She spun around, incensed. “You are a total dog, Ramsey Olaru!”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.” He inclined his head toward her car then. “Go home.”
A sharply edged lock of his hair, the portion in front that he kept a little longer than the back, fell forward as she stared at him, incredulous. And then she sneered, “I really doubt you have anything I couldn’t handle.” She spoke with as much venom as she could project in her voice; and then she took a cautious step back, just in case he really was the Rottweiler others made him out to be. Why hadn’t she seen this in him the other night? “I tell you what,” she added as she slowly backed away, “I’ll go home, and you—you just go to hell!” She focused her attack then: “Or better yet; why don’t you go find that cursed, unlucky woman who’s gonna be your destiny someday. See if she likes canines any better than I do. Maybe you can lift your leg and pee on her.”
Ramsey whistled low beneath his breath, and then he stood stalk still.
Not a single muscle flexed.
Not a single hair on his head rustled in the wind.
He just stared at her—like a tall, intimidating, GQ predator: gorgeous…mean…and deadly. As if they were total strangers, and she was the one out of her mind.
Kristina turned around and jogged to her car, tears of outrage and disbelief clouding her vision. She jumped behind the wheel, turned over the engine, and slammed on the gas—unable to get out of there fast enough: Who the hell did he think he was? Toying with her like that? She had half a mind to run to Marquis and tell him everything. See how well Ramsey liked it when the one standing across from him was another ticked-off warrior.
She wondered then: Would Marquis even fight to defend her honor? Would any of her brothers? Or would they simply read her the riot act for flirting with the sentinel to begin with, for being so gullible?
She felt so stupid.
So ridiculous.
Gods in the Celestial heavens, why was she always such an easy target for men? Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she turned onto the main street leading away from Napolean’s mansion: As far as she was concerned, none of it ever happened. Ramsey really could just go to hell.
So long as the monster stayed away from her, she would never tell a soul.
It was late when Kristina pulled into the driveway. She had driven around Dark Moon Vale for hours, blowing off steam, stopping to pick up a quart of ice cream she had no intentions of eating, and even trying out a few local bars where they were rumored to sell stiff drinks: To hell with what the Silivasis said alcohol could do to a vampire’s body. The whole situation was whack! This place, the people—no, the vampires—and their whole effed-up world was just…whack.
To hell with them all.
She stumbled out of her car and headed toward the front porch, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other as she ascended the steps. “Doggie, dog-dog,” she mumbled, swaying. “Woof, woof!”
A strong arm reached out to steady her. “Hey, there, baby girl.” He paused. “Are you just now making it home?”
Kristina recoiled as if she’d been prodded by a red-hot poker.
Ramsey.
The jerk actually had the nerve to come back to the brownstone! Was he crazy? “What the hell are you doing here?” she shouted, suddenly losing her balance.
The hazel-eyed warrior caught her before stepping back to regard her with caution. “Are you…drunk?”
“Drunk, schmunk!” she shot back. “Who gives a rat’s ass! What the hell are you doing on my porch, you…jerk head. And why does everyone call me girl?” She pointed at his face, wagging her finger back and forth in an exaggerated motion. “I’m not a girl. I mean I’m a female, but I’m not a…little female.” She slurred her words. “I’m almost twenty-none…twenty-nie…nine.”
Ramsey looked confused. “I thought you were almost thirty.”
“Well,” she shouted, feeling suddenly confused, “I am. But, I’m almost thirty.”
“Whoa,” he said. “Okay. Why don’t you invite me in? We need to get you inside.”
Kristina tried to wedge her keys between her fingers in order to stab him in the eye. “Never. Ever. You will not come inside my home…ever. Ever! I hate you, Ramsey Olaru…ooo…oooo. Do you hear me?”
He backed up then and stared at her, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Since when?” He reached out to place his hand beneath her chin to tilt her head up, and she tried to bite him. And then she began screaming. “Get away! Get away from me! I hate you.” She turned toward the street and began to scream. “Someone, help me! Get him away from me, please!”
He shoved his hand over her mouth. “What the hell is your problem, Kristina?“
And then all at once she felt him enter her mind like a physical invasion, burrowing in forcefully like a worm into a hole. Her hands went up to cover her ears, and she tried to push him out.
What was he doing?
What was he reaching for?
It almost felt as if he was reading her thoughts, scanning her most recent memories. Whoa, she had really had too much to drink. “You get out of my head this instant, you bastard,” she growled. “You know damn well what happened earlier at—”
He waved his hand in front of her face, and just like that, she lost her train of thought. It simply disappeared. The words drifted into the cosmos as if they had taken wings and flown away. But it was more than just her words and thoughts that vanished; it was her…anger. Her insistence. Her conviction.
What had she been so mad about anyway?
And why did she want Ramsey to leave?
He was her friend, wasn’t he—her possible, would-be-lover? The last time she had seen him, they had stood on this very porch and kissed. She looked down at the keys in her hand; why was she about to stab this gorgeous male in the eye? “Ramsey?”
He looked at her cautiously, as if he was trying to gauge something, measure her stability. As if he was holding his breath. “Yeah?”
“When did you get here?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” he answered. “Where were you earlier? Why did you go get so drunk?”
Kristina frowned and scratched her head. “I…I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I went…I was…you know, in town…Dark Moon Vale…” Dang, she suddenly had a splitting headache. She reached for the information, but it just wasn’t there: Why had she gone into Dark Moon Vale? She massaged her temples and shrugged. “I don’t remember, Ramsey. I guess I just…got drunk.” The moment she quit searching for the answer, her headache went away. She looked up at the sky then: It was very dark, and the heavens were littered with stars. “Holy cow—where has all the time gone?”
Ramsey nodded as if he was satisfied with her answer—which, of course, was strange, considering she hadn’t been able to answer anything. “Invite me in,” he whispered.
The alcohol surged in her bloodstream, and the universe began to spin around in topsy-turvy circles. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Ramsey…oh Ramsey…please….” She forgot what she was about to say.
“Please what?” He tried to urge her on.
“Please?”
He frowned. “You said, ‘Ramsey…oh Ramsey…please.’ Please, what?”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “Please…let my people go!” She fell to the side in laughter, and he caught her by the arm.
“Kristina…”
She tapped him lightly on the tip of his nose. “I’m sorry.” She giggled some more. “Truly, I’m very sorry…Ramsey. Hey, were you in that Ten Commandments movie?” Trying to give her best impression of a burning bush, she stood up tall and belted, “Moses….Mooo…ses. Take off your shoes, Moses; you’re standing on—my porch.” She threw back her head and howled.
Ramsey looked more than just a little irritated.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Okay, okay…Ramsey Olaru, would you please come inside and—”
“What the heck is going on out here?” The front door f
lew open and Braden Bratianu, decked out in a whole lot of oversized combat gear, stood in the doorway with his fists braced on his hips. “Kristina, why are you making so much noise?”
Kristina spun around and smiled. “Bray! Wasssssssup!” She started to throw her arms around him to give him a hug, but he took one whiff of her breath and stepped back, blocking her with one arm extended outward. “What the hay, Kristina?”
She patted him on the head. “That’s good, Bray—no cursing. No cursing. Nachari would be proud of you.”
The kid stepped back. “Oh my gosh, Kristina, you’re drunk, aren’t you? What did you do?” He looked around the porch. “Who were you talking to?”
She spun around to point at Ramsey and jerked when she saw nothing but air. “Hey, where’d he go?” She tilted her head to the side. “He was just here.”
“Who?” Braden asked, his voice beginning to register his alarm. “Who was here?”
She threw up her hands. “Ramsey.”
“Who?” he repeated.
“Ramsey!”
“Olaru?” Braden asked. “You mean one of the sentinels?” He stepped further out on the porch and began to look around. “There’s no one here but you, Kristina.”
Kristina thought about that and frowned.
Okay.
She scrunched up her face. “Yeah, well…maybe he flew away.” She reached out to grasp both of Braden’s hands in her own. “Hey, that’s an idea. We should fly, Braden. We should try flying.”
Braden’s eyes grew big, and he shook his head back and forth vigorously. “No way,” he insisted. “I promised Nachari, no more trying out new skills without a master around to help me the first time.” He paused and looked at her sideways. “Besides, you can barely walk.”
Kristina stuck her lip out. “You are no fun, Braden Bratianu.”
The kid visibly wilted. “That’s not true.”
Kristina smiled then. “I know…I know…I’m just”—she pinched the bridge of her nose and took a couple of seconds to collect herself, to concentrate on breathing—“pretty wasted, actually. Now I know why they tell us not to drink too much alcohol. Holy cow, I feel…help me inside, Bray. Please?”
The fifteen-year-old, once-human-turned-vampire puffed out his chest and reached out his arm to steady it against her waist. He pulled her into him, gingerly at first, as if testing her weight against his; and then he smiled, taking all of her weight at once. “Come on, silly,” he said, leading her toward the door. He shoved it open, slowly walked her up the stairs to the guest bedroom, and dropped her on the bed. “Should I call Nathaniel or Marquis?” he asked, leaning over the bed to stare at her.
“No,” she moaned, placing the back of her hand against her forehead. “Oh, God, I feel sick…get me a washcloth, Bray—please?”
The boy dashed out of the room, ducked into a nearby bathroom, and came back with a cool, wet cloth. “Here you go.” He watched while she put in on her head. “Nachari says that vampires get really drunk really fast because the alcohol is absorbed almost instantly. But he also says that our bodies will push it out very quickly—we treat it like poison or something—so you should be good soon, as long as you quit drinking for a while.”
Kristina nodded slowly. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the refreshing feel of the cool washcloth. Never in her life had she been that drunk, and that was really saying something, considering her past.
Rolling onto her side, she thought about Ramsey and the way he had disappeared the moment Braden showed up. He probably thought she was some immature ditz. Sighing, she put it out of her mind: There was nothing she could do to repair the damage tonight. She just hoped she hadn’t ruined her chances with him by acting so stupid. The real question, however, was why she had done it. Why in the world had she gone to Dark Moon Vale and gotten drunk? And why couldn’t she remember anything?
She felt the effects of the alcohol begin to lift as her body reached for sleep. Ah, yes—finally. Scooting up the bed to place her head on the soft down pillow, she decided to write it all off as a lesson learned: Do not drink too much alcohol. Not only did it deliver a sucker punch, but it wiped out your memories at the same time. Not a good combination.
Not a good combination at all.
Braden Bratianu watched as the skinny redhead nestled into her pillow and finally drifted off to sleep. Whoa, had she gotten drunk, he thought. He stared at her slight body, still clothed in a black mini, six-inch pumps, and a tank top covered in pink-and-red roses and thought about what she had said.
In her mind.
Whether she knew it or not, Kristina had been broadcasting her thoughts out loud on a common bandwidth, for anyone standing near enough to hear. She hadn’t projected them far enough away to reach her brothers, but she hadn’t shielded them very well, either.
He frowned, leaning back against the wall.
For some reason, she really believed Ramsey Olaru had been outside with her—that he had disappeared the moment Braden opened the door—but why would Ramsey do that? He shook his head, trying to figure it out: Ramsey, Saxson, and Santos—the three sentinels of Dark Moon Vale—were some pretty intense characters, and they took their job very seriously. They didn’t hang out with kids—not that Kristina was a kid, but as far as Braden knew, they didn’t hang out period. At the least, they didn’t leave drunk females alone on porches at night, not even with a young vampire there to help.
No, that one definitely didn’t make any sense.
Ramsey would have injected Kristina with blood or something, maybe drained out the alcohol. Who knew, but he would have done something other than just disappear.
And why was Kristina going into Dark Moon Vale to get drunk all of a sudden? She had been really cool lately, like really helpful to everyone in the family; this just didn’t make any sense. It was bad enough that she was drinking and driving—Marquis would fling her car off the edge of some cliff if he found out, and get her a bus pass and a bodyguard, instead—but worrying about her chances with Ramsey: What the heck was that all about?
If it was anything like it sounded, then…eww…that was just…yuck.
Not to mention impossible.
Braden could not see that mean, husky warrior spending time with anything other than an AK-47—or maybe a tactical knife, peeling off pieces of flesh one by one from an enemy’s corpse in order to chew it like bubble gum or something. Definitely not messing around with Kristina.
Nah, sorry—not Ramsey Olaru.
He tiptoed slowly out of the room and shut the door behind him. Maybe he would go up on the roof or something and look at the stars, like a wizard would do, and try to figure out his next move. He was a powerful seer now—Nachari had said so—which meant he just needed to go commune with the stars, maybe face north for a while…because…well, it was as good a direction as any.
Braden sighed.
Hell, he didn’t know exactly what to do with all this…information.
Maybe he should go talk to Kagen and see what the Healer thought about it all. After all, Kagen was really, really smart. And he was pretty chill, too. He wouldn’t just fly all off the handle like Marquis, or get all panther-ish and intimidating like Nathaniel. Kagen might even talk to Braden man-to-man. And wasn’t that really the bottom line?
Braden was a male in the house of Jadon now, and protecting the females always came first.
Always.
Besides, Kristina really was a pretty girl, and when she wasn’t all confused and acting out like a crazy woman, she could be cool as hell. Cool as heck.
Yep, that’s what he would do.
He would go talk to Kagen.
fourteen
The next morning
Braden Bratianu took the clinic stairs two at a time, threw open the front doors with gusto, and strode down the hall with a clear purpose.
And then he froze in his tracks.
Standing directly in front of him, just outside of Nachari’s room, was the most beautiful woman he
had ever laid eyes on. She was just a little bit taller than he was—but that would change soon, anyhow—and she had the most incredible head of golden-brown hair that he had ever seen, all wavy and thick like braided ropes that had just been untied.
Her eyes were the color of glass marbles, kind of bluish-gray and more narrow than wide. Her cheekbones were high like a model’s, set in a perfectly proportioned face, and her lips—well, dang—they were just kissable fine. She smiled, and her sleek, slightly arched eyebrows raised just a smidgeon, causing the air to leave his body in a whoosh. She was like some Egyptian princess and high-fashioned runway model all wrapped up into one.
“Hi,” she called to him.
Braden looked over his shoulder to see if someone else was standing behind him, and then he squared his shoulders, stuck out his chest, and cleared his throat, prepared to speak in his deepest voice: “Hello.” It sounded weird, and he cringed.
But she didn’t seem to notice. “Are you here to see Nachari?”
“Huh,” he answered, trying not to stare at her lean but curvy body. “Uh…yeah, yeah…I’m Nachari’s wizard. I mean, son. I mean, I’m like a son ’cause he watches me…’cause he was told to…by the wizards.”
The girl laughed, and it sounded like music. “You must be Braden, then?” She took a step in his direction and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Deanna.”
Braden extended his hand, drew it back, and wiped the sweat on his jeans. He extended it again. “Hi. I’m Braden Bratianu, adopted son of Dario Bratianu, chosen by the god Moniceros, the Unicorn; I’m going to be a warrior—or a Seer-Wizard—or maybe both.” He looked down at the ground. Damn, why had he said all that?
Her eyes lit up with appreciation. “Well, that is quite…impressive, Braden Bratianu. In case you haven’t heard, I’m Nachari’s destiny, and I have no idea what I’m going to be this time tomorrow, let alone in the future, but it’s nice to meet you.”