Blood Redemption (8 page)

“But you said the Dark Lords forbade it—our own males taking the potion,” Damien said
in a weak voice, interrupting Salvatore’s thoughts.

“They do,” Salvatore replied.

“Then, if Dane or Diablo ingest the poison in order to feed it to Saber—”

“Then Dane or Diablo will die,” Salvatore supplied.

Damien nearly shook with anger. Nearly. He was far too weak to pull it off with any
aplomb. “You can’t ask me to send one of my innocent sons to his death.”

Salvatore laughed then. “Oh, but I think I can. You see, your own death is simply
a formality, a matter of going before the high court to receive your sentence. Dane
and Diablo? Well, they are not yet a foregone conclusion.” He strode across the room
in three giant purposeful steps and snatched Damien by the jaw, his claws extending
and biting into the tender flesh. “You may save
one
son, my treacherous brother: Dane or Diablo. The choice is yours. Choose who will
feed Saber and die and who your council will allow to live.” He paused for effect,
then drew a jagged claw across the male’s face, before releasing his hold. “If you
do not choose either son, we will feed one the potion anyway and slay them both.”
His words were final, venomous, and harshly clipped. “But do it soon,
F
ather
, for we need to get to Saber before he
gets
to his
destiny
, if you understand my meaning.”

Damien looked positively pale, aside from being drained of ninety percent of his blood,
and Salvatore almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

It must be hard to lose a son…but then, the sorcerer had much bigger fish to fry and
no time for communal compassion: They had to plot and scheme.

Whether Dane or Diablo acted as host was a small matter. Very small. They still had
to find a way to get the potion into Saber, and that would take some doing. It would
take a missive attached to a white flag, perhaps in the talons of a falcon, being
sent to the fair and just Napolean Mondragon: a brother’s plea for a final meeting
with his long-lost sibling. A promise of truce between houses that had stood in deadly
opposition for as long as the Vampyr could be counted. It would require mercy and
diplomacy, a delegation of dark soldiers meeting light warriors underneath the night
stars in the Red Canyons that stood as a middle ground between the darker and lighter
factions of their kind, a temporary cease-fire that had never before been achieved.

Would the ancient king go for it?
Salvatore wondered. Would he allow the newest member of his house to meet with a
former brother,
a current enemy
, in order to say good-bye, to find peace…or closure…or whatever the hell a king with
a soul would call such nonsense.

Salvatore and the Dark Ones’ council would have to make a perfect offer. They would
have to get Dane or Diablo close enough to feed Saber, and they would have to convince
the male to do it, no matter what occurred, without letting him know that his
brotherly kiss
would, in fact, be a kiss of death for both of them.

Yes, Damien needed to choose quickly, perhaps even wisely.

And then Salvatore and the council needed to act.

Definitively.

And pray for a king’s compassion.

Vanya Demir dragged a narrow wingback chair against the door of Napolean’s upper level
guest bedroom and securely wedged the top beneath the doorknob. Not that the chair
would actually stop a determined vampire from entering, but
gods be merciful
, she had to have a moment alone.

She had just excused herself from Napolean’s living room, begging a momentary retreat,
and she had no doubt that her family, and her king, were still going at it, discussing
her
life.

“We will protect you, Vanya,” Marquis had insisted.

“You will need to stay here at the compound where you are more heavily guarded,” Napolean
had insisted.

“I will not let him anywhere near you,” Ciopori had asserted. As if her sister was
any match for a Dark One.

Brooke was the only one who had acted with objectivity or restraint, suggesting that
Vanya should be allowed to think and decide for herself; and that had caused more
than a little friction between the queen and Napolean. No doubt, they would be talking
late into the night, long after everyone else went to sleep.

And that wasn’t even the half of it.

It seemed like every interested soul in Dark Moon Vale, including a swarm of Master
Warriors who had somehow figured it out, had felt the need to weigh in on the princess’s
predicament, until half of those gathered in Napolean’s front room were practically
strangers, many of whom were speaking at the same time.

Enough already!

Vanya had needed a break.

It wasn’t like she was a child. After all, she was 2,830 years old. Granted, she had
spent 2,810 of those years sleeping in the ground, but the point was: She was hardly
wet behind the ears. Surely, she could apply some measure of reason and analysis on
her own.

So, Saber Alexiares was a dark soul.

A completely rotten, unredeemable fiend who had tortured, slain, and violated innocence
his entire long existence—and who knew what those words really meant in terms of the
details concerning his abhorrent life. She didn’t want to contemplate his history,
not right now. But she was able to contemplate the fact that he was born to the house
of Jadon, not the house of Jaegar. She was able to consider the fact that Napolean
had spared him from immediate execution for some reason—perhaps the king felt he was
not entirely beyond redemption. And, she was certainly able to understand that, like
the dragon from her dream, he was cornered in a dark cave, having never known the
light, and there were too many unknown variables to draw final conclusions just yet.
The celestial gods were not idiots by any stretch of the imagination.

Vanya padded across the room and took a leisurely position on the bed, reclining atop
the goose-down comforter. She immediately fluffed a small, rectangular pillow and
snuggled into the embroidered fabric. Staring up at the coffered ceiling, she took
a deep breath and tried to still her racing heart.

Dear gods, she had a mate; she was another male’s
destiny
. In her wildest imagination, and especially after the hurtful fiasco that had been
her brief relationship with Napolean, the revelation was wholly unexpected.

And yes, she understood full well that this was a dangerous and depraved being. For
all that was holy, she had known her brother Jaegar in the flesh…and at his worst.
She had witnessed the murder of her half-celestial sisters. She had lived during a
time when war was blood sport used to avert boredom, and women were taken and used
like chattel. She had known the best and the worst that the soul was capable of, but
she could not dismiss the fact that she had also always belonged to someone else.
Her family. Her father, the king. Her people and their kingdom. Her duty and her honor…

But never to a man.

Never to a living, breathing, sentient male with flesh and blood and struggles of
his own.

She remembered the fire and the passion that had come from Napolean’s hands; the gentleness
and brutality that dwelled in the same set of fingers; the need and the desperation
that had shone in his eyes. The animal beneath the man. The vulnerability beneath
the strength.

And she trembled.

What if—just what if—there was something universally male or untouched in Saber Alexiares?
What if—just what if—there was some place in the entire vast universe that might belong
solely, and without obligation, to her?

Someone?

Vanya had never had a man, a friend, a child…anything…to call her own. She had been
born to responsibility and duty. She had been raised to be poised, mature, and regal.
She had been reared to serve, to give, and to persevere. Hers was a life that had
always belonged to everything and everyone but her. There were no breaks or reprieves,
no true sabbaticals from the seriousness of theology and study. There were only her
people and her royal blood. Her never-ending sense of purpose. And while that was
fine—it was woven into the very fabric of who she was, and she embraced it—was she
not also a woman? A person? A living, breathing, feeling entity as well? And what
about her dream—the treasure?

Vanya rubbed her slender palms over her face and tried to clear her mind.

Who was this dark, fire-breathing dragon? And why wasn’t she qualified to discern
the truth of his embittered soul on her own? The more she thought about it, the idea
of him reclining on a stiff, narrow cot in an ancient, barren cell, less than a mile
away, the more she felt drawn to see for herself.

She didn’t need to be a vampire to cloak her appearance, to move as the mist through
a dark, tree-filled forest; she had centuries of magic in her repertoire. She was
an original female, the daughter of King Sakarias and Queen Jade, descended from a
long line of celestial gods and humans—the goddess Cygnus and her human mate Mateo,
to be exact—and her powers were formidable. Especially since she had been honing them
at the Romanian University.

Swallowing hard to suppress her fear, Vanya summoned her determination as well as
her courage: Yes, she would enter the dragon’s lair on her own; she would remain quiet
as a mouse and equally unobtrusive; and she would see for herself what the Serpens
Blood Moon was all about. She would look the devil in the eyes and measure the full
blackness of his soul. And she didn’t need her king, or her sister, or her brother-in-law,
or the house of Jadon’s keepers to assist her.

Vanya Demir created a holographic double of her body. She left the double in the guest
bed; slipped through the wall like a ghostly apparition; and made her way down the
long, narrow hall, with its dimly lit sconces and outrageously expensive carpets,
headed for the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement, for Saber Alexiares’s holding cell.

Before she opened the heavy outer door, she conjured a simple but powerful sleeping
spell, the equivalent of sprinkling celestial slumbering dust around and about the
bodies of Saber’s guards, Ramsey and Saxson Olaru; and the two sentinels were instantly
sleeping deeply, long before they had a chance to notice her entry. In fact, Ramsey
had fallen asleep so quickly, he was still sitting upright in his comfortable chair,
still facing the cell from his vigilant position.

It was late, around eleven forty-five at night, and to Vanya’s absolute relief, the
fire-breathing dragon was sleeping soundly as well—at least he appeared to be sleeping
soundly. As her ethereal form began to take more substantive shape, she tiptoed cautiously
toward the horizontal cot, ever so careful not to wake the sleeping vampire, and then
she peered curiously at his prone form.

The Dark One was lying on his back, partially turned on his left side, with his left
arm bent at the elbow and stretched in such a way that he could cradle his own head.
He wasn’t chained, either to the wall or the bed, but there were enough diamonds embedded
in the stone walls and the floors to keep him restrained without the use of additional
manacles. Not to mention, he appeared to be substantially weakened, as one who was
missing an extensive amount of life-force or chi. Clearly, the warriors were keeping
him drained of vital blood, denying him much needed sustenance. Vanya grimaced—what
an awful state of affairs. How sad that such dire measures were clearly necessary.

As she bent to take her first true look at his face, her breath caught in her throat:
The sight of the male was jarring, intimidating, in many ways, yet deeply stirring
to her own blood and soul. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and she swallowed convulsively.

Saber’s hair was thick and wavy, almost unruly in its mass, and it hung just to his
shoulders, as far as she could tell from that angle. And the unnatural highlights—the
dense, unmistakable red bands woven throughout the raven tresses—were positively unsettling.
Dear gods
, he looked just like a Dark One, just like a cursed male from the house of Jaegar.
And of course, that was what he was—or at least, what he had once been.

She fought not to shudder as she took another careful step forward, and her hand rose
inadvertently to cover her mouth.

His nose was as straight as an arrow, rugged yet nicely refined, and perfect in its
shape and structure. His cheekbones were positively chiseled, as were his jaw and
the slight indentation in his chin. His mouth was set in a harsh, cruel line, almost
contemptuous, even in his sleep, but his lips were firm and well filled out, shapely
in their own right. Vanya drew back in surprise. By all the gods, he was disturbingly
handsome—in the most treacherous type of way. Everything about him screamed danger.

And excitement.

She followed the angles of his face down to his neck, making note of the copper hue
of his skin—and just how was it that a male who lived underground maintained such
a rich complexion? She paused when her gaze traveled to his raised arm, then narrowed
in on the distinct lines of his musculature, all that raw power barely concealed beneath
smooth, unmarred skin. It was surprising to see such raw perfection—not that she had
expected a mass of scars and warts, but still, she felt as if she were staring at
an artist’s rendition of an anatomy chart rather than a ruthless male who had lived
a life of violence and brutality. The various contours of his build were clearly defined
beneath a fine, silken covering, and every striation of his muscles was readily apparent,
as if sculpted by a potter’s hands, into taut, lean tissue.

Sweeping her long, flaxen hair behind her shoulders, Vanya took a cautious step back.

He was dangerous, indeed.

Lethal, without question.

For more reasons than one.

Saber’s spirit radiated around him, and it was a synthesis of fire and lava and dark
swirling smoke. This male had known no gentleness in his life, no mercy or kindness—or
peace. He was simply ash and stone in a flawless, hardened shell. Feeling the sudden
need to draw fresh air, Vanya slowly backed away, picking up her pace as she headed
toward the cell door. She had seen quite enough: an outer beauty concealing an inner
fury. She would conjure her magic once more and slip through the bars undetected,
and then she would quickly retreat—perhaps she would run—back to Napolean’s manse,
where she would, indeed, allow her loved ones to provide the protection they were
offering.

Somehow the fantasy of the male was more glorious, and far safer, than the reality.

As Vanya struggled to remember the words of the incantation she needed to keep her
form fluid and ghost-like, to allow an ethereal transition that would take her safely
through the bars, she all at once heard the most terrifying sound imaginable behind
her: the soft, almost inaudible rustling of a body rising from its slumber, the low
pad of bare feet finding purchase on a stone floor.

And then just like that, Saber was there.

Behind her.

Pushing up against her. His hard, lean body pressing into hers, trapping her against
the bars.

She gasped. And she would have screamed…fought…tried to run, except the most vivid
images from her dream instantly replayed in her mind:
I step back in alarm
.
The creature is fierce, and I know that he will destroy me if I let him. Slowly,
ever so carefully, I begin to retreat. My feet are now bare, and the rocky floor is
rough against my skin, tearing at my flesh and causing me great distress, but I am
too afraid to cry out, les
t
the vicious beast pounce in response to my fear.

Trying her best to remain calm, she focused on what was happening here and now. By
the measure of his chin against her hair, he was a full head taller than she, perhaps
six-foot-one, give or take an inch, and his breathing was silent and steady, measured
only by the rise and fall of his powerful chest against her much narrower back.

“You must be Vanya,” he whispered in a deep, foreboding voice, his warm breath wafting
over her ear. His tone was as silken as it was threatening, and Vanya cleared her
throat, hoping to sound confident and unafraid.

“And how would you know this?” she asked, a purposeful hint of arrogance in her tone.

He practically purred his words. “How could I not? Jaegar. Jadon. Ciopori.
Vanya
”—he rolled her name off his tongue as he nipped at the lobe of her ear—“your likenesses
were recorded in the annals of history…stored in the colony’s library.”

The thought made her sick—so all the Dark Ones knew her by sight then?

She couldn’t dwell on it now. She was too busy remembering to breathe; recalling her
dream; replaying the scorching, excruciating fire and pain…trying desperately not
to get burned.

“I see,” she whispered.

“Do you?” He tilted his hips forward ever so slightly. “The real question is—why are
you here,
s
weet
P
rincess
?”

Vanya nearly forgot herself. “Stand back, soldier!” Her tone was too impassioned—too
fearful. She immediately softened her voice and murmured, “Please.”

He responded to her uncertainty exactly as she knew he would, by becoming more aroused,
and as his ardor increased, he deliberately pressed his erection against her bottom.

She didn’t dare move.

Dearest
goddess of light,
please—get me out of this
.

He groaned then, his voice a low purr. “I don’t believe you answered my question:
Why
are
you
here
?
” The words were clipped and cruel, not even mockingly seductive. He placed his right
hand on her hip, at the small of her waist, and bent forward to her neck, his lethal
fangs scraping against her delicate skin, before he slowly pulled away. “Why would
a lamb seek out a lion—unless it wanted to be slaughtered?” He gestured toward the
guards, rotating his wrist in front of her so she could follow the motion, and then
he slowly shook his head from side to side, his thick crimson-and-black hair spilling
across her shoulders. “You even put your saviors to sleep.”

Vanya felt as if her heart might just beat out of her chest or, worse yet, simply
stop beating altogether. She pushed back against him with her left elbow, trying to
wedge some space between them, trying to remove his arousal from her backside before
he became too inflamed to stop. “I…I…”

Oh gods, how did she answer this
?

“You what?” he snarled, and then he clutched her offending arm with his hand, pushed
back with a minimal amount of effort, and easily held it immobile. His powerful fingers
clamped down on her elbow then, and they felt like an iron shackle, bruising her tender
skin—was he punishing her for her resistance?

And then he froze.

His severe fingers relaxed, and he drew in a harsh, jagged breath.

The orange light from the Blood Moon was streaming in through the narrow windows,
and as it poured down over them, a haunting shadow appeared on her arm, illuminating
the markings on her skin like light from a fire. “
Dark Lords
…
” He spoke the vile words with reverence. “You have the celestial god of rebirth on
your arm—
Serpens
.” For a moment, it appeared as if he didn’t understand what it meant, as if he didn’t
know what he wanted to do next…

And then a deep, barely audible growl rose in his throat, and Vanya knew that he had
made the connection.

That he truly understood who she was…
to him
.

She thought of her dream once more, and waited with bated breath:
And that’s when the dragon opens his fearsome mouth and begins to breathe fire, scorching
me from head to toe. My thin linen nightgown is ablaze, and I gasp from the heat…and
the pain.

And then I scream, a piteous
,
never
-
ending cry
.

Once more, Saber slowly lowered his head until his mouth hovered perilously above
the artery between Vanya’s neck and her shoulder; only this time, the twin set of
fangs elongated until they pressed sharply against her skin. “I want to taste you,
Princess,” he drawled.

Vanya inhaled sharply. “No! Please—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish speaking.

He pierced her skin with amazing speed, striking like a coiled rattlesnake, not caring
at all that she was a female or a princess. Her body began to convulse from the shock,
and he made a tight seal around the wound with his hard, full lips, taking long, drugging
pulls of her blood, funneling her life through his canines. As the pain robbed her
of breath, he moaned with pleasure.

And then he reached up to grab a fistful of her hair in his hands. Locking her in
place, he used his other hand to stroke her hips and belly.

Vanya wrenched her neck aside so forcefully that she managed to dislodge his fangs,
even as she lost several strands of hair. “No!” she shouted, desperate to break free.
“Stop this at once! Leave me alone!” She peered back over her shoulder to meet his
eyes and immediately wished that she hadn’t.

He looked like a wild animal.

A demon.

The kind of thing that should swiftly be put to death—summarily and without mercy.

His eyes glowed feral red; his right lip drew back in an angry snarl; and his jaw
clenched so tight that his veins could be seen through his skin. He was lost in bloodlust,
a murderous, carnal haze of need, solely unaware of her presence as a separate being
with a heart or a soul.

Her heart dropped into her stomach; she struggled to catch her breath; and her knees
grew weak beneath her. “Saber, please…stop!” Why was she bothering to plead with him?
To speak his name as if that made any difference?

His angry fist tightened in her hair, and he drew back his lips in a threatening gesture
of dominance and defiance, his gleaming white fangs gnashing together with rage. “
You are mine
.”

“No!” she bit out. “
No
. It does not work that way!”

“
Mine
.” An inhuman sound escaped his throat, and he practically salivated. “Ah, but I think
that it does.” The hand that remained on her hip slid forward as he splayed his fingers
over the inside of her thigh and tugged her back against him, kneading her flesh in
his palm.

That was it!

Something inside of her snapped.

Hot tears of alarm stung her eyes, and she began to twist back and forth violently,
trying desperately to force him off her. He wasn’t a dragon—he was a man! A rage-filled,
crazy, insufferable man.

And she could no longer afford this paralysis.

Summoning every ounce of courage she had, she wrenched her thigh free from his hand,
slammed her shoulders into his chest, and stomped her foot into his shin. “Lasa-ma
impace!” she screamed, spinning around to face him.
Leave me alone!

To her surprise, he released her hair and stepped back, fluidly.

Before he could counter her futile resistance, she began to chant in their original
tongue:

“
Ancient Wind, A
rtic
Rain
;

Born of fire, blood, and pain;

Perched upon Lord
Serpens
’
t
hrone
;

Blend your power with my own!
”

As the words left her lips, her soul gathered power from the four directions. She
drew it inward, harnessed its strength, and evoked a primordial force as old as time
itself. Vanya Demir built a glowing arc of energy around the tips of her fingers.
She allowed it only a second to swirl and build, and then she hurled it at the dragon,
sending the full force of impact into Saber’s chest.