Blood Echo: A Blood Curse Novel (Blood Curse Series Book 11) Read online

  Blood Echo

  A Blood Curse Novel

  Tessa Dawn

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  The Blood Curse

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Join the author’s mailing list

  Books in the Blood Curse Series

  Also by Tessa Dawn

  A sneak peek from Zanaikeyros

  Purchase Zanaikeyros

  About the Author

  Published by Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC

  Volume XI of the Blood Curse Series by Tessa Dawn

  First Edition Trade Paperback Published November 14, 2019 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  First Edition eBook Published November 14, 2019 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Copyright © Tessa Dawn, 2019 All rights reserved

  ISBN-13: Paperback 978-1-937223-40-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN-13: eBook 978-1-937223-41-0

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Author may be contacted at: http://www.tessadawn.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC

  For Julie Bibby

  ~ Thanks for all the inspiration!

  Acknowledgments

  Credits and Acknowledgments

  Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC, Publishing

  Damonza, Cover Art

  Lidia Bircea, Romanian Translations

  Reba Hilbert, Editing

  Passing Mentions

  The Flintstones – An American animated sitcom produced by Hanna-Barbera. Original broadcast: September 1960.

  One of These Things – The Sesame Street Book & Record; song written by Bruce Hart, Jon Stone, & Joe Raposo; album released 1970

  The Blood Curse

  The Blood Curse

  In 800 BC, Prince Jadon and Prince Jaegar Demir were banished from their Romanian homeland after being cursed by a ghostly apparition: the reincarnated Blood of their numerous female victims. The princes belonged to an ancient society that sacrificed its females to the point of extinction, and the punishment was severe.

  They were forced to roam the earth in darkness as creatures of the night. They were condemned to feed on the blood of the innocent and stripped of their ability to produce female offspring. They were damned to father twin sons by human hosts who would die wretchedly upon giving birth; and the firstborn of the first set would forever be required as a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of their forefathers.

  Staggered by the enormity of the Curse, Prince Jadon, whose own hands had never shed blood, begged his accuser for leniency and received four small mercies—four exceptions to the Curse that would apply to his house and his descendants, alone.

  ᴪ Though still creatures of the night, they would be allowed to walk in the sun.

  ᴪ Though still required to live on blood, they would not be forced to take the lives of the innocent.

  ᴪ While still incapable of producing female offspring, they would be given one opportunity and thirty days to obtain a mate—a human destiny chosen by the gods—following a sign that appeared in the heavens.

  ᴪ While they were still required to sacrifice a firstborn son, their twins would be born as one child of darkness and one child of light, allowing them to sacrifice the former while keeping the latter to carry on their race.

  And so…forever banished from their homeland in the Transylvanian mountains of Eastern Europe, the descendants of Jaegar and the descendants of Jadon became the Vampyr of legend: roaming the earth, ruling the elements, living on the blood of others…forever bound by an ancient curse. They were brothers of the same species, separated only by degrees of light and shadow.

  Prologue

  Gwendolyn Hamilton hugged her knees to her chest as she perched on the large, uneven boulder and watched the team of vampires—yes, vampires!—continue to inspect the old cobblestone well. Her captors were an unlikely crew: Braden Bratianu, the tall, muscular, good-looking hero who had rescued her from The Fortress; Kristina Silivasi, Braden’s girlfriend or companion—Gwen wasn’t quite sure what the redhead was to Braden, other than extremely possessive over every inch of his hard-cut body; Deanna Dubois, who was a stunning beauty with a generous spirit to match; and Deanna’s mate, Nachari Silivasi, who honestly defied common words.

  Nachari was extraordinary.

  The kind of gorgeous that stole a woman’s breath, made her lose her words and stutter, and caused her heart to skip a beat every time he spared her a glance.

  Yeah, he was that damn beautiful…

  And, in truth, all of them had been nothing but kind, generous, and accommodating to Gwen since the moment they had taken her in at the brownstone. Kristina had bought a host of new clothes and shoes for her “boyfriend’s” houseguest; Braden and Nachari had bent over backward to make Gwen feel at home; and Deanna had gone so far as to redecorate one of the luxurious guest rooms just to suit Gwen’s personal taste—as if the panoramic mountain views from the private balcony and the deluxe adjoining bathroom, with its decadent rain-shower and hammered-copper clawfoot tub, were not enough already. Gwen was living in the lap of luxury, and she was being treated like a queen. It was almost enough to make her forget her predicament…

  Almost.

  Not quite.

  One simple truth remained: Gwen was still being held captive, against her will.

  Nearly seven weeks ago, Gwen had been abducted from a ski resort and taken to a brutal fortress to be sold as a high-end prostitute and used as a human slave. Fortunately, she had been rescued thirty-two days later, but her rescuers had been a horde of vampires.

  Vampires!

  Immortal, blood-sucking creatures of the night.

  Not only were they real, but they were living in Dark Moon Vale, and for some inexplicable reason, they refused to let her go. Yes, they were treating her kindly, and yes, the
y expressed regret for having to keep her “a little bit longer”—whatever that meant—but from all Gwen had learned and overheard, they could erase her memories of the entire event, fill in the time-gap with something far more pleasant, and deposit her safely back at home in Denver, where she could get on with her life and her post-graduate plans.

  She could go back to her friends—they had to be worried sick.

  She could reunite with her parents, and Lord knew she missed Mark and Mary Hamilton more than words could express.

  Yet and still, here she was, her rear end planted on a rough, dirty rock, watching a group of ungodly beautiful creatures circle around a well like it contained the secrets to the very universe in its depths. Braden was taking samples from the stones and the water. The wizard, Nachari, was doing heaven-knows-what with his fingertips and some creepy spells, and the women—Deanna and Kristina—kept asking questions about invisible doors, portals, and the interior of the structure reeking with the smell of vampires, according to some girl named Zayda. And much to Gwen’s chagrin, there was a whole lot of talk about something that sounded a lot like…werewolves.

  No.

  Just no.

  Gwen refused to let her mind entertain the thought of werewolves—she had more than enough supernatural freakishness to process as it stood.

  Just then, Nachari Silivasi placed his fingertips on a pale, wheat-colored stone that sat atop the well, and began tracing the dark gray mortar all around it. He had done this a dozen times already, outlining stone after stone—but this time, he absently glanced over his shoulder at Gwen, and the stone began to sizzle: The wheat-colored rock turned molten red, an electric charge filled the mountain air, and a high-pitched whir vibrated through the canyon.

  The vampire drew back his hand.

  He stared fixedly at his fingertips.

  And then he blew what appeared to be icy shards over the singed flesh in order to cool it.

  He touched the stone again.

  Nothing happened.

  He let his hand fall to his side, and he glanced once more at Gwen—

  Nothing happened.

  He placed two fingers on the rock, locked his gaze with Gwen’s, and pop, sizzle, flash!

  Flames, electricity, another buzzing sound.

  He withdrew his hand with a quickness—his fingertips were literally on fire, but he didn’t bother to put them out.

  “Shit,” Gwen murmured, standing up on the rock. What the hell was happening?

  “Gwen,” Nachari said in that smooth, cocky tenor. “Come here for a minute.”

  Gwen shook her head so briskly her ears began to ring.

  He pitched his voice an octave lower. “Gwendolyn, come to me.”

  Deanna and Kristina backed away from the well, even as Braden drew closer, and Gwen’s feet, defying her better judgment and willpower, began to inch their way down from the boulder. “No,” she spoke out loud, trying to regain control over her body. “Stop, stop, stop!” She dropped onto her butt and scooted down from the rock. “Stop it, Nachari!” she shouted, realizing he was using some sort of compulsion.

  His amazing forest-green eyes softened. “Shh. It’s okay. Come. Take my hand.” He extended the limb that wasn’t burning.

  “I’d rather not,” Gwen squeaked, her voice betraying her terror. Up until this point, the vampires had never exerted their power over her, and Gwen didn’t like it one bit. Nachari crooked his fingers, and her feet kept right on shuffling. “Please, Nachari. That well freaks me out.”

  “It’s just energy,” Braden offered, trying to smooth over the situation. “What’d you get your degree in, again? Integrative Physiology? So you took a whole lot of science, right? Think of it this way: Nachari’s just doing a controlled experiment, but neither one of us is going to let anything hurt you.”

  Gwen felt her face flush and grow pale, as if all the blood was draining out of it. “His fucking hand is on fire,” she argued. “And he doesn’t seem to give a shit.”

  Nachari smiled, and despite her fear, her heart went pitter-patter. “I’m blocking the nerve impulses right now—can’t feel a thing. Trust me, Gwen; it’ll only take a moment.”

  Gwen’s eyes shot nervously from Nachari to Deanna, from Deanna to Kristina, and from Kristina back to the wizard. They were all as surprised as she was—no one knew what the hell was happening with this well. Against her better judgment—and well, because she had no real choice in the matter—she slowly padded her way to Nachari and reluctantly took his free hand.

  He held hers gently.

  He rotated the trunk of his body toward the well.

  And he placed the full palm of his burning limb on top of the stone in question.

  There was an eerie moment of silence…stillness…hushed anticipation.

  And then a neon bolt of lightning lit up the heavens, followed by a thunderous explosion, an echo so enormous it shook the stones loose from the cylinder before crackling outward in waves across the valley.

  Another bolt of lightning shot up from the well—not down from the heavens—and the pure electrostatic discharge radiated outward in a horizontal circle, wave after wave of lethal energy coursing sideways through the air like a burning scythe chopping wheat from a field.

  Nachari threw Gwen to the ground, dived beyond her body, and leveled Deanna and Kristina before the wave could hit them. Braden lunged on top of Gwen’s back and shielded her body with his heavy torso. The once high-pitched whir became a piercing, deafening drone—a never-ending, cascading echo across the valley—as the group hovered beneath the fire line waiting for the sudden mystical storm to pass.

  “Build a holding cell, Braden!” Nachari shouted from the other end of the well. “Draw carbon from the living organisms around you and bond each atom covalently to four other atoms.” Even as he spoke, his hands were working furiously, and a thin, sparkling dome was beginning to form over the vampire and the two other women.

  Braden arched his back, pushed up on his biceps, and raised his body a few inches off Gwen to call out to the Master Wizard. “A holding cell or a restraining cell? You want me to construct it out of diamonds? Nachari, that’ll neutralize our power! It’ll leave us completely defenseless!”

  “I’ve already called out to Marquis. When the storm is over, he’ll come and unlock the barriers; but yes, you need a multiple layered cell, constructed from the strongest element possible. Build it to contain and restrain—nothing in, nothing out. Braden, the only energy surge I’ve ever seen like this was from Napolean Mondragon, when he was harnessing the freakin’ sun. This storm is being created by a vampire, and whoever he is, he’s drawing from my power—he’s a thousand times stronger than you or I. If you don’t build that cell, you and Gwen will die.”

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  The vampire’s arcane heart beat in his chest at a steady, even rhythm just as it had done for decades…centuries…millennia.

  He was aware of no one.

  He was aware of nothing.

  He had not been aware for over twenty-eight hundred years…

  At least not until now—not until he felt a subtle prick of magic piercing his blood-starved organ: the sensation of familiar power; the taint of another wizard; the pulse of a singular woman’s heartbeat.

  Destiny…destiny…destiny.

  His destiny?

  The word was as odd as it was unfamiliar, yet it rang inside his ears.

  And then something—someone—connected the circuits: her eyes, his power, a stone from the well.

  All fell silent, yet again.

  Then another connection, stronger still: her eyes, his power, a stone from the well!

  Fabian’s eyes blinked open, only to find darkness above, below, and all around. All the world was dark and dank; water and mud; earth and clay. The circuit closed once more, and this time, it was teeming with electricity, sorcery, and power: an undiluted pool; an unrestricted chain; a pure, untainted ch
annel to the source that fed his heart…and awakened his timeless soul.

  That wizard.

  And that girl.

  Thump-thump; thump-thump; thump-thump—his heart sprang to life, and he let out a thunderous roar, releasing a millennium of anguish, confusion, and famine! He was starving all the way to his core, the hunger gnawing, bone deep. His muscles spasmed in agony, and his skull began to throb.

  Blood.

  He needed blood.

  He needed her blood, and he needed it now.

  And then his power flowed back into him like water breaking through an ageless dam, and he sent the full breadth of it lambasting forward, exploding through the grave…the mud…the sand…

  The well.

  Fabian Antonescu, the most infamous wizard to have ever been born to the union of a celestial god and a human mate, was lying at the bottom of a simple archaic well.

  He was…

  He was…

  He was no longer in Romania, leading the convoy of warriors, a secret group of mercenaries, through the Transylvanian Alps. He was no longer holed up in the southern Carpathian Mountains, hiding Ciopori and Vanya from their bloodthirsty brother, Prince Jaegar. He was no longer changing, suffering, wishing for his final death, along with his loyal followers, as claws and fangs and power beyond imagining assailed them…changed them…made them into something else.