Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) (27 page)

This time, Ramsey snickered. The king was really putting on quite a show, clearly making an effort to mitigate any awkward moments in the ceremony, for Saber’s sake. And actually, he was telling the truth: Saber’s mate, Princess Vanya, was deeply committed to the Romanian University. She had elected to record the oral history, revive the magical incantations, and share the ancient spiritual practices that were once only known by the original females. Her dedication was extraordinary, and her work was invaluable. She would singlehandedly return a lost legacy back to the Vampyr, and Saber would be present for all of her classes. He could probably get away with skipping Antiquity 101: The History and Foundations of the House of Jadon.

Napolean smiled freely. “All kidding aside, it gives me enormous pleasure to announce to this assembly that Saber Dzuna Alexiares has made a decision to join the house of Jadon’s formal Sentinel Guard. From this night forward, he will belong to my inner circle, and he will dedicate his life to the protection of my family… as well as our people.”

The crowd responded with a perfectly timed chorus of three thunderous shouts, and Rafael Dzuna, Saber’s father, virtually beamed with pride.

“With that said,” Napolean continued, “it is time to move forward with this induction.”

Rafael made his way to the steep nearby staircase and quietly descended the stage, making his way across the first row to stand before the dais, front and center, just adjacent to the bonfire.

Everyone knew what was about to take place.

As a son of Jadon, Saber would be required to shed his blood in a symbolic act of sacrifice for the people. As a pledged sentinel, a sworn protector of Napolean and the royal family, he would be expected to do much,
much
more.

Ramsey, in particular, understood the power, pain, and significance of the second half of the ceremony; and he waited with bated breath as Napolean ambled to stand directly behind Saber, lowered the mahogany robe from the vampire’s shoulders, and gestured toward the bonfire. Without a sound, Rafael Dzuna approached the raging fire, reached into the flames, and removed a red-hot implement, an iron stylus, to be used for Saber’s induction. He ascended the dais once more and set the sizzling implement on the edge of the tray, beside the golden dagger.

The king took the dagger in his right hand and rotated the blade until the hilt was facing Saber. “Saber Dzuna Alexiares, as a loyal subject of this house, will you sacrifice your blood for all those who stand before you? Will you live, die, or bleed for each of our beloved
destinies
?”

Saber didn’t hesitate. “I will.” He reached for the dagger, raised his left arm high above the platform’s edge, his wrist hovering above the raging fire, and cleanly sliced his flesh from the heel of his hand to the crook of his elbow. The vertical incision was deep and jagged, and the blood sizzled as it made contact with the fire, christening the flames.

After a sufficient amount of time had passed, Napolean nodded, and Saber healed the wound himself with his venom.

The night seemed to grow darker as Napolean retrieved the dagger, held it loosely in his hand, and then turned to face Saber, who promptly kneeled before him. “As a faithful sentinel, one whose voice is now my voice, whose hand is now my hand, who is now and forevermore conveyed with the authority to enforce my laws, will you pledge your very soul to your duty by inscribing the name of the
house of Jadon
on your heart, before these witnesses?”

Saber briefly closed his eyes, and the crowd collectively inhaled. Finally, he licked his lower lip and nodded. “I will.”

With that, Napolean braced his left hand on Saber’s right shoulder, crouched down before him, and drew a deep vertical incision down the center of the male’s lean but muscular chest with the dagger, and then he set the implement aside on the tray. As Saber bit down hard, gritting his teeth against the pain, the king placed both hands on either side of the open chest cavity, reached in, and pulled the breastbone apart, exposing Saber’s heart to the open air. The organ could still be seen beating. Without hesitation, Napolean lifted the searing-hot stylus from the tray and began to carve the letters
HOJ
into the fragile organ.

Saber stiffened and moaned.

His back bowed; his neck arched until his head lolled backward; and he began to tremble uncontrollably, clutching the king’s wrist with his right hand in order to buy a moment’s reprieve while he caught his breath.

Undaunted, the king continued to carve the insignia into the vampire’s heart, even as Saber continued to groan and shudder from the pain. Yet the soldier did not cry out.

Not even once.

Once the monogram was finished, Napolean set the stylus back down, dipped his hand in the goblet full of venom, and slathered the healing substance over Saber’s exposed, beating heart. The male turned three shades of sickly green. He swayed a bit to the left, and then to the right, as Napolean closed his chest and, once again, coated the outer incision with venom.

All the while, Ramsey watched in rapt fascination.

He knew exactly what the male was feeling: the pain, the inevitable panic, and the unexpected shock. Both he and his brothers had been through the grisly ordeal, and it had hurt like a
mother
, no two ways about it.

Julien Lacusta, on the other hand, was another matter
altogether.

It wasn’t that the tough son of a jackal could not have withstood the agony—on the contrary, he would have probably borne it with a smirk—it was more that he didn’t want to deal with all the social requirements of the job, interacting with humans and vampires alike on a daily basis. Julien was a loner, plain and simple. And he chose to remain an honorary member of the sentinels, as opposed to a formal inductee, an adopted brother in the Olaru household and the valley’s best and only professional tracker, rather than a sentinel, because he preferred to work alone.

Before Saber could lose his nerve, and just in case the vampire passed out, which had been known to happen, Napolean stepped to the side, locked his gaze with Saber’s, and amplified his next question: “Saber Dzuna Alexiares: To whom do you pledge your fealty?”

Despite the agonizing pain, Saber struggled to his feet, turned to face the crowd, and spoke loudly and clearly. “Before the celestial gods and my revered ancestor, Prince Jadon Demir; before all who have come to witness my induction”—his eyes met Rafael’s, and for a moment, they glazed over with unfettered emotion—“before my
father
, Rafael Dzuna, and before my noble king, I pledge my eternal fealty to the house of Jadon. And I swear henceforth to protect and serve my people, to uphold and obey the laws of my Sovereign. From this day until my last, I shall live for the betterment of this house.”

An approving murmur rose from the crowd even as Napolean cleared his throat. “I accept your pledge of fealty.” He placed his hand on Saber’s shoulder and smiled. “Breathe, son. It’ll heal quickly.”

Saber cocked his head to the side, shook it briskly a few times, and then drew in a harsh, ragged breath. “
Shit
!” he swore loudly, wholly unashamed of the outburst.

Napolean waited patiently, as did the crowd, as the wound finally knit back together, the color returned to Saber’s face, and the vampire, at last, stopped trembling. “You ready?”

Saber nodded, and the king took a graceful step back, gesturing toward the platform floor. “For the last time, kneel as the son of your father.”

Saber fell to one knee, placed his right hand over his still tender heart, and bowed his head in supplication. Napolean extended his royal hand before him, and Saber kissed the imperial crest on the king’s ring. Then, in a brief moment of levity, Saber reached into his hip pocket, pulled out the now-dilapidated pouch he had been carrying around for over nine months, and shook it out in an exaggerated fashion, retrieving his own HOJ crest ring. The crowd responded with gaiety and cheers as he made a grand show of
slowly
slipping the precious object onto his right, fourth finger.

Napolean’s smile was positively radiant as he squared his shoulders to Saber and simultaneously gestured at the waiting assembly. “Acum inalta-te ca fiul lui Jadon.”
Now rise as a son of
Jadon!

Saber stood, and the crowd erupted with jubilation. As the males began to chant
house of Jadon
over and over, some chanting Saber’s name, the emotion in their voices swelled to a deafening peak; the sky lit up with multicolored arcs of lightning; and the arcs crisscrossed like supernatural fireworks exploding in the sky. When Saber held up the back of his hand and displayed the ring proudly, several volleys of fire rained down from the sky, and the vampires snuffed them out with matching torrents of manufactured ice.

Ramsey reached up to brush an unbidden tear from the corner of his eye.

Son of a
bitch.

And after all this time…

For so long, he had held Saber’s decision to wait against him, not truly understanding what the male must have been going through, yet when it had counted—
really counted
—the vampire had stepped up like a trooper, saved Ramsey’s life, and ultimately saved the life of his
destiny
. The male was truly a brother and a friend. He owed him enormous respect.

Hell, he owed the male an apology.

Waiting at the end of the line for Saber to make his rounds—the vampire would head down the left side of the dais and make his way across the front row, all the while accepting well-wishes and congratulations from each of the honored vampires—Ramsey sought to gather his words.

Saber greeted his father and Keitaro Silivasi first; then he made his way down the row to Marquis, Nathaniel, and Kagen before spending an extra amount of time with Santos, Saxson, and Julien. After clapping hands with the youngster, Braden, he turned to Nachari Silivasi and stopped dead in his tracks. Their feral eyes locked in a knowing gaze, and Ramsey watched with guilty interest, knowing he was witnessing a rare, intimate moment.

Ever since their unlikely paths had crossed, Nachari and Saber had formed an unusually strong bond, and there was such raw emotion in each of the vampires’ eyes. Watching as the two males publicly embraced, without any unnecessary posturing, without the need to keep things
hard
, Ramsey couldn’t help but find it fitting: After all, Saber had lost his dark brothers, and Nachari had lost his twin. Despite the fact that they had lived very different lives, both losses were equally real. Both males knew what it was like to live without a critical part of their identity.

Beyond that commonality, the dragon had spent eight hundred years in the Dark Ones’ Colony, while Nachari had spent a little over four hellish months in the Valley of Death and Shadows. There was no doubt in Ramsey’s mind that
each
vampire had seen, experienced, and survived a level of moral corruption, and personal degradation, beyond anything he or his
house of Jadon
brothers could imagine. And, as if that weren’t enough, when Saber had first been captured, before they knew who he truly was, Nachari had gone to see him in the HOJ holding cell to settle what had happened with Deanna. Despite Nachari’s hunger for vengeance, the Master Wizard had not struck out with violence, nor had he cursed the
Dark One’s
immortal soul. Rather, he had funneled a four-dimensional stream of his own memories, the time he had spent in hell, directly into Saber’s mind, transferring all of his experiences
firsthand
. He had wanted Saber to know
exactly
where he was headed and what he had to look forward to, and in the process, he had unwittingly shared the most intimate, brutal, and painful secrets of his own life.

As things turned out, Saber wasn’t a Dark One at all, not in the end, but he still retained every last one of Nachari’s vulnerable memories. That had to play a factor in their bond.
It just had to.
Those males had seen and shared some serious shit, and on a deeper level than most.

Ramsey shrugged.

Who knew?

He wasn’t a shrink.

But for whatever reason, the two had a clear and unmistakable connection. And now, as they drew back from their masculine embrace and held each other’s stares, Ramsey couldn’t help but think that all was right with the world.

This night had been worth the wait.

He continued to watch as Saber accepted congratulations from several other members of the house of Jadon and then finally headed his way.

The vampire stopped short, about three feet in front of Ramsey, and smirked. “And to think, all those years I was raised with the hyenas, when I was meant to be a lion.
Damn
, that’s rough, brother.”

Ramsey cringed and shook his head. “
Ah, hell
, I said that? My bad.”

Saber snickered. “You were a rare kind of an asshole,
Chief
. I’m not even gonna lie.”

Ramsey chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I was… ” His voice trailed off, and he cocked his brows in question. “And what about
now?”

“And now? Now you’re my brother.”

The words were unabashedly raw, laced with true conviction, and Ramsey had a hard time digesting their content:
Shit.

Just…
shit
.

Saber held up his right hand to break some of the tension. “I’m wearing it,
Chief
.”

Ramsey looked away.

It was just too much.

He brushed his hands through his hair, trying fervently to check his emotions: His gut was lodged in his throat, and he wasn’t sure he could speak, not even if he wanted to.

Growling to loosen his windpipe, he met Saber’s coal-black gaze. “The other day… in the park… you had my back, and I won’t ever forget that.”

Saber shrugged and flashed his signature snarl… er…
smile
. “Yeah, well, that day in the red canyons, outside of my cave, you and Nachari had mine. So what’d you expect?”