Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) (28 page)

Once again, Ramsey averted his eyes in shame. All kidding aside, this was brutal in its honesty. “Expect?
Everything.
Deserve?
Nothing.
Hope?” He paused briefly. “To be forgiven.” And then he literally held his breath.

“Already done,” Saber said.

The words struck Ramsey like a fist, and he wanted to walk away. Who the hell was this dragon, raised in darkness, to forgive Ramsey so easily when all along, Ramsey had harbored a grudge, conscious or not? The lines between
light
and
dark
were suddenly very gray.

Ramsey felt something overwhelming swell in his heart, and he struggled to suppress it: This was way too deep—way too vulnerable and real—for his liking. Under normal circumstances, he would flip the male off, laugh away the moment, and take a graceful exit to preserve his pride. Instead, he reached out with a rugged hand, grasped Saber by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a fierce, warrior’s embrace. “You are loved, brother,” he murmured in his ear.

Saber hissed like the so-called dragon he was. And then he laughed out loud. “As are you,
Chief
.”

There was nothing else to be said.

This dark bastard was learning to love.

And so was Ramsey Olaru.

Indeed, all was right with the world.

twenty-six

Salvatore Nistor sat alone, on the top of a rocky outcropping, on the outer skirts of the Red Canyons. He dropped his face in his hands and groaned. Honestly, he wanted to puke. He felt so incredibly sick to his stomach, which was virtually impossible for a vampire to be, but he felt it just the same.

So Saber Alexiares had
truly
and
completely
gone over to the dark—
light
side. Salvatore felt his stomach churn, and he waited to see a stream of gooey yellow bile spew from his innards.

Nothing
happened.

He sighed.

Not only had Saber Alexiares, one of the house of Jaegar’s most illustrious and prized Dark Ones for eight hundred years, just formally joined the house of Jadon as a loyal,
happy-happy-rah-rah-rah, I-can’t-wait-to-kiss-the-king’s-ass
subject, but he’d also joined the sentinels!

The freakin’ sentinels!

And to make matters worse, Salvatore’s dark-hearted yet once-beautiful bride was dead.

Ramsey Olaru had murdered Tawni Duvall, and now, the love of Salvatore’s life was gone! As much as he wanted to drown in his grief, dive deep down into the agony and swim around in it for a couple of centuries, Salvatore could hardly keep up the ruse.

Oh, hell…

The woman had been a skank.

A twisted, good-for-nothing, utter failure of a skank.

But still, she had been
his
skank, and their brilliant plan had fizzled out almost as quickly as it had gotten started.

He stared off into the distance, scowling at the reddish orange glow that still lit up the night sky from the house of Jadon’s bonfire.
A bonfire.
How adolescent was that? He knew of a few marshmallows he would like to roast over that infernal fire: Napolean Mondragon, Phoenix Mondragon, Ramsey Olaru, Saber Alexiares, Nachari Silivasi…

Oh hell
, he would roast every dog, cat, and fish in the house of Jadon if he could.

But he couldn’t, at least not today…

Resigning himself to the inevitable—Tawni was deader than a doornail, and Saber was gone, gone,
gone
—he rose from his perch and flipped off the sky. “Screw you, Lord Ademordna!”
Now, just why had he said that?
“And screw you, too, Sister Andromeda!” He squared his jaw—at nothing, really—drew back his shoulders in mock satisfaction, and then quickly ducked as a dark, dangerous—
pine cone?
—fell from a nearby tree.

“
Shit
,” he murmured, feeling like a fool. And then he thought about his self-indulgent rant. “I’m sorry, Lord Ademordna,” he whispered, hoping the deity could hear him. “I didn’t mean it.” No point in getting his own immortal ass kicked into the underworld out of an intemperate moment.

Salvatore would be back.

The house of Jaegar would never be bested by the likes of those
feminine
blood-suckers.
Weak-ass punks.
One way or another, the house of Jaegar would get to their quarry and balance the scales. And when it did happen, Salvatore Nistor would be right in the middle of things. He would find a way to punish his enemies, even if it killed him.

His stomach roiled… again.

Surely, vampires could get sick, because the very thought of dying, of something or someone killing
him
—Salvatore Nistor—an all-powerful sorcerer and generally gorgeous male specimen, was suddenly petrifying…

Utterly distressing.

Absolutely unthinkable.

Besides, his brother Zarek needed him, and so did his nephew Derrian. The child was growing so quickly…

As much as Salvatore had always wanted to descend into the underworld; meet his heroes and his legends in person; sup at the table of the dark lords, so to speak, he could no longer stomach the thought of it.

In fact, he could hardly even imagine it.

The very concept was revolting, nearly paralyzing.

And just why was
that?

He shook his head, not wanting to investigate the feelings any further.

He only knew that he belonged here,
on earth
, safely ensconced in the underground colony, securely tucked away in his private, luxurious lair with his fellow brothers of darkness.

Wrapping his long, muscular arms around his midriff, he shivered as he stood. Thumbing his nose at the distant clearing, the sacred ceremonial grounds of the house of Jadon, he dove head-first from the rock, released his glorious wings, and withdrew from the night.

twenty-seven

Tiffany settled into the soft comfortable bed in Kagen and Arielle’s clinic and took a deep, cleansing breath. Although it was highly unusual for a pregnancy and birth to take place in the clinic, as opposed to at home, the king having twins and Ramsey having a son, both at the same time, was a very unusual circumstance. As Brooke had so aptly put it, better safe than sorry. Now, as she stared at her huge protruding belly, she could hardly believe it was happening—yet it most definitely was.

The past forty-seven hours had been a whirlwind: Ramsey and Napolean had commanded each of their
destiny’s
pregnancies at exactly 4:oo PM on Saturday—of course, the
deeds
had been done earlier, in private,
thank the gods
—and now, at 3:00 PM, Monday afternoon, there was only one hour left to go.

Tiffany squeezed Ramsey’s hand, feeling nervous, excited, and exhausted at once. Certainly, the male had been there the entire time, taking part in the process, blocking any potential pain or discomfort with his mind, and trying to keep Tiffany occupied when Napolean wasn’t wheeling Brooke in and out of Tiffany’s private room at the queen’s behest.

Truth be told, both Ramsey and the king seemed utterly perturbed with the entire event, the fact that the two
besties
were having babies at the same time. What had started out as a grand idea had quickly evolved into a royal pain in both of their necks. One moment, the women wanted to play cards; the next, they were irritated and eager to go for an outdoor stroll. An hour later, they had sudden cravings for odd human foods, sending Saxson and Santos on numerous trips to local establishments to pick up pickled pears, movie-theatre popcorn, and chocolate-covered cheesecake. Still, a couple hours later, they demanded to be alone, to talk in private, a request neither vampire-husband would grant, and in the middle of the night—the first night and the second—there was no place comfortable outside of Kagen’s personal hot tub. And so, the hospitable couple had obliged them with much more alacrity than their mates.

Now, staring into Ramsey’s tired—
and slightly irritated?
—eyes, Tiffany hoped to lighten the mood. After all, they would be parents soon, and despite the fact that they were still getting to know each other as a couple, still feeling their way through each other’s moods, inclinations, and idiosyncrasies, there was absolutely no doubt that they were in it together… for the long haul.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Tiffany whispered.

Ramsey sniffed. “Now, what would I want with a penny?”

Tiffany huffed.

How rude.

The male really did require at least eight hours sleep a day—she had so much yet to learn about him. Just the same, she could be the bigger person, both literally and figuratively at the moment. She would simply ignore the less-than-amiable remark and press on. “So, I’ve been thinking more about names, and I think I’ve come up with a good one, something catchy and strong, something familiar, but also unique.”

Ramsey raised his perfectly arched brows, and despite his obvious fatigue, Tiffany couldn’t help but find him gorgeous. He was truly a stunning, albeit intimidating, work of art. She cleared her throat and spoke the word with enthusiasm: “George.”

The room fell silent.

Ramsey didn’t say a word.

He didn’t light up, and he didn’t frown.

He just sat there like a stone statue until, at last, his brow creased in thought. “George?” he echoed, as if maybe he hadn’t heard her correctly.

She flashed a tentative smile, and then her mood turned on a dime. She couldn’t help it. Her hormones were fluctuating wildly, as if all nine months’ worth of a typical pregnancy’s
fluctuations
were being packed into these last few hours. Whatever the reason, she didn’t like that sardonic look on his face. “What’s wrong with George?” she asked, in a tone far too loud for his proximity.

Ramsey drew back in surprise, quickly raising a placating hand. “I didn’t say anything,” he murmured.

She frowned. “You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your indignant, smug face.”

Once again, he twisted his features, but to his credit, he didn’t engage with a hormonal woman. Rather, he rotated his neck on his shoulders, popped it a couple of times in the process, and then scooted closer to Tiffany on the bed, still holding her hand in a firm yet gentle grasp. “George?” he repeated.

“Yes,
George
.”

He nodded, and then he looked off into the distance.

What was he staring at? The wall, behind her? How interesting was that?
“Well?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” she insisted. “George is a nice name. It’s reflective of American culture, and it has a solid, pleasant ring to it.”

Ramsey snaked his tongue from one corner of his mouth to the other, almost as if he were searching for a missing toothpick, and then he pursed his lips. “It’s a perfectly good name.” His voice was monotone. “I’m just considering… the broader picture… you know, like when he goes to the Academy or the University, that type of thing.”

Tiffany suddenly felt like crying.
And just why was that? It was only a name!
Holy cow, she was truly on edge. “I don’t understand.” She tried to keep her tone affable. “I mean, why would that be a problem at school? It’s not like the teachers couldn’t pronounce it.”

Ramsey nodded thoughtfully, this time biting his bottom lip.
Would somebody—please—give the male a toothpick? He was clearly having an oral crisis.

“Well?” she pressed. He smiled that overtly endearing and devilish grin of his, but it wasn’t doing a thing for her at the moment. “Explain,” she prompted.

Something flashed in his eyes, something that might have been a warning, a vampire’s way of saying,
You need to watch your step
, but whatever it was, it was gone as fast as it had appeared. Rather than glower at her, he locked his thoughtful hazel gaze with her suspicious green one and spoke in a clear, rational tone. “So let’s say he’s taking a class with the other kids his age, say Medieval Weaponry or Mind Control… ”

Seriously?

Were those the types of classes Tiffany’s young son would be taking?

She wanted to ask, but now was not the time to interrupt. Besides, she was dying to hear what he had to say.
What was wrong with
George?

“And let’s say the instructor is calling the boys out, one by one, for some reason,” he continued, shrugging in a noncommittal manner. “You’ve got Keitaro, Nikolai, Phoenix, Sebastian, Lucien, Ryder… and…
George
.” He quickly threw up both hands to allay any friction. “I’m just saying he might feel a bit out of place.”

Tiffany could hardly contain her scowl.
Oh, so now he thought she was an idiot?
She yanked her hand free of his grasp, crossed both arms over her enormous belly, and plastered an unforgiving scowl on her face. “Was
all that
really necessary?”

“All what? I was just—”

“
Lucien, Nikolai, Sebastian… and George.
I’m a highly educated woman, Ramsey. I don’t really require Name Categories for Dummies.”

Ramsey’s jaw went slack and his mouth fell open. He leaned toward her and placed a light hand on her thigh to compensate for the hand-holding contact she had just removed—in order to continue blocking her discomfort, some form of touch was absolutely necessary. At least he seemed committed to that aspect of their union. “Baby,” he drawled softly, “you know what? I think you just need to rest for a while. This pregnancy is about as advanced as it’s gonna get, and—”

“You know what I think?”

He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

“I think you would be happier with some aboriginal, feudal name, perhaps something more antiquated, like Kristoff or Munchauser or—I know—we could name him Beelzebub
after his
father
.”

Ramsey visibly flinched. “
Damn.
” His brows furrowed in surprise. “That was a bit
harsh
, don’t you think?” He shook his head in a forceful, brisk manner, as if he were trying to flush out his hearing.

Tiffany grew very quiet, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.
Oh gods
, she was an utter failure at this whole vampire-wife, speed-dating-through-the-process-of-pregnancy thing; and now, Ramsey would probably keep the baby and cast her out, deposit her on a hillside somewhere… with a horse.

What—in—the—hell—was—wrong—with—her?

Seeming to sense her sudden, and latest, change of mood, Ramsey reached for her hand once more and cradled it between his palms. “It’s okay, angel,” he crooned, almost as if she were a child. “It’s all good. It’s all gonna work out.” He brought her hand up to his striking, bad-boy mouth and kissed her knuckles softly. “Can I just ask one question?” His voice was infinitely patient and kind.

“What?” she whispered, still trying to rein in the lunacy.

“What the hell kind of name is
Munchauser
?”

Tiffany burst out in laughter, and then she began to cry. “I don’t know,” she droned between sobs.

Ramsey repositioned himself on the bed, wrapped a strong, reassuring arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest, cradling her in his arms. “Sh… c’mon, now… don’t do that. No tears allowed.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose on his sleeve, leaving a goopy streak behind. “I think I’ve gone crazy. Seriously crazy. I’m certifiable, Ramsey; aren’t I?”

He cocked his head to the right and grimaced. “Ah… not so much.” He tilted it back to the left. “Okay… little bit, but”—he rushed the next words, giving her a playful, supportive squeeze—“it’s almost over, and you’ll be stable again soon. Very soon.
Thank the gods
.” He murmured the last three words beneath his breath, held her for a while longer, and then extended an arm to fluff the pillows behind her head before gently laying her back against them. He tapped her ever-expanding belly, and his vivid hazel eyes brightened. “I tell you what: You liked my father’s name, right?”

She swallowed to lubricate her throat. “Santiago?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “I do, very much.”

“We could go with Santiago George.”

Tiffany perked up.
Was he serious? He would actually do that, for her?
She shook her head in remorse. “I can’t do that to our child.”

They both chuckled, and the much-needed release eased the tension.

“Well, what was your second choice, then?” he asked.

She tapped her fingers on the bed. “Roman. I think I like Roman.”

“Okay, so Roman Santiago or Santiago Roman? You choose.”

Tiffany couldn’t help but smile. Good gracious, who was this guy? Beneath that gritty, exterior, pit-bull shell was a genuine vampire with a heart of gold. Could it actually be true? Had her horrible luck with men finally changed? Could Tiffany Matthews actually be
lucky
?

Blessed?

She sighed. “We’ll name him Santiago Roman, after your father, but we’ll call him Roman, so he has his own identity.”

Ramsey demonstrated his consent with a nod, and the male looked utterly content. “Done,” he said.

She beamed. And then her attention turned to a more serious matter, something that had been niggling her since the moment of conception, something she could no longer afford to put off or avoid: Despite all the frequent mood swings and bizarre behavior, Tiffany was well aware of the fact that this was Ramsey’s Blood Moon, and it had been brought about by both a blessing and a Curse. While the timing of her pregnancy had been a mutual choice, it had also been mandatory. And by the end of the thirty days, there had to be a sacrifice, an exhibition of atonement made by Ramsey—and now her—in restitution for the original sin of his ancestors. The Blood would demand and take the soulless child, the Dark One, born without a conscience or hope of salvation. While he…
it
… might look human, even act and pretend to be a rightful son, it was something altogether different, predestined… malevolent. If nothing else, asking Ramsey about Julien’s story the night before, then hearing the morbid tale, had driven that point home. Tiffany had no intentions of watching the Blood come for Ramsey, nor was she stupid enough to get herself murdered by a ten-year-old “child” in the future. She was not about to mistake evil for good. No, Ramsey had to do what he had to do. He had to hand the dark child over to the Blood, but the real question was this: Would she be able to follow through when the moment of truth arrived?

She narrowed her gaze and spoke in a serious tone. “There is one other thing, Ramsey.”

He raised his brows with interest, saying nothing.

“I can’t… I don’t… ” She placed both hands on the fullest part of her belly and sighed. “There’s just no way—”

“I’ve got it,” he said. “So it can go one of two ways: You tough it out, and I wipe the memory; or the moment the dark twin arrives, you go to sleep. I make that happen.”

Tiffany nodded. She was not a wimp, not by anyone’s standards, at least not once she got past all of her initial fears and impulsive antics, and she was coming to understand, all too well, that Ramsey Olaru was a
man’s
man. He wasn’t just tough on the outside. He was as strong as an ox on the inside. He didn’t just pretend to bear the weight of the king’s safety and the Vampyrs’ laws on his powerful shoulders; he virtually carried them everywhere he went. Hell, the male had HOJ,
house of Jadon
, literally inscribed on his heart. He could, and would, do whatever was required of him, and he would do it with an iron spine.

But that was just it.

Ramsey had always stood on his own two feet, no matter how capable they were.

Only now, he had her, and she was beginning to believe—to actually hope—that she had him, too. That they were truly
in this
together.

She stared at him for a moment, admiring the placid strength within his eyes. “If you need me to be there, to experience all of it with you, then”—she paused to make sure every word she spoke was
truth
—“then I can do it. I will do it.”