And Kagen had never felt so frustrated or helpless in all his life.
Under normal circumstances, he would have been with his woman. He should have been with his woman, reassuring his destiny, slowly…gently…introducing her to the strange new world she now inhabited, making her feel wanted, safe, and secure. Helping her understand her unexpected fate.
He should have been teaching her about the Curse, giving her options, and choices, and answers—lots and lots of answers.
He should have been showing her how deeply she was loved.
But nothing could happen until Keitaro was out of the woods, until the patriarch of their family was finally stable and no longer in danger of being lost. While Arielle had seemed to understand this intimately—she had even insisted upon this exact order of priorities—she had also seemed so lost and alone, so bereft and confused, and the knowledge of her distress weighed heavily on Kagen’s heart.
“Please, Father,” he whispered, staring at Keitaro’s unconscious form. “We need you to come back. The daughter of your heart needs you to come back. You are all that remains familiar to her in this terrifying new world.” He let out a plaintive sigh. “Please, just open your eyes.”
He thought he saw a flicker of response, the barest twitch of an eyelid—it wasn’t exactly a resounding reply, but it was something.
Rising to his feet, he moved closer to his father and bent over his slumbering form. “Father?”
Keitaro’s eyelids twitched again.
Marquis! Nathaniel! Nachari! The telepathic communication was instantaneous. I think he’s waking up!
All three brothers shimmered into view at the exact same moment, each one hovering over the bed like an overeager ghost, their dark, luminous eyes filled with stark anticipation and need.
“Father?” Nachari spoke first.
Keitaro blinked two times, and then, like the sun peeking out from beneath a dense cloud after a long winter’s storm, his brilliant, deep brown pupils appeared beneath his lids, illuminating the room like glorious beams from the luminous star. “Nachari?”
The wizard practically fainted. “Yes, Father.”
“Then you are dead, too?” Keitaro’s voice was raspy, deep, and laced with sorrow. He slowly turned his head to look around the room, but he didn’t appear to focus on anything in particular. “Then this is the Valley of Spirit and Light?” He slowly licked his lips as if testing his tongue for function. “Where is Serena?”
Nachari took Keitaro’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “You are not dead, Father. You are in Dark Moon Vale.”
Marquis stepped forward from the end of the bed. “We found you in Mhier, Keitaro.” He held his father’s gaze with an expression of unusual compassion. “We brought you home.”
Keitaro tried to sit up but faltered. It was as if the room had started to spin, and he reached out to steady himself on the lowered rail.
“Easy, Father,” Kagen murmured. He braced one hand on the rail, another on Keitaro’s shoulder, and helped him lie back onto the thick, down pillows. “Don’t move too fast.”
Keitaro furrowed his brow. He stared one by one at his sons, and his face grew more confused. “But I died in the arena.” He looked off into the distance. “I killed Cain Armentieres, the male who murdered your mother, and then…and then I saw my sons as I left this world. You were beside me…a final escort…as I died.”
Nathaniel shook his head, his long blue-black locks swaying from the motion. “No, Father. We were there…with you…in Mhier, but not to escort you to the spirit world. We came to get you, to take you out of that gods-forsaken place, and we found you in the arena. We fought alongside you, and we brought you back home. You are safe in Dark Moon Vale. You are home.”
Keitaro drew back against the pillows in burgeoning surprise. He patted his chest, stared down at his arms and legs, and then reached up to feel his cheeks. “I’m alive?”
“You are in my clinic,” Kagen said. He couldn’t take his eyes from Keitaro’s. He couldn’t believe this moment was actually happening.
Then all at once, as if a dam had broken, a blockade forged from confusion and slumber gave way to the weight of truth and awakening; and Keitaro’s ancient eyes filled with tears. He turned to his eldest son and smiled. “Marquis.”
The warrior held his breath. He bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing a trickle of blood, perhaps to quell his emotion, perhaps to convince himself that he was truly awake and the moment was finally happening. “It is with great respect that I greet a fellow descendant of Jadon, an Ancient Master Warrior, my beloved, honored father and friend, whom I have missed with all my heart. We welcome you back to Dark Moon Vale.” He spoke with unusual eloquence, relying on formal protocol to help him through the moment.
Keitaro planted one hand against the mattress and pushed up with all of his strength. Throwing formal protocol to the wind, he reached out with a trembling arm and snatched Marquis, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “Marquis.”
Marquis enfolded him with both arms, at first squeezing so hard that Kagen was concerned for Keitaro, and then he buried his face in his father’s shoulder and began to weep.
Keitaro stroked his thick, downy hair and simply repeated his name, over and over. “Marquis…Marquis…Marquis. My son…my firstborn son.”
When the ground began to shift beneath them, Kagen placed a soft hand on Marquis’s shoulder. “Emotions, brother.” The reminder was gentle: How in Hades could any of them hope to contain the emotions they were feeling in this moment?
Marquis pulled out of Keitaro’s embrace, cupped his father’s face in his hands, and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead—it was the most tender act any of them had ever seen Marquis perform, outside of his occasional tender exchanges with his own son, Nikolai.
Keitaro looked up then and reached out for Nathaniel. Nathaniel stepped forward, taking Marquis’s place. He took his father’s hand in his, raised it slowly to his jaw, and cradled the strong, perfect palm against his cheek. It was almost as if he simply wanted to feel Keitaro’s skin against his own, to become one with his own flesh and blood. “Father.” The word was choked out as Keitaro embraced him, and the two powerful males rocked in a strange, rhythmic motion, their hearts beating as one.
Keitaro clung to his second-born son. “How old are you?” he finally said, and all four brothers chuckled—the break in tension was welcome.
“I’m one thousand years old, Father,” Nathaniel said softly, “but today is truly my first birthday.”
Keitaro brushed a tear from the corner of his eye, and then he turned to regard Kagen. “So you, too, are an Ancient? An Ancient Master Healer…my curious, intelligent son?”
Kagen blinked away his own tears, but he couldn’t stop from trembling. He palmed the back of Keitaro’s head and brought him forward to his chest—to his heart—where his memory had always lived. “My father,” he whispered, nearly breaking into a sob. “My father.”
Keitaro inhaled deeply as if reveling in Kagen’s scent. He nuzzled his chin in an intimate gesture, not caring if the display wasn’t manly, and then he sat up straight, appearing to gain strength from the love of his family, and brushed Kagen’s cheeks with his thumbs. “By all the gods, I never thought I would see you again”—he turned to glance around the room—“any of you.” He met Kagen’s gaze and held it warmly. “Thank you for coming for me.”
It was more than Kagen could bear.
The centuries, the guilt …the regret.
He felt his emotions slipping, the tears about to give way, and he pulled back momentarily to regain his composure.
Understanding, Keitaro turned his attention to the other side of the bed, where Nachari sat patiently beside him, waiting. His entire face lit up with joy. “By all the gods, you are more handsome than I remembered. And you were utterly perfect back then.”
Nachari smiled that stunning, breathtaking grin he was so famous for, and the entire exam room lit up with the magnificence of h
is joy. “Father…” The word came out with the barest hint of hesitance, and Keitaro took his hand.
“You were only…what were you, Nachari? How old, when I disappeared?”
“Twenty-one,” Nachari said solemnly.
“And now?” Keitaro asked.
“I will be 501 in three months’ time.”
A fleeting mask of grief—indescribable, inconsolable, acknowledging so many lost years—flashed over Keitaro’s face before it was quickly replaced with wonder. “What discipline did you choose?”
Nachari swallowed hard. “I’m a Master Wizard, Father.” There seemed to be the barest tension between them, not an absence of love—never that—but the silent awareness that in an immortal lifetime, they had only shared twenty-one years.
Keitaro nodded, regarding Nachari with a fierce, glowing pride. “Of course you are, my sensitive, alchemist son.” He raised Nachari’s palms to his face and breathed into them as if wanting to impart his life force, and then he deeply inhaled as if taking in the wizard’s hopes, dreams, and heart. “I have missed you with every ounce of my being, Nachari,” he whispered.
Nachari shifted anxiously on the bed—he looked like he might fall apart.
And then, as if the awareness suddenly dawned on him, Keitaro looked up, glanced around the room, and frowned. “Where is your twin?” he asked eagerly. “Where is my most mischievous son, the one with his mother’s golden hair?”
Nachari cleared his throat, even as he drew from a waning well of courage. “Shelby is…no longer with us. He is with our mother in the Valley of Spirit and Light.” He absently clutched his beloved amulet, the one that always hung around his neck, the one that Shelby had given him when Marquis made the Dark Sacrifice of his unnamed son. “He lives…always…in our hearts.”
Keitaro drew back in anguish. “What happened?”
“Later,” Kagen interjected, not wanting to jeopardize the vampire’s health.
“What happened?” Keitaro repeated, his grief-stricken voice deepening with command.
“Valentine Nistor happened,” Marquis cut in.
“He got to Shelby’s destiny before they could fulfill the demands of the Curse,” Nathaniel added, before he dropped his head in his hands.
Keitaro visibly wilted. “My son? My loving, happy-go-lucky, compassionate son died in the sacrificial chamber?”
Nachari stiffened and raised his jaw. “Father…” The word was a mere whisper.
Keitaro held out his hand to silence him. “My son…and your other half,” he lamented. He leaned toward Nachari and gestured him forward with the slightest bend of his hand. And in that barren moment, as the two males closed the distance between them, a lifetime of grieving was shared.
Keitaro clung to Nachari like he was the last soul on earth, and together, they mourned a loss too great for words. “Oh, Nachari. My boy…my son…my son.”
The wizard wept unabashedly, not caring that the mountains rumbled and the sky opened up, pouring down buckets of rain. When, at last, he regained his composure, he sat back and tried to force a smile. “But there is much to celebrate.” He gestured toward Marquis, Nathaniel, and Kagen. “All of us…we’re mated now. We have destinies…and sons of our own.” He inclined his head at Marquis. “And Marquis—he’s married to one of the original princesses.”
“One of the original princesses?” Keitaro echoed, his voice disbelieving. “As in the sisters of Jadon and Jaegar?” He looked positively dumbfounded. “How can that be?”
Nathaniel filled him in on the story, the CliffsNotes version, explaining everything in succinct, sequential order, and Keitaro practically reeled in astonishment. “Where are they now—your destinies, your sons?”
“They’re just outside the room,” Kagen said. “We didn’t want to—”
“Nonsense,” Keitaro interrupted. “I want to meet them, right away.”
Marquis nodded, and Nathaniel rose to make his way to the door. He opened it, peered into the hall, and said something softly to Jocelyn. Within moments, the women and children were gathered at the door.
They walked in quietly, their arms filled with their precious bundles, and the look on Keitaro’s face was one of pure, unadulterated bliss.
The moment was too precious for words, too priceless to cheapen with casual banter.
It could only be handled with formality.
As the eldest son, Marquis extended his hand to Ciopori first. “Princess, come forward. I would like you to meet my father.”
Ciopori positively radiated with love.
“Ancient Master Warrior, honored father, and fellow member of the house of Jadon”—he rolled the words off his tongue with pride—“I present to you my mate, the daughter of Cygnus, the royal offspring of King Sakarias and Queen Jade, the sister of our revered patriarch, Jadon Demir. Father, I present to you my destiny: Ciopori Demir-Silivasi.”
The princess placed Nikolai gently in Marquis’s arms in order to free her hands, and then she quickly strolled to the side of Keitaro’s bed, where she curtsied in an old-world gesture. “Beloved Father.” She spoke eloquently, musically. “It is both an honor and a privilege to meet you.” She bent over, kissed him on the forehead, and took both of his hands in her own. “Oh dear goddess.” She hiccupped a sob, losing the stilted formality. “I can’t believe you are finally home.” She embraced him, and he encircled her in his welcoming arms.
Marquis beamed with pride and satisfaction. He waited until the two pulled apart and then he set Nikolai in Ciopori’s arms. The child wriggled restlessly, his face betraying his discomfort, as if he had no idea what all the fuss was about, and Keitaro laughed, openly and heartily. He took Nikolai and held him up in the air. “You are a strong little vampire.” The child bobbed up and down in his arms and gurgled.
Ciopori laughed. “Honored Father, this is your second-born grandson: Nikolai Jadon Silivasi.”
Keitaro declined his head with respect and appreciation. “Nikolai Jadon…of course.”
After a few moments of watching them play, watching as Keitaro bounced the happy child up and down, Nathaniel reached out for Jocelyn’s hand, took Storm from her embrace, and hoisted him onto his hip, and then he led her to the side of the bed, where Ciopori quickly retrieved Nikolai and shuffled out of the way. “Father,” he said proudly, his voice literally vibrating with adoration, “this is my mate and the love of my life, Jocelyn Levi-Silivasi. She is the daughter of Cassiopeia, an esteemed warrior in the human culture, and the mother of your firstborn grandchild.”
Keitaro looked up at Jocelyn and smiled, his keen expression filled with love and acceptance. “Jocelyn, daughter; come closer.”
Jocelyn hurried to his side. “Oh hell,” she huffed, “I don’t know how to do this with any measure of finesse. Just give me a hug!” She plopped down on the bed, wrapped her arms around him, and rocked back and forth with exhilaration. “Keitaro!” She buried her head in his shoulder, wiped her nose on the sleeve of his gown, and chuckled apologetically. “Welcome home.”
Keitaro laughed in earnest, and then he reached out for Storm. “And who is this little ball of fire?”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes in an exaggerated parody of angst. “This little ball of mischief, fire, and vinegar is your grandson and your namesake: Keitaro Storm Silivasi.”
Keitaro grew instantly quiet. He looked from the child to Jocelyn, then from Jocelyn to Nathaniel, as if for confirmation, and then he let out a deep breath of air. “Keitaro Storm Silivasi?” He repeated the words like a prayer.
Nathaniel’s deep emotion was reflected in his eyes. “Yes, Father. We named him after you.”
Keitaro shook his head in awe, and for the first time, he appeared completely overwhelmed. “Well, hello there, little Keitaro,” he murmured, bouncing the child on his knee.
Kagen took a deep breath: As a healer, he did not want to see Keitaro exert himself—just yet—but to his credit, he held his tongue.
“He is quite the spitfire, is he not?”
Keitaro observed, watching as the child flexed his nimble legs, trying to extend and enhance each bounce.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Nathaniel said, an authentic twinge of angst ringing in his voice.
The entire room laughed, knowing full well the trials and tribulations Storm put Nathaniel and Jocelyn through, with his constant explorations and mischief.
Keitaro was just about to place the child back in his mother’s arms when Storm reached out, grabbed a handful of Keitaro’s freshly washed hair, and tugged for all he was worth. “Papa!” he exclaimed with a squeal. And then he giggled and gave it another tug. “Papa Su-vasi!” He began to tug in earnest, giving Keitaro’s hair three hard yanks in a row, before pausing, and then going after it again.
Nathaniel rushed to Keitaro’s bedside and gently pried his son’s fingers loose from the vampire’s hair, before his scalp began to bleed. “Sorry, Father.” He picked Storm up and handed him back to Jocelyn.
Keitaro laughed. “He reminds me of Shelby at his age,” he said, forgetting to censor his words.
The room grew quiet with painful regret.
At last, Nachari broke the silence. He rose from his perch on the other side of Keitaro’s bed, sauntered to the back of the room, took Sebastian from Deanna, and ushered the exotic beauty forward, leading her gently by the arm. “Father…” He spoke softly. “This is Deanna Dubois-Silivasi, daughter of Perseus, the Victorious Hero, and mother of your third grandchild.”
Keitaro glanced up at Deanna, inhaled sharply, and then slowly let out his breath. Not that all the women weren’t beautiful in their own right—they were—but Deanna was particularly stunning, with an exotic set of features that were very hard to place. “Greetings, Deanna,” he said warmly.