Blood Awakening (26 page)

Marquis cleared his throat and glanced at
Nathaniel.
Holy hell.

Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath as a
swarm of males approached less than fifty-feet away.
Time to go.

Marquis reached out for Ciopori, held her tight to
his chest, and released his own magnificent wings. The rest of the males were
already soaring furiously through the hall, rapidly approaching warp speed. As
he turned back one last time to view their Sovereign, his mouth fell open in
awe.

Napolean had indeed harnessed the sun.

In fact, for all intents and purposes,
Napolean
Mondragon had become the sun.

The ancient vampire was a luminous ball of fire,
his aura so intense it hurt Marquis’s eyes to gaze directly at him.

Glowing beams of orange and blue light shot out
like missiles from every cell of the ancient’s body as he hurled UV radiation
in circular waves, slinging death from a nuclear hand.

The hallway filled with howls of agony.

The air grew dense with the odor of burning flesh.

The rushing sound of water had all but vanished as
no one else dared to approach the burning mass of fire that was Napolean
Mondragon—the awesome king of the house of Jadon.

All those who had dared to enter the tunnel were
now making their way through the Corridor of the Dead.

 Marquis stood breathless.

Transfixed.

Unable to take his eyes off the king.

Although the two of them had been in many battles together,
throughout the ages—and the ancient lord’s prowess in war was legendary—Marquis
had never seen anything like what he gazed upon now. And he knew, instinctively,
there would be a heavy price to pay: Such a huge conversion of energy would surely
make Napolean sick, and if he didn’t stop soon, he would die.

Marquis bowed his head in reverence, stamping the
vision of the magnificent king into his memory. As he turned away, he covered
Ciopori’s eyes. “Do not look back, angel. You will most certainly go blind.”

Marquis stood in silence as Ciopori entered Napolean’s
kitchen. His breath caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat.

Upon returning from Salvatore’s lair, the princess
had excused herself to shower. She had been exhausted and shaken up, desperate to
scrub the filth of both Salvatore and Zarek from her body. It had been just as
well. Marquis had needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

Now, staring at the regal female before him, he
was at a complete loss for words.

She seemed to understand.

Her damp, raven locks fell about her shoulders
like a cascading waterfall, and though her golden eyes were sad, she managed a
faint smile. “You waited for me?”

Marquis cleared his throat. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” She wrung her hands together
nervously and took a step in his direction, careful to keep a respectful
distance between them. “So, have you seen Kristina yet?”

Marquis looked away. “Ciopori,
don’t
.”

She shrugged and threaded her fingers together. “All
right, warrior. I was just trying—”

“Come here.” He reached out and pulled her to him,
wrapping his heavy arms around her slender frame, careful not to crush her. “Tell
me what happened to you, Ciopori. Please.”

She buried her head in his chest. “You don’t want
to know, Marquis. Honestly, you don’t.”

“I need to know,” he whispered. “Napolean needs to
know—in case there’s something that needs to be done for you.”

Ciopori sighed and took his hands in hers. “Then
take the information from my mind, Marquis, because I don’t care to remember it
all right now.”

Marquis closed his eyes and rested his forehead
against hers. He held his breath as the images flooded his mind: Salvatore
snatching her from the forest; cruel, insidious torture in the chamber of
snakes; the precise moment Marquis had come into Salvatore’s lair to free her…

“Gods,” he whispered, trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

She stepped back then. “No, I’m the one who chose
to take a stroll through the forest at three-o’clock in the morning. It was
careless, and I am so grateful you came for me.”

Marquis shook his head. “In all my centuries of
living, I have never been so frightened.” She regarded him with compassion and
he felt his stomach turn over with pain…and desire.

With longing.

The amber sparkles in her bright eyes warmed him
like rays of sunlight, slicing through the pain of such a long, tedious
existence, wrenching his thoughts from the future that awaited him, anchoring
him to the moment. Gods forgive him; he couldn’t help but replay their time
together in Kagen’s study, the feel of her soft skin beneath his hands, the sound
of her heated voice when she cried out in ecstasy, the touch of her—

“Marquis…” Seeming to sense his thoughts, she
leaned into him and rose to the tips of her toes. Her beautiful lips parted
ever so slightly to receive his kiss…and she waited.

Marquis shuddered.

He bent down, grasped her face in his hands, and
lingered—his mouth just a breath away from her own—and then he turned his head
to the side and gently kissed her on the cheek.

Crushed, she exhaled slowly and turned away. “I’m
sorry.”

Marquis wanted to punch a hole in the wall as the
frustration burned inside him—the injustice of it all—but he struggled,
instead, to remain calm. “No, Ciopori. Don’t ever be sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

Ciopori swallowed and took a step back, wringing
her delicate hands together once again. “You’re right. I know…it’s not like
anything has changed.” She hesitated then. “Has it?”

Marquis hung his head. “Who can undo what the gods
have done?”

Ciopori nodded and ambled across the kitchen to absently
pour a cup of tea from a brass kettle on the stove. “Indeed.”

Uncomfortable silence settled around them as each waited
for the other to say something—anything—that might make the insufferable
tolerable. Neither could bear to leave the other’s side, yet they both knew
they couldn’t be together.

“Vanya was very happy to see Napolean return,”
Ciopori finally said in a clumsy attempt to change the subject. “Even though he
was very weak and in need of blood.”

“Of course,” he murmured.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I mean Vanya
was
very
happy to see Napolean return.”

Marquis raised his eyebrows. “Napolean?”

“He is a male, is he not?” Ciopori managed a faint
laugh.

Marquis shook his head. “After what I saw earlier,
I’m not sure what he is.” He hoped their leader would not make the same mistake
he had—falling in love with a woman who was not his
destiny
. The
consequence was sheer agony.

Ciopori set her mug down on the counter. “Truly,
that was the most terrifying yet spectacular thing I have ever seen: Napolean,
I mean.”

Despite his good intentions, Marquis growled low
in his throat, his territorial instincts getting the best of him.

Ciopori rolled her eyes. “It is good to know that
at least you still care, warrior.”

Marquis felt utterly powerless. “
Ciopori
...I
will always care.”

She nodded and began to fiddle with a stack of
silk napkins, carefully unfolding and refolding each one before replacing them in
their stainless-steel holder. She held one up in her hand. “Funny, isn’t it? How
a male that doesn’t eat keeps so many unnecessary things around.”

Marquis walked over to her side, removed the cloth
from her delicate fingers, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He bent to
her ear. “You will always be the
only
woman I love. Never forget that.
Never
.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away. “I
know I should feel guilty, Marquis, especially now that you are married—”

“Mated.”

She sighed. “Now that you are
mated
, yet even
knowing…I pray that your words of love are true. And my heart breaks to know
that there will come a day when you will also…love your wife.”

“My
destiny
.”

  “Oh hell, Marquis!” Ciopori spun back around to
face him. “Who cares what you call her.
She’s
yours
. And I’m
not!”

Marquis leaned forward then. He placed both hands
palms-down on the counter and stared out the window. What more was there to say?
“I will stay away from you, Princess...I promise.”

Much to his surprise, Ciopori punched him in the
arm. “Is that what you think I want?”

He shrugged.
Gods, what more could he do? Did
she desire to watch him bleed before her?

“And how will that make things better, warrior?”
she continued. “To never see your eyes again? To never hear your laughter…well,
your piteous attempts at laughter.” She smiled despite herself, yet the warmth
never reached her eyes. “I don’t know which would be worse: seeing you, while knowing
I could never have you, or trying to exist in a world without you.”

“I understand.” His words were a mere whisper.

“No,” she argued, “I really don’t think you do. My
heart is
sick
, Marquis.
It’s breaking
. And for the life of me, I
can’t understand it.” She paled. “Yes, I realize that you were the one that was
there with me all those years,
all those long centuries,
lying in the
ground, waiting for a brother that was never coming to awaken me—all those
years when your voice was the only sound I heard, your face the only escape I
had...in my dreams.” She sat down on a high bar-stool and stared at him with
such deep sorrow in her eyes he feared his heart would break in two. “But this”—she
placed both hands over her heart—“this is something else entirely. It is almost
as if I can’t breathe without you, Marquis.” She looked away. “Almost as if I
don’t want to.”

Marquis stared at the inconsolable woman before
him, wishing he had a gift for words. Hell, wishing he knew how to speak to a
female at all. He understood her pain. More than she knew. But, unlike her, he
hadn’t spent the last fifteen centuries asleep in the ground with only dreams
to sustain him. He had spent the last fifteen-hundred years living what had
been a hard life, fighting in countless wars, killing, and feeding, and protecting
his brothers…watching his parents die. He had spent the last fifteen-hundred
years waiting on a
destiny
that never came—and learning how to harden
his heart.

Marquis had spent a lifetime perfecting the art of
shutting down all but the breath that sustained him. “You will not die, Ciopori.”
It was all he could think to say.

Ciopori cupped her hands over her face and said
nothing.

  “Brother.” A deep, rich voice reverberated from
the kitchen entrance. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Marquis turned to find Kagen standing beneath the
arched door-frame. He was glancing back and forth between him and the princess,
trying to hide his concern.

“Can this wait, brother?” Marquis asked.

Ciopori blinked and brushed away her tears,
plainly embarrassed.

Kagen regarded the princess with a kind glance,
his eyes soft with compassion, and then he quickly looked away out of respect. He
cleared his throat. “No, Marquis, I’m afraid it can’t.”

Marquis turned to face his brother squarely,
switching to telepathic communication.
It has been a trying day, healer. I
will seek you out when I am finished here.

I’m afraid it really can’t wait,
Kagen
insisted, the silver centers of his dark brown eyes deepening with intensity.

“What is so important?” Marquis demanded,
forgetting to speak privately.

Kagen indicated Ciopori with a nod, looked back at
Marquis, and then shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“Well?” Marquis prodded.

Kagen sighed in frustration. “
It’s Kristina
.”

Marquis frowned. “What about her?”

Kagen hesitated for a moment. “She’s very ill.”

“Ill? What do you mean,
ill
?” Marquis had
already converted Kristina to their species, and vampires simply did not get sick.

“This morning, right after you departed with the
other warriors, she retreated to one of Napolean’s guest rooms.” He paused,
seeming uncertain as to how much to say in front of the princess.

“Go on,” Marquis prodded.

“At first, I thought she just needed some time
alone. You know, considering the
nature
of your mission.”

Ciopori glanced down at the floor. Her tousled hair
fell forward, intentionally shielding her face from Kagen’s view.

Kagen frowned. “But when I went to check on her,
she had a fever—”

“A fever?”

Kagen nodded. “Yes, brother. And as the day
progressed, she began having severe muscle pains and cramps, weakness and
nausea. It almost appears as if—”

Marquis held up his hand to stay his brother’s
words. Despite the situation with Ciopori, he felt like a complete jerk for not
checking on his
destiny
the moment he arrived at the mansion. Like it or
not, she was his first responsibility now. “Where is she?” he asked hastily. The
concern in his voice was genuine, and Ciopori lifted her head to regard them
both. Her face was stricken with grief, though she tried desperately to hide it.

Kagen sighed. “Last door on the left. Front hall.”
He turned his attention to Ciopori. “I’m…sorry.”

Marquis waved a dismissive hand. Whatever was
happening between him and the princess was a private matter. “Thank you for
bringing this to my attention, Kagen. I will attend to her shortly.”

Clearly in a hurry to leave, Kagen declined his
head and instantly dematerialized.

Regretting what he was about to say, Marquis
turned to Ciopori. “Princess—”

“
Don’t.
” She held up her hand and nodded, a
tear of sorrow escaping her eye. “I know...but I’d rather not hear you say it.”

Marquis couldn’t help himself. He came around the
counter, lifted her from the barstool, and gathered her in his arms. “Gods
forgive me; I have so much to atone for.”

“No,” Ciopori insisted. She shoved against his
chest to gain her freedom but refused to back away. “You cannot help what you
feel for me, and still, you remain a male of honor.” The resignation was plain
in her eyes. “Marquis, we both know you must do what is right. Go to your
mate,
warrior…where you belong.”

Marquis held her gaze, wishing he could stay there
forever, wishing the two of them could just disappear, but he did not challenge
her words. “You will always be in my heart—”

“No.” Ciopori pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Words
have far too much power, Marquis. Do not damn your future with Kristina, not
for me. You must find a way to love her. And I must find a way to move on.”

As true as they might be, her words cut him like a
knife.

She forced a smile. “In spite of everything, I do want
you to be happy, Marquis. Please, if you can do nothing else for me, at least
be happy.”

Marquis allowed himself one last indulgence as his
head fell forward and he nuzzled her neck. He reveled in the feel of her thick,
silky hair and deeply inhaled her scent, hoping to store it in his memory until
the end of time. And then, drawing on every ounce of strength he possessed, he stepped
away. “And I pray for your happiness as well.”

Ciopori caught at the edge of the counter as if it
were all that was holding her up; she was trying so desperately to be brave. When
Marquis reached out to steady her, she drew away. “Go, Marquis. This has to end
now. Just go.”

Marquis turned and left the kitchen, refusing to
look back.

With the quiet resolve of an ancient warrior, he forced
his thoughts to the back of his mind, buried his emotions behind an iron wall,
and closed the door to his heart.

Propelled by duty alone, his feet carried him through
the mansion toward the guest bedroom.