Lorna nodded weakly, her eyes filling up with moisture. “Thank you, Ramsey,” she said softly, shifting nervously in her seat. And then she turned to face Saber and smiled faintly, clearly struggling to keep from reacting to what she saw: a monster, cut, gagged, and humiliated in a jail cell before her. She rubbed her hands together awkwardly and swallowed two times. “I…I was so pleased to hear that you asked for me.” Her voice was quaking, and Saber didn’t know how to respond. Not only did the bit feel foreign and offensive, but the woman was displaying an uncomfortable amount of emotion.
“I wanted…” His voice trailed off as he tried to work his tongue around the bit. “I wanted to ask you some—” Son of a bitch! He sounded like an imbecile.
There was no way he was going to be able to pull this off with any measure of finesse.
He might as well end the visit now.
“That’s okay,” Lorna said, seeming to understand what he was feeling. She reached out slowly and pushed the collar of his shirt away from his neck toward his shoulder.
Ramsey jumped up from his chair. “What are you doing, Lorna?”
She turned around to face him. “We need to be able to talk, Ramsey.”
The sentinel stared at her for a while and then finally nodded. “No more than an ounce, either way,” he said.
“Of course,” Lorna agreed. With that, she released the daintiest pair of fangs Saber had ever seen and slowly leaned forward.
Saber started to back up and frown, but he stopped himself. This woman was more like a mosquito than a vampire. As she slowly sank her fangs into his throat, scoring him more gently than any predator ought to, he held his breath, fighting the disgust. He wanted her off him—away from him—back across the room, preferably, but if this was what it took…
After swallowing a very small amount of blood, she bravely scored her own wrist and raised it to his eye level to show him. “Just a taste,” she said.
Saber swallowed convulsively. His feeding instincts were triggered, and he wanted to spring off the bed, pin her down to the ground, and tear her delicate throat out, drinking to his heart’s content, but as it stood, he would have to find a way to swallow around a metal bar. She pressed her wrist to his mouth, and his tongue snaked out quickly to lap the blood, three times.
There you have it, she said telepathically. Now we can talk.
Saber did not want to consider what he had just done. From this moment forward, he could track Lorna Dzuna at will; and dark lords take pity, the female could track him, too. Well, that didn’t matter: If he were ever unrestricted and free, outside of these bars, she would hardly be a formidable enemy.
Thank you, he said, trying to display some manners. Now then, as I was saying—
Oh, wait, she interrupted, holding up her hand apologetically. I didn’t mean to cut you off; it’s just… She reached into her large purse and pulled out a soft object. It’s just that Ramsey told me what you asked, and I wanted to show you something. She set the object down in his lap, sat back in her chair, and looked up at him with a gaze of such unrestrained longing in her eyes that it made him want to…heave.
Saber looked down at the object.
And then he froze, his own heart beating out a frantic rhythm.
His mouth became suddenly dry, and the bit felt like it had grown a couple of inches in diameter. Great S’nepres, dark lord of his birth, what the…hell?
It wasn’t possible.
It simply wasn’t true.
But there it was, in living color, lying right in his lap for the entire world to see: a light blue and green blanket, covered in little frogs and dragons. The blanket he had seen in his dream. The blanket his mother had wrapped him in after his birth.
Get it off me! he said, forgetting to exercise decorum. Move it out of my sight.
Lorna snatched the blanket with harried surprise and quickly stuffed it in her purse. I’m sorry, she muttered quickly. I thought— She stopped herself short. You asked Ramsey about it, so I just assumed… Her voice trailed off. I’m sorry.
Saber felt like the earth was shifting beneath him. Like nothing he had ever known or believed held true anymore. As if he could embrace a rage so savage, so cruel…
He wanted to murder, feed, and destroy for a millennium.
But he had to pull himself together.
He had to make use of this time—and this woman.
It didn’t matter.
Damien Alexiares was his father.
Dane Alexiares was his brother.
Diablo Alexiares was his friend.
He had grown up in the house of Jaegar, and he would return to the house of Jaegar. If anything, this new revelation simply meant that he would be a greater asset to his brothers of darkness than ever before. Nothing had changed, really. Damien had always known Saber’s secret; yet he had cherished his firstborn son just the same.
So be it.
The time to think it all through—to process this new information—was later.
Much, much later.
He drew in a deep breath, pushed every thought and emotion aside, and met Lorna’s eyes with his own purposeful glare. Very well. Thank you for showing that to me. It answers…a lot.
Lorna nodded rapidly and waited. I am sorry, Sabino; I know this must be—
Saber! His psychic voice nearly vibrated with rage. My name is Saber, and it will always be Saber.
Saber, Lorna whispered. Of course. They sat in uncomfortable silence for at least several minutes before Lorna finally dared to speak again. Was there another reason you wished to see me? She tried to force a smile. Is there anything I can do for you—bring for you?
Saber stared blankly at the woman in front of him; by all that was wicked, she was either the most naive being that had ever walked the earth or the most charitable, forgiving, and compassionate—how could they possibly share DNA? There is something, he finally said.
Her eyebrows shot up, and she leaned forward in her chair. Of course, tell me. What is it? She was far too eager, and it simply made him angrier.
He set it aside.
You know of the Blood Moon?
Lorna’s hand went to her heart, and she drew an anxious breath. Of course, I couldn’t believe it.
Dark Lords, did this female always wear her emotions on her sleeves? Thank S’nepres, he hadn’t been raised by such weakness. Then you’ve also heard by now that my…destiny…is the princess, Vanya?
Lorna smiled then, at first timidly and with apprehension, but then with tacit approval. Yes, I think it’s…miraculous.
Of course you do, Saber thought. Um, I’m going to need some help…getting through to her…to Vanya.
I’m sure if you just try…a little harder than usual…to show some chivalry, she will be happy to sit with you and—
No, Saber interrupted, unable to stifle his laugh—you truly couldn’t make this shit up—I can assure you that she wants nothing to do with me. He tried to think of a way to tell her, without actually telling her. I’ve run into the female before; we have a history. It wasn’t pleasant.
Lorna blanched, unable to conceal her dismay. And she lived?
Saber couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Yes…she lived.
Oh, I see. Lorna smiled for all she was worth then. Of course she lived—just like Jocelyn Silivasi lived after the incident at the cabin. She placed her hand lightly on his knee and patted him gently. You are my son. You are your father’s son. No true Dark One—under any circumstances, no matter how dire—would have ever walked away from a kill, or left his enemy with a day’s reprieve, not unless it was simple self-preservation. You always had a soul.
Saber knew what Lorna was referring to, the day he and a group of dark soldiers had run into Nathaniel, Marquis, and Nachari Silivasi in the meadow just beyond the Snake River, the day the lycan Tristan Hart had tried to murder Nathaniel’s destiny. Saber had been caught off guard and captured by the vampire hunters, along with the crazy boy Braden something-or-other, and the two of
them had been bound in a shed, awaiting their final fate. Jocelyn had stumbled across the macabre scene, Saber strapped like a medieval prisoner to an ancient guillotine, Braden nailed like a Roman slave to a cross, and the female had set him free in a calculated move to save her own life.
She had known Saber would attack and kill their mutual enemy if given half a chance; and her gamble had paid off. Later, when he ran into the Silivasi brothers along with Jocelyn, in the meadow, he had made his own calculated decision—to stop the war for the night, forestall another bloody battle, and live to fight another day. It hadn’t been as compassionate as it seemed; but truth be told, he had owed the brave woman—Jocelyn—that much. How had she put it? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And while that was hardly the case, even in that meadow, Saber had felt a modicum of respect for the brave female.
A fleeting, retractable regard.
And that was all.
Saber could not have agreed with Lorna less: He walked away from the Silivasi brothers after the Lycan attack because he was tired of fighting; the Dark Ones had dead to gather; and they could always resume another day. Furthermore, he had let Princess Vanya live the night before because he needed her in order to survive. Point blank. Simple. Rational. Strategic decisions.
He measured his next words carefully—he had to be cautious. This woman, with all her desperation, need, and Pollyanna psychology, could confuse him if he let her. Lorna, he said, to regain her attention. The point is: I need you to do something special…unique…affectionate for the princess, something that symbolically comes from me, at least in theory. Something that says, ‘I’m sorry.’ I need you to convince her to talk with me, sit with me, perhaps go for an escorted walk with me—after sunset, if you don’t mind. He was careful to emphasize the time of day, not that the warriors would ever let him out of that tiny cell, but just in case, he did not ever, under any circumstances, want to feel or see the sunlight again. I need you to convince her to give me a second chance.
Lorna placed her hand over her mouth, thinking. I can do that, she finally said. And then she regarded him circumspectly. However, I will not lie for you, Sabino—Saber. So, whatever else you do, you must sincerely mean this apology.
He nodded slyly. I do.
She looked at him cross-wise through the corner of her eye but pressed on. Maybe. Maybe not. And then she splayed her fingers on his knee and increased the pressure. Just the same, I am asking you—I am not telling you like a superior; I am not threatening you like an enemy; and I am not begging you like a subordinate—I am simply asking you as the woman who gave you life: Do not hurt this princess, Saber. If I do this for you, do not dishonor her. Give me your word.
Saber didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or break free from his chains and try to put the poor, misguided creature out of her misery. Do not dishonor the princess? Do not lie? Do not hurt anyone? Give her his word.
As if!
Dear Valley of Shadows; she really did think she was speaking to a male from the house of Jadon. Why couldn’t anyone comprehend the depth of his depravity, the cellular makeup of his so-called soul?
Eight hundred years in darkness.
Just as many years serving the dark lords of the Abyss…willingly.
He looked at Lorna, and for the briefest moment, he almost wished he were something else, someone else, that she still had the son she obviously wanted and believed in so desperately.
Because this was beyond sad.
This was epically tragic.
Lorna, do this thing for me and you have my word.
He never even broke a sweat.
eleven
Later that evening
Vanya Demir glanced up at the spectacular domed ceiling in Napolean’s private rectory and marveled at the artistry that never failed to amaze her: the hand-painted mural of Zeus and Apollo. Remembering where she was, and why she was there, she looked back down, shook her head in utter exasperation, and tried to push through her fatigue. They had been going back and forth in Napolean’s living room for hours—her, Marquis, Ciopori, Brooke, Napolean, and Ramsey—Nathaniel Silivasi was filling in for the lead sentinel at the guard station with Saxson or Santos, whoever was working the current shift.
The way she understood it, the king had received a missive from the house of Jaegar earlier that day, carried on the wings of a beautiful falcon, and the missive had been arrogant and to the point, dated Tuesday, the second day of March.
To: His Grace, Napolean Mondragon, Ruler of the house of Jadon
From: His Excellence, Oskar Vadovsky, Chief of Council for the house of Jaegar
Purpose: To request a meeting of delegates in the Red Canyons
Time: Tomorrow—Wednesday, the third day of March at eleven PM.
Dear Sir, it has come to our attention that there is a matter of some delicacy between our houses. One of your ranks has infiltrated our colony for eight hundred years, and has now been returned to his rightful home. While this imposter is no longer our concern, our High Court has convicted his father, Damien Alexiares, of treason; and the traitor is to be executed at five AM, Thursday morning, the fourth day of March. His brothers have yet to stand trial.
It would appear that Damien’s last dying wish is to speak with his unlawful son. In addition, Saber’s brother, Dane, would like one last chance to speak with his illegitimate brother. To that end, we are offering a limited truce in order to conduct this matter in peace. The house of Jaegar will provide a delegation of one soldier, both family members, and one sorcerer, accompanied by our High Chief of Council; and we would request an equal delegation of five members from the house of Jadon, including yourself and Saber, of course, to join us. We feel this is a fair and manageable number of participants.
Please be advised that we do not wish to wage war, nor will we make any strategic moves against you, our enemies. On this matter, you have our word.
If this request meets with your approval, we will see you tomorrow night in the Red Canyons. Should you decline our benevolent offer, then we will assume that you have no interest in allowing Saber this one last indulgence, and Damien will be summarily executed along with his remaining offspring: Dane and Diablo.
Sincerely, the house of Jaegar
Marquis Silivasi snorted with derision. “If these hyenas aren’t up to something, then I’m not an Ancient Master Warrior. I still say to hell with them. Let them execute Damien, Dane, and Diablo. Three less animals for us to worry about.”
Ramsey Olaru, who had been lounging against the opposite wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his right knee bent so that his foot rested against the wall, pushed off from his perch and sauntered over to Marquis’s side. Talking around the thin toothpick that was lodged between his lips, he nodded. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Marquis. We shouldn’t do this, milord.”
Ciopori Demir brushed a stray piece of lint off her skirt and slipped her arm through her mate’s, leaning her head against Marquis’s shoulder as if exhausted by the conversation. “I, too, agree with Marquis.” She paused as if carefully considering her words. “In truth, what difference does it make, my king?”
“We will not allow Vanya to bear sons with that animal,” Marquis said in consensus. “So really, he’s already as good as dead.”
Now this just irritated Vanya—on so many levels.
Shifting ever so slightly in her oversized armchair next to the king’s, she turned to face the ancient ruler of the house of Jadon. “Perhaps we should all keep in mind that I am a grown woman, and the ultimate decision still belongs to me.” Despite her horrific run-in with the hedonistic male, she still could not completely dismiss her dream—or what it might mean to the people. The idea of a buried treasure being somewhere, anywhere, inside of or connected to that male continued to niggle at her, giving her pause. Deciding the life—and death—of another was no easy matter.
Brooke sat on the arm of Napolean’s chair and only spoke sporadically. “I think we need to listen to Vanya,” sh
e offered.
Marquis scoffed. Turning to catch Vanya’s eyes, he said, “You’re free to decide whatever you wish, sister. Just so long as it doesn’t include going within five feet of that overgrown piece of donkey dung. Sorry, that’s just the way it is.”
By the hardened look on Ramsey’s face, Vanya could tell the warriors were in agreement. She rolled her eyes conspicuously. “Ciopori,” she said glibly, “perhaps you should check your mate…before he over reaches.”
Ciopori sighed and glanced away, clearly appearing torn. “Marquis,” she whispered. “Gentle, darling. Gentle.”
Napolean cleared his throat, and the room went silent. He fixed his insightful eyes on Vanya and regarded her carefully, maybe too carefully. What all was he seeing? she wondered. She just didn’t know, but to his credit, he held his tongue.
And then he frowned.
He sat back in the large, royal blue armchair and intertwined his fingers. “There are three things I must consider, beyond the obvious concern for Vanya’s safety: First, Saber’s history in the house of Jaegar, which pertains to his connection to his dark family and the development of his soul. Second, the impact seeing his father and brother might have on him, for good or for evil. And third, the logistics involved in such a meeting, should we choose to go through with it.”
Marquis opened his mouth to speak, and Napolean waved his hand ever so slightly to silence him. The noble king was not through speaking. “With regard to Saber’s history with Damien, Dane, and Diablo, this is an intricate matter. For the males in the house of Jaegar, there is a strong connection, a code of sorts based on loyalty, survival, and centuries of cohabitation. While the Dark Ones may erroneously call their connections love, it is more of an imprinting: Even snakes will bind together in a mating ball to propel their species forward. Such ties are strong and binding. Saber, however, has always had a soul.”
Both Ramsey and Marquis growled with disapproval, and Napolean leveled a cease and desist gaze at the keyed-up warriors, each one in turn, making it very clear how the hierarchy, at least in the house of Jadon, still worked. “You will hold your tongues…and your reactions.”