Blood Redemption (15 page)

Diablo continued to appear calm, almost too calm, yet his pulse sped up audibly. “Of
course.”

Tread very carefully
,
son, and you may yet live,
Salvatore said on a private bandwidth, addressing Diablo directly, mind to mind, for
the first time.

Diablo winced as understanding slowly began to dawn in his eyes. He swallowed his
arrogance and returned Salvatore’s honesty with a question of his own:
What is
really
in the serum,
C
ouncilman
?

Salvatore smiled broadly, but he did not answer.

Diablo’s head fell forward into his chained hands as if it had suddenly become too
heavy to hold up.

To whom do you pledge your loyalty?
Salvatore asked him. It was a question from a time long gone, from the fateful day
of the Blood Curse, when the men in Romania were asked to choose once and for all,
to forever serve one prince or the other: Jadon or Jaegar.

I pledge my undying heart—first, last, and only—to the house of my rebirth
,
to our royal prince Jaegar, to all his descendants, and to the
dark l
ords wh
o
have granted me
life.

Salvatore let out a profound sigh of relief.

Diablo looked nauseated, slightly pale, but he was indeed a loyal subject:
Salvatore, please do not ask Dane to do this thing. Even if he initially thinks he
is helping Saber, he will eventually learn the truth. Give the serum to me, and I
will see to it that Saber ingests it.

Salvatore shook his head.
Saber is accustomed to feeding from Dane, son. He will suspect something if we send
you in your brother’s stead.

And Dane—

Must make his own choice
. H
ere and now.

Diablo swallowed hard, realizing for the first time that he was going to lose his
father and both of his so-called brothers; his next words were forced out of what
sounded like a suddenly dry throat. “Allow me to accompany the delegates this night,
Councilman.” He spoke out loud for Dane’s benefit, trying to sound defiant as usual.
“Please don’t exclude me from the delegation.”

Salvatore chose his words carefully. “Diablo, we have a firm agreement with the house
of Jadon; there will be five delegates from each of our respective houses, ten males
in total, and this includes Saber.” He gestured at the mountain of a guard standing
behind Diablo’s lavishly upholstered chair. “Achilles is needed for obvious reasons,
as am I. Oskar is our head of state, so his presence is imperative. That leaves room
for two more: Saber is accustomed to feeding from Dane, so Dane it is. And I’m sure
you would not deny your father one final opportunity to say good-bye to his beloved
son.” He carried on the lie for Dane’s sake. “The way I see it, you and Saber will
be reunited soon enough if our plan works.” His words hung cruelly like phantoms in
the air, their meaning abundantly clear: Diablo Alexiares would never see Saber alive
again.

Diablo began to tremble in his seat, but in the end, he slowly nodded his head in
consent.

Understanding the depth of Diablo’s loss, yet still needing to push forward, Salvatore
reached for the vial filled with sterilization serum. He broke the top of the bottle
on the edge of the cocktail table and slowly extended it to Dane. “There is no time
like the present, son. Drink. Every drop.”

He watched as Dane lifted the vial to his lips, and his heart felt truly heavy for
the first time: Diablo’s unexpected reaction had made him optimistic. For the briefest
moment, he had hoped that Dane would do the same, refuse to go along with the plan
to save and rescue Saber, demonstrate his unyielding fealty to the house of Jaegar
through a willingness to kill his own brother, and buy himself a pardon in the process.
As Dane sucked down every ounce of the liquid, Salvatore’s hope vanished along with
the serum: Dane was doomed by virtue of consuming the forbidden potion, but even if
the dark lords forgave him, the house of Jaegar would not. He was no longer just the
son of a traitor but a traitor himself.

And the penalty for sedition was death.

Dane Alexiares would ultimately be executed along with his father for doing the very
thing his council was asking him to do. He just wasn’t as sharp as his wicked brother.

Sighing heavily, Salvatore slipped the empty vial into his pocket. If it was any consolation,
Diablo had proven himself worthy of life. Salvatore would explain what had happened
to the council, and the assembly would surely let the remaining Alexiares boy live.
At least the Alexiares line would not be wiped entirely from the earth.

“It is finished then,” Salvatore said cryptically. He tried to look at Diablo, but
the look of anguish in the male’s eyes was too great to bear. Diablo understood exactly
what had just happened.

And he was going to let it be.

Survival was one
powerful
instinct
.

“Achilles,” Salvatore said, turning to regard the giant soldier instead, “keep Diablo
and Dane detained in separate cells until the meeting tonight.” There was no point
in pushing providence, giving Diablo a chance to have a change of heart…or spill his
guts to Dane. As they were all so painfully starting to realize, grief could be a
terrible and unpredictable thing.

“As you wish,” Achilles bit out in a gruff, no-nonsense tone. He held out Diablo’s
cuffs, and the male stumbled while trying to stand before submitting once more to
the shackles.

Salvatore sauntered over to Diablo and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Be strong,
son.” He spoke quietly in his ear. And then, he strode to Dane’s chair and altered
the gesture, kissing the male on the opposite cheek—the kiss of Judas. “Tonight, my
dear cohort. Everything hinges on what happens
tonight
.”

Vanya Demir reached for her journal and tried to quiet her mind. It had always soothed
her in the past to put pen to paper, and tonight she was in great need of solace.

Tonight, Saber would be meeting with his dark family in the Red Canyons, and the matter
of his life…or death…might be settled once and for all.

The dragon
and the treasure
.

She recalled the distant, almost foreign look in his penetrating eyes, just one night
past in the forest, and shuddered: He had stared at her with such intensity, such
scrutiny, such curious…need. It was as if he had seen her in a new light for the first
time, and his eyes were trying to adjust to the glare. She bit the end of her pen
in consternation, hoping to dismiss the thought—maybe she was just being too cryptic.
Maybe she was imagining something that wasn’t really there.

Or maybe she had actually felt his…wondering.

His searching for unveiled answers.

His seeking for some sort of clarity.

His feeling something he couldn’t name.

For her
.

She reached for her journal and began to write:
By all the gods, I
am so conflicted
…
because I
know
I
felt it, too
.

The night was filled with shadows—ominous, layered, and threatening in their silhouettes.
The temperature was frigid, maybe thirty-two degrees, and a light frost had accumulated
along the branches of the native trees, surrounding the large circular clearing in
the Red Canyons. The tall evergreens and pines hovered ominously, like soldiers in
their own right, come to pay tribute to the uncommon meeting of bitter enemies.

The delegates from both houses materialized in the clearing at the same time: the
Dark Ones coming from the west, the house of Jadon from the east. Each group appeared
about ten yards away from the other, facing off like warriors of old in two loose
semicircles. Ramsey Olaru and Nathaniel Silivasi flanked the sons of Jadon’s delegation
on the far right and left, respectively, with Napolean Mondragon, Saber Alexiares,
and Nachari Silivasi in the center of the circle.

Saber drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold mountain air and slowing
his heartbeat to make his senses more alert for the upcoming encounter.

Tell me what you see
,
Saber,
Napolean commanded telepathically, the moment the Dark Ones came into view. He spoke
on the common house of Jadon bandwidth so that all who were present from
their
delegation could hear.

Saber swallowed hard. It was still hard to believe that he was
truly
a son of Jadon, at least by birth, but the fact that he could communicate on the
common bandwidth sealed the deal.

He had no intentions of betraying the house of Jaegar—or his father and brother—but
if he refused to give the king immediate and truthful answers, the meeting would end
before it began. His tongue snaked out to lick his bottom lip nervously.
The three males in the middle are Achilles Zahora, my father Damien, and my brother
Dane. The male
across from Ramsey, on the
outer edge
,
is the Chief of Council, Oskar Vadovsky, and I believe you know the male on the far
left, across from Nathaniel
: It’s our councilman and sorcerer, Salvatore Nistor
.

Napolean’s answering growl was barely audible, but Saber heard it just the same. The
king looked ready to strike at a moment’s notice, his harsh onyx-and-silver eyes flashing
an instant, deep crimson red.
Yes…I know of Salvatore.

What’s with the
giant’s
damn tattoo?
Ramsey asked, eyeing Saber from the end of the row with his peripheral vision, unwilling
to look away from his enemy.

Saber sighed. Ramsey was referring to the larger-than-life black mamba, with jeweled
red eyes and daggers crossed along its scales, tattooed around every inch of Achilles’s
right bicep.

It’s the official
insignia
of the Colony Guard
, Saber said.
All who protect the council bear the tattoos around their arms like bands of honor;
it simply means that they will live and die in the service of their people.

So, they’re the official bad-asses of the house of Jaegar then
?
Nathaniel snarled.

Something like that
, Saber said.
Achilles has a
serious
reputation. He’s also known as
T
he Executioner
. He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat.
I think they chose him for effect
.

Indeed
, Napolean whispered, his bile rising.
As if I couldn’t squash the seven-foot bug with a wink.

Salvatore Nistor stepped forward slowly, breaking formation with his cohorts. With
an eerie, old-world charm, he bowed low and swept a graceful arm outward, encompassing
the canyon. “Greetings, house of Jadon,” he said to no one in particular, and then
his eyes pinned Nachari Silivasi. “And you, wizard. It is nice to meet again, no?”
A wicked smile of contempt distorted his features. “How was your time in hell? Painful,
I suspect.”

Nachari took a bold step forward, the strength of his restrained magick radiating
around him like a dark halo, expanding outward and rising upward like a cloud of perilous
smoke. “Why don’t you ask Valentine; I think he’s been there longer.”

Salvatore’s deceptively handsome face drained of all color, and all the males in the
clearing tensed.

“If you came to taunt and goad,” Napolean said, his voice thick with authority, “then
this meeting is over. We have neither the time nor inclination to play your petty
games.”

Oskar Vadovsky stepped forward then. “Very well, Sir Mondragon.” He slanted his head
in a stately manner. “Perhaps you would do better to address your equal, as opposed
to my underlings.”

Salvatore noticeably bristled, and his right hand began to tremble slightly, but he
held his tongue.

Napolean chuckled, obviously finding the comparison absurd. “So, you’re the infamous
Chief of Council?”

Oskar raised his chin far too high to be dignified. “I am.” He smiled an arrogant
grin. “It is good that warriors such as we meet in the struggle of—”

Napolean waved a dismissive hand. “Heard the quote—it’s from Ten Bears, a fictional
character in a Clint Eastwood movie. Not interested in the plagiarism. We are
meeting
because I am a being of honor, something unequalled in your house. And you are standing”—he
waved his arm in a wide arc, indicating all of the Dark Ones in front of him—“
all of you
are still standing,
and
still
breathing
, because I have chosen not to strike you down out of benevolence. But make no mistake,
I have no equal on this field, or any other.” He turned to regard Dane Alexiares then.
“You are Saber’s sibling?”

Dane swallowed a lump in his throat and stepped forward tentatively, leaving the protection
of the Dark Ones’ formation. “I am.” His voice was almost respectful. He raised both
hands in front of his body in a gesture of peace and strolled forward cautiously.
“Saber is my brother.”

Saber felt his heart constrict in his chest, but he didn’t make a move. He simply
stared ahead, meeting Dane’s sharp ebony eyes for the first time in days.
Brother.

The telepathic communication went through.

Saber.

Thank you for coming.

Dane nodded.
What
F
ather did…we didn’t know. I swear—

“That’s enough,” Napolean Mondragon said. “Speak out loud or not at all.”

Dane cut his eyes at the king, and then quickly turned back to Saber. “You look hungry…starved.”

Saber shrugged, indifferent. “I’m fine.”

Dane intensified his stare, his eyes narrowing with purpose. “No, you’re not.
Feed
.”

Saber drew back, surprised. Dane wanted him to feed, here? Now? He nodded slowly,
more of an acknowledgment of his brother’s diligent attention to his lifelong duty
than an assent to the request.

Dane took it as an invitation, just the same.

Refusing to look to the left or the right of Saber, he held his brother’s eyes as
he approached him casually and with confidence. When he was, at last, a couple feet
away, he spun around in a smooth, graceful motion, turned his back to Saber, and dropped
effortlessly to one knee before him, scooping a thick pile of hair away from his neck.

Instinctively, Saber dropped down behind him. It wasn’t a conscious decision as much
as an automatic reaction, like a baby rooting at his mother’s breast. Placing his
right hand on Dane’s right shoulder, his left palm just above his ear to wrench his
head further to the side, he released his canines and struck with swift, agile precision.

“Not so fast, Chief!” Ramsey was there in an instant, his own large palm snaking out
just in time to slip between Dane’s neck and Saber’s fangs. The sound of enamel striking
bone was audible across the silent valley, even as the warriors from the house of
Jadon drew in sharp intakes of breath, and the soldiers from the house of Jaegar held
theirs.

Ramsey drew back his hand and shook it out violently. “Son of a bitch! That’s the
second time you’ve bitten me, soldier.”

Saber’s head snapped to the side, his feral eyes trying to focus on Ramsey. His hunger
was severe, his desire to complete what he had started, palpable. Although he tried
to speak, explain what had just happened to the irritated warrior, what came out of
his mouth was nothing more than a primal grunt.

Nathaniel flanked Saber on the left side and withdrew a razor-sharp stiletto with
a hand-crafted grip and a polished silver blade. “Back up.” He gave the order to Dane,
and by the tone of his voice, not to mention the way he was wielding the stiletto,
he wasn’t playing. “No contact.”

Dane was barely coherent, just this side of feral himself. “Feeding is our custom,”
he snapped, struggling for the right words. “It is how we greet…communicate… Saber
is my brother. You have no right.”

Napolean Mondragon seemed to simply appear in the mix, towering over both of them.
With one sharp tug, he yanked Saber up from his knees and planted him on his feet.
“Breathe,” he commanded, watching for signs of sentience—bloodlust was a very real
condition, especially for a starving vampire. “Just breathe.”

Saber drew in a deep, frantic breath, but his fangs still twitched. He…wanted.

Needed.

By all that was unholy,
he hungered
.

“Shit,” Ramsey snarled. He glanced at Napolean, and the king nodded his head in a
thin reply.

Too quick to track, Nathaniel tossed his stiletto to Ramsey. Ramsey caught it and
sliced his own wrist, and the offering was placed against Saber’s mouth.

The vampire devoured the blood like a starving lion being tossed a rare piece of meat:
He latched on with ferocity, made a tight, intractable seal, and began to suck in
earnest.

Nachari stepped forward and placed an open palm over Saber’s throat while chanting
some strange Latin combination of words, over and over, softer and softer, until the
words faded out.

And so did Saber’s unbearable thirst.

For the first time, Saber realized what he was doing, and he shrank back.

He released Ramsey’s wrist, spat on the ground, and wiped the back of his hand over
his mouth, utterly disgusted. There was no greater honor in the house of Jaegar than
to feed from one’s youngest sibling, to perpetuate the cycle of life in such an intimate
manner; and there was no greater insult than to refuse a much-needed offering, only
to take it from someone else. And a son of Jadon, at that.

Saber felt like he might vomit. “Dane, I’m—”

Dane’s stunned expression registered his sentiment. “Forget it,” he snarled. “You…you
don’t have any choice, do you?”

Saber shook his head slowly. “I’m not free here.”

Ramsey, Nathaniel, and Nachari stepped back in an awkward attempt to give the brothers
some small measure of privacy. “Don’t try that again,” Ramsey warned, his own deep,
gravelly voice registering a measure of disgust.

Saber’s lip twitched involuntarily, and he leveled a malevolent glare at the sentinel.
“Unless you want to kill me where I stand, don’t push it, son of Jadon.”

Ramsey raised his wrist to his mouth, dripped a lavish amount of venom over his wound,
and sneered. “You’re welcome,” he bit out, still retreating.

Saber turned back to Dane. “How is Diablo?”

Dane shook his head, his tangled hair swaying along his angular jaw from the motion.
“As expected, I guess. This is…things have been crazy.”

Saber nodded slowly. “And Father?”

Dane stood up to his full height then and twisted around to point at Damien. “He’s
here.”

“He’s been convicted—”

“Of treason, yes.”

Saber looked up as Achilles escorted Damien forward. The moment the male came within
five feet of Saber, he yanked his arms free from Achilles and shuffled forward frantically,
shackles and all. “Saber!”

Saber embraced his father, not caring what the warriors in the house of Jadon might
think or do. “
Dark Lords
, Father—what have you done?”

Damien squeezed him hard, then drew back abruptly and raised his shackled hands to
grasp Saber by the chin. “You are my son. You have always been my son. You will always
be
my son
.”

Achilles snatched Damien by the collar and yanked him away as if tugging on a rag
doll. The look in his eyes was one of pure revulsion, and Saber’s six-foot-two father
stumbled before the guard caught him and steadied him on his feet.

“Tell me you know this,” Damien insisted.

Saber worked his throat convulsively, afraid he couldn’t speak. “I…I do.”

“Well, isn’t this just lovely,” Salvatore drawled, all at once appearing beside Achilles,
behind Damien, and far too close to Saber.

Nachari was back in an instant, responding to the growing threat: “Don’t be stupid,”
he whispered to Salvatore, his eyes reflecting his willingness to strike.

As tensions elevated, Napolean cleared his throat. “Everyone, take five paces back.”
He never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. All of the males complied.

And then, the oddest thing happened.

Achilles flanked Damien on his right side, reaching across to secure his shackled
wrists with his right hand, even as his left hand hung loose behind him, and Salvatore
flanked Dane on his left side, reaching across to secure Dane’s wrists with his left
hand, even as his right hand hung loose in a similar position. Then, in the blink
of an eye, both males released their claws, drew back their arms, and punctured their
respective prisoners with dizzying speed and force, breaking through their backs and
penetrating their chest cavities with supernatural ease.

Saber blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening, and just that quick, he
recoiled. Achilles and Salvatore were standing side by side like two merchants on
a street corner, holding up their wares; only, dangling from their gore-filled hands,
were two beating hearts, the dislodged organs severed from their hosts and dripping
blood on the ground.