Blood Ecstasy (Blood Curse Series Book 8) (34 page)

Julien gasped.
 

He couldn’t help it.

He placed both palms beneath the babe’s thighs and his back, cradled his son to his chest, and closed his own eyes, just for a moment, in a solemn yet heartfelt prayer.
Thank you, Lord Hercules, for my son
. His eyes grew wet with moisture, and he quickly blinked it away. The ordeal wasn’t finished, not by a long shot, and he needed to remain prepared.
 

Ramsey
. He spoke telepathically, and the Master Warrior appeared in an instant, his reassuring demeanor enveloping the room. “The light child came first. Will you hold him for me?”

Despite his tyrannical size and his pit-bull manner, Ramsey seemed like an old pro with the babe. He scooped him out of Julien’s arms with ease, tickled him under the jaw, and stepped back, never missing a beat.
 

The sight gave Julien hope.

If this ruthless bastard could master the basics of fatherhood, then the tracker might just have a chance of figuring it out himself.

A shrill, discordant note, like fingernails on a chalkboard, replaced the soothing hum, and Julien immediately drew to attention. A dark, inky outline appeared above Rebecca’s midriff, and the contrast made Julien sick: How could anything so foul come from something—from someone—so pure?
 

He swallowed his disdain and straightened his back.

And then he visibly flinched.

The infant looked just like Ian.

He had the same slate-gray eyes, set an equal distance apart, and the same thin, narrow lips, carved into the same wicked slash. Needless to say, his hair was wild and banded, black and red.
 

Julien reached out to take him, the infant hissed, and gods be merciful, it reminded Julien of the Blood.

“Steady, tracker,” Ramsey cautioned in that deep, authoritative voice.
 

“I’m fine,” Julien grunted as he secured the soulless infant in his arms. “Call Tiffany.”

In a flash, the beautiful blonde appeared in the room, and her calm, self-assured countenance was a welcome change to the warriors’ serious energy. “Which one?” she asked in a matter-of-fact voice, her sea-green eyes reflecting compassion.

Julien gestured toward Ramsey with his chin.
 

“Well, hello, little one,” she cooed to the babe as she lifted him from Ramsey’s arms. “And what do we have here? You must be the most handsome little man in the entire house of Jadon,” she added, laughing as the infant gurgled.

Julien extended the Dark One to Ramsey. “Wait for me in the foyer.”

The sentinel didn’t balk.
 

He took the child, replied with a nod, and they both disappeared from the room.
 

“Becca,” Julien said, leaning over his
destiny’s
slumbering
form. “Wake up, little mouse.”

Rebecca blinked two times and caught at the covers beside her, seeming momentarily disoriented. “What happened?” she croaked in a sleepy voice, scanning the room with a drowsy gaze.
 

“The most gorgeous little man, with the most pleasant little smile, happened,” Tiffany interjected. “Would you like to see your son?”

Rebecca’s eyes shot to Julien’s, and her soft, kissable lips fell open. “Is it over?”

Julien forced a smile. “Half over, love. I still have to go. But I wanted to be here when you met our son.”

Rebecca scooted backward on the bed with a quickness, shimmying up against the headboard in order to support her back, and then she held out her arms, and her eyes filled with wonder as Tiffany stepped forward and placed the child in her arms.

“Oh my gosh!” she gasped. “You’re kidding me!” She stared at Julien and giggled. And then she stared at her belly in awe as it continued to retract, metamorphosing back to its normal size. “This is…impossible.”

The child reached up, grasped a lock of her wavy, S-shaped curls, and her eyes virtually overflowed with tears. “Oh…my…goodness. He’s beautiful.” She glanced askance at Julien. “He looks like you.”

Julien nodded. “But he has your eyes.”

She gazed down into the baby’s bright, wondrous gaze and grinned from the depths of her soul. “Hello, little one.”

The child sighed, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Julien felt complete, like everything might actually be right with the world.
 

He buried that feeling.

Not quite.

Not yet.

He still had something imperative to do.

Something his father had failed to accomplish.

He still had to turn the Dark One over to the Blood, and he wasn’t willing to waste another moment. “Baby,” he said softly, “Ramsey is waiting for me in the foyer. I’ve gotta go.” He glanced at Tiffany and nodded. “Ramsey’s
destiny
will stay here with you, and she brought plenty of…
stuff
…for the baby”—Tiffany chuckled at the use of the word
stuff
—“so, everything should be fine. Oh, and Ramsey will watch over you both; so just relax, get some rest, and I’ll see you in a few.”
 

Rebecca pressed an instinctive kiss on the baby’s forehead, and then she reached out with her right arm and beckoned Julien forward. When he stepped into her embrace and bent down to nuzzle her cheek, she whispered soothingly in his ear: “You can do this, Julien. Everything is going to be fine. Come back to me, warrior, okay?”

He nuzzled even closer and reveled in the warmth of the moment. “Nothing in this world—or the next—could keep me from it. Watch over our son, Rebecca.” With that, he pulled away from her embrace, took a determined stride backward, and vanished from the room.

thirty-three

Julien made his way down the long, damp, circular tunnel, illuminated by torchlight, that led from Napolean’s manse to both the Hall of Justice and the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement. He barely made a sound as he traversed the ancient cobblestone floor, and all the while, he held the dark twin, the one who would not be named, in his left arm, almost like a football: away from his body; in a distant, unfeeling manner; and cast into the shadows, beyond the reflection of the undulating flames.
 

He didn’t even bother to look at him.
 

Yes, it may have seemed crass, even cruel, to some…

But Julien understood, perhaps more than any other male in the house of Jadon, exactly what was resting against his arm, exactly who and what the soulless one was—what he would grow up to become; the countless lives he would destroy if given half a chance; and just how dark and malevolent he really was.
 

And he intended to turn him over to the Blood, without incident.

While he was firm at his center, resolute at his core, his left eyelid twitched several times in quick succession, reminding the warrior that he was still a bit uneasy about one particular aspect: sharing the same space as the evil apparition; once again, facing the entity that had tried to steal his soul and take him to the Valley of Death and Shadows.

He shrugged his shoulder in an effort to shrug it off.

He was alive and well now, firmly planted in his corporeal body—there shouldn’t be a problem, especially when he was there to fulfill the Curse.
 

Reaching the end of the long, eerie tunnel, he stared at both arched wooden doors—the one on the left that led to the Ceremonial Hall of Justice, and the one on the right that led to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement—and he took a deep, measured breath for courage. As he entered the room on the right, he immediately elongated his stride, strolling swiftly through the center aisle, navigating rapidly past the wooden pews, and approaching the oval platform bravely, his eyes fixed dead ahead on the granite altar.

And that’s when he
felt
Saber Alexiares, standing off to the right, in the room. He turned his head to the side and frowned. “Dragon?”

Saber pushed off from the wall and took five lazy strides forward, heading for the foremost right-hand pew, where he sat down, sprawled languidly, and leaned back against the bench. “S’up, J.” His expression was absent of emotional cues.
 

Julien turned around to face him and cocked his eyebrows in question. “What are you doing here?” Might as well get straight to the point.

Saber popped his neck, as if the whole scene was somehow trite, and then he took his sweet time coming up with an answer. “You want the party line, or you want the truth?”

Julien frowned, becoming increasingly impatient. The last thing he wanted was for the Dark One to awaken in his arm, but yeah, he wanted the full story, party line and truth. “Both,” he grumbled, exposing his irritation.

Saber remained unfazed. “Party line is this: The king wants a sentinel in the chamber when you turn over the kid…just in case. You know, the Blood and that whole crazy trip on the bridge—Napolean isn’t taking any chances.” He smirked. “Gods and demons aside, there’s the whole touchy-feely piece. I’m just here as a precaution.” He flicked an unruly, wavy lock of his black-and-red banded hair out of his face, and just for an instant, it gave Julien the chills—sometimes the dragon still resembled a Dark One.
 

“What touchy-feely piece?” he asked.

Saber glanced away, briefly, and then he returned the tracker’s stare and held it in an iron, unwavering gaze.
“You have a history, J. The way Ramsey tells it, you kind of vacillated between living and dying for a minute.” At this, Julien rolled his eyes, but Saber continued, undaunted. “Not to mention, there’s just…ah, hell.” He took a deep breath and his coal-black eyes narrowed. “Look, your brother was a bastard, and so was mine. Ian tried to kill you, Diablo tried to kill me, and we both lost our parents to the…dark side.” His lip turned up in that characteristic scowl that scarcely mimicked a smile. “Well, I didn’t really have a mother, at least not until Lorna, but I just thought…maybe you could use some support…another soul who gets where you’re at, has been where you’re standing, who’s dealt with some similar insanity. You know, just in case…someone who can remind you, if necessary, that life is still worth living.”

Julien shook his head, and his heart constricted in his chest, just a flutter.

Wow.
 

So the dragon was there to get his back, to make sure he was okay…

Emotionally.
 

Damn, that was more than he cared to process at the moment. “Ah’ight,” he said, responding with a nod. “Thank you.”
 

What else could he say?

Saber brushed the expression of gratitude off with a wink and a shrug, and then he sank further into the pew. Apparently, the touchy-feely conversation was over, and that was just fine with Julien. Without further delay, the tracker stepped onto the platform, placed the dark twin on the granite altar, and swiftly paced back. As a familiar dense fog gathered at the foot of the hollow basin, the room grew unnaturally cold, and the energy of rage, mourning, and sorrow began to coalesce around him.
 

Julien didn’t waste his time mincing words: “
Pentru voi, care au fost drep
ţ
e
ş
i f
ă
r
ă
vin
ă
; pentru voi care ati fost sacrificate fara mila: am venit pentru a rambursa datoria mea. Pentru p
ă
catale stramosilor mei, va ofer primul fiul meu nascut
ş
i v
ă
implor iertare. Aveti mila de sufletul meu
ş
i acceptati viata acestui copil în schimbul meu
…”

To you who were righteous and without blame; to you who were slaughtered without mercy: I come to repay my debt. For the sins of my ancestors, I offer my firstborn son and beg of you forgiveness. Have mercy on my soul and accept this child's life in exchange for my own.

The Blood showed up with a hiss, and Julien took two unwitting steps back, watching as the dark crimson stain swirled around the basin and screeched.

He turned his head away, and that’s when he saw the undulating skeletal arm reach out from the fog to touch him, to stroke the side of his cheek with disembodied, emaciated fingers. He slapped the hand away, and Saber was at his side in an instant.

So was Lord Hercules.
 

Glaring daggers at the Blood.
 

Saber audibly gasped at the sight of the magnificent giant lord in all his splendor and glory. Just as before, Hercules wore a lion’s pelt around his rock-hard flesh as he gripped the three-headed scepter; only this time, he extended the staff toward the Blood, the serpents began to strike at the otherworldly presence, and the ghostly aberration drew back. “You tried to take him once; you will not touch him again,” the celestial god bellowed.

Julien covered his ears, and then he nearly bit a hole in his tongue. He was dying to ask
why
—why had the god allowed it the first time, that night on the icy bridge?

Sensing his thoughts with ease, Hercules glanced over his shoulder to meet the tracker’s gaze. “You were caught between worlds, my son, and it could’ve gone either way, living or dying. Your desire to follow Ian, to follow your parents in death, was very great indeed. It always has been, and that is why your rage, your elemental emotion, has always been so destructive, capable of animating the earth. But your
destiny
was another matter altogether. Your desire to claim her, to have her, to finally know real love was equally compelling. I knew if the Blood took you, your
destiny
would fight for you. She would wrestle for your soul, without even knowing what she was doing; and I knew that you would choose her love over self-destruction in the end.”

Julien tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brows, still trying to understand. “So you let me fight the Blood? You almost let me fight Ian?”

Hercules shook his head, and his wild, spectral hair whipped about his shoulders. “No, son. I let you wage the only war that ever mattered, the one that raged within your soul: self-hatred versus self-love, the desire for revenge versus the desire to move on, the need to make atonement versus the need to forgive…that ten-year-old child who survived. The demon that was Ian was a mirror of yourself, your enemy, without and within.”