Blood Shadows by Tessa Dawn
Saber’s face turned a sickly pallor, but the contempt never left his eyes.
“Yeah, I could tell you all about it in shocking detail,” Nachari added. “Or I could just show you.” With that, he took a step toward the bed, palmed the sides of Saber’s head, and leveled a hate-filled gaze. “View my memories, Dark One, and know your future.”
Nachari unleashed hell into Saber Alexiares’s mind, pouring each memory, each agonizing second of the torture he had received in the Abyss, into Saber’s consciousness as if by personal awareness: The defiant Dark One felt each act, each moment, as if he were experiencing it right then and there—as if time and space no longer existed and Nachari’s hellish existence had become his own, and for the first time, the evil son of Jaegar lost his cool.
The Dark One bucked and screamed and showed true signs of insanity from the inescapable agony. His breath grew shallow. At times, his heart nearly stopped beating, and sweat poured from his brow as he grimaced and writhed on the cot, begging for absolution in languages Nachari didn’t even recognize.
When at last there was nothing left to share, Nachari let him go and stepped away from the cot. The horror on Saber’s face was beyond description.
Nachari checked his watch. “That was just ten minutes, Dark One,” he said. “Imagine eternity.”
He strolled toward the door and slowly turned around. “Oh, yeah, you don’t have to imagine it. Soon enough, it will be your reality…forever.” He winked at him then. “Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” Strolling out of the cell, Nachari rounded the corner with his usual poise and swagger, and then, the moment he was out of Saber’s sight, he doubled over and reached for the wall.
Replaying those memories had taken a chunk out of his soul, and he felt like he was going to be sick.
“Are you all right, son?” A deep voice drew him from his misery.
Napolean.
“Milord.” Nachari struggled to choke out the word.
Napolean rushed to his side, placed a hand on his back, and regarded him with concern. “Come, sit down.”
Nachari shook his head. “No.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “I just need a minute…”
Napolean nodded understanding. “Perhaps an eternity.”
Nachari smiled faintly. Of course, the Great One knew. How could he not. “Yeah…perhaps.” He took a long, measured breath and waited for his stomach to stop doing backflips.
When, at last, Nachari had regained his composure and his equilibrium, Napolean met his eyes with an unusually compassionate stare. “I was waiting to speak with you after the naming ceremony,” the sovereign lord said, “but now is as good a time as any.”
Nachari looked perplexed. “Milord?”
Napolean waved his hand and shook his head. “None of that…not from you.”
None of that? Nachari thought. What did that mean? The sons of Jadon had always treated their king with the utmost respect and formality; it was both expected and proper. “I don’t understand,” Nachari said.
Napolean’s gentle eyes assessed him warmly. “Don’t you?”
Nachari shook his head and waited, and then he practically lost his balance when Napolean rested both hands firmly on his shoulders and held him in the embrace of equals…of brothers. “I am here because of you,” Napolean said. “My destiny is here because of you. Our son—and your future king—exists because of you.” Napolean narrowed his eyes. “What you did that day in the meadow; what you sacrificed and endured for our people…for our future…” His voice trailed off, and he had to clear his throat. “I can never express my gratitude—there simply are no words.”
Nachari looked away, slightly embarrassed. “It was my duty, milord.”
“Yes,” Napolean agreed, “and you paid a higher price than any soul should ever have to pay. If death is supposed to be the ultimate sacrifice, then what you gave—what you endured—is something altogether more.”
Nachari blinked, embarrassed.
“And now,” Napolean continued, his deep voice growing even deeper, “and now you fear some intangible blackness in your soul.” It was simply laid out on the table like a noonday meal, displayed in plain sight for all the world to see; and Nachari didn’t even bother asking how the king knew.
Napolean frowned then. “I cannot begin to know how deeply you were harmed in that place; what metaphorical, if not literal, demons you carry with you as a result of your sacrifice.” He averted his eyes for a moment out of respect. “I can’t know what it is like to reside inside of your mind right now, but I do know that you are no longer just a servant or a Master Wizard—not that you weren’t always unique and gifted with potential—but now, you are my brother, Nachari. The one I never had.” He thumped a solid fist over his chest to emphasize his next words. “You are my heart, Nachari Silivasi. You live here…in my soul.”
Nachari swallowed his surprise and simply stared, dumbfounded, at Napolean, hoping his mouth wasn’t gaping open. The wise, handsome king appeared wiser still, somehow changed, as intimidating as ever, but also accessible.
“And there is nothing I will not do,” Napolean added, “to see that you are made whole again.” He leaned over until his face was only inches away from Nachari’s. “Even if it means taking your place…removing your memories by adopting them as my own.”
Nachari stared back at him with stunned surprised. Vampires did not erase other vampires’ memories; it was simply not done. But to take another’s place—in their memories—was to literally trade time and reality between souls. To adopt one’s past as if it were your own. To think their thoughts and remember their pain, not as theirs, but as yours, much like a male absorbed the pain of a female during a rapid pregnancy—but more. Napolean was offering to simply take it all away, and own it, live it, carry it himself…forever.
“I could never let you do that, milord,” Nachari responded instinctively, still shocked by the very idea. “It is a very heavy weight I carry.”
Napolean nodded. “I know this, son, and that’s why I said even if it means taking your place in your memories. If I thought for one moment you would simply allow me to carry this weight for you, I would have already done it. If I could go into your mind, without your permission, it would already be so. But as it is, I can stand with you as a brother, watch over you as your king, and help you through this transition.” He looked at him with an unbroken stare. “But know this: You are not the only practitioner of Magick in this valley. You are not the only one who is willing to break all customs, conjure contrary forces, and do whatever is necessary, in spite of the propriety of the deed. If the day comes when I determine that your mental or spiritual health is truly in jeopardy, I will take that which has not been given. I will not let you die for me twice, not in any sense of the word.”
Nachari swallowed hard. He hadn’t even thought about what it might be like to live without the knowledge of his time in the Abyss; to move forward without the repercussions, as if it never were. But to give the burden to Napolean?
Napolean held up his hand to halt Nachari’s words before he could respond. “I’ll be watching you, Nachari.” And then he said something that Nachari never thought he would hear in a million years—not from the formidable, ancient leader of the house of Jadon. “I love you, brother.”
Nachari opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and then opened it again—only to let it hang open and catch flies for a moment. “I think…I’m speechless.”
Napolean rocked back on the balls of his feet then, apparently satisfied. “Am I that bad?” he teased.
“No!” Nachari said immediately before catching the joke. “You’re just…intimidating…and I’ve always secretly wondered when or if you were going to…kill me, actually.”
Napolean laughed wholeheartedly. “Wizard, I’m going to have to reach into my grab bag of theatrical skills to even pretend to be angry with you from this day forward—and I know that you will do something eventually that requires my correction.”
&nbs
Napolean shrugged. “I don’t think you truly get it, but you will. In time. Our relationship has changed.”
Nachari looked at him skeptically, and then, as if someone else had magically possessed his body, he threw a playful fist at the king’s shoulder, socking him like he might have once done with Shelby, just to test his reaction.
Napolean rolled his eyes. “Oh, shit—what have I started?”
Nachari took a literal step back. “Did you say shit?”
Napolean shook his head. “No.” And then he smiled.
Nachari grinned. “So, I can come play with your kid; drive your Land Cruiser; and TP your house on Halloween?”
Napolean chuckled deep and low in his throat, the reverberation giving Nachari pause. “You will come play with my kid—often; you will never get your hands on my Land Cruiser; and if you TP my house, then you had better watch your back.” He paused for emphasis. “I said I was your brother, not a punk.”
Nachari laughed loud and heartily then. Wow. Napolean Mondragon had a sense of humor.
Who knew?
Turning all at once serious, he crossed his arms in front of him. “There is something of importance I have to tell you, something I learned from the dark lords while I was away.” He told Napolean about Braden and the secret Noiro had shared—the fact that the male was exempt from the Blood Curse and would never have a destiny. Since Braden was unquestionably Vampyr now, he could never mate with a human female, either. And the cruelest joke of all was the fact that Braden was probably the only male in the house of Jadon that could actually sire female children.
After several minutes had passed, Napolean finally shook his head and grimaced—a strange reaction, indeed.
“What?” Nachari said, slightly taken aback.
“You know what this means?” Napolean asked.
“No, what?”
“He will have to be promised to Kristina.”
Nachari stood stock-still, just allowing the information to settle in for a moment. Finally, he whispered, “Oh…shit.”
“Indeed.” Napolean laughed out loud.
thirty
Nachari stood outside on his rooftop terrace just gazing at the stars and contemplating how beautiful the sky was, how deeply he had missed the stars and the moon. He needed to unwind after his meeting with Saber, as well as his discussion with Napolean, and he wanted to make sure that his energy field was clear and his thoughts were focused before he turned his attention to Deanna.
Despite his best intentions, the door to the tranquil space opened, and Deanna walked out onto the roof, her long, model-esque frame taking his breath away at first glance.
“Hey, you,” she called softly.
Her voice was a welcome sound. “Sebastian?” he asked instinctively.
“Sleeping,” she answered, smiling. She sidled up behind him and wrapped her long, elegant arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. “How’d it go tonight?”
Nachari stroked her arm and sighed. “It went,” he answered. “And I’m still in one piece.”
Deanna took a deep, cleansing breath and looked up the stars, but she said nothing.
“I went to see Saber,” he continued in a thoughtful voice, “and I spoke with Napolean.”
To her credit, Deanna didn’t react. “And the…Dark One…is he still alive?” Her voice was as soothing as it was direct.
“He is,” Nachari answered. “At least until the sun comes up on Sunday.”
Deanna shook her head rapidly as if dismissing the horrific thought. “Will you be there?”
Nachari lifted his arm and brought her closer, beneath his side. “It depends on what my destiny wants—if it’s important to her, for closure, then it’s important to me.” He shifted his weight to bring her even closer. “It’s not going to be a pretty scene, Deanna; death by sunlight is pretty…horrendous.”
Deanna shrugged and nuzzled closer. “I don’t really have a preference,” she admitted. “I mean, the moment your brothers knocked him out, I had closure. I knew they would never let him get to me again.”
Nachari couldn’t help but think that she had no idea, whatsoever, how truly strong and unshakable she really was. Or what he would give to roll back the hands of time and be the one to confront Saber in that hot tub—to get there before Napolean.
“The main thing,” she continued, “is what you need. Do you want to be there?”
Nachari considered her question carefully. “I guess it’s a house of Jadon thing—code, honor, justice—it’s the way I was raised, so yes, I do.”
Deanna nodded in agreement. “Okay, then. We’ll go.”
She seemed to simply understand. She just got it. That he was as much a warrior as a wizard. That he was of a different species—Vampyr—which meant he didn’t think or react like a human. But how she understood this so easily, he couldn’t fathom.
Nachari shrugged then. “In all honesty, compared to where I’ve been the last four months, the entire execution will probably seem sterile.” He frowned apologetically. “I’m sorry, Deanna. It must be uncomfortable, to say the least, to hear your mate making constant references to hell.” He tried to smile, but he really wasn’t feeling it.
Deanna ducked from beneath his side and took a step forward to face him. She leaned back against the terrace wall and thought about his words. Apparently, deciding to change the subject, she gestured toward the ground. “Did you know that I used to be terrified—and I mean scared out of my wits—of heights?”
“Used to be?” Nachari asked.
She shrugged. “Now that I’m Vampyr,” she spoke the word halfheartedly, “and I have so many strong, capable brothers to catch me, there’s little reason to fear much of anything.”
Nachari growled possessively, surprised at his own base, territorial response.
Deanna ignored it, unaffected. “And,” she continued to elaborate, “just for the sake of general information, I was also afraid of spiders, really bugs of all kinds; that, and popping corn.”
Now this made him laugh. “Popcorn?” he asked for clarification. “You mean the stuff made by humans like Orville Redenbacher?”
Deanna flushed and looked away. “Not the popcorn itself,” she bantered, laughing. “The sound of it…the popping…it’s a sensory thing, I guess.”
“Hmm,” Nachari teased, eyeing her warily. “And to think, I thought you were utterly perfect.”
Deanna slapped him playfully. “What does that have to do with being perfect?” She raised her jaw. “I am!”
He smiled broadly then. “You are,” he said, agreeing.
She rolled her eyes.
“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I said you are perfect.”
“No,” she corrected. “That’s what you said with your mouth; what you said with your eyes was something entirely different.”
Nachari chuckled. “Ah, so you can tell the difference already?”
“Yep,” she answered, a look of self-satisfaction alighting her eyes, “I can.” She looked away then. “And that’s how I know you aren’t being completely open and honest with me…yet. Even though you want me to be completely open and honest with you.”
Now this concerned him. He lowered his head to better meet her gaze. “Deanna…” When she continued to look away, he reached for her chin and softly guided her eyes back to his. “Don’t look away, sweetheart. What do you mean?”
She paused, fidgeted a moment with her hands, and then calmly placed them at her sides. “I’m the one who drew you in my sketches, remember? I’m the one who saw all those horrible images of the underworld…of the torture.” She raised her hand, traced a soft finger along his jaw, and then placed it back by her side once more. “I saw the truth…with you…long before I met you. Do you really think that I see it any less, now that I actually know you?”
Nachari wanted to change the subject, to simply push it aside, reassure his destiny t
Deanna looked deep into his eyes. “I see an incredibly handsome, absolutely spectacular—yet haunted—male.” She tilted her head to the side. “I see you, Nachari.”
He reached out and brushed the back of his hands against her stunning face, marveling at the smoky color of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the high, gentle plains of her exotic cheekbones. Brushing a thick lock of dark golden-brown hair behind her shoulder, he said, “Does it bother you—what you see?”
Deanna shook her head emphatically. “No, Nachari…far from it.” She stood silently while measuring her words. “What bothers me is that I don’t know how to break through the invisible walls of the prison you’re still living in, and I don’t want to start our lives…going forward…looking from the outside in.” She paused, as if still searching for the right words. “Nachari, I didn’t know you before, so I can’t give you any words of encouragement. I can’t try to convince you that you’re still the same person, and honestly, I know if I had gone through what you did, I wouldn’t be the same. But I do know a kind heart when I see one. And character isn’t something easily built…or destroyed.” She studied his expression as if reading every nuance. “You are an honorable male, Nachari Silivasi, and as impossible as it might seem, you are even more beautiful inside than out. This, I know for a fact. I just do.”
Nachari’s ageless heart warmed beneath the sweet caress of her words. He took both of her hands in his and kissed her knuckles, each one slowly in turn, before gently prying her fingers open in order to kiss the center of her palms. “And you are my entire world, now, Deanna—you and our son.”
“And Braden,” she teased, “and your brothers…and the honor of your house.” She smiled broadly then. “I get it. And I’m fine with it.”