Confident that it was two or three in the afternoon, he released the form of the Raven and descended back into his body. Good. He had at least one to two more hours before Ademordna came to get him, before he would be taken back into the throne room for the evening’s festivities—gatherings based entirely upon his perpetual torture.
He twisted around in an effort to bring motion to his tired body, stretched his rigid muscles, and regarded the bloodstained sheets. Disgusting, he thought, wishing his captors would at least change them now and then.
As if that was going to happen.
He reached for a flat, dingy pillow and placed it over a particularly troubling stain, one that had been caused by a head wound no doubt, and tried to concentrate on more important matters.
Getting home to his destiny.
What he could do to make that happen.
So far, he knew three important things: First, he could take the form of the Raven at will—at least in so far as it meant traveling about the underworld; second, he had managed to leave his carnal form in the Abyss and penetrate the earth once—which meant if it were possible, he could do it again. And third, he had no allies or friends among his captors, save the misguided attentions of one being.
The dark demoness, Noiro.
The demented freak of nature thought she was in love with him. At least, she believed his DNA held enough promise and his wizardry was so advanced that it would be worthwhile to try and reproduce with him. Perhaps if his power were combined with hers, there would be enough energy to propel him home. All of him. If only he could get hold of four transformational elements from the four directions of the underworld: a frog from the east to symbolize the leap he must make from one realm to the next; the toxin of a southern scorpion to help pierce the veil between worlds; a spider from the west to help weave a spell powerful enough to propel him home; and a snake from the north to help him shed his metaphorical skin, thereby allowing him to slither between the worlds undetected. In truth, the dimensions were not that far from one another. The issue he had to contend with was one of vibration—the higher moving vibrations of the earth, and ultimately the Celestial realms, that were fueled by light, joy, and justice versus the slower moving vibrations of the underworld, which were restricted by darkness, evil, and fear. His fear for Napolean—his uncertainty about the process of dying—his desperation to save the king had created enough of a vibratory dissonance to make him vulnerable to Ademordna the day he had been snatched into the Abyss. He would have to recreate that same vibration—only much, much stronger—in order to force that portal open once again. And then he would have to trust in the overwhelming vibration of light and love—from his brothers and his destiny…and his king—to guide him home.
With the proper spell and the proper elements, he might just have a chance—one chance—to return.
But the demoness would have to help.
She would have to retrieve the elements for him. She might even have to join him on his journey through the realms—just as Ademordna had joined him on his way to the underworld to begin with. For surely the darkness would reject his light upon initial contact—the two energies would just be too discordant.
No, Noiro’s presence would be a necessary evil, no pun intended.
Nachari sighed. So, how did he make that happen?
After all, demons remained in their own domain: The Valley of Death and Shadows. They did not travel back and forth between worlds unless they were summoned—as Ademordna had been by Salvatore and his dark brothers for the purpose of exacting revenge against Napolean. If Noiro traveled to the earth without the proper summoning, without the blood sacrifice required to pay her way, so to speak, she would become mortal—unprotected—capable of being killed.
And didn’t that just cement the plan in his head.
He reclined on the bed and crossed his legs, resting his head on his folded arms while ignoring the heavy chains that abraded his chest. He had to get Norio to trust him. To want him so badly that she would follow him all the way to the earth—no, that she would willingly join him as they traveled between the realms. He had to create a wedge between her and Ademordna.
He had to dominate her will.
Reaching into the repository of knowledge he had stored from his time at the Romanian University, he began to search for an ancient spell, one that went beyond love or desire: one that bordered on obsession.
“Ancient fires, burning deep:
Come forth, alight, infuse with heat;
Unseen elements, which dormant lie,
Come forth to serve; submit, draw nigh.
Like clay beneath this potter’s hand,
I bend your will to my command.
Yield her breast, her tongue, her mind,
Lay waste to reason; twist the vine…
“Obsession, ashes, mystic coals:
Draw void of reason; charred of soul,
and yield beneath this wizard’s tongue,
my breath; her will—
combine as one.”
The stony walls of the archaic room began to sway back and forth from the energy of Nachari’s incantation. Red and blue flames licked along the mortar before intensifying into a blaze.
Nachari nodded, satisfied. And then he closed his eyes and pictured the evil twin of Orion—his dark, shadowed sister who had so tortured him since his arrival in the underworld. “Noiro,” he whispered in his mind, envisioning the words as arrows shooting forth—straight and true—into the female’s heart. “Come to me, now.”
He held his breath and waited.
But not out of speculation or curiosity.
He already knew she would come; he could feel her twisted heart beating as if it were a second pulse beneath his own.
He could taste her every emotion on his tongue.
The universe had bent to his will.
Very well, then, he thought, there’s no time like the present.
Noiro set down her heavy brush and sat up straight in front of her dressing table. Once again, she could not get the green-eyed vampire out of her mind. Why, by all that was unholy, did the captive wizard get to her like that?
She stood up in her bedchamber and began to pace the floor.
Ademordna would not be pleased if he knew the true extent of her obsession, if he understood just how much of her waking thoughts the vampire consumed. And it was growing stronger by the minute. Cursed darkness—it was growing stronger!
She frowned then, growing even more annoyed.
She was supposed to be the Beta Ruler of the Northern territory—a demoness of high stature and esteem in the Valley of Death and Shadows—yet here she remained, for ten more years, metaphorically chained to Ademordna’s side in the Center Kingdom.
The Valley of Death and Shadows was divided into five provinces or quadrants, as it were, based upon the unique landscape of the underworld: It was created in the shape of a cross, with the top and bottom spikes being the Northern and Southern Provinces and the arms of the cross consisting of the Eastern and Western Provinces. Each province was ruled by a Prime Dark Lord, and within each province, there were four subordinate regions—north, south, east, and west—which were ruled by regional sub-lords: alpha, beta, gamma, and delta rulers. Each sub-ruler served their province Lord, and each province Lord served the Supreme Ruler in the Middle Kingdom, which was located in the precise center of the cross.
For as long as Noiro could remember, Ademordna, as the twin dark energy of the most powerful light god in the Celestial world, had reigned over the Middle Kingdom and thus, stood as ruler of the entire underworld. She stomped her foot against the floor, thinking how unfair the whole hierarchy was: Females were never allowed to rule provinces like they surely did in the Valley of Spirit and Light. No, down in the bowels of the Abyss, where might meant right, they were constantly subjugated by their more powerful counterparts, the male demon lords. Noiro had been one of only a handful of females to earn her way up the ladder to the subordinate pos
ition of Beta Ruler over the Northern Province, and she had held the position for fifty years until Lord Ademordna had called her into service in the Middle Kingdom…for an indefinite period of time. Which really meant, until he grew tired of her.
And what did that service amount to anyhow? “Yes, my liege. No, my liege. What can I fetch for you today, my liege? Would it please you to use my body, my liege? Or would you rather offer it to another? However may I please you, oh Great Ademordna?” She spat on the floor, the green goo turning to acid and burning away as it hit the stony surface. It wasn’t like each Prime Lord—including Lord Ademordna—didn’t have an army of servants, male and female minions, in their province to wait on their beck and call already.
Her body began to shake, and she made a concerted effort to calm down. Should Ademordna sense her energy, there was no telling what demonic—and possibly delightful in its own horrific way—things he might do to her. Besides, she had a plan: to do the one thing no male could rival, regardless of his station.
Noiro had a plan to give birth to the greatest king the underworld had ever seen—a powerful ruler in his own right who would one day usurp the mighty Ademordna and rule the entire Abyss, himself. Well, of course, with the help of his mother.
The thought was practically orgasmic. Oh, the being she would create with the green-eyed wizard, a son of unparalleled beauty, power, and sorcery. Yes, she was precisely where she needed to be…in the Middle Kingdom with Ademordna.
And Nachari Silivasi.
Holding fast to her resolve, Noiro waved her arm in front of her body in order to create a flowing crimson gown of tattered silk and ash. Beautiful, she thought, staring at herself in the opaque oval mirror across from her dressing table. Now then, what would the arrogant vampire prefer today? By all that was unholy, she had tried everything to please him so far—what the hell did he want?
A sly smile creased the corners of her mouth as she began to envision a tall, buxom blonde. As long yellow locks began to fall down her shoulders and vivid blue eyes emerged in her sallow sockets, she licked her full lips and drew in a deep breath.
Today would be the day.
Surely, Nachari would take her now.
Careful to remain hidden from Ademordna’s other minions, she flew through the dark, misty halls of the Middle Kingdom’s Fortress until, at last, she stood outside the heavy, wooden dungeon doors: Nachari’s private chamber behind the king’s throne room. Easy access was the name of the game.
She started to knock and then rolled her eyes. The male was still a captive, and despite his many talents—and oh, were they many—he was still her inferior, a being of both light and goodness who lived according to a ridiculous code of honor, family, and loyalty. He was nothing compared to her, and she would not show him respect.
Not even to seduce him.
She threw open the door and flew into the room like a gust of wind, surrounded by a dozen red bats, diving and circling wildly around her. “Good afternoon, dear wizard,” she crooned, sashaying up to him with her hips swaying, her long legs flexing in six-inch heels. “Did you miss me?” Her laughter resounded like fingernails against a chalkboard.
The wizard sat up on the bed, turned toward her, and…smiled.
Smiled?
His perfect teeth gleamed white as ivory beneath full, inviting lips; and his sculpted cheekbones seemed somehow more prominent beneath the devastating light of his smile. “I did,” he whispered.
Noiro took a measured step back and turned to look behind her. Was there someone else in the room? When she saw no one, she turned back to regard the striking male on the bed. “You did?”
He reached his hand out to her, lugging a heavy chain with him. “Come closer.”
Noiro swallowed hard and turned her head to the side, glaring at him with her peripheral vision. What gives, she thought, growing instantly wary.
He chuckled then, a pure, resonant sound, both seductive and hypnotic. And then he placed a smooth, straight finger over his mouth and shook his head. “Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?” Noiro demanded.
He shrugged, appearing far too nonchalant. “I am the captive,” he drawled, “yet you are afraid…of me. Why is that?”
She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “I don’t fear you, Nachari!” She punctuated the words with a sudden lunge at the wizard; and with a harsh swipe from her hand, she left a trail of blood on his upper lip in the wake of a sharp talon.
Nachari closed his eyes, licked the blood from his lips, and chuckled. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
Her mouth fell open.
“Sit down,” he commanded, motioning to the mattress beside him.
Still stunned, Noiro took a step toward the bed and sat down—at the foot—where she could watch him guardedly in case he was up to something.
He looked her up and down and shook his head with disappointment. “This will never do.”
Noiro stomped her foot in frustration. “What do you mean?”
“This,” he repeated, gesturing toward her dress and shoes. He reached up to grab a lock of her blond hair, and she almost fell from the bed in surprise. “Touchy, are we?” he rasped.
“No, and how dare you insult my—”
“I don’t like it,” he said softly, cutting her off in midsentence. “This fake look. All these different appearances. One day, you’re a redhead, the next a brunette, the next a bleached blonde. To whom do you think you are engaging?”
Noiro stood up then.
She walked to the other side of the room and stared at him, incredulous. She would rip those raven locks from his scalp and shove them down his arrogant throat; she would choke him while she disemboweled him, and then she would detach his manhood from his body just to see him scream…before he grew it back. To whom did he think he was engaging?
“What do you know about Vampiric conception?” he asked, ignoring what had to be a feral look in her eyes.
“What!” she demanded.
“Conceiving—a child—with a vampire. What do you know about it?”
Noiro huffed her indignation. “I know how to debase you…and torture you…like a little—”
He waved his hand in dismissal.
He was dismissing her?
“So you know about speaking a pregnancy into being and focused intention, I assume?” Before she could respond, he continued: “The fact that a male vampire must command a pregnancy in a female?” He paused, possibly for effect. “The fact that his seed will never take root unless he wills it to do so? Tells it to do so?” He sat back on the bed and regarded her curiously. “You can torture me, I suppose. You can debase me like a little—what is it? Bitch?” He laughed then. “You can even dismember me for fun—isn’t that what you were thinking, my dear demoness?—but what you can never do is conceive my child…without my consent.”
For the first time since Nachari had come to the Valley of Death and Shadows, Noiro was speechless. She hadn’t considered this information. In fact, it hadn’t even occurred to her before that she actually needed him to want to get her pregnant.
And by all the demon lords, it changed everything.
Shit.
Shit!
“Now then,” he whispered, ignoring the look of bewilderment on her face. “The way I see it, perhaps we can assist each other.”
Noiro narrowed her gaze. She didn’t trust this wizard…at all. “Why would I help you—and risk Ademordna’s wrath?” She sneered. “If you think I would ever help you to escape this place, or do anything to undermine my king—then you’re as stupid as you are handsome.” She squawked in defiance. “Never, Wizard. Never.”
He sat quietly on the bed, just staring at her. After an extended period of time had passed, he sighed. “Way too much drama, Noiro: Males don’t really care for that. Are you finished?”
Noiro felt her face flush with heat.
“Now then…you will bring me four simple things in exchange for my favors: In exchange for a kiss, you
will bring me a frog from the marsh and seas of the Eastern Province; in exchange for my touch, you will bring me a scorpion from the desert region of the Southern Province; you will provide a spider from the West, the mountain territory, in exchange for my embrace; and a snake from the North, the expansive jungles, will suffice for my…consent to a pregnancy.”
Noiro blanched. “Are you insane, Wizard? And just what type of magic will you employ with such powerful elements—from all four directions? Representing all four regions, no less?” She scowled in derision. “The soul of the underworld itself would be at your command. Such an act would be treason.”
“No,” he argued. “For one such as you, Noiro—a woman of your talent and ambition—such an act will be child’s play. If I’m going to give you a son, and you’re going to make him a king, you will need my magic to succeed. I suppose you haven’t considered that, either.”
Noiro considered his words…very carefully. Was it really possible—would he help her to achieve her aim? And how did he know what she wanted—well, outside of the fact that she was always trying to get him to take off his clothes and join her in bed.
Why not, she wondered.
What else did the wizard have on his plate?
It wasn’t like he had something else to do, somewhere else to go… “Even if I could—”
“I’m not finished,” he barked in a harsh, clipped tone.
Noiro stood motionless, waiting to hear him out—and whatever he had to say had better be good, or she would kill him for his insolence. Wondering which it would be, she whispered, “What else?”
“I will need to trust you, just as you trust me. To know that we are—how should I say it?—in this together.”
She laughed, mocking him. As if he would ever truly be on her side. Not unless she had some kind of control over him, some way to keep him submissive and weak.
“You will share a secret with me—any secret—I don’t care what it is, but it must be important, something I would never otherwise discover .” He lowered his voice. “Something that Ademordna would never want me to know.”