Blood Redemption (25 page)

Saber wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, quick to replace his arm around Vanya,
to clamp down once again with unyielding force. Vanya had stopped struggling in earnest
hours ago. Now, she only whimpered and cried out a few times each minute; but she
was exhausted. Beyond exhausted, really. She was depleted, laid bare, devastated by
the suffering.

Saber glanced at the clock: It was seven AM, and they had been at it for over ten
hours. His gaze moved from the time to the healer, who was now standing anxiously
beside the gurney, checking the electronic fetal monitors for the umpteenth time.
Saber couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even reach out telepathically. The conversion was
simply commanding every ounce of his attention, his absolute concentration and focus.

Luckily, Kagen understood the question in Saber’s eyes. “I can’t make heads or tails
out of this,” he snapped in irritation, reaching for the printed chart to take a closer
look. He stared at the graph, the erratic lines and waves, in abject frustration before
crumpling it up in his hand, throwing it to the ground, and rapidly removing the elastic
belts securing the fetal sensors from Vanya’s belly. He reached for his fetoscope
instead. “Quiet!” he barked out to everyone, and no one, in particular.

It wasn’t as if anyone was speaking or making noise.

Not unless sweat made a sound.

Kagen moved the horn several times around Vanya’s exposed belly, listening intently
with his hyper-acute, vampiric hearing. “Son of a rattlesnake,” he swore beneath his
breath.

“What is it?” Napolean demanded, taking a measured step toward the Master Healer.

“It’s just…” He bent over to listen again. “It’s way too erratic.”

“What do you mean by erratic?” Napolean asked.

“The heartbeats. They’re beyond erratic…they’re stressed…almost frenetic.”

“Speak plainly,” Napolean barked, unable to restrain his anxiety.

“Something’s happening that doesn’t make sense,” Kagen insisted. “It’s like there’s
a sudden surge of exertion…as if…the babies are moving.”

“Isn’t that good?” Napolean asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean, it tells
us they’re alive. We weren’t expecting them to last this—”

“No,” Kagen argued, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s not…normal movement. They’re—”

Vanya’s sudden, ear-piercing scream cut the healer off mid-sentence.

“No!” Kagen shouted. He jumped back, dropping the fetoscope on the floor.

“What?” Napolean demanded.

“Her ribs!”

Saber watched in horror as the apex of Vanya’s stomach began to bulge unnaturally,
and he couldn’t help but jerk when one of her ribs cracked audibly, puncturing through
her skin.

“Sweet Andromeda,” Napolean cried, his tired, bronzed face suddenly turning ashen
in color. “Oh…gods…” He hung his head.

Saber was so confused. Beyond confused. He was disoriented and
angry
. Ten hours! They had been at this for ten hours, and he didn’t dare stop now: Vanya’s
system could not take a sudden withdrawal of venom. Her failing human cells could
no longer maintain her life at this juncture; and her newly formed Vampyr organs were
not yet strong enough to stand alone without the venom. This was no longer about Saber’s
origin, whether he was dark or light. As a male born in the house of Jadon, if Vanya
was Vampyr, the babies would be born in a normal fashion, dematerializing from her
womb at their father’s command; but if she was still human, they would continue to
claw their way out. As it stood, she was on the edge of both, yet in the cradle of
neither; and the infants were in a full-fledged panic, desperate to get away from
the pain of conversion.

Yet she was so close.

So close!

She just needed a little more time…

He bore down with everything he had, sending his venom into her bloodstream at double
the rate and intensity; but this only sent the unborn vampires into frenzy.

Another rib cracked, and the princess nearly shot off the gurney, momentarily breaking
Saber’s hold.

Napolean took over.

He rushed to the side of gurney, shoved Saber aside with one powerful thrust of his
hand, instantly dislodging his fangs from Vanya’s throat in a manner that caused a
brutal tear, and turned to regard Kagen, even as he began to gently lift the princess’s
head into his hands. “Get Ciopori!”

Saber stumbled backward, stunned that the king had stopped the conversion. “There’s
still time,” he argued, incredulous. “There’s…there’s still twenty-one hours left
in the pregnancy; the babies can’t be coming now.” He shot his own heated glare at
Kagen. “Heal her ribs with your venom while I—”

“Saber!” Napolean’s voice struck him like a physical object, the weight and intensity
of it bringing him up short. “We talked about this. We knew it might happen. These
children are going to claw their way out of her belly in minutes if we don’t stop
it. It’s too late.” He turned back toward Kagen. “Get Ciopori!
I promised
.”

Kagen threw both hands up in the air and took a stunned step backward. The look on
his face said it all: Why? When? How had this happened?

So quickly?

He gathered his composure and dematerialized out of the room.

Saber spun around, almost in a fury. “No!” he shouted as Napolean lifted Vanya’s head
to his mouth and began to release his fangs, the fangs he would use to drain her body
of blood as swiftly as he could.

To euthanize her.

Kill her
.

“Are you crazy!” Saber shouted. Something deep within him, something he couldn’t even
name, rose up in utter, uncompromising defiance. Vanya was not Napolean’s to take!
She was his!

Saber’s!

His
destiny
.

And she wasn’t going to die.

“Hurry!” Vanya shouted, grasping at Napolean’s forearms with such ferocity that her
nails scored his skin, drawing blood. “By all the gods, make this stop!”

Saber reeled backward on the floor, propelling his body as far away from the morbid
scene as he could. It was happening too quickly. Too suddenly to comprehend.

Napolean sank his lethal fangs into the princess’s neck at the exact same moment that
Ciopori materialized in the room. He was sucking her blood, and Ciopori was weeping.

No—she was wailing.

She rushed to Vanya’s side and took her hand. “Sister…
sister
…I’m here.
I’m here
.”

Vanya looked panic-stricken.

Pale.

Feral.

She grasped wildly for Ciopori’s hands and clutched them in an inexorable grip.

“Don’t fight it,” Ciopori implored, her chest heaving beneath the weight of her sobs.
“Go peacefully, sister. Jadon will be there to meet you; and I’ll be there soon. Just…just…go.”

Son of a bitch
! The words faded into the background even as the entire scene metamorphosed into
a distant but tangible nightmare.

This was not happening.

It. Just. Wasn’t. Happening.

Saber looked up toward the ceiling in utter hopelessness. This didn’t make any sense.
It just wasn’t right. By all that was unholy, Vanya was an original celestial being,
born before the Curse, born outside of the Curse! She was a good soul. A pure heart.
She was light and kindness and all that remained untainted in this gods-forsaken world.
There was nothing in her like the darkness that dwelled in him, no remnants of a being
like Salvatore, no vengeance like that embraced by her sisters of old…by the Blood.
There was nothing but flowing flaxen hair; soft, rose-colored eyes; and a regal, delicate
jaw. There was nothing but hope and love and charity—and all that shit Saber would
rather choke on than become.

But this wasn’t about him.

It was about her.

Where were her gods?

Where was Napolean’s justice?

Where was…where was…Serpens! The light god of his birth.

Saber raged at the injustice of it all as his soul interrogated his god—and not S’nepres,
not the dark twins, not the demons of his childhood—where was the god who had seen
fit to give him life so long ago, before Damien Alexiares had chosen to change it?

“Where are you!” he shouted to the heavens, not caring who heard. “Where the hell
are you, and how can you do this!”

Without even realizing it, he scrambled to his knees on the floor and banged his head
against the heavy tile, hoping to put himself out of his misery. “Serpens,” he prayed—or
cursed—whatever it was. “Don’t do this to her!
Not to her
. I’m the dark soul. I’m the dragon. Take me instead. My soul for hers. My life for
theirs.” He grasped at his wild black-and-red hair and tugged in anguish. “I’ll go
wherever I belong, to the Valley of Death and Shadows, to the Chamber of Sacrifice,
whatever it is you want! Just tell me. Don’t punish
her
because I never worshipped
you
.” Blinking to press back angry tears, he grit his teeth together. “What do you want
from me?
Tell me what you want!
” Snarling, he added, “Fine. I acknowledge that you are the god of my birth—you, not
your dark twin—that you gave me life, Serpens!” He pounded his fists against the floor.
“I’m kneeling before you now like a child,
begging
, when you know damn well I’ve never knelt before anyone or begged for anything in
my life…
ever
. Save her!”

The entire room seemed to disappear as Saber pounded his fists into so much blood
and pulp against the cold, unforgiving floor. As his barren heart wept beneath the
loss of his unborn child and the female who had done nothing to deserve his wrath.

As he finally understood the full measure of his sin.

Yet remained helpless to do anything about it.

“Saber.”

“No!”

“
Saber
.”

“Leave me alone.” Saber swiped at the hand in front of him, wishing he had the strength
to crush it, but knowing he did not. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone.
Hell’s bells
, they could execute him later—or now, while he wasn’t looking—whatever. Just leave
him out of it.

“Son, are you that blind?”

Saber felt utterly exhausted. Depleted. “Just leave me alone.”

Napolean squatted in front of him. “Look,” he demanded, reaching out to grasp the
stubborn soldier by the jaw. “Just
look
.”

Saber slowly raised his head and stared at the king. “What?” he asked. “What more
do you want from me?”

Napolean shook his head. “Over there.” He pointed across the exam room toward the
gurney, toward the all-too-recent scene of the unholy nightmare, and—

And Vanya was drinking some kind of fluid from a flask.

The princess was propped up on a pillow, and Kagen was giving her a vial of blood,
even as Ciopori wiped her brow with a damp washcloth.

Saber stared more intently: Vanya was slowly, gently…
breathing
.

She was still alive
.

Saber sat upright. He looked at Napolean, looked back at Vanya, and then looked at
Napolean again. “What happened?”

Napolean sighed and slowly shook his head. “I think
Serpens
happened.”

“What?” Saber asked.

“You may have just had a run-in with your soul, Mr. Alexiares.”

Saber could hardly believe his eyes. He stood gingerly and took a tentative step in
Vanya’s direction. “Princess?”

Vanya rolled her glorious eyes. “What, Dragon?” she snapped in annoyance.

Saber laughed out loud. He actually
laughed
. “Are you kidding me?”

Ciopori shot him a murderous glare. “Does anyone in this room seem to be kidding,
or laughing, other than you?” Her words were sharp and surprisingly
welcome
.

“No,” he said, as the realization finally sank in. Vanya—was—alive. Serpens had actually
heard his prayer, or rant—whatever—and he had somehow spared her life. “The conversion?”
he asked, finally coming back to his senses.

“She’s through it,” Kagen said.

“Through it?”

“Vampyr,” Kagen clarified. “The conversion is complete.”

“And…and our son?”

Vanya raised herself to one elbow. “The pregnancy is still viable, Saber. And Kagen
assures me that, while there are still twenty hours left to go, the children will
be born in the usual way…once they’re ready.”

“The usual way?” Saber repeated, certain that he was beginning to sound like a ninny.
It didn’t matter. He wanted to be sure that he understood.

“You will call them from her womb when they are ready,” Ciopori chimed in. “And then
you will fulfill the demands of the Curse as required.” Her voice was still clipped
with anger.

Saber nodded solemnly. “Of course.” He took a few more steps forward, daring to approach
the gurney once more. “And you, Princess—your pain?”

“I am no longer suffering, Dragon,” Vanya said matter-of-factly. “And Kagen has healed
my wounds.”

Saber met the Master Healer’s gaze then, studying the deep reflective centers of his
otherwise dark brown eyes. He didn’t have a vocabulary for
thank you
any more than he had an understanding of the true sentiment, but he hoped his expression
conveyed at least something of his relief.

Vanya cleared her throat then. She struggled to sit up beneath a massively protruding
belly and regarded Saber with a sidelong glance. “I trust you will see me through
the rest of this ordeal?”

“Of course,” Saber said, not sure if he understood where she was going with this.

“You need to block her pain and keep the discomfort at bay, vampire,” Ciopori said
crossly.

Saber nodded at the prickly princess.
That
he could do. “And when our son is born, I’ll take care of the…sacrifice.” He eyed
Napolean for confirmation. At this point, he wasn’t quite sure if the god Serpens
had accepted his trade or not: if he needed to trade his life for Vanya’s, turn himself
over to the Blood, or butcher a dozen cows, perhaps perform a pagan ritual…or two.
Again, he just wanted clarification.

“I will walk you through the sacrifice,” Napolean said.

Saber reached out to place his hand on Vanya’s belly—he was ready to move forward
with the process, to begin blocking her pain, and
gods be merciful
, hopefully, get it all over with without further incident, when Vanya grasped him
by the wrist to stop him. “Wait,” she said resolutely.

He met her gaze.

“You need to understand something first.”

He nodded, waiting.

“You keep saying
our son
…” She looked away as if to gather her courage. “Dragon, when this is all said and
done, I plan to raise
my
son in peace.” She sighed, and her eyes betrayed the slightest hint of regret, although
the set of her jaw reinforced her resolve. “The gods spared me today from my own foolishness,
and I am grateful to you for pleading so mightily on my behalf,
our behalf
, but I cannot forget or forgive the suffering I have endured these last twelve hours.
Every time I come near you, I get burned by your fire. I am wise enough to know when
enough is enough. I cannot save you, Saber; nor do I wish to try. Please know that
I wish you no harm, but when this is finally over, you will not see us again. And
I need you to respect that. To leave us alone.”

Saber pulled away from her grasp. He wrapped his right fist in his left palm, and
held both to his chin as he struggled to process all he had heard.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t lash out.

And he didn’t argue.

Hell, less than one week ago, perhaps just one day ago, he would’ve tried to murder
everyone in the room, taking Vanya out as a mere casualty of war. But he didn’t have
the strength to fight the world right now.

He didn’t possess the resolve.

There was no place in this valley for him—dark or light—and that was simply the way
it was: If Napolean let him live, and that was still to be determined, perhaps he
could find a place of his own. Perhaps he could still reach Diablo.

It didn’t matter.

Eternity was a very long time, and his immortality was looming very large at the moment.
He knew better than to make any decisions right then, whether to submit, strike back,
or disappear. For now, he would get through the pregnancy and the sacrifice, and live
to decide another day.

“I
don’t
respect that,” he finally said, coldly. “But I won’t challenge it, either. At least
not today.”