Blood Possession (25 page)

Nachari sighed. He was trying. Harder than they knew.

Trying to make sense of what was happening to the innocent kid in front of him.

Trying to come up with anything that might stop Braden’s suffering.

After all, he had been the one charged with seeing to the boy’s welfare, and if the origin of Braden’s illness was not physical, then understanding any possible psychic connection was vitally important—it might just hold the key to Braden’s recovery. And Napolean’s well-being.

He tried again: “The point is, Braden became more than just psychic today; he became a portal—a link to the entire house of Jadon on a spiritual level.”
He shook his head in exasperation, sharing Marquis’s frustration. “The only other male I’ve ever seen who was that…connected to all of us…is Napolean.”

Nathaniel whistled low beneath his breath. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Nachari replied. “I’m not.”

“So then, you’re saying he can read our minds and hear our thoughts without even trying? Shit like that?”
Marquis asked.

“No,” Nachari insisted, “not like that. I don’t think even Napolean does that. It’s more of a…knowing. Braden can pick up on the energy of a thing, its essence. He can
feel
what’s happening to others, our common history and events, and he somehow channels information through those impulses.” He sighed with frustration. “It’s still too new…I honestly don’t really understand it myself yet.”

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Very well. For the sake of argument, let’s assume that his body is somehow experiencing these…impulses: No one in the house of Jadon is susceptible to physical illness, so it still makes no sense.”

Marquis grunted, and then he squatted next to Kagen. “Braden,”
he said, his voice thick with authority,
“I need you to pay attention, son. We need you to tell us what is happening.”

Braden opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, he began to hack uncontrollably, writhing in horrible pain.

Nachari grimaced. “Can’t you do something for him, Kagen?”

Kagen shook his head, and his dark brows furrowed with dismay. “I can’t block his pain, brother. It’s like it’s locked up somewhere in a vault.” He rubbed a soothing hand over Braden’s forehead. “It’s okay, Braden. Go easy…take your time.”

Braden tried to nod. He focused hard on his next word. “Marquis?”

“I’m here, Braden.” Marquis leaned closer. “I’m listening. We all are.”

Braden pressed both hands to his roiling stomach and concentrated. He struggled onto his hands and knees and rocked back and forth in a heart-wrenching attempt to stop the vomiting. “My sickness,” he bit out, “this…it isn’t…mine.”
The spasms took him over with renewed force.

Slowly rubbing his back in soothing circles, Kagen coaxed, “Just breathe, son.”

Braden slowly inhaled.

“That’s it. Now let it back out…gently.”

Braden gradually released the breath.

“Good,” Kagen encouraged. “Can you try to talk again?”

Braden wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sluggishly nodded his head. When, at last, he began to speak, there was a growing desperation in his voice, and it wasn’t from the pain. “It isn’t…me,” he stuttered. “Not in my body. It’s Napolean!” He moaned from the nausea and spat some lingering bitterness on the ground. “The cabins … by the stables … go … to … Napolean!”

Marquis’s voice was as lethal as it was calm. “What is happening to Napolean, Braden?”

“Does it have something to do with his
destiny
,” Nathaniel asked.

“Possession.” Braden groaned the word aloud.

“
Possession?
”
Kagen repeated.

Nachari could have heard a pin drop, and then Marquis exploded—

“From what? By whom!”

All at once, Braden fell to his back and cried out as his ribs began to snap one by one, the narrow bones bulging grotesquely through his skin.

“Damnit!” Kagen snarled. He ripped the boy’s shirt off and scrambled for his medical bag. The others watched in stunned silence as he quickly lined up a syringe filled with medicine, an IV bag of saline, and some kind of kit containing a catheter. “I have to put him under,” Kagen insisted. “Now!”

“Wait!” Marquis ordered. “We have to know what is possessing Napolean first.”

“Son of a bitch!” Kagen scowled, turning to glare at Marquis. He took a cleansing breath, and his voice was suddenly calm. Too calm. “Get on with it then,” he purred softly.

Nachari shuddered. He knew that placid tone all too well: the one that masked the barely leashed rage just beneath the surface. The all-too-reserved Dr. Jekyll who obscured the Mr. Hyde. He held his breath, eyeing Kagen warily: Whoever had hurt Napolean—
whoever had hurt this kid
—would be better off facing Marquis, Nathaniel, and all the other warriors in the house of Jadon than this seemingly composed Healer.

Braden continued to scream.

Nachari said nothing.

He simply watched as Kagen pressed his hands over Braden’s protruding ribs and gently held them in place. “I’m sorry,”
Kagen said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Braden’s, “but before I can put you under—before I can stop this pain—we must know what has taken possession of our king.”

Marquis scuffled a foot away from Kagen and took Braden’s hand. He squeezed it to get his attention, and then he spoke to him in a voice heavily weighted with compulsion. “Focus on my eyes, son.”

Braden’s expression was stricken with anguish as he swallowed his pain, forced himself to stop screaming, and stared at Marquis.

“You have to be brave, son—just a little while longer—and tell us what you know:
What is possessing Napolean
?”

Braden trembled uncontrollably, and then he stopped to grind his teeth. “A worm,” he ground out. His breathing grew shallow from shock. “The dark lord…Ademordna.”

Kagen shut his eyes, then reopened them.
“Thank you.” With dizzying speed, he snatched the kit, ripped a sterile package open, and expertly inserted a long, thin needle into Braden’s antecubital vein. He had just begun to attach the IV when Braden reached up and clutched his wrist.

“Wait!”

“What is it?” Kagen rushed the words.

Nachari placed a steadying hand on Kagen’s shoulder. “Tell us, Braden.”

“The dark lord has total control of Napolean,” Braden said ominously. “He is going to…rape…his woman. He is going to kill our king!”

Nathaniel’s eyes flashed red.

Kagen rocked back on his heels.

And Marquis was so angry he…smiled.

Holy shit
, Nachari thought. All hell was literally about to break loose.

eighteen

Nachari Silivasi shut off his cell phone and sighed with relief. He dropped it into his front hip-pocket and considered the news: Katia Durgala, Kagen’s head nurse, had assured him that Braden was going to be okay. The moment the anesthesia had taken effect, the brutal assault on Braden’s body had ceased, and the boy had gone—blessedly—to sleep.

Kagen had then used powerful injections of vampire venom, as well as special poultices, to repair the teenager’s broken ribs. Beyond that, Braden had been treated for dehydration, strained muscles, and a hoarse throat. Kagen had also given him a long-acting sedative in order to keep him comfortable, and according to Katia, he was now sleeping peacefully in a private room on the second floor of the clinic.

One less thing to worry about.

If only he could change what was surely coming next…

Nachari ran a weary hand through his thick, raven hair and turned his attention to the problem at hand: Napolean’s possession by Ademordna and the imminent danger it posed to the house of Jadon. Not to mention to Napolean’s future with Brooke.

He turned to watch his eldest brother Marquis, who was pacing restlessly—not unlike an angry tiger forced to remain in a narrow cage—about five hundred yards away. The male patrolled the banks of the Snake Creek River just beyond the cabin that Napolean—no, Napolean’s possessed body—now inhabited with his new
destiny
,
Brooke. Marquis’s right hand was adorned with his favorite ancient cestus, and the sharp iron spikes gleamed in the waning sunlight as the Ancient Master Warrior clenched and unclenched his fists, again and again, to the rhythm of his impatient footsteps.

Although Nachari may have appeared calm on the outside, in truth, he shared his big brother’s sense of urgency, as well as his frustration.

They had been at it for hours.

Planning, strategizing, divining…

Trying feverishly to come up with a plan to subdue Napolean without harming his newly found mate.

The going was painfully slow.

After all, the stakes could not have been higher: Napolean was not just another member of the house of Jadon, and there was absolutely no room for error in their execution. The clock ticked painfully slow for Brooke—gods only knew what was happening to her inside that cabin—yet the males could not just rush in like a bunch of Wild West gunslingers and steal her from Napolean’s arms. They had to face reality. Napolean Mondragon was the most powerful being on the planet, and he was absolutely unmatched in cunning, strength, and ability…not to mention supernatural powers. Putting it bluntly, to oppose Napolean—and make a mistake—was to surely die; and although Marquis, Nathaniel, and Ramsey were all formidable in their own right, none had forgotten how Napolean had singlehandedly annihilated eighty-eight warriors in the house of Jaegar during Ciopori’s rescue, no doubt all accomplished fighters in their own right.

Blessed Perseus
, and may the gods show mercy, Napolean could harness the power of the sun! He could kill with his rage alone.

Nachari winced.

While Ramsey and Marquis might be able to dance toe to toe with the ancient monarch for a short while, they would surely have to attack to kill in order to get Brooke away from him; and neither Napolean’s death nor Brooke’s were viable options. Not to mention, Napolean’s powers were only half of the problem: There was also Ademordna and his wicked, supernatural powers to contend with. A fact Nachari Silivasi was becoming more and more aware of with every moment that passed.

A fact that might require more of Nachari than he was truly ready to give.

Ademordna was a shadowed deity
: a demon
.

A dark lord whose very soul embodied evil, and knowing that, Nachari shuddered at the thought of what he was about to be asked to do…

He had just decided to take a seat on the ground—a feeble attempt at calming his nerves—when two severe-looking vampires approached him, their faces grim with foreboding.

“Wizard,” they greeted, speaking in unison.

“Niko,” Nachari said softly, “Jankiel…” He stood back up. “I can’t say I like the looks on your faces.” He steadied himself. “Then what we discussed earlier…you consulted the fellowship, and they agree it is the only way?”

Niko Durciak momentarily averted his stone-gray eyes before forcing himself to meet Nachari’s discerning gaze. “We have. And they do.”

Jankiel frowned, the gesture revealing four horizontal age-lines in an otherwise youthful face, two creases on either side of his mouth. “You are by far the most powerful of the three of us, Nachari, or I would offer—”

Nachari politely waved his hand to quiet his friend. “There is no need to go there, Jankiel, although the sentiment is appreciated. It is what it is…yes?”

Jankiel nodded. “Yes…” What else could he say?

Nachari offered his fellow wizards a reassuring smile. “Very well then: I need to be the one to tell Marquis.”

Niko looked beyond Nachari’s shoulders and glanced at the warrior in question. He let out a slow, apprehensive sigh. “Agreed.”

“Why don’t you call all three of your brothers and tell them together,” Jankiel suggested. “It will be more…expedient to explain it to all of them at once.” His voice held a slight note of apology in it—but Nachari understood: Time was of the essence.

The decision would be difficult for his brothers to accept, and time was ticking. Just the same, he wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

Brothers,
he said telepathically,
we need to speak…face-to-face.

Marquis looked up immediately, no doubt recognizing the heaviness in Nachari’s psychic voice. He turned to face the circle of wizards, took perhaps two dozen efficient strides, and then stopped abruptly in front of Nachari, squaring his shoulders as he did so. “What is it?” he asked.

Nachari waited for Nathaniel and Kagen to materialize beside Marquis before he started speaking. Once all three brothers were standing before him, he took a deep breath and steadied his resolve. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” he said. “I think we’re ready…we finally have a plan.”

Nathaniel nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Okay.”

“We’re listening,” Kagen said, his voice reflecting his concern.

“I assume you know how to go after the demon then?” Marquis asked.

Nachari nodded.

“We do,” Jankiel answered.

“Then speak!” Marquis barked. He was clearly running low on patience, a virtue he wasn’t blessed with a large portion of to begin with.

Nachari looked directly at Marquis, said a quick prayer to the gods, and measured his words carefully: “The warriors will follow the plan you, Nathaniel, and Ramsey already crafted.” He squatted, picked up a stick, and drew a rough diagram in the dirt. “You will rush the cabin and create a decoy with only one goal—to distract Napolean long enough for Nathaniel to use Kagen’s tranquilizer on him.” He drew several circles on the diagram representing each male’s position. “As we discussed earlier, you will only have a matter of seconds to get in and engage Napolean, so there should be no attempt made to either capture him or free Brooke: The whole strategy hinges on Kagen’s ability to produce the perfect formula.” He stood up, crossed his arms, and turned to regard his only brown-eyed brother. “Kagen, the dosage has to be exact. The anesthetic must put Napolean under—quickly and decidedly—on the first try. There are no second chances.”

Kagen nodded, understanding. “I’ve been working on it all afternoon.” He glanced at Nathaniel then Marquis in turn. “As long as one of you can get it in him, he’ll go down.”