Marquis was momentarily confused. “Of course.”
“If I asked the gods to allow us to change places, would you exchange your life for mine? Would you truly die for me?”
“I will—”
“Then be of greater courage and give me the last thing I will ever ask of you: Live for me. Marquis, I am begging you. Live for me, my beloved brother. Live pentru mine!”
Marquis placed his hands over Shelby’s and fought to remain stoic. As blood-red diamonds, fashioned from their tears, covered their linked hands, Marquis considered Shelby’s words: Since the day he was born, his brothers had followed his commands, as was the way of the house of Jadon. But this time, he would do as he was bid. His brother had come back from the grave to save him, and it broke his heart that it could not have been the other way around.
Shelby placed his hand over Marquis’s heart and infused it with peace. “Let it go, great warrior. Let it go.”
Marquis slowly stood and approached the altar, kneeling once again before the damaged platform. Taking in a long, deep breath, he slowly exhaled and bowed his head:
“To you who were righteous and without blame; pentru tine, care au fost sacrificate fără milă: Am venit pentru a rambursa datoria mea. Pentru păcatele de stramosii mei, şi pentru că eu nu au reuşit să-şi sacrifice primul nascut fiul meu, am oferi propria mea viata în ispăşire. Have mercy on my soul and accept this child's life in exchange for my own.”
With an angry scowl, the entity hovered over the altar and snatched up the now sleeping baby, retreating with a long drawn-out cry.
It mattered not. It was over.
“Shelby,” the dragon god’s voice cut through the silence like thunder piercing a clear blue sky, “you have done what you came to do. It is time to go.”
“Wait!” A desperate female voice echoed through the chamber as Nathaniel’s wife, Jocelyn, shimmered into view holding a now plump and growing baby in her arms. “Your nephew,” she panted.
Shelby stared at the beautiful woman, no doubt taking in her magnificent multi-colored eyes, and then he looked down at the child—his entire countenance glowing with pride and joy. “Greetings, Storm,” he whispered, brushing his hand over the smiling infant’s cheek. He leaned over to kiss Jocelyn on the temple. “And to you as well, my sister. Thank you for this treasure.”
Jocelyn exchanged a knowing glance with Nathaniel. “You’re welcome.”
For a fleeting moment, Shelby’s features reflected a deep sorrow, though he tried gallantly to hide it. He nodded as he looked around the room, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I will watch over you all.” He turned to Nachari. “My twin, call out to me; our souls cannot be separated. I need the communion.”
Nachari nodded and clutched the amulet.
And then he addressed Napolean. “Milord, thank you for staying with me at the hour of my death.” His voice became barely audible. “I cannot imagine what that took out of you—what you have given to our people over the years in such sacrifice.”
Napolean simply nodded his head. “You are deeply missed, Shelby. Go with honor and peace, my son.”
Shelby nodded, walked over to Marquis, and embraced him one last time. “Live, pentru mine. Live!”
Marquis wiped a tear from his cheek and placed his hand over his heart. He swept his arm around Ciopori and looked down at his newborn son. Truly, he was blessed beyond measure and had much to live for.
Peace was a balm Shelby was offering, if he was only willing to take it.
Love was a gift he had waited a lifetime to receive, and now it stood loyally at his side in the heart of a princess.
The future was alive in the bright amber-blue eyes of his son: Nikolai Jadon Silivasi, heir to the house of Jadon, divined of the god Perseus, nephew of a prince, grandson of a king, and the embodiment of two worlds—celestial and Vampyr.
He looked around the room at the faces of his brothers. Life with him might not be easy, but they had come to his aid so quickly, pleaded so mightily…
They loved him deeply.
Yes, he was a blessed male with much to live for.
He scooped up a handful of crimson diamonds, his own blood tears, and placed them in Shelby’s hand. “Until we meet again, beloved brother, I will live.”
Epilogue
800 BC
“Napolean, run!”
The ten-year-old child stumbled backward, his eyes wide with fright. His father’s commanding voice shook him to his core.
“Run son, go quickly!”
“No, Father. I don’t want to leave you! Father, please—”
“Go now!” Sebastian Mondragon clutched his stomach and fell to the ground. His hands and fingers curled into two twisted balls, and his body contorted in an agonizing spasm. The transformation had begun. Writhing in pain, the once-fearless warrior panted the warning a third time. “Napolean…son…please, run! Hide!”
Napolean heard his father’s words as if from a distance. He wanted to flee, but he was frozen in place. Mesmerized by the horror that surrounded him, he swallowed hard and simply watched as the thick, inky fog swirled around his father’s writhing body. Long, skeletal fingers with hooked claws and knobby knuckles clutched at his father’s throat, raked deep gashes along his chest, and dug mercilessly toward his innards. Blood seeped from Sebastian’s mouth as, inexplicably, his canine teeth began to grow, assuming the shape of—
Fangs.
But it was his father’s unrelenting cries of agony that finally forced Napolean’s retreat.
Napolean ran like he had never run before, his little heart beating furiously in his chest, the need for air burning his lungs. He weaved through the morbid courtyard, dodging fallen bodies and clasping his hands to his ears to block out the endless wails. All around him, males fell to the ground, cursed, and moaned. Some died immediately from the shock…or pain. Others drew their swords from their scabbards and took their own lives. Still others succumbed to the brutal torture, helpless as the darkness embodied them.
They were being punished.
Changed.
Transformed into an aberration of nature by the ghostly spirits of their victims.
The Blood Curse was upon them.
Napolean focused his eyes straight ahead, never losing sight of his destination: the imperial castle, a would-be fortress. He and his friends had hidden there so many times in the past, playing hide-and-seek, avoiding angry parents, hoping to catch a glimpse of a member of the royal family. Napolean knew the grounds like the back of his hands, and so he pressed on, desperate yet determined to get there, resigned to hide as his father had bid him.
At last, he arrived at the familiar gray castle gate.
He scurried into a small hole beneath the fortified wall and drew himself into a tight little ball. He tried to become invisible. Although he could no longer see the carnage in the village, the haunting cries continued to batter his ears like thunder against a stormy sky.
Napolean shook, remembering the moment Prince Jadon had emerged from the castle, his dark onyx eyes glazed with fear. He had gathered his loyalists to his side to explain the pronouncement—their punishment—what was soon to become a new way of life.
With so little time to prepare his men, Jadon had tried the best he could. Napolean had understood none of it, save one thing: The followers of Jadon needed to pledge their loyalty to the twin monarch as quickly as possible, before the transformation began, or they would meet a much worse fate.
Though Napolean’s father had served for years in the royal one’s secret guard, fighting to defeat the ever growing armies of Prince Jaegar, Napolean had been too young to join. Consequently, it had been imperative that he formally align himself with the right twin— for those who followed Jaegar were to receive no mercy.
And so, like all of the others, Napolean had knelt to kiss Prince Jadon’s ring, recited the sacred pledge of loyalty—before it was too late—and braced himself against what was to come….
Napolean shivered, bringing his attention back to the present moment.
He wanted to be brave, but fearful tears stung his eyes.
Then all at once, he heard cruel, disembodied laughter, the sound coming closer and closer, assaulting his ears.
“No. No. No,” he whimpered, drawing further into the hollow cavity for protection, quivering so hard his bones rattled in his skin.
The fog swirled into a miniature cyclone, rose up from the ground, and dipped low as if it had eyes that could see…
Him.
Hiding.
“You think to escape, child?” the ghostly aberration hissed, laughter ricocheting through the small cavity. Flames exploded from the center of the darkness. “Die, little one! And be reborn the monster that you are!”
Napolean screamed so loud the sound became a cosmic explosion in his ears, yet the fog kept coming. It wrapped itself around his meager body, entered his mouth, and descended into his chest.
And then the pain began.
The excruciating, unrelenting, unbearable pain.
Acid flowed freely through his veins. Fire consumed his internal organs. Bones reshaped. Cells exploded. His entire composition changed, transformed…died.
He heard his own shouting as if it belonged to someone else, someone wretched and pitiable. He clawed at his skin, hoping to tear it from his body. He bit through his hand and pounded the ground. He writhed, thrashed, and tried to crawl away, but nothing stopped the assault.
Dear Celestial Gods!
He prayed for death, but it wouldn’t come.
How much time had passed before the agony had subsided, he had no idea. Had it been minutes? Hours? Perhaps days? It could have been a lifetime for all he’d endured before it had ceased…and the craving had begun.
A gnawing, all-consuming, primal thirst.
For blood.
It was the craving that had brought him out of the hole, crawling along the ground like an animal, stumbling through the darkness, searching for his father.
Now, as bitter tears stung his eyes, he absently wiped them away only to find smears of blood on his hand.
Great goddess Andromeda, what had he become?
Finally reaching the village square, he staggered to a halt beside an aged stone well. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye: No, it couldn’t be.
Please gods, no!
The grisly scene unfolded in slow motion as Jaegar Demir, the evil prince, hunkered over his father’s body. The prince’s eyes were wild with insanity as he bent to Sebastian’s throat, tore into the flesh—as if it were mere parchment—and drank his fill of…blood. Napolean could neither move nor turn away as the macabre scene unfolded before him. As the evil prince drained his father’s already-gored-and-tattered body of life.
And then…
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’d 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 that 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?
Books in the Blood Curse Series
Blood Destiny
Blood Awakening
Blood Possession (Coming Soon…)
To receive notice of future releases, go to
www.tessadawn.com
About The Author
Tessa Dawn grew up in Colorado where she developed a deep affinity for the Rocky Mountains. After graduating with a degree in psychology, she worked for several years in criminal justice and mental health before returning to get her Masters Degree in Nonprofit Management.
Tessa began writing as a child and composed her first full-length novel at the age of eleven. By the time she graduated high-school, she had a banker’s box full of short-stories and books. Since then, she has published works as diverse as poetry, greeting cards, workbooks for kids with autism, and academic curricula. The Blood Curse Series marks her long-desired return to her creative-writing roots and her first foray into the Dark Fantasy world of vampire fiction.
Tessa currently lives in the suburbs with her two children and “one very crazy cat” but hopes to someday move to the country where she can own horses and a German Shepherd.
Writing is her bliss.
Tessa Dawn, Blood Awakening
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