Vanya shattered then. Her head fell into her hands, and her tears began to pour out like a river breaking through a rickety dam. “Oh gods, but what is that monster doing to her, Napolean?”
Napolean thought about the other information Marquis had conveyed—the bites, the venom, the manacles, and her shredded clothing—but he knew better than to share any of it with Vanya. “I don’t know,” he whispered, grasping her by a thin shoulder. He nestled his forehead against her thick wealth of hair and pressed his body closer to hers.
And then he cringed.
Dear goddess of propriety, not now!
How completely inappropriate. What was he, a teenage boy? For the love of Andromeda, her sister was in mortal danger and he was…aroused. What in the galaxy was wrong with him?
He quickly took a step back, separating their bodies before his very male reaction to their closeness grew any stronger. It took all the composure he had not to drop his hand from her shoulder and just walk out of the room.
Too late.
Vanya’s spine stiffened ever so slightly, and Napolean cringed. She must think him an absolute cretin: What a poor excuse for a king.
She cleared her throat and stepped away from his touch.
Oh, hell!
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Honestly, I wasn’t thinking anything...inappropriate. I…it just…happened.” Could this get any more humiliating? He sighed. “I’ll go.”
As he turned to walk out of the library, Vanya reached out and caught his hand, pulling him toward her so hard that they almost collided. To her credit, her eyes never drifted below his shoulders: She was far too refined to point out his shame.
Napolean winced, but he managed to hold her gaze. “I meant no disrespect, Vanya.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it has been too many millennia since I have stood in the presence of a true female of worth.” Her eyes softened, and to his dismay, his mouth just kept going. “It’s just that when I look at you, Princess, I see the beauty of the gods themselves reflected back to me in a mortal’s eyes. I am truly sorry for my inappropriate...reaction.”
Vanya’s breath hitched, and she clutched her hand to her chest. “Napolean.” His name was a gentle whisper.
He looked away. “Again, I apologize; it won’t happen again.” He drew in a deep breath and waited for her reprimand.
But the reprisal never came.
She took a tentative step forward and cupped his face in her hands. “Look at me, milord.”
He slowly glanced up.
“It has been twenty-eight hundred years since I have witnessed a man of such power and grace, bearing the weight of his people on his shoulders with nary a protest or complaint. Not since my father have I known a more proud or gentle warrior. Yet, even he had my mother to temper the weight of the world which he carried. You have stood, alone, for centuries, milord; and even now, you bear the full weight of responsibility for my sister’s abduction. You are the heart and soul of the house of Jadon, yet you will risk your own life to find her as opposed to sending soldiers in your place.”
She brushed his jaw with the back of her fingers, the softness of her touch lingering against his skin. “You do not offend me, my gallant king. You flatter me beyond words.”
Napolean stood as still as a statue, trying to remember how to speak. He started to open his mouth but chose to keep it shut instead, not wanting to stand there like a drooling dolt.
She smiled then and reached out to stroke his hair. “By all the gods in heaven, you are the most beautiful male I have ever seen, Sir Napolean Mondragon, descendant of the goddess Andromeda.”
Napolean took a step back then, not so much to move away from her but to keep from swaying as her words sunk in. Despite his best attempt at restraint, a primal growl escaped his throat. He reached out and drew her to him, gathering her tightly in his arms. He buried his face in her hair and deeply inhaled her sweet lilac scent. As she melted against him—like she had been made to fit his body, alone—he closed his eyes and shivered.
Stop! he urged himself. The king of the noble Vampyr did not indulge in emotion, or touch, with his subjects. There were boundaries.
As the Sovereign of the house of Jadon, his males treated him with great deference, never reaching out to touch him, rarely holding eye contact for more than a second, and their female destinies observed the same decorum. Over the endless centuries, he had stopped waiting for his destiny, figuring that he probably didn’t have one. After all, his responsibilities were enormous, and they grew as the house of Jadon grew—leaving very little room for anything other than governing.
Napolean had become hardened by the endless wars and sacrifices: placing the dark twins on the altar of atonement to spare their parents the horror of their deaths, reading last rites to the males who were claimed—and brutally murdered—by the ghost of the Curse, possessing omniscient knowledge of the thoughts and actions of every male who served him, and always maintaining the safety of the valley and the tradition of sacred ceremony.
No, the only time Napolean acted like a male was when he fed in order to survive, or on the few occasions when he sought the warmth of a human female’s arms in order to dull the endless, barren ache of eternal existence.
Yet even that had never been satisfying.
The descendants of Jadon had to be extremely careful with human relationships, especially sexual ones. As they had one and only one destiny—a female preordained by the gods—there could be no emotional attachments made with any other. And since no other female could be converted to their species without relinquishing her soul, there was no potential future with anyone else.
Beyond the emotional ramifications, an accidental pregnancy was unthinkable: Even though a male had to actually command a pregnancy—speak it into being within seventy-two hours of planting his seed—the threat to the woman was so grave that it was hardly worth taking the risk. What if the male dreamed it? Wished it? Gods forbid, his primal instincts demanded it? What if the thought came to his mind, unbidden? The female would die a hideous death giving birth to his twins. The danger was simply too great.
And then there was the matter of becoming feral.
As Vampyr, the sons of Jadon were both light and shadow. Unlike their dark counterparts, they still had their souls; but make no mistake, they were vampires just the same—predators by nature. They were instinctual creatures that lusted for blood and warred with the ever present desire to siphon their prey until the weaker species fell lifeless at their feet, to conquer with their overwhelming power and superior strength. To establish themselves as dominant. A male was at his most vulnerable when caught up in the throes of passion, and the potential to seriously hurt a human female was very real.
Napolean nuzzled Vanya’s neck, absorbing the exquisite rhythm of her celestial heart-beat through her jugular. Dear gods, he wanted this female like he had never wanted anything in all of his incarnation.
But she was not Vampyr.
And she was not his chosen destiny.
And even the gods had to know that once he took her, he could never let her go. Unlike the Ancient Warrior Marquis, he could never make love to a celestial princess and then return to his duty without her. Moreover, he was the king, the heart of the house of Jadon, as Vanya had put it: His soul was not...negotiable.
Napolean slowly pulled away, his mouth lingering over Vanya’s indefinitely, their lips lightly brushing each other’s before he forced himself away. “I cannot take you, Vanya,” he sighed. “You are worthy of so much more.”
Vanya nodded and stepped back. “There is much to consider, I know.”
Napolean was blown away by her dignity and grace.
She took his hands in hers once more. “But know this, great king, you are not alone anymore. You need not shoulder the burdens of the entire world by yourself. I am here if you need me.”
Napolean dropped her hands, desperately trying to resist now. Her words were too much. Her presence was too much. The temptation was too grea
t. He grasped the small of her back with one hand and fisted her hair with the other, arching her beneath him as he claimed her mouth, ravaged her lips, and tasted her tongue with his own, exploring with such urgent passion that he feared he would explode right then and there.
And she returned it all: passion for passion, kiss for kiss, bite for bite, taste for taste.
When her left leg bent at the knee and her thigh began to ride up his own—her pelvis rocking in a hypnotic motion against his, involuntarily—he gasped. If his body became any harder, it would be a spear...and he would have to claim her right now. Right here. Taking them both down to the library floor like a savage, uncaring about the warriors on their way to the mansion—plummeting over the edge again and again as he filled her with his seed.
His canines exploded in his mouth, and he groaned, scraping them gently against her neck.
Vanya tightened her arms around his shoulders and let her head fall back completely unabashed, exposing her vein. “Take what you need, Napolean.” Her breath was a series of shallow pants.
Napolean fought the primal urge with everything he had. Thank the gods, he had fed last night, or he would have drained her. She was far too innocent, and he was—exactly what he was—the sovereign lord over a house of vampires. He pulled back and gazed at her, knowing his eyes were glowing red, feeling his fangs grow sharper at her request.
“This is what I am, Vanya!” he hissed, allowing her to see the transformation. “You are better than this.”
Vanya didn’t yell or cry out, but the shock registered in her eyes just the same, and the sweet smell of fear, mixed with adrenaline, permeated the room. Her heart was racing—and not just from passion. He dropped his head, allowing his long black-and-silver banded hair to conceal his face.
Vanya challenged him then. “Do I, Napolean? Do I deserve better than the human destinies that you join to your males? Better than the sons that you revere and take hundreds of years to train as masters? Better than the warriors that you lead...and love? Why is your species beneath mine, dear lord? How could anyone be better than you?”
Napolean shook his head. “You forget, I was there, Vanya. Before. Before all of this. Before the Curse. I know what we once were.”
“And still are, Napolean.”
Napolean shook his head. “You are the daughter of our true king; you are pure and untainted. Vanya, I have the blood of a thousand men on my hands. I do not even remember the names of the human women I have taken to my bed, regardless of how seldom I may have done so. I carry newborn infants to their death, evil or not. I clean up the remains of our healers…and our warriors…and our wizards after the Curse has claimed them. I drink the blood of every member of the house of Jadon, and I absorb their every emotion—their hate, their fear, their lust...even their love. You were placed in an enchanted sleep at the tender age of twenty. My angel, I have lived for over twenty-eight hundred years. Oh Vanya, you are innocence incarnate compared to me.”
All at once, the serious discussion was interrupted by a heavy set of footsteps approaching from the hall.
Vanya smiled knowingly. “We will continue this discussion later, my dear king.”
When an ensuing loud knock resounded against the library door, Napolean frowned with frustration. “I apologize for the interruption, Princess.”
“Milord?” The deep resonant voice belonged to Nachari Silivasi.
Vanya placed both hands on Napolean’s shoulders, stood up on the tips of her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. “Do not let this matter distract you, Napolean. Go now, and bring back my sister.”
Napolean kissed her forehead and stepped back. “I will do all that I can under the sun to make it so, Vanya. You have my solemn vow.”
Vanya nodded. “I know this, Napolean.” She brushed his cheek once more. “And as for you...come back to me unharmed.”
Napolean laughed a little then. “I am very hard to kill, Princess. Believe me, there is little chance of that happening.”
Vanya declined her head and gestured toward the door. “Go meet with your subjects, milord. And may the gods grant you victory and guide you with a steady hand.”
Napolean bowed slightly at the waist and turned toward the door. She was right; the matter at hand required his full, undivided attention. Yet the woman he was leaving had rattled him beyond any danger he had ever faced.
“Her scent disappears in the clearing.” Marquis Silivasi regarded his brothers as well as the menacing-looking warriors who sat quietly in Napolean’s dining room, each one tightly situated in a circle around the table, all staring at a map of the local terrain. “Once he takes her into the air, it is very hard to follow a set trail.”
“Can you not triangulate her position using the blood that runs in your veins?” Napolean asked.
The twins, Ramsey and Saxson Olaru, exchanged an inquisitive glance. “You fed from the princess?” Ramsey asked, staring at Marquis with a faint hint of disbelief. “What the hell, Marquis?”
Marquis growled and turned back to the map. None of your business, my friend.
Ramsey’s light hazel eyes darkened for a moment, the scattered specks of gold flashing crimson before they returned to their normal hue. “I meant no disrespect, warrior.”
Even as a ruthless—and rightfully feared—Master Warrior and sentinel of Dark Moon Vale, Ramsey Olaru had only seven-hundred years to Marquis’s fifteen-hundred: less than half. Marquis severely outranked him, and consequently, did not have to explain a thing to the younger warrior, even under circumstances such as these.
Ignoring Ramsey’s apology, as was proper etiquette meant to imply that no offense was taken, Marquis shook his head. “I can pinpoint her whereabouts within a couple of miles: The problem I’m having is her depth. She’s miles underground, Napolean. So deep that I’m losing her signal.”
Nachari rapped his knuckles on the table, releasing nervous energy. “There is an anomaly in the position of the stars.” His tone was thoughtful and deliberate.
“What do you mean?” Marquis raised an eyebrow.
Nachari pulled out a small iron device that resembled a protractor and laid a transparent map of the heavens directly over the map of the valley. The two maps matched each other perfectly in coordinates and dimensions. Turning to Napolean, he began to point out various abnormalities in the constellations, abnormalities that could never be seen by human eyes, but were easily detected by a Master Wizard descended of Celestial Beings.
“She is descended of the goddess Cygnus; is she not, milord?”
Napolean nodded hastily.
Nachari placed the stationary edge of the iron device on the tail of the divine constellation and moved the point toward the beak. “Cygnus is known as the Northern Cross or the Swan, but if you look closely, the beak has moved. Albireo is pointing further south.” He drew a small dot at the new coordinate.
All of the males leaned in closer to see what Nachari was showing them.
Napolean viewed the map quietly for a few minutes. “Nachari, trace Marquis’s constellation: Draco.”
Nachari smiled. “You see it, too?” He lifted the iron device and set it back down over the celestial dragon with the base at the dragon’s head, the point at its tail. “The tail has dropped toward Polaris.” He drew another small dot to indicate the change.
“Hmm.” Santos Olaru leaned in closer, his crystal blue eyes focused on the second point. “The gods are moving the stars. That’s amazing.”
Saxson cleared his voice. “I bet there are a few scientists at NASA having a coronary about now.”
“No doubt,” Nachari agreed. And then he drew a line straight through the North Celestial Pole.
Napolean sat back. “It’s an arrow.”
“Yes, it is.” Nachari lifted the top map. “Marquis, circle the region where you believe the princess to be.”
Marquis picked up a red pencil and drew a circle equal to about two miles in diameter. Nachari laid the second map back on top of it. The arrow
pointed directly to the center of the region Marquis had circled.
“Holy Serpens,” Santos whispered.
“She’s right there,” Nachari said. “The gods are showing us her position.”
Marquis grunted. “Good work, little brother.”
Interesting work, Nachari responded telepathically.
What do you mean?
Why is your constellation connected to hers? Nachari asked. Why does the goddess Cygnus work with our Lord Draco on this?
Excellent question, Nathaniel interjected, sharing the private bandwidth.
Napolean turned to Julien Lacusta, the valley’s best tracker. “So the question is: If she’s several miles underground—at that location—how in the world did Salvatore get her there? There are no abandoned mine shafts in that area.”
Julien ran his hand over his short mahogany hair and stared down at the map, his moonstone-gray eyes surveying every mile one quadrant at a time. “I’m getting a terrible feeling about this,” he said, squinting. “There’s no way she could be that deep underground...unless….” His gravelly voice trailed off.
“Unless?” Napolean prodded.
“Unless there’s already some sort of tunnel system or underground structure there, and we’re talking about a big one.”
Ramsey Olaru exhaled and stared at the tracker. “Are you suggesting that our dark brothers have some sort of cavern system built underground, directly under Dark Moon Vale?”
Saxson caught his breath, and Santos shifted nervously in his chair.
Nathaniel looked at Marquis. Do you know what that would mean?
Marquis frowned. “What are you saying, Julien?”
Julien shook his head, looking perplexed. “I’m saying that the nearest underground tunnel is about five miles away in the Red Canyons, the steep cliffs in the old sacrificial chamber.”