Blood Shadows (The Blood Curse Series) Page 4

  Kristina held out her hand. “Kristina,” she said, smiling wide enough to flash her pearly whites. “And that’s okay. My memory sucks too most of the time.”

  Deanna nodded then. “Kristina. Great, I’ll remember next time.” She offered an insecure, confused smile.

  “Cool. Take it easy, and enjoy your stay, okay?”

  Kristina didn’t turn around to watch the woman climb into her SUV. She’d had enough of the Twilight Zone for one day and didn’t care to see any more of the chick’s confused expression. Besides, she figured if she had done everything right, the lady would forget most of the conversation, take a couple of aspirin for her headache, and be on her merry psychic way.

  If not, then she could only hope that Marquis and Nathaniel never got wind of it. They both took the whole business-industry-in-Dark-Moon-Vale thing pretty seriously, and it wasn’t like Kristina was anyone’s favorite person around there anyway. Well, maybe Braden’s—at least since Nachari had been gone and the two of them had ended up saddled with each other—but even the adorable boy couldn’t save her if news of this fiasco got back to one of her new brothers. Or worse, Napolean.

  She cringed as she climbed into her Corvette and put the key in the ignition: Better to keep the whole incident to herself for now. After all, who really needed to know about a strange, clairvoyant lady from New Orleans who ran around in the trees, sensing psychic energy?

  No one.

  That’s who.

  three

  The Valley of Death and Shadows

  Nachari Silivasi came awake with a violent shudder and a horrible shout of agony as his bruised and bloodied body was dropped into a cold saltwater bath to awaken him. His arms and legs were quickly chained to the four iron posts that encased the porcelain before he could react or orient himself.

  They had done it one hundred times before, so he should have been used to it by now; yet every time it happened, he still reacted with the same shock, disorientation, and agony. He shivered, trying to regulate his body temperature. That was always first. He couldn’t remain alert if he was delirious with cold. And then he gasped for breath, trying to force his lungs to work through the pain—inhale and exhale in regular, forced increments—so he could tune in to his surroundings and see who was in the room.

  Who the Dark Lord Ademordna had chosen to share him with today…as a meal.

  What day was it, by the way, he wondered. It seemed like a Saturday, but it could have been Monday…or maybe Wednesday…

  Sunday?

  Oh hell…who knew?

  And who cared.

  His eyes began to focus—there was a buxom blonde in a tight leather suit standing in front of him—and he grimaced. Her again. Noiro. The twin, sister-energy of the Celestial god Orion, a shadow demoness who lived in the Abyss.

  She loved to watch him being tortured; and more and more often, Ademordna seemed to enjoy inviting her to the festivities. But this was unusual. Feeding was usually proffered to Ademordna’s minions, his loyal, pathetic servants, whom Ademordna abused as often as he pleased. One pleasure was the same as the other down here, Nachari figured.

  “You’re alone today?” Nachari grit out through chattering teeth. He may as well find out what was coming next—not that it made a lot of difference in the end—but sometimes being prepared helped…a little. “And blond.”

  Noiro sidled up to the bathtub in a seductive, devilish walk. “Mmm, do you like it, my sweet wizard?” she purred like a cat.

  “Not especially,” he muttered.

  She jumped back, indignant, all at once morphing her shape into a slender redhead. A cautious smile curved her lips. “Better, my lovely?”

  Nachari braced himself against the salt seeping into his wounds and counted backward from ten to one just to give himself something to concentrate on. “Whatever.”

  “Pooh!” she huffed like a spoiled human rather than a powerful demon. “I do so want you to play with me, Nachari. I don’t know why you won’t cooperate.”

  He watched her through the corner of his eye and let his head loll back against the tallest point of the claw-foot tub—fairly appropriate for demons, he thought—refusing to respond.

  She stooped to sit on the edge, reached into the bath, and splashed a small trickle of water on his face. When he looked at her straight on, she smiled. “That’s better.” She moaned. “By all the dark lords, you are the most beautiful creature ever created.” She ran the tips of her fingers over his lips, his cheekbones, and then she fingered his hair. “My brother, Orion, was so infatuated with your twin, and now I can see why. What was his name? Shelby was it?”

  “Still is,” Nachari growled.

  “Yes, yes…whatever.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “I have very little interest in what happens in the Valley of Spirit and Light.” She leaned forward then, placing her lips inches away from his so that the heat of her breath scalded his skin. “But here, among our own, I find that I understand my brother’s…devotion…more and more each day. To own and control one such as you…oh…lords…I would give my soul…if I had one.” She shrugged, and then she bent to kiss him, leaving his lips cracked and bloodied from the acidic property of her saliva. “How was that, my soon-to-be lover?”

  Nachari coughed and spit into the tub, expelling whatever Noiro had left in his mouth. “Eat shit and die,” he snarled, and then he chuckled. “Oh yeah, I guess I already did both…just in reverse order.”

  “Excuse me?” Noiro thundered.

  “I died, came here, and just ate—”

  “How dare you!” Noiro flew backward from the tub like a crazed, winged creature, her face transforming into a hideous, serpent-looking monstrosity. Her nostrils flared wide and shot fire; her forked tongue snaked in and out of her mouth in quick succession, and her beady eyes narrowed even further into tiny yellow slits. “Don’t test me, boy. Never forget, I can have your testacles for breakfast if I choose!” She slowly approached the tub on legs that were suddenly balanced on hooves.

  “Do your best,” Nachari whispered, either unwilling or unable to relinquish the only control he had left in this damnable inferno: his dignity and his free will.

  He would not grovel.

  He would not kowtow.

  And he would not give respect to a demon. No matter the cost.

  Noiro licked her thin, reedy lips and tsk-tsked him with her tongue. “You are lucky, my naughty wizard, that you are so beautiful. If I didn’t need your seed to reproduce a dark lord of my own someday, I would rip your jewels from your body and add them to my chicken soup…as dumplings.” She cackled, a shrill, high-pitched sound. “As it stands, I will just have to settle for nibbling on your ears.” She snapped her teeth at him, displaying a full set of jagged, razor-sharp fangs, each one more hideous than the last.damn

  Nachari didn’t blink…or wince…even though he knew what Noiro meant by nibble on your ears.

  She would lick his skin with her acidic tongue until it began to melt away from the bone. She would wrench out large patches of his thick, wavy hair for her demented pleasure, and then she would eat away at his flesh until he no longer had any ears, sticking her snake-like tongue into the holes left behind to burn the inside of his skull—all the while, she would wait for everything to grow back so she could do it again.

  If and when she finally grew tired of the game, she would call Ademordna, who would come and do his worst—and it was always far, far worse—before removing Nachari to the throne room to let the courtyard play with him for the rest of the evening.

  If only he could die.

  Nachari’s focused gaze narrowed on Noiro’s steps as she, once again, drew closer and closer to the tub. “Tell me you love me,” she whispered, cocking her head to the side like an unaware animal. “Tell me you love me, and I’ll spare you…at least one round of torture.”

  Nachari met her steely gaze and held it with contempt, saying nothing.

  “Very well,” she snarled.

  And then
she wrenched his head back by the hair and bit down on his throat.

  Salvatore Nistor knocked twice before entering the stuffy, formal office, with its high stone walls and thick, expensive floor-rugs. He sat down in the large leather armchair opposite Oskar Vadovsky’s desk, placed his legs on the matching leather ottoman before him, and crossed them at the ankle.

  Oskar Vadovsky stared pointedly at Salvatore’s legs, leaned forward to rest his elbows on the mahogany desk, and frowned.

  “Excuse me, High Council,” Salvatore said in as pleasant a voice as he could muster. “Sometimes I forget myself.” What the hell is an ottoman for then? he snarled inwardly. He removed his feet and politely planted them on the floor. “Better?”

  “Thank you,” Oskar said gruffly.

  Salvatore inclined his head. “Of course, my liege.”

  “Now then…” Oskar cracked his knuckles slowly before folding his hands back together. “I am trying…very hard…to remain objective and calm about the outcome of your latest scheme. Especially considering the price.”

  Salvatore nodded. Why don’t you try going after Napolean—or any of the other sons of Jadon— yourself then, you smug, clueless bastard? “I understand, Oskar,” he said, “but with all due respect, the matter was brought up before the entire council; and, if you recall, we all agreed to go forward with the plan. Furthermore, a colony-wide vote was taken on the proposal to sacrifice a firstborn son from our own ranks in order to gain the demon’s favor. The measure passed, and the plan came very close to working: The human pawn was able to implant the possession worm in Napolean, and Ademordna did manage to get to the king’s destiny. Who knew that the sons of Jadon would be willing to flatline their king in order to release the spirit inhabiting his body—which just happened to be the demon lord we beseeched? Or that Nachari Silivasi would be willing to give his own life in order to follow the king in death? That the arrogant young wizard would actually confront Ademordna in the netherworld and keep him from repossessing Napolean’s body when the sons of Jadon brought him back to life?” He stared at the chief of council incredulously. “Honestly, was I to foresee all those events?”

  Oskar waved his hand. “Of course not, but our loss was…so great.”

  Salvatore knew that Oskar was referring to Victor Dirga and Rezak Brodske, the young, vital males who were sacrificed right there in the colony in order to win Ademordna’s favor. Never before had the house of Jaegar been willing to go that far, to slaughter one of their own in order to appease the dark lords, just to oppose the house of Jadon; but it had been Napolean’s demise they were seeking, after all. And the opportunity, however slight, was too good, and too rare, to pass up.

  “It’s not as if all was lost,” Salvatore said.

  “How so?” Oskar asked, barely concealing his irritation.

  Salvatore chose his words carefully. “It is true, Napolean’s possession by the dark lord Ademordna cost us the precious blood of our favored brothers in sacrifice, a loss that will reverberate through these halls for decades to come. And in the end, Napolean did not die, nor did his destiny. But one thing—”

  “From what I am told, Napolean Mondragon is healthy, happy, and more powerful than ever. And why shouldn’t he be? He has a new mate and a son—the long-awaited heir to his throne and our future archenemy.” Oskar shook his head with disgust.

  Salvatore suppressed a snarl and struggled to keep his fangs from extending. “May I continue?”

  Oskar nearly rolled his eyes. “Very well…”

  “Thank you,” Salvatore said, his words clipped. “Now then, as I was saying, we may not have destroyed the king, but Nachari Silivasi is another matter altogether.”

  Oskar looked off into the distance. “Go on.”

  Salvatore leaned forward with increased interest. “It has been over three months now, and the Master Wizard has yet to return to his people. I hear his brothers are preserving his body like some ancient mummy, ever hoping and praying for the fool’s return.” He licked his lips with obvious pleasure. “This, at least for me, is incredibly rewarding.”

  Oskar pursed his lips together and tipped his head from side to side in consideration until, at last, a slow, maniacal smile curved the corners of his mouth. “The wizard who dared to take the Ancient Book of Black Magic; yes, I would have to agree, Salvatore.” His harsh features relaxed a bit then. “What do you think became of the arrogant lad?”

  Salvatore shrugged. “I don’t know. My cube shows me nothing, but my guess is that he found the Dark Lord Ademordna after all. And let’s just say his wizardry was no match against the demon lord’s powers.” He shivered, remembering the short time he had spent in the demon’s presence after conjuring him from the spirit world. There was nothing he had ever seen or experienced, in all of his infinite years on the earth or indulging in black magic, that came close to that breadth of power. Or that depth of darkness. He felt lucky to have escaped with his life.

  Oskar nodded his head. “Let us hope you are right, sorcerer. At any rate, I agree: Nachari Silivasi is a significant loss to the sons of Jadon. Without him, I do not believe there is another practitioner of magic who can directly challenge your power.”

  Salvatore raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Excuse me, councilman, but did you just give me a compliment?”

  Clearly unable to concede even the smallest commendation to Salvatore, Oskar changed the subject. “So what now?” He made a great show of straightening his collar and sat back in his chair. “What do you foresee as our next move?”

  Salvatore shifted in his own chair, sinking deep into the dark leather. He placed his left hand in his lap across his knee, while tapping on the arm of the chair with his right. “What I have in mind,” he droned, “is not so much large-scale revenge as humiliation…coupled with insult.”

  Oskar smiled and raised his eyebrows in anticipation. “Go on.”

  “I say we hit them where it counts,” Salvatore began, “something bold, arrogant, and in the full light of day, so to speak. Something like Valentine did when he took Dahlia and caused Shelby’s death—when he pretended to be Marquis to strike out at the warrior’s human servant, Joelle. The more I think about my brother’s antics, the more brilliant they seem. At least Valentine never came away empty-handed. And neither will we—not anymore.” He flicked a piece of lint from the arm of the chair and sat up straight. “You see, Valentine struck when and where they were least expecting it; he slithered right in through the cracks in the walls, exploited those relationships that either didn’t mean as much or weren’t as well protected. Right now, the most vulnerable member of the Silivasi family is the idiot redheaded girl Kristina something-or-other; I believe, Riley. The girl is an accident waiting to happen: vulnerable, impressionable, and foolish as the day is long. A prime target, indeed. I say we go directly after the girl. Use her, then destroy her. Send another message to the Silivasis. Let them know that we can come in anytime…anywhere…and pluck anyone we wish from their ranks.”

  Oskar licked his lips, clearly contemplating Salvatore’s words. After a short time had passed, he cleared his throat. “You would have the girl impregnated by one of our rank, a dark son of Jaegar, in order to cause her death in forty-eight hours? Like Valentine did with Dahlia and Joelle?”

  Salvatore rotated his hand in a sort of gesture: Oskar was close, but there was more to his plan than that. “Yes, Oskar. Once pregnant, the girl will face a slow, tortuous, imminent death. And, of course, we both know her brothers will never allow her to suffer like that, so they will put her down like the dog she is.” He chuckled at the thought of it. “They will euthanize the worthless female to spare her the slow, unrelenting agony. In the meantime, we get as much information out of her as possible…kill two birds with one stone. She’s the perfect target.”

  Oskar’s eyes lit with possibility. “I would agree—she is certainly malleable. So how, then, do you intend to get to her? Do you really think her brothers will allow a Dark One—any Dark One—
to come within fifty feet of her? Even she cannot be that gullible.”

  Salvatore sneered then. “No, of course not, but Nachari Silivasi is not the only practitioner of Magick who can hold a cloaking spell for another being. He was able to cloak Marquis in the persona of Joelle Parker in order to finally capture…and kill…Valentine; well, I would be happy to return the favor. I will cloak one of our most persuasive, seductive, and heartless soldiers in the body of one of their most trusted sentinels. Kristina will swoon at the attention; it will never cross her mind that it’s a ruse—that the male is not who he appears to be. Trust me.”

  Oskar raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He slapped his hand against the desktop like a gavel as if to say, Very well then. It’s done. “For the record,” he quipped, “who is the male that will have this honor?”

  Salvatore laughed, more than just a little pleased with his choice. “I intend to use Saber Alexiares,” he said with authority.

  Oskar tapped his forefinger against his lips several times in consideration. “The male who was taken and tortured by the Lycans? The one Nathaniel’s woman saved from the guillotine?” He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Why him?”

  Salvatore crossed his arms in front of his chest confidently. “He is ruthless, without conscience, and easily bored. Plus, he is one of the few males who is rumored to seduce his female prey before he drains them. To waste days, if not weeks, toying with them like a cat with a mouse before he kills them. I think he might enjoy the game.”

  Oskar stood up, cleared his side of the desk, took a step toward Salvatore, and ushered him toward the door. “Very well then. Have a full plan ready to present to the council this evening, and we will go forward.”

  Salvatore nodded like he was pleasantly surprised. Of course they would go forward. Without him, the rest of them could hardly find their own rear ends. “I will have all the information necessary, and if luck is on our side, I will even bring Saber Alexiares with me to the meeting as an honored guest.”

  Oskar nodded, satisfied. He strolled to the office door, opened it, and waited while Salvatore rose from his chair. Before Salvatore could pass through the threshold, Oskar spoke in a barely audible tone. “Sorcerer?” His eyes were as keen as they were malevolent.