warriors.” It was a purposeful slight to
Saber, one meant to take his arrogance down a notch.

Santos declined his head respectfully. “Princess,” he said. His crystal blue eyes
were ablaze, and he looked like a ticking time bomb.

“How are you, Vanya?” Saxson asked. The warrior’s shapely lips were drawn way too
thin—reflecting emotions that were wound way too tight. Staring at his harshly serious
expression, Vanya couldn’t help but think if his skin grew any tighter, he would resemble
a human who had just undergone plastic surgery. She tried to
will
him to relax.

“Very well, Warrior. Thank you.” She eyed the ground with trepidation, afraid to look
at any of the three males before her, lest one of them explode from the slightest
provocation. When she had finally regained her equilibrium, she raised her chin and
met Saber’s eyes. “Saber.”

The prisoner seemed unperturbed. “How are you…
really
?” he asked.

Vanya was surprised by the statement. “As well as can be expected…under the circumstances.”
She would meet an honest question with an honest answer. She turned toward Santos
and Saxson then. “If you don’t mind, I would appreciate a little bit of distance for
our…walk, perhaps five feet or so. I feel a bit like a specimen in a museum. I need
some space to breathe.”

The sentinels turned their steely gazes to the king, awaiting his instructions, and
Napolean nodded slowly. “Saber,” the king called, his no-nonsense tone sending shudders
down Vanya’s spine.

Saber met the king’s eyes and waited.

“Say my name,” Napolean bit out.

Saber drew back with disdain, and his lip curled up with disgust, but he quickly subdued
his reaction and arched an eyebrow instead. “Excuse me?”

The king narrowed his icy gaze.

“Napolean,” Saber said evenly.

“Very good,” Napolean replied. “It took you three times longer to speak that word
than it will take for me to send you to the Valley of Death and Shadows, from any
distance, should I choose. Do you understand?”

Saber nodded, his face void of all emotion.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Napolean scolded.

Saber bit his bottom lip, drawing a small trickle of blood. “Yes, milord.”

Napolean beckoned Santos and Saxson toward him; waited until the warriors fell into
step beside him; and gave Vanya and Saber a nod of consent. “You may walk.”

The dark prowling cat, perched high above in the trees, began to bound from one limb
to the next while growling deep in his throat.

“Well then,” Vanya said, before her voice trailed off. She was at a complete loss
for words.

“Nothing says
welcome home
like a leisurely stroll in the moonlight, surrounded by vengeful predators just waiting
to rip your throat out,” Saber said.

Vanya turned to look Saber squarely in the eyes, and although she felt as if she might
just swoon from fear, she pushed it aside, raised her chin, and held his arrogant
gaze with one of her own. “You have done little to earn a welcoming party, Dragon.
You should be down on your knees thanking all of us for allowing you this indulgence—for
being willing to tolerate you for a single moment longer.” She immediately regretted
her words—where had all that vitriol come from? Okay, well, she knew exactly where
it was coming from; but still, it was hardly productive. Saber had requested the meeting,
and she needed to let him lead. At least for a while.

The dragon cleared his throat. “I deserve that,” he said matter-of-factly. “In fact,
when it comes to you, I deserve far worse.” He cleared his throat several times as
if he just couldn’t get past an internal obstruction. “I’m afraid I need to ask for
your forgiveness, Vanya.” He spoke her name with the practiced expertise of a Lothario,
one who had seduced more women than he could count. Dropping his tone to a whisper,
he added, “When you came into my cell that night, I was unprepared, caught off guard.
I did not expect you to be my
destiny
, and I behaved…badly.”

Vanya laughed out loud then. “Badly? You behaved
badly
?” She spun around to face him then, and all the warriors shifted into ready-attack
positions. “No, Mr. Alexiares, you did not behave badly. You behaved like a wild gorilla
in a zoo, showing your offensive red ass for all the world to see. You behaved abominably.”

Saber laughed then, and the sound was almost genuine. “Good analogy.”

“Disgusting analogy,” she said.

“Okay. No argument from me. Just the same, I would like to—”

“Apology not accepted,” Vanya said sharply. “So you might as well change the subject.”

Saber walked along in silence for several paces before trying a different tact. “I
was hoping we might…start over. Try to find some common ground.”

Vanya snorted with derision. “Like what, Dragon?”

He regarded her sideways, then, his heated obsidian eyes staring holes through her
own as if he had a doorway to her soul. “Why do you call me dragon?”

Vanya coughed, nearly stuttered. “It’s…it’s…just how I see you.”

“As a scaly, overgrown lizard who breathes fire?”

“Something like that,” she said.

“Yet you came tonight,” he said.

“So.”

“So…thank you.”

Vanya eyed him with overt suspicion, careful to step over a large divot in the ground.
The smell of pine in the forest was especially strong, and she had to concentrate
on her words. “Do not be so cocksure of yourself, Dragon.” Despite her recalcitrant
tone, she felt more than a little off balance by the Dark One’s new approach, his
sudden attempt at kindness. His eyes were so intelligent, so keenly aware; and his
strong, almost hypnotic presence was unsettling to say the least. “’Tis the same voice
that bids you adieu tonight that will bid you farewell at the end of this Blood Moon.
Believe it
,” she said cruelly.

He didn’t even blink. “I see.”

She sighed in frustration. “No, you don’t see, but you will. Trust me; it is a much
greater motivation than your desire to play games that leads me to endure this time
with you, Mr. Alexiares.”

Saber sighed in frustration. “Okay, so what
does
motivate you to endure me, Miss Demir?” He held her gaze so steadily that she could
hardly look away. “What makes your heart beat so rapidly? Or your lungs draw such
shallow breaths?”

Vanya practically growled at him. She was so incensed. So flustered. Did he have no
idea, whatsoever, how egregiously he had violated her? “With regard to your inquiry:
That is none of your business. With regard to the sentiment behind it: Unfortunately
for you, it is hardly that simple.”

Saber nodded, offering no challenge to her words. And then, he reached down with his
shackled hands and withdrew a single white rose from the waistband of his jeans. He
held it out to her. “This is for you.”

Vanya looked over her shoulder to acknowledge Napolean—was she allowed to reach out
and take it?

The king rolled his eyes in annoyance, but he nodded his head. By the look on his
face, perhaps Napolean would kill the dragon before the evening went any further,
and she would be relieved of her distress.

Vanya took the flower, studied its perfection, and then callously tossed it aside
into the weeds. “This is from Lorna Dzuna, just as the last bouquet of flowers was
from your mother. And for the record, that disingenuous gift met the same fate.” She
frowned. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Alexiares, you would do well to remember that I
find it rude, unbelievably tactless, and contemptible at the least for a son to manipulate
his mother so brazenly. I am not at all impressed.”