Blood Awakening (3 page)

Ciopori frowned.

“I can move matter with my mind,” he explained.

“Matter?” Ciopori raised a brow.

“Yes: objects, things…materials.” He eyed her
sideways. “Never mind.”

Ciopori sighed. “Even if one could do such a
thing, it would take forever.”

Marquis shook his head. “No. Not with enough speed
behind it.”

Ciopori cocked her head to the side, like a canine
studying a confusing human, lost somewhere in the translation between species. “Marquis,
this curse that was wrought upon the males...what did it do to them? You say
you are still related to our people, the Celestial Beings, yet you are a separate
race altogether:
Vampyr
. What all can a
vampyr
do?”

“A vampire,” Marquis supplied.

Ciopori nodded. “What all can a
vampire
do?
What powers do you possess, warrior?”

Marquis rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking. “We
have heightened senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell. We can fly or simply move
through time and space at will. We can read the thoughts and memories of
others, or change them if we choose. We can control the actions of others, speak
to one another telepathically, and harness fire or electricity in our hands.” He
paused, trying to think of anything else. “Our strength is tremendous, and our
speed is...well, beyond anything you have witnessed, I’m certain.”

Ciopori blinked several times. “Wow, is that it?”

Missing most attempts at wit or humor as Marquis
often did, he shrugged. “No, we can also walk through walls and
self-regenerate...heal ourselves of almost any injury. We’re more or less just
better at everything.”

Ciopori cleared her throat. “Humble as well, I
see.”

“No, not really.”

When Ciopori stifled a laugh, Marquis stood quietly,
not sure if he should go on.

“Well, I can do magic,” she offered playfully.

Marquis shifted uncomfortably. “Yes...so can my
younger brother, Nachari.”

Ciopori laughed heartily then. “Were vampires not
given a sense of humor, warrior?”

Marquis frowned. So that was the source of her
amusement. “I guess one man’s humor is another vampire’s...headache. If
vampires got headaches, that is. Which we don’t. Get headaches.”

Ciopori wrinkled her forehead. “Pardon me?”

Marquis shook his head, irritated. “Nothing. It
was just something stupid my brother Nathaniel said not long ago. Uh...no...we
have humor. I mean, they have humor—other vampires—apparently, it’s just me.” He
turned away and began studying the ground in earnest. Princess or no, he would
not continue to make a fool of himself for a female. “I’m going to lift the
dirt from here.” He made a circle with his hands. “And move it over there.” He
gestured toward a small grove of birch trees. “The circumference should
probably be...at least ten feet around, so that nothing falls in on her.” He glanced
up then, to see if she was still laughing.

Ciopori sauntered closer, her eyes sparkling like
rare jewels, and he could have sworn his heart literally skipped a beat when
she cupped his face in his hands. “Know this, warrior: I have not traveled
across oceans—and survived for centuries—in order to enjoy your brothers’
humor. You are the one I have dreamed of.”

Marquis sighed and drew her to him. His hands fell
down to the small of her waist. His grip was strong and possessive. “You will come
to understand me, Ciopori.” He cupped her chin in his hand and raised her head
to meet his gaze. “And I will come to understand you...if such a thing would
please you.”

Before she could answer, he bent his head, his mouth
suspended just above hers. “Vampires are extremely passionate,” he drawled. “Some
of us are better with our bodies than our words.” He brushed her lips with his,
kissing her ever so gently. “And all of us are enormously protective.” He
pulled her tightly against him, overwhelming her body beneath his own until she
was forced to arch her back. When he looked down at her seductive curves, he groaned.
“And fiercely possessive.” He fisted his hands in her hair, carefully tilting
her head until she gasped, and her lips unwittingly parted.

It was then that he kissed her: the full hunger of
fifteen-hundred years unleashed in one erotic brush of passion. He flirted with
her mouth, tasted every texture of her tongue, nibbled on her lips, and drank
in her taste. He loved her with the hunger of one who had never before been
sated. Yes, he had experienced a few romantic affairs with human women before,
but such couplings had never satisfied his deeper longings. Not to mention,
they were always so dangerous. Vampires were primarily animals—powerful,
instinctual predators—and a passionate interlude could easily turn deadly for a
mortal woman. Males had to exercise extreme restraint.

In his loneliness, Marquis had imagined his
destiny
many times over the centuries, until he had finally given up believing she
would ever come. But this woman—this angel he had loved in dreams long since
forgotten—she was his every erotic fantasy, and his body craved hers like his
species craved blood: to sustain, quench, and regenerate until he was replete.

His hands rose to cup the weight of her breasts,
his thumbs instinctively finding her nipples. “I know how to protect what is
mine.” His mouth found the hollow of her throat, and he teased her pulse with
his tongue until she shivered. “I know how to defend and avenge that which I
hold dear to my heart.” And then he pressed the hard length of his arousal
against her quivering stomach. “And make no mistake; I know how to please a
woman.”

Ciopori went limp in his arms before stuttering an
incomprehensible reply. And then she cupped his face in her hands and returned
his kiss, matching him passion-for-passion, desire-for-desire, need-for-need.

When Marquis finally pulled away, his eyes were
burning, and they must have been glowing red because Ciopori looked startled. “Your
sisters gave us these feral eyes, but the heat you see—that is your doing.” His
fangs elongated against his will, and he scraped them gently along her carotid artery.
“We use these to feed...but I will use them to bring you to your knees
with
pleasure
.”

Ciopori groaned as he nicked her skin, then
swirled his tongue over the wound, creating the dual sensation of pain and pleasure.
“This is who
and what
I am, Ciopori. Can you accept me?”

Ciopori took a step back and rubbed the small
wounds on her neck. She stared at him then…taking in everything.

Her eyes missed nothing.

After what seemed far too long for his comfort,
she smiled a mischievous grin. “Only if I am to be the one to please you...
and
feed you
...warrior.” She stepped forward and laid her head against his
chest, just above his heart. “And love you…if you will have me.”

Marquis bit down on his lower lip and closed his
eyes. He didn’t dare breathe. Warriors did not shed tears.
Marquis Silivasi did
not shed tears
. Yet, for the first time in his life, his heart wept with
joy and gratitude. “The gods themselves could not take you from me now, Ciopori.”

Stroking her long raven hair, he motioned toward a
tall quaking aspen that still had its summer leaves. “Stand over there, my lost
angel. Let us find and awaken your sister.”

Marquis and Nachari stared at the ancient sovereign
king of their people with more than a little concern in their eyes. In all
their years of living, they had never seen the powerful ruler so rattled. The
male could hardly pull himself together.

He paced a quick lap around the formal receiving
room of his four-story manse—for the fifth time. He glanced down the hallway
toward the bathroom, where the females had retreated to bathe before dinner,
and then he glared at Marquis and Nachari as if he had half a mind to throttle them
both. For what, they had no idea.

“Jadon and Jaegar’s sisters,” Napolean rambled. “Alive
after all this time.” He wrung his hands together and sat back down on the sofa.
“Remarkable, don’t you think?”

Just as Marquis started to speak, the sovereign
lord jumped back up.

Lap six.

“Nachari,” Napolean spoke gravely, “you are a
wizard now, are you not?”

Nachari glanced at Marquis. “Yep, last time I
checked.”

Marquis shifted uncomfortably and shook his head,
regarding his little brother harshly.
Do not be so arrogant
, he
admonished telepathically, wondering where the question was headed. After all,
Napolean had already posed the same query.
Twice
.

Sharing Marquis’s sentiment, Napolean spun around,
the silver slashes in his deep onyx eyes growing harsh: “Watch yourself, son. Do
not think to be that informal with me, even under circumstances such as these.”

Nachari paled. His strong shoulders drew back as
he bowed his head. “Forgive me, milord; I meant no offense.”

Napolean turned to look out the window then. His
waist-length, black-and-silver hair shifted along his back. His proud frame became
rigid. “You know, Marquis…”  He didn’t turn around to look at the Ancient
Warrior. “The county fire department is still extinguishing several blazes as
we speak; public service has been pumping water back into the rivers all
afternoon; and there are several cleanup crews removing boulders and debris
from the roadways.”

Marquis was too old and too hardened to placate
the sovereign lord, although he knew exactly what he was referring to: his
earlier outburst at Shelby’s grave. The dangerous results of his unchecked
emotions. Marquis remained quiet, waiting to hear what the king had to say.

“If it was anyone else, there might be
consequences.” Napolean turned around to regard the warrior then. “But I know
the weight of what you carry, and how long you have carried it.
Marquis,
”—he
said his name with veneration—“there were several humans injured.”

Marquis frowned. “Were there any deaths?”

Napolean sighed and turned back toward the window.
“No…
fortunately
.”

Marquis remained quiet. There was nothing to say.
Don’t
let it happen again
was implied, and Marquis already knew the gravity of
his actions. He also knew that their king had far too much respect for him to
reprimand an Ancient Master in front of his younger brother of lesser status. He
and Napolean were two of the oldest males in the house of Jadon. Though Marquis
understood clearly who his Sovereign was, the two were more like equals than
king and subject.

Realizing that Napolean had said all he was going
to say, Marquis distracted himself by looking around the room. As many times as
he had stood in the foyer or entered the Hall of Justice, this was the first
time he had ever sat in the king’s private living quarters: Napolean kept his
personal life primarily hidden from his subjects, and seeing the interior of
the house for the first time was fascinating.

The sovereign lord’s manse was certainly a home
befitting a king: dignified, formal, and reflective of all twenty-eight hundred
years of the Original Male’s life. There were four levels to the private rectory,
which was linked to the public Hall of Justice by a sealed tunnel that gave the
king easy access to the three, ceremonial chambers: the chamber that held the tomes
of the Vampyr race, containing the laws, histories, births, and deaths of their
people; the chamber where the first-born sons were
relinquished
to atone
for the sins of their forefathers; and the chamber containing the insufferable
circular hall, where the sons of Jadon—those who failed to satisfy the Blood
Curse—spent their last, agonizing hours.

The chamber where Marquis’s beloved younger
brother Shelby had so recently spent his last unthinkable hours.

Marquis shifted once more on the sofa, forcing the
memory from his mind: That was not a safe place to go. Looking up at the
ceiling, he gazed at the artistry, his eyes taking in the intricate detail of the
hand-painted mural at the top of the dome: It was a scene from the ancient
Greek myth about the god Zeus and his son Apollo. Now that was certainly
fitting, Marquis thought. Glancing at Napolean, he could envision the king in
the exact same pose, a lightning bolt shooting from his royal hand. Hell, he’d
actually seen that vision a time or two in battle, already.

As his gaze drifted from the ceiling to the walls,
he noticed that every corner—every window, niche, and archway—was encased in
hand-carved white moldings, and the actual windows themselves were made of
frosted glass, adorned with scenes of battlements and pictures of the gods
etched skillfully into the iced canvases.

While the walls were painted in soft hues of grayish
blue, the furniture was far bolder, displaying deep royal blues with red and
green accents.

There were art-niches and custom inlays everywhere,
each one containing a timeless treasure, items dating back as far as the Barbarian
Migrations to the east Roman Empire…when it was still ruled by Constantinople. And
the mementos were as eclectic as they were valuable: reflecting the varied
cultures of Greece, Persia, and Egypt, as well as North America. Marquis shook
his head: The place was equal parts museum and monastery, which just meant that
Napolean lived as he ruled—always a king first, an individual second. It was a
good thing their king was so private: If a human being ever got wind of these
treasures…

Marquis smiled. Now that would be a sight to see: Napolean
versus an army of humans. Just as Marquis began to play out the scene in his
mind, the ancient lord began to speak.

“I asked you here for a purpose, Nachari.” He placed
his hand on the glass window and declined his head with a seriousness of
purpose.

Nachari sat up straight. “As always, I am at your
service, milord.”

Napolean nodded. “Good...because there is a great
deal we need to do in a short amount of time.”

Nachari raised his eyebrows but remained,
respectfully, silent.

“As a wizard, you are one of the few among us who might
be able to make sense of what Fabian did to the women.” He rubbed his jaw. “We
do not yet know if they share our immortality, whether or not they are
impervious to human disease, what strengths and vulnerabilities they possess. There
is much to be learned in a little amount of time if we are to adequately
protect them.” With that, the king turned back to the window and became
absorbed, once again, in his own thoughts.

Nachari waited to be certain Napolean was done
speaking before he replied. “I am honored, milord, and I will do my best to
serve you and the daughters of our ancient king.”

Marquis glanced sideways at his polished younger
sibling. King or no, Napolean Mondragon was the greatest warrior among them,
and his knowledge of magic was legendary...frightening. Indeed, it was a great
honor for him to request Nachari’s assistance. And, of course, Marquis could
not have agreed more: The safety of the two original females was paramount.

   Nachari smiled, and his eyes seemed to twinkle.
You seem to have taken a rather...personal...interest in all of this, my
brother
.

Marquis snorted: 
I’m glad you’re so amused,
Nachari; I see no humor in the situation.

Nachari leaned back, crossed his legs, and
chuckled.
Of course you don’t, Marquis.

Stay out of my business, boy,
Marquis
warned.

Nachari patted him on the knee and sighed with
satisfaction.
Oh, I’m afraid I just can’t do that, Master Warrior. I have
waited over four-hundred years for this: You have no idea.

Waited for what?
Marquis scowled.

Before Nachari could answer, a door at the end of
the hall opened, and a single set of footsteps advanced along the polished
marble floors. It was the princess Vanya, and she was wearing a garden motif
dress with a draped bodice and a flowing sash in the center: one of several garments
Napolean had requested delivery of earlier that afternoon. She looked like a walking
Monet painting: both stunning and timeless.

Nachari leaned forward on the sofa, and Napolean
turned away from the window. Both males were unmistakably breathless. And despite
his best resolve, Marquis exhaled slowly. No offense to human women, but the
Celestial gods certainly knew how to perfect a female.

Vanya Demir was a princess in every sense of the
word. Her body was slender with sleek, regal lines and she sashayed as she
moved, her head held at a slight upward angle, her shoulders pulled back and
straight. Her soft, sculpted lips were set in a gentle but stern line, and her
keen, attentive eyes took in everything around her with noble acuity.

The young celestial female had long, flaxen hair
with light blond highlights that fell well below her waist, and her eyes were
an unusual pale rose: as stunning as they were unique. She knew she was
beautiful. She knew she was royalty. And she knew she commanded the moon and
the stars. It was in her every movement, her every breath.

The princess stopped at the entrance to the hall
and gracefully curtsied as Marquis and Nachari stood. Napolean quickly advanced
across the room, and then all at once, he stumbled over an antique coffee table—nearly
falling over.

Nachari swallowed a gasp and shot a bewildered glance
at Marquis.
What the
—

Not a word,
Marquis growled.
Not a
single word
.

Napolean shot them both a harsh, reprimanding glare,
and Nachari took a step back.
Tell me we are not broadcasting our thoughts
on a public bandwidth, Marquis. Please...

Marquis frowned.
Of course not, brother. I do
not believe he can hear us speak to one another—but he can certainly perceive
our visual images and read our emotions.

All at once, Marquis sensed a powerful shift in
his younger brother’s energy, and then he caught the deliberate, fixed image of
the ocean
planted in Nachari’s mind.
Four hundred years at the
Romanian University to become a Master of Wizardry, and you conjure an image of
the ocean
to conceal your thoughts? Well, that makes sense—coming from a
male who lives in the Rocky Mountains.

Nachari rolled his perfect eyes.

“Good evening, princess.” Napolean spoke in the
Old Language, motioning toward a cushioned, high-back chair. “Are you feeling
any better?”

Vanya took a seat, her elegant back arched with imperial
posture. “A bit.”

Despite her response, her eyes were swollen, and
her words came out hollow: Marquis knew that she had been crying off and on
ever since they had awoken her. Ever since she had learned that all she once
knew was gone. That she had outlived her brothers, her parents, her people...and
her civilization. It was an enormous amount of grief to carry, and Vanya was
clearly still in shock.

Napolean took a seat beside her and gestured
toward Nachari. “You have already met the Ancient Master Warrior Marquis, but
this is his youngest brother, the Master Wizard Nachari. He is here to help us
sort through this...situation.”

Vanya looked up at Nachari and smiled faintly. “’Tis
an honor to meet you, wizard. How do you and thy brother fare this evening?”

Nachari gulped. “Very well, thank you.”

Marquis took a seat. “Is Ciopori...is your sister...okay?”

“Indeed,” Vanya replied. “She will be joining us
soon, warrior.”

Nachari sat back down as well, and put his hands
in his lap.

As the king cleared his throat to speak, his
severe silver-pupils were fixed on Vanya’s face like lasers. “I took the
liberty of bringing in a temporary chef to cook for you and your sister until
we figure out something more permanent. You will both be staying here for the
immediate future.”

And no doubt, the security will be greatly
increased,
Nachari commented absently to Marquis.

Vanya nodded. “Thank you. I’m sure the
accommodations will be lovely. You did not yet have a chef to your liking, I
take it?”

Napolean wrung his powerful hands together like a
teenage boy fidgeting, and then he promptly...
stuttered
: “We...uh...we...we
don’t eat...food.” He swallowed an obvious lump in his throat.

“I see,” Vanya responded cordially, pretending not
to notice.

Nachari put his arm along the ridge of the sofa
and leaned back as if taking in a very interesting show.
I believe our king
is...drooling...Marquis: I swear, in all my years, I have never seen Napolean react
like this…
to anything.

Marquis didn’t respond.

Although, I can hardly blame him; she is breathtaking,
is she not? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful creature in all of my
life.

All at once, Napolean’s head snapped to the side
in a wicked, serpentine movement. His eyes flashed from onyx to red—then back
again—the warning so swift it was almost imperceptible. His top lip twitched in
the same rapid manner, displaying a lightning quick flash of fangs.

Nachari shot back on the sofa and looked down.
I
don’t care what you say, Marquis; he can hear us!