Kristina could hardly believe what had just happened, and a wistful smile softened her mouth as she held her hand over her fluttering heart and laughed out loud. She could still taste the intoxicating flavor of his blood. It was like drinking pure energy, unfiltered power. Sure, Marquis’s blood had been amazing. And Nathaniel’s? Damn—just…damn! But this was unlike anything she had ever imagined before. There was something dark, dangerous, and sexy as hell about Ramsey Olaru.
And he wanted her.
Kristina told herself to get a grip—keep in mind that the male wasn’t really available, and he would walk away the moment his destiny showed up—but so what. He was here now. She twirled around in delight. Very few girls got the chance to spend time with a male like that, not even for a day, let alone what could turn into years. And he had chosen her. Sure—she would probably get mated someday. More than likely, her brothers would choose some boring justice or healer for her, some widower who wasn’t half as hot and edgy as Ramsey; but in the meantime, she would have her fun.
And her fine-as-hell man.
Baby girl.
Sweetheart.
He had called her both…
Oh…my…God.
Kristina shut her eyes and let the reality of it all sink in.
She concentrated on the feel of Ramsey’s blood in her veins and tried to imagine where he was now—what he was doing. When nothing came to her, she shrugged: It really didn’t matter.
Just so long as nothing and no one stopped him, he would be back.
She was sure of it.
The thought brought her up short. Oh shit, she really had to be careful with this one. Marquis, Nathaniel, and Kagen would have a cow. Even Braden would strut around trying to be all warrior-like and fatherly, or run off as fast as he could to tell Napolean.
And wouldn’t that just be the end of it all.
Kristina shuddered, thinking of how quickly this new affair might come to an end if the wrong people found out about it. No, that wasn’t going to happen.
She wouldn’t let it.
This was one secret Kristina Riley-Silivasi planned to take all the way to the grave.
eleven
Deanna stepped onto the stony River Walk, a meandering path that followed the banks of the Snake Creek River for at least a mile, following the beautiful woman with mysterious eyes who had married Nachari’s brother, Nathaniel.
Jocelyn turned around and waited for her to catch up. “You sure you’re all done shopping for the day?”
Deanna chuckled. “Yes. I don’t think I could walk into another souvenir or specialty shop if my life depended on it.”
Jocelyn nodded her agreement. The two had spent the day exploring the small, quaint towns surrounding the national forest at Kagen’s bequest: The healer had insisted that Deanna get out of the clinic for a few hours, take in some fresh air, and stretch her legs. Just so long as they were back before sundown, there didn’t seem to be any danger in the outing. And as far as running away or escaping was concerned, even Deanna understood how futile an attempt that would be: She was no match against a family of vampires.
Period.
Besides, the outing would give her a chance to talk with another woman—one who at least understood part of her predicament—without the males hovering around like hungry vultures; and Jocelyn Levi-Silivasi had seemed more than happy to escort Deanna on the excursion. Not to mention—truthfully—Deanna needed the break.
She was on information overload.
And then some.
After the bizarre experience in Nachari’s room two days earlier, Deanna had questioned everyone she could about Nachari, the Vampyr, the Blood Curse, and anything else she could think of: She had been hungry for all the information she could consume.
“So,” she said, falling into step beside Jocelyn and allowing the soothing rhythm of the creek to calm her frayed nerves, “you’ve adjusted well to this life already, then?”
Jocelyn smiled. “Yeah, I have.” She shrugged. “It helps when you’re madly in love with your husband and you have such a terrific son.”
“Storm, is it?” Deanna asked.
“Yep,” Jocelyn answered, “my little tornado.”
Deanna tried to laugh, but it sounded as insincere as it felt. Out of absolutely nowhere, her laughter turned to tears, and she stopped, leaned against the rustic-wood railing, and covered her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Just give me a moment.”
Jocelyn turned around, her voice heavy with concern. “Not at all. Take all the time you need.” She stood directly in front of Deanna for a while and then gently pried her hands from her face. “You know, you don’t have to hide, Deanna. Not from me, anyway. I understand at least a little of what you’re going through. This is far more than most humans will ever be asked to deal with in a lifetime.”
Deanna nodded appreciatively, trying to control her emotions. “I know…I know…I’m just…damn, this is all so hard, so…unbelievable, so…unfair.”
Jocelyn turned around and leaned against the railing, looking out at the river. “Yeah, well, that’s one way of putting it. No argument here.” She turned to face Deanna. “Do you feel like telling me what, precisely, it is that you’re thinking about right now?”
Deanna wiped her eyes and looked out at the water, along with the other woman. The stream was so beautiful, so peaceful, so seemingly unconcerned. “Oh, man…where to begin.”
“Anywhere you like,” Jocelyn said. “I’m a good listener.”
Deanna did manage to laugh a bit then. “You mean unlike your—” She stopped short.
“My mate?” Jocelyn said, smiling without offense. “Or my brother-in-law?”
“Marquis,” Deanna whispered, nearly shuddering. “Does he ever get less…intense?”
“No,” Jocelyn said without hesitation. “You just learn how to deal with him—or you run and hide behind Ciopori.”
Deanna did laugh then, thinking about the beautiful, raven-haired princess and how effortlessly she handled the six-foot-two overwhelming male.
“They do mean well,” Jocelyn admitted. “All of them. They truly love Nachari…and each other.”
Deanna felt her tears well up again. She sighed and took a deep breath. “Damn. Why can’t I stop this?”
“I don’t know,” Jocelyn said. “Why do you think it is?”
Deanna turned around, pushed off from the rail, and stared up at the sky, placing a firm hand over her heart. “Because ever since that day…in his room…when I swear Nachari spoke to me through that radio—and trust me, I know how ridiculous that sounds—I can just…feel him or something. In my heart. It’s like I know who he is, but I don’t know him. And that really freaks me out.”
Jocelyn didn’t speak. She just looked at Deanna with infinite compassion in her eyes. Finally, she ventured: “Nachari is special, Deanna—even among the Vampyr.”
Deanna drew to attention. “How so? I mean, what is it that you see in him that makes you say that?” She sighed then. “Please…oh please, don’t lie to me—I don’t think I could take it.”
Jocelyn smiled kindly and held out her little finger. “Pinky swear.”
Deanna hooked her pinky around Jocelyn’s and nodded. “Okay.”
“So, let’s see,” Jocelyn began. “What makes Nachari so unique?” She looked down into the water, as if picturing Nachari in the river’s reflection. “Well, I would have to say that despite the obvious—his stunning good looks and swag personality—there’s just something about his soul. Something quiet. Something deep. Something so good and pure that it precedes him.” She looked deeper into the stream while collecting her thoughts. “I think Nachari sees things that no one else does.” Her vivid eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, of course he does—he’s a wizard—but I’m not just talking about the magic and second-sight. He sees people’s souls, their intentions; he knows if a heart is good or bad, hurting or healing. He knows what people say versus what they mean…what th
ey ask for versus what they need.” She shook her head. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s like his relationship with the boy—”
“Braden?” Deanna interrupted.
“Yes, Braden. Nachari loves that kid almost unconditionally, and he just knows when to push, when to back off, how to bring him along.” She chuckled wistfully. “You know, when I was first…how do I say this?” She smiled. “When I was first ushered into Dark Moon Vale, I had a couple of run-ins with Marquis that were unpleasant to say the least.”
“Like what?” Deanna asked, sounding truly appalled.
“Mmm, like being accidentally tossed across Nathaniel’s deck by the warrior and later locked up in a holding cell.”
Deanna cringed. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Jocelyn raised her eyebrows. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Shit,” Deanna whispered. “How did Nathaniel handle that?”
Jocelyn cleared her throat for effect. “Nathaniel was in his own hell about that time—definitely as keyed up as any male could be in the throes of his Blood Moon.”
“And Kagen?”
“Well, Kagen was pretty much the way you see him now—mostly chilled out. Not one to go around making waves.” She shrugged. “Nope, I’d have to say that Nachari was the one who really saw things from my point of view and showed it. His little…interventions…well, let’s just say they weren’t little at all. His kindness…his concern…it was how I knew things were going to be okay…ultimately. He brought sanity into an insane time.”
“With humor?” Deanna asked. “I’ve heard he has a great sense of humor.”
“Yes,” Jocelyn agreed. “That he does. He knows his brothers, and he can make light of their antics.” She paused then. “But he also has compassion and gentleness. And wisdom—a lot of wisdom.”
“No demons then?” Deanna asked, hopeful.
Jocelyn tilted her head from side to side as if weighing the question. “I wouldn’t say that: Nachari also carries some pretty heavy weights of his own. The loss of his parents…and his twin.”
Deanna nodded, understanding. “You mean Shelby?”
Jocelyn looked away, giving the impression that this was a subject she’d rather gloss over than elaborate on. “Yeah. Most definitely.”
Deanna let the subject go. After all, who was she to push it or provide insight? She was a stranger amongst them all. And perhaps more confused than anyone. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, more thinking aloud than talking.
“About?” Jocelyn said.
Deanna shrugged. “All of this.” She winced. “Kagen spoke to me about the possibility of medical conversion”—she made air quotes around the words—“based on the eventuality that Nachari might return one day.” She stiffened. “Jocelyn, how in the world do I make a decision like that? Commit to someone I’ve never met? Irreversibly change my life—hell, my species—based upon the mere possibility that some guy I’ve never met might come back some day and claim me.” Despite the evenness in her tone, she cringed at the words.
Jocelyn shook her head. “I don’t know how to answer that, Deanna. I really don’t. I wish I could tell you that it’s the right thing to do—but I can’t. Even though I already know, without question, that Nachari and you are right for each other, more than right, really…you’re beyond right…you’re perfect for each other—he will be everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more: I’ve just seen too much to doubt it—but you will have to find that out on your own. And I can’t tell you the right or wrong way to get there.”
“But how?” Deanna argued. “How do I find that out…when he’s not even here?” She sounded as discouraged as she felt. “Through photo albums and walks down memory lane with people who knew him?” She caught herself. “I mean, people who know him.”
Jocelyn stared at her then, her eccentric eyes shifting between subtle shades of green and brown, reflecting clearly why her mate so often called her tiger-eyes. “You know what I think?”
Deanna held her gaze. “What?”
“I think you’re scared shitless, exactly as you claim, but not of Nachari, or conversion, or the Blood Curse—at least not primarily: I think you’re absolutely terrified that he won’t come back to you…that it might not ever happen.” She averted her eyes. “I think that’s why you came here, Deanna. Why you were the one who picked up so much information that it ended up in your drawings. I think you and Nachari are already…together.”
Deanna stood in thoughtful silence, simply allowing Jocelyn’s words to wash over her. The truth of them was almost too much to bear. She bit her bottom lip. “I’m not sure if I’ll survive if he doesn’t.” She laughed a hollow laugh. “Don’t get me wrong: If he did show up—say, on this bridge, right now—I would definitely take off running in the opposite direction; but yes, a part of me wants that so much it hurts, Jocelyn. I can’t explain it; I just have to know. I have to at least…meet him.”
Jocelyn reached out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, and in the absence of resistance, gave her a bear hug. “It’s going to be okay, Deanna,” she whispered in her ear. “I really do believe that.” Giving her one last squeeze, she pulled away. “It’s only my opinion, but I think the key to the whole thing is not to try and figure it all out at once. Don’t try to wrap your arms around so much at once…not at first. Just take it one day at a time…one piece of information at a time.” She sighed. “And for whatever it’s worth: If I were you, knowing what I know now, knowing Nachari the way I know him, I would fight like hell for that male—to know everything about him, to get him back, to create some kind of bridge of love that was strong enough to pull him out of the Spirit World, wherever he is. And if he showed up and I hated him, then oh well—you can cross that bridge when you come to it. But if you find out that he’s the missing piece of your heart—the other half of your soul—you’re going to want to know that there’s nothing you didn’t do to try and save him.”
Deanna tucked her hair behind her ear and stared at the pretty woman next to her. A woman who was now a vampire. She was searching for seeds of truth, measuring Jocelyn’s conviction, and it was all there, in her eyes, in her voice. She meant every word she said, and she certainly didn’t come across as a fruitcake. Not to mention, everything she said was something Deanna had already thought of before. Needing a break from the intensity of the conversation, she walked further down the path, stopped to turn around, and called, “You coming?”
“Right behind you,” Jocelyn said, hurrying to catch up.
Waiting, Deanna thought about the stern warning Nachari’s brothers had given her earlier that day: “Do not play around when it comes to the time—be back before the sun goes down, or we’ll send someone to get you.” She shuddered, knowing full well who that someone would be.
Marquis Silivasi.
No, thank you.
Just then, Deanna glanced up at the sky, noticed grayish mottled clouds turning this way and that, and thought absently that a storm was coming: Maybe they should start to head back, after all. “Do you see those clouds?” she asked Jocelyn.
Jocelyn followed her gaze. “Yeah, I do.”
“Maybe we should—”
“Turn back,” Jocelyn supplied.
Deanna nodded and tried not to overanalyze the symbolism of those words: Whether or not the sky opened up and poured down rain was irrelevant. The truth was, a storm was definitely coming…
And the only question was whether or not Deanna would be ready when it arrived.
twelve
The Valley of Death and Shadows
Nachari Silivasi sat up on the old, rusted, iron bed in the dark chamber behind Ademordna’s throne room and rustled his chains. The minions must have carried him back to his room after his last torture session, and he must have fallen asleep. How long ago had that been? he wondered. And how soon would they be coming back for him?
Since there were no windows in the damp, confined room, he had no natural way
of judging time: not that there was any sun or moon to measure outside of the room anyhow.
He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, picturing the body of the Raven. The sleek black feathers came immediately into focus, cool and smooth against a rounded breast. He imagined the sharp beak, the hard edges and angled peak, the curved talons and the subtle ridges along the plumage; and he slowly allowed his consciousness to slip away. To become…other than he was. “Black as night, dark as coal; into flight, release my soul.”
The transition got easier each time he did it—faster.
As the full form of the Raven emerged, not simply in his mind, but in his being—as his point of focus shifted from the green eyes of a vampire to the emerald stare of the Raven—the slip from one form of consciousness into another became seamless.
Without hesitation, Nachari spread his wings and flew beyond the confines of his prison—not far, mind you. That day in the clinic, when he had managed to separate not only from his body but from the Abyss, to see and hear Deanna in his room at the clinic, a lot of things had lined up perfectly to make that happen—not the least of which was the depth of Deanna’s despair and confusion. The strength of her longing. Nachari had tried to return to her several times since that day without any luck—whatever providence had pierced the veil between worlds seemed closed to him now. Now…he could only use the eyes of his feathered friend to move around the Valley of Death and Shadows.
But it was better than nothing.
Spreading his raven’s wings to their full four-foot span, he soared outside the fortress and took in his surroundings. Unlike the earth, where the sun’s position in the sky suggested the time of day, where shadows fell at different degrees as the great ball of fire traveled across the horizon, the Valley of Death and Shadows was an empty cavern absent of true light. The unnatural atmosphere was one of relentless heat and dense fog that emanated from the energy of the souls within it: a projection of their essence. Just the same, Nachari had long since learned to distinguish the subtle shades of darkness, to differentiate the varied gradations of black and gray in order to discern the time, at least within an hour.