“Indeed,” Marquis grumbled.
“What are you thinking?” Nathaniel asked, resting further back in his chair and raising his eyebrows curiously.
Kagen sought to rein in his own emotion before continuing. “I think we need to approach this…challenge…in stages. Take it one issue at a time.” He nodded appreciatively at Nathaniel. “Thank you for being mindful enough to make note of the time; with all that was going on, it never occurred to me to begin making a record of events.” The internal calculations made by a male vampire the moment he encountered his Blood Moon were as instinctive as sleeping and breathing. The instant the Omen began, the male automatically recorded the date, the time, and the…deadline: When, exactly, would the thirty days be up? Exactly how much time did he have left to fulfill the edicts of the Curse? It wasn’t something one thought about. It was simply imprinted on a cellular level; but Nachari hadn’t been there to internalize the information. Nathaniel’s reaction had been wise and proactive.
“Of course.” Nathaniel nodded. “Perhaps it is because I have gone through it myself.”
“What now?” Marquis demanded, quickly changing the subject.
Kagen angled his body toward Marquis. “Well, first I talk to Napolean…and the other wizards. Find out if they can divine any information: Why Lord Perseus chose to bind Nachari to the human female at this time, knowing he is helpless to act upon the revelation. Perhaps it was an act of intercession.”
“How so?” Nathaniel asked.
Kagen shrugged. “I don’t know, but maybe she holds the key to getting through to our little brother—wherever he may be—perhaps having his destiny here will act as a magnet of sorts, drawing him back into his body. Certainly, there could be no greater motivation. Perhaps her presence was needed right here, right now, for reasons we don’t yet understand.”
“Perhaps,” Marquis agreed. “But in the meantime—assuming the worst-case scenario—what can we do for Nachari?”
Kagen nodded and clasped his hands together, rubbing his thumbs against each other in agitation. “We can do what we can to foster the relationship with the belief that Nachari will wake up in time, and we can even act on his behalf with regard to the Curse if necessary.”
“Explain,” Marquis said.
Kagen leaned forward. “The woman—Deanna—was drawn here on her own accord. There is already a very powerful connection between Nachari and his mate, if only by the grace of the gods; so I think we nurture that. We feed it.” He stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the spectacular view beneath him of the southern cliff face and the low-hanging clouds. “We let her look through photo albums; we answer all of her questions; we tell her stories about Nachari’s life—his childhood, his time at the University, his guardianship of Braden.” He turned to face his brothers. “We allow her to spend time alone in his room…with his things…with him.”
Nathaniel cocked his head to the side, slightly uncomfortable.
“I know,” Kagen said, “it makes me nervous as well, brother. But she won’t harm him. She is his destiny; she can’t.”
Marquis scowled. “Kristina shot me,” he reminded them pointedly.
Kagen chuckled then, more out of sympathy than humor. “This is true, but then she was not your true destiny, was she?”
Marquis shrugged his agreement. “So, we give Deanna every opportunity to know Nachari…as best she can. What if he doesn’t awaken in time to convert her? In time to…” His voice trailed off. Clearly, the words impregnate her seemed harsh and even crude under the circumstances.
Kagen walked slowly back to his chair and sat down on the edge, looking down at the floor. He slowly raised his eyes. “There’s not much we can do about the latter,” he conceded. “If Nachari is not back in time to…foster that relationship, then all may very well be lost.”
Silence echoed throughout the room as the words drifted amongst each of the males, none of them willing to comment on their gravity.
“And the other?” Nathaniel asked. “The conversion?”
Kagen nodded slowly. “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought, and actually, I think it can be done medically.”
“Medically?” Marquis furrowed his brow.
Kagen turned toward the Ancient Master Warrior and held his gaze. “Yes, medically.” He shifted restlessly in his chair. “The conversion is done with venom, right? And the venom is pumped through the veins beneath our incisors. I believe a catheter could be inserted into Nachari’s veins, another into Deanna’s carotid artery, and our brother’s venom could be pumped steadily through her body until the conversion is complete. She is his rightful destiny. I see no reason why his venom would not convert her successfully.”
Nathaniel frowned. “And the pain? The fear? The need to restrain her?” He stared pointedly at Kagen, his face a mask of uncertainty. “Conversion is a horribly traumatic event…even when you hold your destiny in your arms. We cannot put our women under because, in essence, they are dying and being reborn—it’s too dangerous. And the concentration it requires to pump the venom restricts even the smallest telepathic communication at first. How then does Deanna endure such a thing? She will surely fight for all she is worth…and bolt.”
Kagen felt the full weight of Nathaniel’s words. Unlike Nathaniel and Marquis, he had not met his destiny yet; consequently, he had never had to endure the profound suffering of a woman he loved more than anything in the world before. But he had heard enough war stories to understand the breadth of the event. And he was a Healer. He understood, probably more than they did, what exactly had to happen physiologically for every cell in the human body to die and be reborn through the infusion of vampire venom. “I know,” he finally said, speaking quietly. “It is not a good scenario by any stretch, but I’m just saying, if we have to do it, I think we can.” He looked back and forth between Nathaniel and Marquis. “And yes, she would have to be restrained.”
Nathaniel nearly blanched. “With straps? To a table?” He grimaced, appalled. “She would hate him…and us…and the whole free world,” he added. “And rightfully so!”
“Agreed,” Kagen said. “I think one of us would need to…be there with her. Go through it with her.”
Marquis shrugged his shoulders then. “Human women have coaches other than their husbands in childbirth,” he supplied. “Perhaps one of the women—Ciopori or Jocelyn, or maybe both—could attend to her as well.”
It painted a gruesome picture, and no one spoke for a moment.
Finally, Kagen waved his hand in dismissal. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
Marquis frowned. Being analytical as he always was, he stated, “It may come sooner than you think.”
Both Kagen and Nathaniel stared at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.
He glanced absently at his nails before continuing: “I agree. It is unpleasant. I would not choose it for our new sister, but”—he planted both hands palms-down on his knees and leaned forward—“Nachari’s life takes precedence for me. I am sorry, but that is simply the truth. If the presence of the woman as his destiny does not draw him out of his slumber, then perhaps a conversion will. If they share the same DNA, the same breath of life as it were, she may be able to reach him, perhaps literally affect his physical health, following conversion. If it comes down to it, I will make the call…pleasant or not.”
Kagen didn’t respond right away. Rather, he thought about the night Marquis had converted Kristina in a rage: The fiery redhead had been revealed as Marquis’s destiny through a trick of black magic, a deception created by Salvatore Nistor with the blessing of the Dark Lord Ocard to ultimately bring about Marquis’s demise. Unbeknownst to the Master Warrior, Marquis had believed Kristina to be his true mate; and in an angry act of domination—granted, she had blasted him with a shotgun, twice—Marquis had thrown Kristina over his lap, sunk his fangs into her neck, and converted her right then and there on his front porch, in plain view. It had been a hideous and painful time for
everyone; but the point was—Kagen had no doubt that Marquis would make the call if he felt he needed to. And as the eldest Silivasi brother, the de facto head of their family following the death of their father, Keitaro, it was ultimately Marquis’s call to make.
“We will obey you in all things, of course,” Kagen responded, not wanting to argue at this point. “I am simply saying that I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“As do I,” Nathaniel agreed.
Marquis appeared genuinely contemplative as he regarded both brothers. “Of course,” he said evenly. “I hope Nachari returns to us before it comes to that as well.” He hung his head then, just barely, before raising his angular jaw once again in his typical, proud posture. “I am not the monster you would make of me, Kagen.”
Kagen’s heart constricted in his chest. “Marquis, I do not—”
He waved his hand. “It is of no consequence. I have long ago made peace with my station in this family…and my responsibilities.”
“That may be,” Kagen said sternly, “but if my brother thinks I see him as a monster, then that is not okay with me.” He squared his shoulders to Marquis. “I do not.”
Marquis shrugged. “Very well.”
“No,” Kagen argued. “Not very well.” He stood, crossed the room, and placed a hand on Marquis’s shoulder. “Do you not know how much you are respected…and loved…brother?”
Marquis squirmed uncomfortably and frowned. “I think you need a woman, brother.”
Kagen laughed softly. “That may be true, as well. But did you hear me?”
Marquis growled. “Whatever.”
Kagen backed away then, satisfied. “Yes…whatever,” he parroted.
Nathaniel leaned forward and winked at the aggravated Master Warrior. “I love you, too, big guy.”
Marquis shot to his feet. “Dear gods, I have pansies for brothers.”
They both laughed.
“And yet, here you are,” Nathaniel drawled, “ready to start a war between heaven and hell over a green-eyed wizard. I think thou dost protest too much.” He smiled congenially.
Marquis rolled his eyes. “Very well, have your fun.” He turned to Kagen. “Where is Deanna now? Is she still sleeping?”
“Yes,” Kagen answered, “and I think she’s going to be extremely exasperated, not to mention ticked off, when we awaken her…yet again.”
Marquis nodded. “It couldn’t be helped.” He sat back down. “I think it is time to explain to our new sister just who she is, the world she has now become a part of, and the damnable Curse that rules us all. I will ask Ciopori to go through Nachari’s things—try to find some important mementos, photo albums, and such. We should schedule visits with the women, perhaps even Napolean if that’s not too intimidating.”
“If?” Nathaniel said. “Jocelyn still goes out of her way to avoid him.”
Marquis shrugged. “Okay, well, maybe not Napolean. The women will be less frightening anyhow. Just the same, it is time to begin her education, to bring her into our world.” He stared at Kagen then. “I hope you are right, Healer, about her connection to our little brother. Because it is time for Deanna Dubois to get to know her vampire husband…as best she can. And pretty as he is, even sleeping, she had better love him.”
Nathaniel lowered his gaze, hiding a smirk.
“As you wish,” Kagen replied formally. He stood up, indicating that the meeting was over.
Marquis followed suit. He turned to march out of the room, stopped at the door, and growled. And then he turned back around. Without preamble, he strode across the floor, pulled Kagen into a harsh, one-armed embrace, and beat on his back two times with a fist before shoving him away. As Kagen stumbled backward, trying to catch his balance, the huge vampire took a step toward Nathaniel. He stopped, stared at the expectant warrior as if considering another embarrassing hug, took note of the sly, self-satisfied smirk on Nathaniel’s face, and then apparently thought better of it. Tapping Nathaniel none too lightly on the side of the head in what could only be described as an affectionate ear-cuff, he snorted, “You’re all right, too.”
Nathaniel batted his eyes playfully and held out his arms wistfully. “What? No hug for your remaining warrior brother?”
Marquis stared at his open arms, each one in turn, hissed an answering growl, and strolled out of the room.
“Guess not,” Nathaniel said. He turned toward Kagen, laughing. “What was that?”
Kagen glanced at the empty doorway and smiled. “I think our big brother just told us he loves us.”
nine
They said she was his destiny.
And he was a vampire…
Bound by an ancient curse.
They said he had made an unbelievable sacrifice for their noble king, agreeing to die—allow his otherwise immortal body to flatline—in order to save the king from a horrible enemy who wanted to destroy the “sons of Jadon.” Nachari had acted with honor, and he had made the ultimate sacrifice. And his brothers were terrified that they might lose him…forever.
Deanna blinked back tears of confusion and shock, unable to process such fantastic information. She sat forward in the comfortable armchair beside the bed—beside Nachari’s bed—and stared at his chiseled face. “Are you real?” she whispered absently, following the line of his strong cheeks, sculpted nose, and handsome mouth with her gaze. She turned her attention to his hair, that impossible mound of thick raven locks that fell to his shoulders in such perfect, subtle waves that they resembled a halo surrounding him in slumber, and she slowly reached out to touch it.
It was strong.
Soft.
Every bit as silky as it appeared.
She drew back her hand as if she had just touched fire, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I…I had no right to touch you.” He looked so serene and unconcerned, yet that couldn’t be the truth. Not if what his brothers had told her was real. She swallowed her fear and raised her wrist, rotating it so she could study the pattern etched into her skin. It was beautiful, really. And more than a little surreal—the way it had just appeared. And still remained. Perseus. Nachari’s reigning Blood Moon.
She shook her head, sat back in the chair, and hugged her arms to her chest, deliberately dismissing the thought. It was too much to take in right now. All of it.
It was all just too much.
The fact that the man in her drawings was real. The fact that vampires actually existed. The fact that she had been inexplicably drawn to this place and this male—and there was no denying anymore that something powerful had brought her here on purpose—or the fact that her life had already changed beyond her comprehension. She knew it in her bones as well as her soul. Nachari’s brothers were not about to let her walk away, and somewhere deep down inside, where she didn’t dare to go (not yet, anyway), there was a part of her that wasn’t capable of leaving his side.
And then all at once, a strange peace began to settle over her, not unlike the ghostly fog just outside the window, descending upon the forest canopy. Without reason, it drew her inward, beckoned her forward, engulfed her in a tangible, discernible presence.
His presence.
Nachari’s.
And in that suspended moment, it was as if she knew him intimately—his humor, his values, his unwavering confidence…his playful, ingratiating nature.
His magnificent, powerful soul.
Deanna glanced around the room and shivered. It was as if he were there—conscious, awake, and standing behind her. The feeling was so real that she half expected him to reach out and touch her on the shoulder. When nothing happened, she opened her mouth to speak…and then she closed it, feeling incredibly foolish.
It was just her mind playing tricks on her: the stress, the confusion.
Deanna turned back toward the bed, closed her eyes, and allowed several slow, deep breaths to calm her. She would take this one day at a time. One moment at a time. She would learn all there was to learn about this mysteriou
s male, and she would—
The hair on the back of her neck stood up again.
She sat up straight and glanced over her shoulder. “What?” she whispered. “I’m here.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I feel you.”
Just then, a large raven passed by the open window, and the frenetic flutter of its wings caused Deanna to jolt in her chair. She spun around abruptly and stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the bird took perch on the windowsill and simply stared at her…with piercing, dark green eyes.
Ravens did not have dark green eyes.
And then the Panasonic receiver on the corner table across the room began to illuminate: One by one, blue and red LED lights softly lit up; a pair of small Bose speakers began to hum; and a faint but clear tune began to play—the sound instantly permeating the room: “Oh, my love, my darling; I’ve hungered for your touch, a long lonely time…”
The Righteous Brothers singing ‘Unchained Melody.’
Deanna sat in stunned silence listening to every word, feeling every faint vibration within her body as if the notes played against her skin. She deliberately resisted the urge to jump up and run.
“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine?”
Her mouth went dry.
Did he know?
How could he know?
That this used to be her father’s favorite song before he passed away. That her father had listened to it day and night on an old forty-five, spun on an old, rickety turntable. That the album and the turntable remained her two most cherished possessions, even to this day.
“I need your love; I need your love. God speed your love to me…”
The song continued to play like a haunting melody, reaching deep into Deanna’s soul and stirring it in a way that nothing else could.
While her first impression was to view the strange occurrence as a message from her father—some sort of sign sent from the world beyond—she knew that it was not. “Unchained Melody” had a very special meaning to her as well: Following a terrible breakup with a lover she had once believed she would marry, Deanna had stayed up late into the night for two straight weeks, drawing on her sketch pad and listening to the words again and again. She had prayed that her heart would heal, and she had taken comfort in knowing that somewhere, someday, the right person would come along. And when he did, he would have the kind of love for her the Righteous Brothers sang about in their famous song—the kind that could never be separated by time, distance, or petty disputes.