Blood Shadows (The Blood Curse Series) Page 3

  He smiled then. Progress had been made after all. “Very well; I will see you when you get here.”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Is there…um…oh, never mind. I’ll see you soon, then.”

  “What were you going to say?” Kagen asked, curious.

  She hesitated. “Nothing, really…just…”

  “Just?”

  “Just…is there anything else you need? I mean, anything at all?”

  There was a strange, unfamiliar note in her voice, a peculiar emphasis on the word anything, and suddenly, Kagen wasn’t at all sure what she was asking…or offering.

  Shelly Winters?

  Surely not.

  “I don’t think I know what you mean, Shelly,” he said, getting straight to the point.

  She sounded mortified. “Oh…oh…um… I don’t…I didn’t…can I get you anything…from the grocery store or anything?”

  The corner of Kagen’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. Well, I’ll be damned. “No, sweetie, thank you.” He almost added, Vampires rarely eat human food—and certainly not a Healer; but then Shelly already knew this, so he decided to leave well enough alone. “Your generosity toward Nachari is more than enough. I am eternally in your debt, Miss Winters.” Perhaps a little more formality between them was in order, after all—although it was a little hard to pull back all the sweethearts and darlings at this point—what could he say? Kagen had grown up in a different era, and his innocent dallying with the opposite gender was as natural as breathing and walking. “Just drink a glass or two of orange juice before you come, and be prepared to stay for at least an hour afterward.”

  Although he was very careful with the amount of blood he took in any one feeding, Kagen never took unnecessary chances with human charges. An hour was more than enough time for Shelly to recover from the process, but he would rather be safe than sorry. Especially now, after the loss of Joelle Parker: after Valentine Nistor had schemed to take the daughter of one of their most loyal human families, violate her, and use her body to father his dark twin sons under the guise of pretending to be Marquis Silivasi. The evil one had known the young woman was naive and in love with Marquis, and he had used it to his own hideous advantage, causing her inevitable death in less than forty-eight hours after the deception. The loss had sent shock waves through the house of Jadon and the interconnected human community alike—the privileged few who were exposed to the truth about the vampire species…as well as the dangers that came along with that knowledge—and now, the vampires had to be ever more diligent. The humans needed to know, under no uncertain terms, that their vampire benefactors did not take them for granted or consider their health and safety lightly.

  Not ever.

  “Okay,” Shelly whispered, sounding mildly deflated. “For what it’s worth, I also…I’m always here for you as well, to talk…if you want.”

  Kagen grew deathly silent.

  When after thirty seconds or so he still didn’t respond, she pushed forward. “I don’t know if that’s really appropriate or anything. I just know that it must be truly awful, what you’re going through, and I’m…I just want you to know I’m always here if you need an objective ear.” She swallowed hard, betraying her nervousness. “Even if I’m human, I do care, and I’m just very sorry about—”

  “Thank you,” Kagen said curtly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “We will see you when you get here, Miss Winters.” With that, he hung up the phone and slipped it back into his front pants’ pocket. He knew that Shelly meant well—of course, she did. But she was treading on very thin ice. And he would not be crooned to like a child…by a human.

  He glanced at the bed—at the peaceful yet lifeless-looking male lying on top of the crisp white sheets—and slipped a careful, protective mask over his emotions. I’m sorry if that came across as rude, he thought, but it just isn’t a subject I’m going to discuss with you, Shelly. You…or anyone else.

  He walked to the cabinet, opened the pine door, and began retrieving the apparatus he would need to facilitate the blood transfer in business-like fashion. It wasn’t that he was cold or unfeeling. In fact, it was quite the contrary. It was just that, as a human, there was simply no way someone like Shelly Winters could possibly understand…

  All of the sleepless days.

  All of the second-guessing.

  Had he done right by Nachari? Was he prolonging his brother’s life or withholding his peace? Could he have changed the course of events by doing something differently, and if so, what? Was there a medical answer to why Nachari remained in a comatose state? And if so, why wasn’t Kagen wise enough to figure it out? Should he step aside and let someone more objective assume the wizard’s care? Could he ever…possibly…live with the loss of another sibling, knowing that he had given his consent for the action that led to his death?

  No, Shelly Winters did not understand.

  That vampires were intrinsically connected to the earth, and their emotions brought about immediate changes in the same. That, for the sake of her kind, the rivers needed to continue to flow…without flooding. That the sky needed to remain tranquil…without thundering. That the earth needed to remain solid…without trembling and splitting open beneath their feet.

  And it would if Kagen were to ever give voice to his feelings.

  It most certainly would.

  Kagen glanced down at his hand and the dual rivulets of blood flowing across his skin, realizing that he had unwittingly bitten into it with his fangs. He slowly licked the blood away and closed the twin wounds with his venom before forcing his fangs to retract.

  He drew in a deep breath.

  Steady. Calm. Focused.

  Turning to the male on the bed, he smoothed back Nachari’s hair and laid the back of his hand lightly against his cheek. “Shelly Winters is coming to feed you soon, my brother. To help you keep up your strength.” He watched for the response he knew wasn’t coming, and then he nodded. “You will return to us, Nachari, and when you do, I expect you to be in perfect health. Do you hear me?” His voice was as calm and dispassionate as a still pond.

  Yet his soul was on fire.

  As always, his words were a prayer, beseeching all the gods and goddesses in the heavens…and beyond.

  By all that is holy, bring this blessed one back to me.

  Please!

  two

  One week later

  After a long, exhausting drive from Denver International Airport, Deanna Dubois arrived in Dark Moon Vale around 4:00 PM, exactly one week after the revelation she’d had about the mysterious man in her drawings. She immediately checked in at the main lodge, retrieved a map of the local area, as well as a set of keys to a small remote cabin she had rented for the week, and headed for her final destination: 116 Forest Hill, Cabin B.

  Now, slowing her rented four-wheel drive to a creep, she pulled over to the side of the road and turned the map upside down on the steering wheel in order to visualize the route from an exact point of view. For some reason, the GPS was completely lost; it simply didn’t work on this side of the mountain. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to take the map when it was offered to her.

  She placed her finger on a familiar geographical marker and stared out the window.

  There.

  Right behind that grouping of trees was a steep embankment that should lead down to the Snake Creek River. If she was reading the map correctly, the cabins would be located just on the other side of the creek, after crossing an old stone bridge.

  Deanna pulled back onto the roadway and drove slowly over the uneven, rocky ground, relieved when she finally saw the approaching bridge in front of her. She rolled down the window in order to take in the melodious sound of the rushing water as she crept across the stony bridge and breathed in the fresh mountain air. It was truly heavenly. There was nothing like it in New Orleans. She glanced at the map once more to regain her bearings at a fork in the road, and then she wove to the right and drove about 500 yards farther before suddenly coming t
o a screeching halt.

  Her foot slammed against the brake pedal.

  She dropped the map and gripped the wheel with two iron fists as she stared dumbfounded out the rearview mirror at an eerily familiar clearing. Her heart thudded in her chest; goose bumps appeared on her arms; and a light wave of nausea swept over her body. Struggling for air, she released the wheel and pressed a taut hand against her stomach.

  “My God,” she whispered.

  Reaching to release the vehicle’s locks, she opened her door, shrugged into a lightweight jacket, and bounded out of the SUV, practically sprinting toward the clearing. In the distance, she could just make out the Snake Creek River and a small cluster of guest cabins on the other side, but that no longer held her attention: She was too entranced by the endless miles of forest. The frighteningly familiar setting. The particular coloring, angles, and juxtaposition of the various elements: pine trees, rock outcroppings, skies that were blue today but had once been filled with dark, mottled clouds.

  In her drawings.

  This was the place.

  The haunted clearing where the beautiful man had been sucked under the earth by something—what?—so evil.

  She slowed her pace and approached the scene with caution, if not reverence, stunned by the exact likeness to her drawings. As she drew closer and closer to the very spot that had haunted her for months now, something inside of her turned almost electric—it practically hummed with pulsing energy—and she wasn’t sure if she could handle all the metaphysical sensations.

  Still, she kept on.

  Drawn as if by an unseen force to a particular spot on the ground.

  Deanna drew in a sharp breath as her eyes swept over the barren earth. It had been cleared away, no longer natural, leaving evidence that something…or someone…had, in fact, been right there. And there was a dark, ominous stain in the center.

  She squatted down to touch the dirt. What was this? She immediately backed up with a jolt and stood upright.

  It was blood.

  Earth that had been soaked—no, practically bathed—in blood.

  For reasons beyond her comprehension, she felt like crying.

  Screaming.

  Falling to her knees and weeping.

  What the hell?

  There was such an overwhelming sense of grief enveloping her that she staggered where she stood. Unable to bring it under control, she knelt in the dirt and placed the flat of her palms over the bloodstained earth. “What are you?” she whispered, distraught. “Who are you?”

  She lifted her hands and brushed the bloodstained dirt through her fingers. “And why do I feel like I’m going to die because of you…like I wish I could?”

  She wrapped both of her arms tightly around her middle and started to rock back and forth, inexplicable tears streaming down her face. When finally she had shed her last teardrop, she wiped her eyes with the back of a dirty hand and stood. “Come back to me.” She mumbled the words nonsensically. “Please…oh, please…come back to me.”

  Fearing for her sanity, she turned to run to her car but was stopped short by the presence of a skinny, brooding redhead sitting on the hood of her SUV. The woman had parked a pink Corvette behind Deanna’s Ford Explorer and was watching her with piercing, angry eyes like those of a tiger. Everything about the otherwise small woman screamed danger.

  Just one more thing that made no sense.

  Deanna appraised the stranger from head to toe as she raised her chin, held out her keys, and approached with caution. She hadn’t grown up in a perfect suburban world, and she knew how to handle herself if necessary. Under ordinary circumstances, she would never fear another female of such small stature, but these weren’t ordinary circumstances. And somehow, although she didn’t know how she knew, the woman sitting so brazenly on the hood of her truck was no ordinary person.

  “Hello,” Deanna called pleasantly, figuring it might be best to get on the woman’s good side up front.

  The girl popped a piece of gum, pushed away from the hood, and took a large, measured stride toward Deanna, kicking off a beautiful pair of spiked black heels as she stepped forward.

  Oh shit, this isn’t good.

  The redhead narrowed her eyes. “Two questions: Who the hell are you? And what the hell were you doing underneath that tree?” She took out her gum and tossed it on the ground. “Speak now, skank, or forever hold your peace.”

  Kristina Riley-Silivasi watched with suspicion as the human woman rocked back and forth, crying like a ninny, directly over the spot where Nachari had died. The chick felt the earth, touched her adopted brother’s blood, and held it close to her heart.

  What. The. Heck.

  The only ones who knew about what went down in this meadow were the sons of Jadon and, of course, the sons of Jaegar. No one else. And since Kristina knew damn well that this girl wasn’t a destiny to one of the Jadon vamps—or a convert, since there weren’t any converts other than her—she quickly did the math and figured the Dark Ones had sent the woman…

  But why?

  As the girl approached her car with more confidence than Kristina appreciated, Kristina gave her a once-over. Granted, the chick was very pretty—exotic-looking actually. Strange. Some kind of indecipherable racial mix that definitely worked for her, that was for sure. And she had a lot of confidence with her five-foot-nine or -ten, clearly toned body.

  But…oh well.

  Kristina was Vampyr now, ever since Marquis had converted her under the unwitting protection of the dark lord Ocard—which was a whole other story—and only because Marquis had mistakenly believed Kristina was his destiny at the time. It really wasn’t his fault, though; Salvatore Nistor has used a black magic spell to switch Kristina and Ciopori in a ploy to kill Marquis. Luckily, the plan had failed, but not before Marquis had claimed Kristina, converted her, and almost made her…his…in every way.

  She shook her head, dismissing the thought.

  Back to the matter at hand…

  The flipped-out female sent by the Dark Ones to do something…to Nachari? Anger swelled in Kristina’s breast, and she jumped down from the hood of the car, kicked off her shoes, and strolled right toward her. “Two questions,” she said, feeling her anger rise to even greater proportions. “Who the hell are you? And what the hell were you doing underneath that tree?” Where Nachari died? She took out her gum and tossed it on the ground, willing her eyes not to turn feral and her fangs to stay put. “Speak now, skank, or forever hold your peace.”

  The beautiful lady stopped dead in her tracks and took a step back. “Excuse me?” she said, with way too much metal.

  “You heard me,” Kristina snapped. “I don’t believe I stuttered.”

  The woman smiled then. Actually smiled. “I don’t believe I gave you permission to sit on my truck.” She strolled confidently forward and hit the unlock button on her key fob. “Pardon me,” she said, waiting for Kristina to step aside.

  Kristina reached out and grabbed the chick by the arm, squeezing just hard enough to let her know she could crush her bones at will if she chose. Placing an implied threat into her voice—something she had just learned recently in Jocelyn and Nathaniel’s self-defense class—she shoved her way into the woman’s mind. “Tell me what the hell you were up to and who sent you. Now.”

  The woman yanked her arm free and took a step back, but there was definitely a wash of fear in her eyes. “I…I’m a guest staying at the cabins.” She turned around and pointed in the direction of the log cottages.

  Kristina scowled. “Show me your room key.”

  The woman frowned, but she did as she was told. Well, actually, as she was compelled. “Here,” she said angrily, pulling one of the unmistakable lodge key-cards out of her pocket. “Satisfied?”

  Kristina frowned. What the hell? “You’re a guest?”

  “Yes,” the woman huffed, “that’s what I said.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m Deanna Dubois. I’m here from New Orleans…for the week, but I have to say,
if this is how the people around here treat visitors, then don’t expect any repeat business from me.”

  Kristina looked off into the distance toward the clearing. “What were you doing over there—all playing around in the dirt and crying and shit? What the heck was that?”

  The lady looked embarrassed now. Unsettled. “I…I honestly don’t know. I just felt something really powerful…and terribly sad…and it drew me to that spot. Sorry if it was private property or something. I didn’t mean to trespass. I just…I don’t know what came over me. That’s the truth.”

  Being as new as she was to the species, Kristina wasn’t especially good at vampire tricks, but this was just too important—she had to try. “Look right in my eyes, Deanna.”

  The woman blinked, and she even frowned; but she did as she was told.

  “Now tell me straight up: Are you telling the truth?”

  The lady nodded.

  “You’re actually a guest here, and you just felt something powerful that drew you to that spot? And made you cry like that?”

  Deanna nodded her head again, this time more slowly. “Yes.” When she reached up to rub her temples as if she were getting a headache, Kristina figured she’d better back off a little. No point in giving the chick a lobotomy. “Did the Dark Ones send you?”

  “Who?” Deanna asked, genuinely confused.

  Kristina shook her head. “Nothing…forget it.” She looked deep into Deanna’s eyes. “Really, forget it.” She took a step back and waited. When Deanna shook her head back and forth, like she was all of a sudden unaware of where she was or what they were talking about, Kristina swallowed with relief. “It was nice meeting you, Deanna. I hope you enjoy your stay in Dark Moon Vale.” Amazing, she thought as she slowly backed away. The chick had to be one of those real psychics or something; too bad she didn’t read fortunes.

  Deanna blinked several more times and nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Nice meeting you, too…” She paused. “I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name.”