Napolean swelled with pride. “Should it please the house of Jadon and find favor with the Celestial Beings, the son of our lord Aries is to be named Phoenix Lane Mondragon.”
Brooke’s exquisite blue eyes glazed over with tears at the mention of their son’s middle name, and Napolean reached out to take her hand. They had chosen his middle name in honor of Brooke’s grandmother, the woman who had raised her with so much love and care: Lanie Adams.
It is a worthy name,
he whispered telepathically to his
destiny
.
Brooke smiled.
And Ramsey nodded. “The name pleases the house of Jadon, and since you are the one who intercedes directly with the gods, I will assume that there is no objection from the Celestial Beings.”
Napolean chuckled and shook his head. “There is no objection.”
Having formally accepted the name, Ramsey took Phoenix from Brooke’s arms and handed him to Napolean, who held him firmly in front of his body. As Napolean’s fangs elongated, he slowly bent his head and drank for the first time from his son’s wrist.
There was a soft inhale from the crowd.
As far as anyone knew, it was the first time a child had remained silent—had not instinctively cried out—in response to the brief but intense pain of Napolean’s bite. It was an unexpected confirmation of royalty—a regal show of restraint from one so young—and it pleased the house of Jadon immensely.
Napolean gently withdrew his fangs and met his son’s happy gaze with overwhelming pride. He knew in that moment that a lifelong bond had been formed, a connection far beyond that of sovereign and subject: the priceless bond of father and son.
Lifting his child high so that all could see the now squirming bundle, Napolean said, “Welcome to the house of Jadon, Phoenix Lane Mondragon. May your life be filled with peace, triumph, and purpose. May your path always be blessed.” He handed the child to Ramsey, who repeated the greeting before gently passing him to Saxson…then Julien…then Santos…to do the same. As the valley’s sentinels and sworn protectors of the king, the Olaru brothers had been honored with officiating the ceremony…and being the first to greet the young prince.
Once all three brothers had finished welcoming Phoenix, Santos kept the babe in his arms, and Ramsey turned once again to regard them as a couple. “By the laws which govern the house of Jadon, it is my privilege to accept your union as the divine will of the gods and hereby sanction your mating.” His soft hazel eyes—so paradoxical to his harsh, stormy manner—fixed on Brooke. “Brooke Adams Mondragon, do you come now of your own free will to enter the house of Jadon?”
For the first time since the ceremony had begun, Napolean became a bundle of nerves. He held his breath…listening…for that strong yet soothing voice:
Oh gods, please let her say yes…
Brooke nodded and flashed an endearing half smile. “I do.”
Napolean slowly exhaled, and then he closed his eyes in wonderment: Was this actually real? Did this woman…and this child…really belong to him? He was startled by the depth of his emotion.
“Hold out your wrist,” Ramsey instructed.
Tentatively, Brooke did as she was asked, and to her obvious relief, the male who took her arm was Napolean, not Ramsey. As the sovereign lord of the house of Jadon, the blood of every member ran through Napolean’s veins. Having taken the essence of each soul, he could not only locate them in an emergency, but tap into the deepest recesses of their being—it was a unique, if not divine, privilege granted solely to him. And it reinforced his enormous power and responsibility over the Vampyr. Brooke was not only his mate now but a member of his species—his people. And, of course, they didn’t need to know that he had already drunk…indulgently…from her heart.
On more than one occasion.
Napolean was careful to keep his grip on Brooke’s wrist exquisitely gently, and his long, shimmering, silver-and-black locks fell over her arm fortuitously, creating a tent of privacy as he bent to pierce her delicate skin. As always, he struck swiftly and cleanly, his fangs sinking deep, as he formed a tight seal over the wound and drew three steady, but powerful drags. While the initial bite was inevitably painful, the immediate contact with his lips flooded his
destiny
with peace. He felt her tense…then relax. And just like that, it was over.
He effortlessly withdrew his fangs and sealed the wound with his venom, the transition between canines and incisors so smooth it could hardly be seen. When his eyes met hers, he felt a love so deep that he almost swayed where he stood.
“Congratulations,” Ramsey said, bowing deeply before stepping back.
Santos and Saxson did the same, the latter still cradling Phoenix in his arms.
Napolean kissed the underside of Brooke’s wrist, turned to face the crowd, and held up her arm for all to see. “Let all souls present recognize the mated
destiny
of your king, and in the presence of the celestial gods, here and forevermore pledge your fealty to your queen: Brooke Adams Mondragon.”
Brooke’s face paled as all eyes in the house of Jadon suddenly focused on her like a collective, supernatural laser.
Oh. My. God,
she whispered.
Please tell me you’re kidding.
Apparently, she was so freaked out by the moment that she didn’t even realize she was speaking telepathically—without any effort.
Napolean smiled.
You forgot to mention this part of the ceremony, Napolean,
she chastised
.
Shh,
he responded, his deep melodic laughter echoing in her mind.
Just breathe, Brooke.
Before she could freak out any further, Santos stepped forward and handed the baby to Napolean. He took his son in the palm of both hands and slowly held him up before the assembly. “Let all souls present recognize my firstborn son—the chosen and rightful heir to my throne— and in the presence of the celestial gods, from this moment unto eternity, pledge your fealty to your prince: Phoenix Lane Mondragon.”
As if the moment had been perfectly choreographed, one by one, the males in the house of Jadon descended onto their right knees, each vampire bowing his head in a continuous wave that swept from the front row to the back in perfect harmony. When the last knee had touched the ground and the last head had bowed, all right hands covered their hearts, all left hands covered the right, and a sea of identical rings, bearing the crest from the house of Jadon on them, were displayed to the king in a demonstration of devotion.
The moment was surreal.
The love. The respect. The good fortune.
And like the calming of a turbulent sea after an endless storm, a great peace settled upon Napolean…and he finally understood.
What he should have always known.
That on that fateful day so many centuries ago, his father had commanded him to run because he loved him. Because nothing mattered more to Sebastian than saving his son—and the legacy that would live on through his line. Perhaps Napolean could have confronted Prince Jaegar on that frightful day—and died along with his father—but then none of this would have happened. And his father’s death would have been in vain.
Napolean swallowed hard.
Struggling to maintain his composure, he searched for his voice, but he couldn’t find it…
Twenty-eight hundred years.
He had waited an eternity to make peace with his father’s death.
He looked down at his son. He had waited an eternity for this child—for Sebastian’s grandson.
He offered his hand to Brooke and felt both amazed and honored when she took it: Where had this blessing come from? When had all of this happened?
It had been worth all of the ceaseless doubts…both dying and suffering possession…living so many endless centuries alone…to finally find her.
He had waited an eternity for this woman
.
“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, not caring if the whole house of Jadon heard him say it.
Brooke squeezed his hand, and one look in her stunning eyes told him all he needed to know: His
destiny
saw…and felt…all the same things.
They were home.
Napolean cleared his throat. He raised his hand and slowly waved an arm over the crowd, releasing the kneeling spectators. “Be at ease,” he said.
The males stood, visibly relaxed, and waited to hear more from their king.
Napolean cleared his throat again, this time adding a calming breath to the mix. He nodded his appreciation to his males and their
destinies
alike. “Know this, all who are present: This day, my heart is fuller than I ever thought possible. There is not a soul in this hall that I do not live for, nor a soul in this hall that I would not die for. Serving you is my greatest honor, and living amongst you has been a constant privilege. We have suffered much over the years, but we have learned much as well. We have grown much.” He turned to Brooke. “And we have loved much.” Telepathically, he added.
My queen, would you like to say anything to your people?
Brooke looked hesitant.
She leaned in close to him, seeking the shelter of his body, and then instinctively, she reached out for their son and gathered him close in her arms. Brushing her lips softly over Phoenix’s brow, she gazed up at Napolean and nodded.
This was the Brooke he knew.
The woman who would make a magnificent, gracious queen. The savvy intellectual who didn’t hesitate to compete in an industry full of corporate sharks. Napolean beamed with pride.
Brooke took a graceful step forward, and then she smiled cautiously. “I’m standing in a room full of vampires,” she began, deliberately projecting her voice, “married to a guy I didn’t even know existed a couple of weeks ago, holding a baby I never thought I’d have—and truly have no idea how to care for…yet.” She laughed, and the sound infused the air around them with joy as the audience joined her. “Hell, I even have fangs.”
This time, Napolean laughed.
“But the truth is, despite all of my career goals—all I have worked to achieve in the past, and all I imagined for the future—all my life, I’ve only wanted one thing…”
When she paused to brush away a tear, Napolean had to resist the impulse to sweep her into his arms, fly them both back to the manse, and make love to her until her tears were but a memory.
He listened, instead.
“All my life, all I’ve ever wanted—yet never dared to hope for—is a family. Someplace to belong. Someplace where I was loved and truly wanted.” She raised her chin and stiffened her back, clearly determined to get the words out. “I have all of that and so much more now.”
When she glanced at Napolean and smiled, his heart warmed with gratitude and awe. And he knew that she actually got it: The house of Jadon was her family now. The males did not serve out of some shallow sense of obligation, ceremony, or pretense, and they did not make empty promises. Theirs were a species bound by honor, loyalty, and family, and they would freely give Brooke their allegiance out of a true generosity of heart.
This family would never intentionally hurt or betray her.
And gods save any other who did.
Brooke blinked rapidly, still struggling to hold her tears at bay. “You know, from the outside looking in, people might think I’ve experienced a nightmare: that a very,
very
scary man forced his way into my world and uprooted my life.” She glanced at Napolean and chuckled. “But they would be so very wrong. The truth is: while it may have been rough getting here, I’ve awakened to a dream. The most incredible man in the world came into my life and gave it back to me.” Turning to face him, her eyes softened, and she whispered, “You have awakened me to a happiness I never dreamed possible, Napolean. You have helped me make sense of the past and given me an incredible future to look forward to.” Blushing, she smiled and bit her bottom lip.
And Napolean’s heart soared.
“Napolean,” she whispered, “I love you, too.”
Epilogue
Nachari Silivasi gripped the iron stakes on either side of his hands and shouted his pain as the harsh lash bit into his skin again and again. And again.
He would not beg.
He would not give them the satisfaction.
His body shook against the hard granite beneath him, and his back arched in unnatural contortions as his spilled blood pooled beneath his naked belly. It felt warm against the otherwise cool stone.
It had been three long months.
Three long months since he had descended into the Valley of Death and Shadows—and entered hell—in order to save the Vampyr king of the house of Jadon from a dark possession.
It had been three agonizing months since he had seen his brothers.
The lash struck again, catching him off guard on a violent exhale, and he almost passed out. His amulet, the one Shelby had given him, was cutting into his skin—it always did when they laid him face-down against the stone for his lashings—but he didn’t dare take it off. Once, a minion of the dark lord had tried to wrench it from his neck, and it had burned the demon’s hand like a hot branding iron.
As the lash struck lower this time, falling somewhere between his upper thighs and his buttocks, he heard himself whimper, and he cursed his momentary weakness. If only he could die. If only his brothers would renege on their promise to continue providing life support to his body until he returned. If only he could be free.
If Nachari could have laughed at the irony—which he couldn’t—he would have: In their desire to keep him alive, to hold him to the earth, his brothers were keeping him instead in a vampiric version of purgatory. As long as his earthly body remained safe and healthy, awaiting his spirit’s return to Dark Moon Vale, he could not fully die. Once dead, his corporeal body, which was holding his soul at bay, and his ethereal soul, which was projecting a corporeal form in order to sustain the endless torture, would merge. He would be one entity in one place, and the Dark Lord Ademordna could no longer enslave him.
Granted, he would be dead, never to return to his precious valley in the Rocky Mountains, never to see his Romanian homeland one last time, never to meet his
destiny,
but he would at least be at peace—for the dark lord who had taken him into the Valley of Death and Shadows could not hold him as one integrated being. His eternal soul would find its solace in the Valley of Spirit and Light where it belonged. With Shelby.