Blood Shadows (13 page)

Nathaniel batted his eyes playfully and held out his arms wistfully. “What? No hug for your remaining warrior brother?”

Marquis stared at his open arms, each one in turn, hissed an answering growl, and strolled out of the room.

“Guess not,” Nathaniel said. He turned toward Kagen, laughing. “What was that?”

Kagen glanced at the empty doorway and smiled. “I think our big brother just told us he loves us.”

nine

They said she was his
destiny.

And he was a vampire…

Bound by an ancient curse.

They said he had made an unbelievable sacrifice for their noble king, agreeing to die—allow his otherwise immortal body to flatline—in order to save the king from a horrible enemy who wanted to destroy the “sons of Jadon.” Nachari had acted with honor, and he had made the ultimate sacrifice. And his brothers were terrified that they might lose him…forever.

Deanna blinked back tears of confusion and shock, unable to process such fantastic information. She sat forward in the comfortable armchair beside the bed—beside
Nachari’s
bed—and stared at his chiseled face. “Are you real?” she whispered absently, following the line of his strong cheeks, sculpted nose, and handsome mouth with her gaze. She turned her attention to his hair, that impossible mound of thick raven locks that fell to his shoulders in such perfect, subtle waves that they resembled a halo surrounding him in slumber, and she slowly reached out to touch it.

It was strong.

Soft.

Every bit as silky as it appeared.

She drew back her hand as if she had just touched fire, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I…I had no right to touch you.” He looked so serene and unconcerned, yet that couldn’t be the truth. Not if what his brothers had told her was real. She swallowed her fear and raised her wrist, rotating it so she could study the pattern etched into her skin. It was beautiful, really. And more than a little surreal—the way it had just appeared. And still remained.
Perseus.
Nachari’s reigning Blood Moon.

She shook her head, sat back in the chair, and hugged her arms to her chest, deliberately dismissing the thought. It was too much to take in right now. All of it.

It was all just too much.

The fact that the man in her drawings was real. The fact that vampires actually existed. The fact that she had been inexplicably drawn to this place and this male—and there was no denying anymore that
something
powerful had brought her here on purpose—or the fact that her life had already changed beyond her comprehension. She knew it in her bones as well as her soul. Nachari’s brothers were not about to let her walk away, and somewhere deep down inside, where she didn’t dare to go (not yet, anyway), there was a part of her that wasn’t capable of leaving his side.

And then all at once, a strange peace began to settle over her, not unlike the ghostly fog just outside the window, descending upon the forest canopy. Without reason, it drew her inward, beckoned her forward, engulfed her in a tangible, discernible presence.

His presence.

Nachari’s.

And in that suspended moment, it was as if she knew him intimately—his humor, his values, his unwavering confidence…his playful, ingratiating nature.

His magnificent, powerful soul.

Deanna glanced around the room and shivered. It was as if he were there—conscious, awake, and standing behind her. The feeling was so real that she half expected him to reach out and touch her on the shoulder. When nothing happened, she opened her mouth to speak…and then she closed it, feeling incredibly foolish.

It was just her mind playing tricks on her: the stress, the confusion.

Deanna turned back toward the bed, closed her eyes, and allowed several slow, deep breaths to calm her. She would take this one day at a time. One moment at a time. She would learn all there was to learn about this mysterious male, and she would—

The hair on the back of her neck stood up again.

She sat up straight and glanced over her shoulder. “What?” she whispered. “I’m here.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I feel you.”

Just then, a large raven passed by the open window, and the frenetic flutter of its wings caused Deanna to jolt in her chair. She spun around abruptly and stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the bird took perch on the windowsill and simply stared at her…with piercing, dark green eyes.

Ravens did
not
have dark green eyes.

And then the Panasonic receiver on the corner table across the room began to illuminate: One by one, blue and red LED lights softly lit up; a pair of small Bose speakers began to hum; and a faint but clear tune began to play—the sound instantly permeating the room: “Oh, my love, my darling; I’ve hungered for your touch, a long lonely time…”

The Righteous Brothers singing
‘Unchained Melody.’

Deanna sat in stunned silence listening to every word, feeling every faint vibration within her body as if the notes played against her skin. She deliberately resisted the urge to jump up and run.

“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine?”

Her mouth went dry.

Did he know?

How could he know?

That this used to be her father’s favorite song before he passed away. That her father had listened to it day and night on an old forty-five, spun on an old, rickety turntable. That the album and the turntable remained her two most cherished possessions, even to this day.

“I need your love; I need your love. God speed your love to me…”

The song continued to play like a haunting melody, reaching deep into Deanna’s soul and stirring it in a way that nothing else could.

While her first impression was to view the strange occurrence as a message from her father—some sort of sign sent from the world beyond—she knew that it was not. “Unchained Melody” had a very special meaning to her as well: Following a terrible breakup with a lover she had once believed she would marry, Deanna had stayed up late into the night for two straight weeks, drawing on her sketch pad and listening to the words again and again. She had prayed that her heart would heal, and she had taken comfort in knowing that somewhere, someday, the right person would come along. And when he did, he would have the kind of love for her the Righteous Brothers sang about in their famous song—the kind that could never be separated by time, distance, or petty disputes.

“Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open arms of the sea. Lonely rivers sigh wait for me, wait for me; I’ll be coming home, wait for me.”

And then just like that, the raven flew away, and the receiver shut down. The lights turned off, the speakers fell silent, and the melody ceased.

But the words still lingered…

“I’ll be coming home, wait for me.”

Deanna’s body literally shook.

They said she was his
destiny
.

And she was.

ten

Saber Alexiares checked his watch and smiled. It was six PM on Tuesday, forty-five minutes after sunset.
Perfect.
The silly kid—what was his name? Braden something or other—would be heading to the clinic to sit by Nachari’s bedside, or whatever the kid did when he was visiting the unlucky bastard; and the redheaded girl would be pulling into the driveway at any moment, back from her monthly hair appointment. He absently wondered how Salvatore Nistor knew all this shit—probably that ridiculous cube or something—but then he realized that he really didn’t care.

He was grateful, however, that the female was living at the wizard’s brownstone with the kid for a while, as opposed to staying at her permanent condo on the top floor of the Dark Moon Lodge. Trying to get next to her anywhere near that place would have been pointless at best. Too risky. Far too many sons of Jadon coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

Saber sneered, thinking about his natural enemy and the way they hovered over their females like bees around a honeycomb: hyper-protective, disgustingly macho, and just all-around annoying.

The sound of tires spinning over gravel caught his attention, and he turned to face the approaching vehicle: a flashy pink Corvette, quite the contrast to the traditional 1920s-style, brick-faced brownstone that the flashy car approached. He rolled his head on his shoulders, popped his neck, and tried to stretch his back while he waited for the ditzy girl to pull into the drive…and notice him. Even though the body he was wearing, so to speak, wasn’t real—it was more or less a mirage, a convincing illusion created and held by Salvatore Nistor’s Black Magic—it still felt a little odd. Ramsey Olaru was one huge, six-foot-five, muscled-up vamp; and while Saber was accustomed to carrying a lot of hard, tight muscle himself, it felt like he was wearing an extra fifty pounds, standing about five inches taller. The world just looked a little different from this vantage point.

No matter.

He sauntered across the front porch to a neat, bricked-in planter, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and copped a lean, waiting for the girl to pull up.

She was driving far too fast on her approach, but he figured that didn’t matter, either. She had an immortal body now and was living life to the fullest. He could almost respect that.

About five more seconds passed—the female absently bopping her head to the music and singing up a storm—before she finally glanced in his direction and instantly hit the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. She did a double-take, and Saber chuckled. He immediately registered the minor fluctuations in her body rhythms—an increased pulse, notable shallow breathing, and the distinct scent of raised pheromones.
Looks like our Kristina finds the dark-blond, hazel-eyed Olaru brother
both intimidating and
handsome
, he thought.
This is going to be
interesting.

She inched the car forward, pulling as far to the left as she could, before bringing it to a halt, all the while craning her neck to keep him in sight. She stepped out slowly, and he cracked his neck one more time.

Time to get in character.

As she shut the driver’s side door, rounded the hood, and ambled toward the porch, he frowned. “You don’t park in the garage?” Since Ramsey Olaru was one of three sentinels sworn to protect the citizens of Dark Moon Vale, Saber figured Ramsey’s first concern would be the girl’s safety—might as well make the performance believable.

“What?” she called back, her voice reflecting the potential for a gallon-sized attitude in a pint-sized body.

“Your car,” he repeated, inclining his head in the Corvette’s direction. “You should park it in the garage.”

Kristina looked back at the car for a moment and shrugged. “Oh, yeah, I guess…I mean, if you really think it matters.”

Saber nodded. “I do.”

“Fine,” she said, not seeming to care one way or the other. “I’ll do it next time.” She stopped about three feet in front of him. “So…what are you doing here?” She looked over his shoulder, then out at the yard, as if she expected to see someone else standing there. “It’s Rocky, right?”

He laughed out loud. “Ramsey.”

She blushed and shifted her weight nervously back and forth between her feet. “Oh…damn…sorry.” She forced a smile. “So, what are you doing here,
Ramsey
?” She wrung her hands together and then deliberately stopped fidgeting. “You’re one of Napolean’s dudes, right?”

He bit his lip. This had to be the most ridiculous thing the Dark Council had ever asked him to do. “I was looking for you,” he answered, cutting to the chase. Despite her brass exterior, the female was known to be insecure; and taking advantage of both characteristics would be Saber’s best weapon.
Dudes?

“Me?” she asked. “Why? Is something wrong?” Her forehead creased with concern. “Has something changed with Nachari? Did something happen to Braden?” She immediately stepped toward the door and reached for the knob.

Saber reached out and placed a strong arm in front of her, blocking her path. “Slow down, girl—everything’s fine.”

She took a nervous step backward, retreating from the contact. “Okay…so then, what’s up?”

He shrugged his shoulders with an easy swagger. “Don’t know yet. I was hoping we might figure that out…together.”

Kristina drew back. “Excuse me?”

He smiled then, slow and sexy. “You heard me.”

She started fidgeting again. “Um, I’m pretty sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raised his arm above his head, resting it against the door frame, and leaned in closer. His posture was both inviting and intimidating. “Oh, I think you do.”

She looked almost irritated then—clearly defensive and definitely off-guard.

Good. He preferred to remain in control. He smiled. “Should I spell it out?”

She raised her auburn eyebrows. “Spell what out?”

“You. And me. Male and female. Both in the house of Jadon. Both unattached.” He chuckled low in his throat and moved back a bit, giving her a little room to breathe. A moment to let his words sink in. “I bet you can fill in the blanks,” he added.

Kristina swallowed convulsively and held out her hand as if to push him away. “Um, I’m pretty sure my brothers aren’t havin’ any of that. And neither is Napolean.”

Saber shrugged again. “Why not?” Before she could answer, he added, “And do you always do what Nathaniel, Marquis, and Kagen tell you to do?” He cocked his head to the side and stared at her, perplexed. “I didn’t take you for a yes-girl.”

She looked clearly bothered—if not directly insulted—but that was precisely what he wanted, to appeal to her pride. Being an incredible judge of character, Saber immediately saw Kristina as a ship without a harbor, a female who had been tossed even further out to sea by the recent turn of events: Her newfound family focused all their attention on Nachari and their mates, and she was left with a fifteen-year-old boy for companionship and nowhere to turn for attention. Under the circumstances, Saber didn’t need to be charming or even convincing—all he needed to do was stand in the gap.