Blood Possession (43 page)

The need to defend was as inherent as the need to possess.

Far beyond a value judgment or a narrow-minded gender assignment, it was a deep-seated instinct, one that had been programmed into the very DNA of the species. Like it or not, Vampyr were not human, and as much as their forms—and even some of their traditions—mimicked their human counterparts, their primary characteristics more closely mirrored the various predators of the animal kingdom.

“Perhaps, milord…” Marquis clearly weighed his words carefully, “but how many thousands of drills does a warrior go through before such instincts become automatic? Before life-or-death decisions are made on a dime—encompassing the full range of our powers?” He turned to Nathaniel. “How many centuries did it take before you were able to construct a perfect holding cell in less than five seconds, one with no energetic leaks or inherent weaknesses, that could be easily taken apart by your enemies?”

Nathaniel frowned. “I agree with Marquis. Take the ability to stop a bullet, for instance: It is one thing to discern the difference between a subtle energy shift and a slightly harsher disturbance—say, a finger flexing back on a trigger versus the vibration that occurs a fraction of a second later when the bullet is actually leaving the chamber—yet it is another thing altogether to get ahead of the bullet and intercept it before it strikes.” He paused. “When I think of what I went through, all of the years and trials—not to mention the excruciating injuries I sustained in the process of learning such things…” His voice trailed off.

Napolean strode across the room, listening. He leaned back on the exam table, crossed his arms in front of him, bent his left knee, and rested his right foot on the floor at the ankle. “The way I see it, the problem is our women inherent all of our powers—there are few abilities we possess that they do not also possess—however, without the benefit of the same extensive training, they rarely learn to wield them as we do. We concentrate on telepathic speech, tracking, feeding—perhaps enhanced speed and strength—and travel: the ability to move, seen or unseen, through objects. We want them to thrive as vampires, to speak to us and our children with their minds, to enjoy their enhanced senses, and to materialize and dematerialize; but that’s as far as we take it because we know we cannot put them through what we have been through.” He waved his hand through the air as if to dismiss an obvious, yet unspoken, argument. “And not because they are too weak or because we wish to control them. On the contrary, I shudder to imagine our females—one such as Kristina—after four hundred years at the University. Good gods—”

“We would all have to move,” Nathaniel offered, smiling.

Marquis nodded. “Ciopori would be…frightening.”

Napolean smiled. “Suffice to say, they are our equals—if not our superiors—in every way, but the Curse is as it is; and within thirty days of being claimed, they become mothers…they bear our sons. And that is an added responsibility, even a liability if we are to look at it logistically in terms of warfare, that we do not have to deal with during our initial training. Consider how much higher the stakes are for our mated males, even the warriors, once they take on a mate and are gifted with a child. I have seen even the most instinctive warrior think twice about his next move because his death may leave a widow—or his mistake may cost him a son. It is not the same carefree, independent mindset our unmated males enjoy throughout their training. The stakes are simply higher with a family.” He shrugged and held up his hands. “But what we can give them, we must.” His voice dropped to a low, throaty purr and practically vibrated with focused intent. “Never again will I place any female in the house of Jadon in such danger—surrounded by an enemy, facing life or death without her mate at her side—armed with anything less than her full potential.”

Both Nathaniel and Marquis nodded.

“Four hundred years is not an option,” Napolean added. “But six months to a year is.” Marquis raised his eyebrows. “At the University,
in Romania
?”

“No,” Napolean answered. “Of course not, but we have the necessary facilities right here in Dark Moon Vale. We can utilize the gymnasium and the outdoor training fields at the local Academy.” He turned to face Nathaniel then. “Nathaniel, Marquis, and Ramsey are already overseeing the hunting expeditions, our new initiative to find and eliminate Dark Ones, to ultimately seek their full extermination. You will oversee the creation of a new program—a self-defense program here in the valley—for every female inducted into the house of Jadon. They may not be able to get in front of a bullet after only six months of training, but they can learn to deflect one. If a complete holding cell is too tall an order, a temporary wall is not. They are stronger, faster, and far more keen in their senses than any human on this planet; they should be well trained in hand-to-hand combat, in the most efficient and lethal ways to kill, maim, or disable at will using their preternatural abilities. Telekinesis is no longer optional: A gun can be removed from an enemy’s hand from a great distance away, and while the total invasion of a human’s mind is an energetic feat of enormous ability—what is it now, the junior year before our males are even allowed to attempt such a thing?—the ability to influence, nudge, or even put a human to sleep is doable. It’s hard to fire a gun when you’re lying unconscious on the ground. Do you see my point?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Absolutely, milord.”

Napolean relaxed his shoulders, unaware until now that they had been tense. “Very well. Work with Mateo Devera on this. Create a six-month training program to maximize every gift our women possess, and see that it is started immediately.” He paused then. “Train your
destiny
first, Nathaniel. I know Jocelyn was interested in getting back into some sort of PI work soon, but I believe this is something she will willingly sink her teeth into. And the females will be more comfortable with a male-female training team. She can teach beside you or Mateo, depending on time constraints.”

A low growl of disapproval escaped Nathaniel’s throat, but he quickly reined it in.

“I cannot afford to tie up any of the remaining sentinels,” Napolean said by way of an explanation, brushing off Nathaniel’s territorial behavior. “You will learn to live with the arrangement, warrior—and I will hear no objections or alternative solutions.”

“It’s a good plan,” Marquis added.

“I believe so,” Napolean agreed. He then glanced at Nathaniel. “See it done.”

“Yes, milord,” Nathaniel said.

Satisfied, Napolean turned to leave the room. As he grasped the handle on the door, he stopped, glanced back at the Silivasi brothers, and spoke in a soft, almost reverent tone of voice: “We have already discussed what took place these last days—the indescribable sacrifice Nachari made on my behalf—so I will not beat the drum unnecessarily, but I want you both to know that there is not an hour that goes by that I do not intercede with the gods on his behalf.”

Nathaniel turned away and rubbed his jaw, suddenly seeming weary.

Marquis met the king’s stare, but his eyes were vacant, carefully concealing whatever pain was buried behind them.

“I would not have chosen this for him…for your family,” Napolean said quietly. “Nathaniel, Master Warrior, look at me.”

Nathaniel looked up.

“No matter how old or proficient Nachari becomes, both you and Marquis continue to see him as your little brother, and this I understand. But you must each recognize that he is far, far more powerful than you know. Nachari did not choose wizardry—it chose him—because of his gifts…because of his spirit. His story is not over.”

Nathaniel held up his hand to stop the king from speaking, and Marquis finally looked away. “I know you want to help,” Nathaniel mumbled, “but we are not children to be patronized. Please, just—”

“Hold your tongue, warrior!” Napolean commanded, his voice rising with a heat so intense that the room reverberated from the surge in energy and the lights blew out. “You are not in an ordinary state of mind, so I will forget what you almost said.”

Nathaniel looked away, clearly apologetic.

Napolean sighed and released the door. He strode toward Nathaniel, quickly closing the distance between them, and placed a gentle hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “Nathaniel…”

Nathaniel stood unerringly still…listening.

“Nachari’s—story—is—not—over,” Napolean repeated, carefully emphasizing each and every word. He waited for Nathaniel to fully process what he was trying to convey before going on. “I do not know what has happened, but on several occasions, I have sensed his life force…somewhere…surviving. Kagen is right to keep his body viable. If there is any soul in the house of Jadon that possesses the raw talent—the absurd command over the laws of nature and the unseen world—necessary to beat this thing, it is your little brother. You must not give up hope.”

The silence in the room was tangible, raw…edgy. What had been laid out was too weighty for words.

“Your presence is not required at my son’s naming ceremony,” Napolean whispered as he steadily returned to the door. “I have already given Kagen leave to remain at the clinic—I understand that he must maintain the life-support effort, and I am in full agreement with that decision. However, there will be no insult taken if your entire family chooses not to attend, your children and your
destinies
included.”

Marquis started to speak, but Napolean held up a hand. “That said, to see you both there would do my heart good.”

Marquis frowned. “Why?”

“Because it would mean that you’ve finally reclaimed your faith.”

“What faith?” Nathaniel asked.

“Faith in Kagen to remain vigilant in your absence…faith in
Nachari
to fight this battle as he now must—on his own.” Opening the door once again, the sovereign king sighed. “There is great love and loyalty in your family, and I would always see it so—but sometimes love requires faith, and faith, in turn, requires
acting
like you believe in someone. Believing in them as deeply as you love them.”

He didn’t turn around to see their reactions.

He simply whispered a silent entreaty to the gods—praying for peace and understanding—and then he let the door shut softly behind him.

twenty-nine

“Hey, you,” Brooke whispered, her voice warm with tenderness. Smiling from ear to ear, she slowly entered Tiffany’s room and sat on the edge of the bed.

Tiffany sat up gingerly, adjusted the large, fluffy pillows behind her back, and carefully studied Brooke’s face. Her entire body relaxed with relief, and then her beautiful sea-green eyes clouded with tears. “Brookie…” She forced a smile, and the dark circles that rimmed her eyes brightened. “Come here, you,” she said, slowly lifting her left arm to attempt a hug. Her right arm remained closely tucked to her body, encased in a hard plaster cast. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

Brooke embraced her best friend, careful not to jiggle her injured arm. “Yep, it’s me.” She almost giggled from the joy of being reunited. “And I’m real.”

They held each other for a long time, neither one wanting to be the first to let the other go, and then Brooke finally pulled away. She smoothed the thin cotton blanket resting over Tiffany’s lap and reached for her hand. “Are you comfortable, Tiff? Is there anything you need?”

Tiffany sniffled and raised her casted arm in a token show of exhibition. She glanced down at the fresh plaster and shrugged. “I won’t lie—I’ve been better. But now that you’re here, I’m not complaining.”

Brooke laughed then. She couldn’t help it. “Ah, Tiff…” She sighed. “What happened in that basement? Can you tell me?”

Tiffany shook her head and her eyes grew narrow. “Hell if I know.” She blinked several times as if bringing a mental moving picture into focus. “In a nutshell? Some redheaded girl beat the stuffing out of me.”

Brooke shut her eyes and frowned. “Kristina…but why?”

Tiffany shrugged. “Oh, God…” She paused to steady herself. “Because she thought I played a part in attacking those two beautiful women.” She shivered then. “OMG, Brooke—it was awful! David staked one of the women right through the heart, and the other guys—they shot this brown-haired lady like she was nothing…like a dog.” She shut her eyes as if she could also shut out the memory. When she opened them, they were wide like saucers, and her voice rose in pitch: “It was so crazy after that! You wouldn’t believe all the things I saw, Brooke.”

“Shh,” Brooke whispered, patting Tiffany’s hand to calm her. “I know. I heard.” She shook her head slowly. “I’m just so surprised—and grateful—that you’re still alive.”

Tiffany sagged against the pillows. “Yeah, me too.”

Brooke smiled then and glanced at Tiffany’s cast. “Your arm will heal very quickly, trust me. Kagen sealed it in plaster, but not before—”

“He spread some kind of nasty slobber all over my skin?”

Brooke smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess that sums it up nicely.”

Tiffany’s expression all at once became serious, and she slowly shook her head. “Brooke, what in the hell? These things are vampires.”

Brooke looked away. “Not
things
, Tiffany. Males and females. They’re not so—”

“The man who took you, Brooke? He was a vampire! What did he want with you?”

Brooke considered the question, all the while wondering just how much of the truth her friend could handle. She measured Tiffany with a scrutinizing gaze while remembering a previous conversation she’d had with Napolean. They had spoken about the importance of bringing Tiffany fully into their lives, and Brooke had made her position crystal clear: Under no uncertain terms would she be willing to give up
all
the elements of her past.

Some things were just too important…

But they had hoped to have more time to ease Tiffany into it.

Brooke cleared her throat. “There’s so much you don’t know, Tiff. So much you have to learn.”

Tiffany squeezed Brooke’s hand. “Then tell me, Brooke. Because I swear, I’m going to go crazy if you don’t.”

Brooke nodded slowly and sighed—she owed her friend at least that much—perhaps she should just let the chips fall where they may. After all, fate had already guided them this far. She withdrew her hand from Tiffany’s, wrapped both arms around her sides, and stared nervously ahead. “I hardly know where to begin.”