He placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and Nathaniel eyed the newcomer more closely. There was something oddly reminiscent about the human, something Nathaniel couldn’t quite place—something in those bluish-gray eyes looked familiar. “Okay,” he drawled, wondering what else was up.
Kevin sighed. “Damn,” he whispered, “this is harder than I thought.” He took a slow, diaphragm-breath for courage, and got straight to the point. “Nathaniel, I’d like to bring Michael on as more than an employee. I’d like to bring him into the house of Jadon, at least from a human standpoint.”
Nathaniel’s shifted into a slightly more dominant posture, his eyes narrowing with concern.
That wasn’t Kevin’s call.
That wasn’t any human’s call.
A vampire usually had to suggest it, and then Napolean Mondragon, the Vampyr king, made the final determination. What the heck was going on?
He angled his head to the side and studied Kevin’s body language: The male was nervous, but he was shooting from the hip. “Did Nachari—”
“Yeah.” Kevin cut him off more out of eagerness than impropriety. Just the same, he instantly caught his mistake—the man was standing in front of an ancient, lethal predator and he knew it. Both hands hit the air in apology. “Sorry for interrupting. I just meant that—yeah, Nachari approached us—and I headed him off at the pass before he could work his magic. I asked for permission to speak to you first, and I promised that I’d bring Michael back inside if I didn’t run into you. Or if you weren’t open to the conversation.”
Nathaniel licked his bottom lip in an absent, lupine gesture. As long as they were being direct, he had no intentions of bullshitting around, not when it came to the safety, confidentiality, and integrity of the house of Jadon. “Very well,” he stated. “Then since we both know the deal—minds are going to be scrubbed; memories are going to be altered; and my brothers and I are going to take a serious look at this unconventional suggestion—we may as well cut to the chase. Humans don’t enter the house of Jadon without some considerable history behind them, without proving their undying loyalty to someone of influence, and not without demonstrating the willingness to abandon their previous lives in exchange for our hospitality, our protection, and our allegiance. As we both know, it’s a lifelong commitment: the good, the bad, and the ugly. And typically, most of our families have been with us for generations. Hell, for centuries. Why is this man standing here, Kevin?”
Kevin nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Nathaniel held up his hand to silence him. “No,” the vampire said, “not you, Kevin. Him.” He leveled a searing, no-nonsense gaze at the now-trembling human, and allowed the tips of his fangs to elongate—this was serious business, and if the human couldn’t handle the sight of a nocturnal creature, then there was no need to go any further. “Who are you? What do you know of this valley? And why would I want to meet you?” It may have been blunt, but oh well.
The human nervously licked his lips, exchanged an anxious glance with Kevin, and took a slow, deep breath. “Mr. Silivasi, I’m exactly who Kevin says I am. I don’t know much at all about this valley, other than the fact that I’d love to move here and could really use the job, and Kevin hasn’t told me anything about you—about any of you, really. It’s more…how Kevin reacted to something I told him.”
Now this piqued Nathaniel’s curiosity. “And what was that?”
Michael swallowed an obvious lump in his throat, lowered his head, and cast it to the side, in an unconscious show of submission. “Sir, I spent six years of my life in a federal prison in the state of California for first-degree murder.” He rushed his words in an attempt to offer an explanation: “But I didn’t do it, sir. I swear. I was framed for a double homicide.” He sighed as if the story was too long—too grueling—too emotionally taxing, and he was praying he didn’t have to tell it.
Nathaniel didn’t press him, either way.
He could take whatever he needed from the human’s mind later, if it was necessary.
“Anyhow,” Michael continued, “one night, a couple years back, in August, some really strange shit happened. I was just released from prison—out of the blue—no pardon, no parole, no explanation. They simply let me go. And, trust me, that was cool. I wasn’t about to question it. I had a two-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter”—he cocked one shoulder and smiled sheepishly—“conjugal visits with Michelle. Anyhow, the reason I got those special visits, early on, was because I’d been battling a rare form of cancer for a decade, and by the time the prison released me, it was no longer treatable. I was free, but I didn’t have much time to live. Or so I thought.”
Michael paused to eye Kevin again, as if seeking permission to continue, and Kevin nodded. “For a man who has always been unlucky, fate must’ve smiled on me that August, because not only did I walk away from that prison, but I walked away cancer-free. And not just in remission, but like I’d never had it to begin with. I was telling Kevin the story the other day. Michelle and I had just arrived in DMV; he’d offered me the job at the stables, and we were sitting around catching up when Kevin said, ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’” Despite the frigid cold, Michael’s brow was sweating, and Nathaniel could hear his heart racing. “And here we are.”
Impropriety be dammed, Nathaniel reached out, grasped Michael by the jaw, and turned his head to force his gaze. “Look at me,” he commanded in a silken voice of compulsion.
And then it all came rushing back.
The night Nathaniel had learned about Valentine Nistor’s betrayal—the fact that the Dark One had stolen his youngest brother’s destiny and taken her life in a hideous ritual; the night Nathaniel had gone hunting in a feral rage, needing to slake a thirst so primal, so savage, that nothing but a federal penitentiary would do; the night Nathaniel had stolen into a dark, dank cell and torn open a human’s throat, only to discover that he was draining an innocent man. He had pulled back, released his incisors, and injected that prisoner with healing venom, mostly to repair his throat. Then he had altered the prison’s computers and generated a full set of pre-release orders, creating the conditions to set the stranger free by morning—to set Michael free by morning.
The national news had covered the prison massacre, but no one would have understood the curious story, except—perhaps—a human servant, familiar with all the clues.
“Michael White?” Nathaniel asked, recalling the prisoner’s full name.
The human jerked back in surprise. “Yeah.”
Nathaniel turned his attention to Kevin, and his voice grew infinitely softer. “Kevin, why is this important to you? Will having your family here bring you some peace?” He didn’t have to speak the underlying name—or mention the underlying tragedy. They both knew what it was.
Joelle.
Kevin’s beautiful, innocent daughter.
The girl who had become infatuated with Marquis and preyed upon by the same treacherous Dark One who had killed Shelby’s destiny: Valentine Nistor. Joelle had been slain during a ruse, when Valentine pretended to be Marquis.
Kevin bit his bottom lip, his eyes misted over, and he looked off into the distance, gazing at the falling snow. “This is something that I need…personally.”
Nathaniel felt the pain beneath the words. “Very well,” he intoned. “This night, I will…soften…Michael’s awareness.” He flicked his wrist, placing an instant murky haze over the human’s mind before continuing: “And I will speak immediately with one of the valley’s sentinels, so he can take it back to the king without delay. If you are certain about your cousin’s loyalty, the ability of his children to be temporarily compelled—and to adjust to our lifestyle—if you believe they should be raised to serve our kind, and you are certain this is what Michael and Michelle would want—will want—then I will tell the sentinel to ask the king to consider it seriously.” He watched as plumes of vapor formed each time the humans exhaled, and he absently cooled his own breath to make it do the same thing. It wa
s an unconscious reflex, adjusting one’s nature when dealing with humans—even though they knew what he was. “I want you to know that this is highly unorthodox, Kevin, not something I would ordinarily do. And it isn’t a matter of trusting you or not. It’s a matter of establishing history and honor. But…” He declined his head in a gesture of respect. “My family owes yours an eternal debt, and I will speak to my brothers in a few moments. I will appeal to Marquis directly.”
Visibly trembling, Kevin pulled his attention away from the forest and the mesmerizing, swirling snow, and he fixed his soft-brown gaze on Nathaniel, who couldn’t help but notice—Kevin’s eyes were the same almond shape as Joelle’s. “Nathaniel,” Kevin said quietly. “When you speak with Marquis, tell the Ancient Master Warrior that he doesn’t need to avoid me. Not anymore. Tell him that I get it.” He made a visor with his thumb and forefinger, shielding his eyes with his hand, and Nathaniel understood that he needed a moment to regain his composure and maintain his pride.
“Take your time,” Nathaniel breathed.
Kevin paused for the space of several heartbeats, lowered his hand, and continued. “He couldn’t have seen it coming—none of us could have. And it wasn’t Marquis’s fault. We were all victims of the house of Jaegar, and for whatever it’s worth, we get that—us humans—when we agree to this life. Yeah, I may have been born to it, but I’ve been blessed with ridiculous wealth, unending security, and mostly guaranteed safety, every day of my life. My entire family has…until Joelle.” He sighed, not wanting to elaborate. “Shit. Just. Happens.” His voice cracked, and he pumped his hands into fists to curtail the emotion. “Tell Marquis I don’t want this to linger between us. I don’t want him to live with any guilt…not for me. Nathaniel? Tell Marquis…” His shoulders shook, and Nathaniel felt the strength of his conviction. “Tell him, he’s my friend.”
Nathaniel bent over, braced his palms on his thighs, and dug his nails into his quads, needing to take a moment to collect his thoughts. By all the gods, the regret the Silivasis felt over Joelle’s loss—the guilt, the remorse, and the anger—it would never go away, but Kevin was right. Life was meant for the living. They were all recovering from an equally tragic loss, and their burden would be lighter—their journey would be easier—if they shared their grief as fellow travelers. He stood to his full, majestic height. “I’ll tell him.”
Then he reached out to lift Michael’s chin, locked his gaze with the human’s, and reset his memories to retain only that which was pertinent.
Content that all was well, he vanished into the night.
6
SABER
Vanya Demir entered the formal parlor, a glass of spiked eggnog clutched in her fist, and sauntered toward the raised hearth to sit in front of the fire, where she could stare into the flames and sulk.
Ciopori was still taking a shower, while the Silivasi males convened on the porch with Saber Alexiares, Vanya’s mate. The vampires had wanted to speak with the sentinel about a matter involving the king and Kevin Parker; meanwhile, Lisa Fisher, one of the previous human dinner guests, had returned to the farmhouse in a dither. Apparently, she had forgotten her purse.
No problem.
Vanya had graciously offered to fetch the handbag, and she’d inadvertently left the front door open. Big mistake. In the space of three minutes, the human female had forgotten the angst over her handbag and managed to flirt with Saber, like she’d completely lost her mind.
With her superior vampiric hearing, Vanya couldn’t help but overhear the entire coquettish conversation: “Oh, Saber, is that your real hair? Wow, Mr. Alexiares, I can’t believe you’re a sentinel now. Oh my gosh, you have to hear this joke”—blah, blah, blah—“by the way, you’ve got some serious guns—do vampires actually work out?”
What the hell kind of question was that?
Do vampires actually work out?
Do ski bunnies fly?
Perhaps they’d find out!
Besides, was Saber the only drop-dead gorgeous male on that porch?
Vanya didn’t think so.
Just what the heck was it about black-and-red demonic hair, anyway, that made human women want to play fast and loose with a fire-breathing dragon? Couldn’t they sense all that savage, dormant energy just swirling beneath the surface? While Saber may have been redeemed, after living for eight hundred years in the Dark Ones’ Colony, he was still one of the most volatile souls in the house of Jadon.
“Oh, Saber…oh, Saber…ohhhhh, Saber,” Vanya murmured beneath her breath…
She had marched onto that porch, glared icicles through the wanton woman, and tossed Lisa’s purse into the yard—at least twenty feet away—into a tall bank of snow!
And that’s when Saber had intervened.
“Whoa there, Princess,” the dragon had drawled in that erotic, masculine, fire-and-ice voice. “Lisa was just being friendly, just killing time. Let’s go back inside.”
Oh, so Saber and Lisa were on a first-name basis now? “Ah, yes. Of course, she was,” Vanya had quipped in a lyrical tone of her own. “And it’s all very funny until someone loses an eye!” Her voice had turned as frigid as the frozen snow.
Saber had placed his hand on her elbow, spun her around, and walked her back into the foyer. “Not gonna do this tonight, baby girl. I’m on duty, and I need to speak with the Silivasis—be home later.” He’d paused to eye her from head to toe, taking appreciative note of her form-fitting red dress. “You look hot as hell, by the way,” he’d growled. And then he’d brushed his thumb over her lower lip, flashed a hint of his devilish fangs, and sauntered back out the door with that cocky, sexy swagger.
As if Vanya could be that easily manipulated…
Or dismissed.
In her peripheral vision, she’d watched Kagen Silivasi retrieve Lisa’s purse, brush off the snow, and return it to the human. And that’s when she’d slammed the door behind Saber and headed for the eggnog.
“If you squeeze that glass any harder, it’s going to break in your hand,” Deanna said from her perch on the edge of a two-person settee, situated cattycorner to the fireplace.
Vanya blinked three times and surveyed the room.
All the destinies were eyeing her warily: Jocelyn from the opposite, matching settee; Kristina from a high-backed wing chair on the other side of a large bay window; and Arielle from the edge of the sofa, which faced the exquisite slate-stone fireplace. Apparently, Ciopori was still showering—or changing clothes. “Oh,” Vanya murmured absently, relaxing her grip on the crystal glass. “There is only one thing I would like to know.”
“What’s that?” Arielle asked.
“Do all human women have a death wish?”
Jocelyn Levi-Silivasi blanched. “Uh, that would be a no, Vanya. What’s up?”
Vanya flicked her wrist, almost spilling the eggnog. “Saber appears to be a chicken-magnet, and I just don’t understand it.”
Deanna snickered, her exotic eyes lighting up with mirth. “I think that’s chick-magnet, and it can’t be helped.”
Kristina Riley-Silivasi shuddered. “It’s these males. All that savage, animal magnetism. They make human women lose their damn minds.”
Deanna nodded with appreciation. “A few weeks back, Nachari went with me to the mall—I was looking for a new pair of Ugg boots, and I swear to you, one would have thought my name was Medusa because every woman we passed turned into a statue, frozen in place with her mouth gaping open. It was truly bizarre.”
Jocelyn laughed. “Nathaniel is like the Pied Piper. Women just line up behind him and follow. He swears he doesn’t even notice, but I think he does it on purpose just to keep me on my toes.”
Kristina narrowed her gaze on Vanya, furrowed her brows, and pressed a finger to her puckered lips. “You wouldn’t happen to be referring to that tall, skinny blonde, the one that teaches snowboarding? The chickadee with the big green eyes—was she the one looking at Saber?”
Vanya glanced at the fire-poker a moment longer
than she should, wondering about all its creative uses. “Yes,” she said tersely. “Lisa…Lisa Fisher.”
“Oh,” Jocelyn chimed in, “I don’t think you need to worry about her. She’s actually a nice lady, very kind and intelligent. She just gets really, really nervous around the warriors, and she starts to babble. She resorts to flirting because—well, I guess that’s why she’s so good at her job. A lot of male tourists visit the ski resort for the fantasy of meeting a ‘ski bunny.’” She made a pair of mock quotations with her fingers.
Kristina waved a dismissive hand. “That might be true, but I think she’s also a little bit curious.” She leaned forward in her chair and smirked. “Earlier, before dinner, I passed her in the hall, and she actually had the cojones to stop me. She was like, ‘Hey, can I ask you something? You’re still single, right? Have you ever dated one of the males? I mean, do they even do that…date? Do they—well, you know—do any of the single males sow their wild oats before they finally find their destinies?’”
Vanya felt like her blood was about to boil.
So much for loyal human servants.
She made a V with her second and third fingers, crossed her thumb over the remaining two, and toggled them up and down, moving them forward as if in a puppet show. “Little bunny foo-foo hopping through the forest…” she began to sing in a mocking voice.
“V!” Kristina snapped, cutting the childhood ditty off in mid-verse. “You need to chill with the psycho-stalker thing—seriously.” She sat back in the light-beige wingback chair and sighed. “I don’t know what it is about Saber, how he’s managed to turn one of the most regal, sophisticated women in all of Dark Moon Vale into a lunatic, but that thing you’re doing right now…with your fingers…it’s borderline cray-cray. Seriously. You need to chill.” She brushed some imaginary lint off her shoulder as if to dismiss the nonsense. “Besides, I think I might have curbed Lisa’s appetite, or at least her curiosity, when I answered her question.”