Blood Shadows (44 page)

Nachari sat back on his heels and waited patiently for the shrill cries and shrieks to end, for the inky darkness to recede, and for the just plain exaggerated antics that The Blood always put on during its hideous, vengeful rituals to come to a close—wishing it would just hurry-it-up.

As if.

Nachari had spent over four months in hell, living in the Middle Kingdom with the supreme lord of darkness himself. This sick, vengeful aberration of all things holy was hardly worth his attention. Deanna had been right:
Get it over with, already
. “Forgive me if I’m not impressed,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

The Blood shrieked in angry defiance, but it was all smoke and mirrors. There was nothing it could do to him now…or ever again. He had fulfilled the demands of the Blood Curse, and he was, at last, free from it…forever.

When, finally, the macabre show had stopped, Nachari rose from the chamber and started to head home, to return to Deanna and his son, to begin building a new life with the woman who waited so devotedly for him.

And then he thought better of it.

Less than fifty feet away was another set of doors, a holding cell that sat adjacent to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement. It was one of several large halls that made up Napolean’s compound, the official complex behind his manse, which ultimately included the Death Chamber, and it was also the place where Shelby had lost his young life.

But Nachari had no interest in ever visiting that place again.

It was what stood beside it that held his interest: the cell where Napolean held Saber Alexiares until Sunday’s upcoming execution.

He licked his bottom lip, wondering if he should just leave well enough alone. Over the past forty-six hours, he had learned all about Salvatore’s insidious plot and Saber’s role in pretending to be Ramsey Olaru in an effort to get to Kristina. And he had learned about the incident in the hot tub with Deanna. There was nothing good that could come from standing face-to-face with another evil being so soon. The last thing he needed was to eat Saber, too.

Still, something extremely territorial—something programmed deep into his primal, Vampyr DNA—would not let him walk away. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the holding cell, and the enemy of his kind.

twenty-nine

Once the decision had been made, Nachari didn’t hesitate to stroll confidently into the rectangular holding cell where Saber Alexiares lay, chained with heavy manacles, to a narrow cot, his body revealing the evidence of recent, unhealed torture. And Saber’s guards hadn’t dared to try and stop him, although Ramsey had warned Nachari to leave the bastard alive.

Now, as Nachari stared at the enemy of his house—the monster that had attacked Deanna—he struggled to connect with his feelings.

Saber smiled like a lazy cat. “Wizard,” he said, his voice full of contempt. “I was wondering when you would come to see me.”

Nachari feigned indifference. “Well, good—then I don’t disappoint.”

“Come to exact your pound of flesh?” Saber asked.

Nachari shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Ah,” Saber drawled, “to chat then. Well, I would sit up and greet you properly, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

Nachari scowled. “You’re in an unusual state of good humor for a male who’s about to be fed to the sun.” He watched Saber closely for any sign of reaction, but the Dark One’s face remained stoic. In that moment, Nachari knew that Saber Alexiares was truly a bad-ass in real life—he didn’t just play one on TV. This wasn’t just a front.

“Shit happens,” Saber said.

“Indeed it does,” Nachari retorted. He grabbed a metal chair, dragged it across the room, and straddled it backward directly in front of Saber’s cot. The male looked at him warily, and his heartbeat sped up, if only infinitesimally. Apparently, Saber wasn’t completely indifferent to pain and torture. How well Nachari understood. “Do you have any idea how bad it’s going to hurt? The sun, that is?” Nachari asked, actually just wondering.

Saber didn’t smile then. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” Nachari answered honestly. “For me, the sun’s just a good source of vitamin D. Maybe a tan. But for you…ouch.”

“That’s why you came here, Wizard?” Saber said derisively. “To taunt me?”

“In a way,” Nachari answered.

Saber gave him a cool, sideways glance, not quite able to figure him out.

“I came here for Deanna,” Nachari said, his voice remaining eerily steady, “not that you would understand that kind of loyalty or devotion.” He leaned forward in the chair and placed his folded arms against the back, elbows resting on the metal. “But I wasn’t sure until now what I was going to say…or do.”

“And now you’ve got some sudden sense of clarity?” Saber chuckled derisively. “Do tell.”

Nachari snickered. The male was quite the smart-ass, but it didn’t matter. “Do…tell…” he repeated. “Well, let’s see—what I could I possibly have to tell you…about where you are going: The Valley of Death and Shadows.”

Now this caught the Dark One’s attention.

“I could tell you that there are five provinces, each one ruled by a different prime lord, and that each territory has a kingdom…servants…minions…and slaves…a wasteland that surrounds it. I could tell you that our kind, the Vampyr, are used as slaves for the purposes of entertainment by torture at the hands of the demons—kind of like a show they put on to amuse themselves.” He shrugged. “They’re very creative, the demons: They like to break bones, pierce our flesh and joints, whip us until our skin falls off, boil us in scalding baths…the list just goes on and on. As does the torture and their amusement.” He pushed back from the chair and stood up then. “I can’t actually say that I saw any of your brothers—males from the house of Jaegar—during my enlightening stay, but I heard about them. And I knew that my fate with the dark lord Ademordna was their fate every day of eternity. That it’s going to be yours.”

Saber’s face turned a sickly pallor, but the contempt never left his eyes.

“Yeah, I could tell you all about it in shocking detail,” Nachari added. “Or I could just show you.” With that, he took a step toward the bed, palmed the sides of Saber’s head, and leveled a hate-filled gaze. “View my memories, Dark One, and know your future.”

Nachari unleashed hell into Saber Alexiares’s mind, pouring each memory, each agonizing second of the torture he had received in the Abyss, into Saber’s consciousness as if by personal awareness: The defiant Dark One felt each act, each moment, as if he were experiencing it right then and there—as if time and space no longer existed and Nachari’s hellish existence had become his own, and for the first time, the evil son of Jaegar lost his cool.

The Dark One bucked and screamed and showed true signs of insanity from the inescapable agony. His breath grew shallow. At times, his heart nearly stopped beating, and sweat poured from his brow as he grimaced and writhed on the cot, begging for absolution in languages Nachari didn’t even recognize.

When at last there was nothing left to share, Nachari let him go and stepped away from the cot. The horror on Saber’s face was beyond description.

Nachari checked his watch. “That was just ten minutes, Dark One,” he said. “Imagine eternity.”

He strolled toward the door and slowly turned around. “Oh, yeah, you don’t have to imagine it. Soon enough, it will be your reality…forever.” He winked at him then. “Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” Strolling out of the cell, Nachari rounded the corner with his usual poise and swagger, and then, the moment he was out of Saber’s sight, he doubled over and reached for the wall.

Replaying those memories had taken a chunk out of his soul, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“Are you all right, son?” A deep voice drew him from his misery.

Napolean.

“Milord.” Nachari struggled to choke out the word.

Napolean rushed to his side, placed a hand on his back, and regarded him with concern. “Come, sit down.”

Nachari shook his head. “No.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “I just need a minute…”

Napolean nodded understanding. “Perhaps an eternity.”

Nachari smiled faintly. Of course, the Great One knew. How could he not. “Yeah…perhaps.” He took a long, measured breath and waited for his stomach to stop doing backflips.

When, at last, Nachari had regained his composure and his equilibrium, Napolean met his eyes with an unusually compassionate stare. “I was waiting to speak with you after the naming ceremony,” the sovereign lord said, “but now is as good a time as any.”

Nachari looked perplexed. “Milord?”

Napolean waved his hand and shook his head. “None of that…not from you.”

None of that?
Nachari thought.
What did that
mean?
The sons of Jadon had always treated their king with the utmost respect and formality; it was both expected and proper. “I don’t understand,” Nachari said.

Napolean’s gentle eyes assessed him warmly. “Don’t you?”

Nachari shook his head and waited, and then he practically lost his balance when Napolean rested both hands firmly on his shoulders and held him in the embrace of equals…of brothers. “I am here because of you,” Napolean said. “My
destiny
is here because of you. Our son—and your future king—
exists
because of you.” Napolean narrowed his eyes. “What you did that day in the meadow; what you sacrificed and endured for our people…for our future…” His voice trailed off, and he had to clear his throat. “I can never express my gratitude—there simply are no words.”

Nachari looked away, slightly embarrassed. “It was my duty, milord.”

“Yes,” Napolean agreed, “and you paid a higher price than any soul should ever have to pay. If death is supposed to be the ultimate sacrifice, then what you gave—what you endured—is something altogether more.”

Nachari blinked, embarrassed.

“And now,” Napolean continued, his deep voice growing even deeper, “and now you fear some intangible blackness in your soul.” It was simply laid out on the table like a noonday meal, displayed in plain sight for all the world to see; and Nachari didn’t even bother asking how the king knew.

Napolean frowned then. “I cannot begin to know how deeply you were harmed in that place; what metaphorical, if not literal, demons you carry with you as a result of your sacrifice.” He averted his eyes for a moment out of respect. “I can’t know what it is like to reside inside of your mind right now, but I do know that you are no longer just a servant or a Master Wizard—not that you weren’t always unique and gifted with potential—but now, you are my brother, Nachari. The one I never had.” He thumped a solid fist over his chest to emphasize his next words. “You are my heart, Nachari Silivasi. You live here…in my soul.”

Nachari swallowed his surprise and simply stared, dumbfounded, at Napolean, hoping his mouth wasn’t gaping open. The wise, handsome king appeared wiser still, somehow changed, as intimidating as ever, but also accessible.

“And there is nothing I will not do,” Napolean added, “to see that you are made whole again.” He leaned over until his face was only inches away from Nachari’s. “Even if it means taking your place…removing your memories by adopting them as my own.”

Nachari stared back at him with stunned surprised. Vampires did not erase other vampires’ memories; it was simply not done. But to take another’s place—
in their memories
—was to literally trade time and reality between souls. To adopt one’s past as if it were your own. To think their thoughts and remember their pain, not as theirs, but as yours, much like a male absorbed the pain of a female during a rapid pregnancy—but more. Napolean was offering to simply take it all away, and own it, live it, carry it himself…forever.

“I could never let you do that, milord,” Nachari responded instinctively, still shocked by the very idea. “It is a very heavy weight I carry.”

Napolean nodded. “I know this, son, and that’s why I said
even
if
it means taking your place in your memories
. If I thought for one moment you would simply allow me to carry this weight for you, I would have already done it. If I could go into your mind, without your permission, it would already be so. But as it is, I can stand with you as a brother, watch over you as your king, and help you through this transition.” He looked at him with an unbroken stare. “But know this: You are not the only practitioner of Magick in this valley. You are not the only one who is willing to break all customs, conjure contrary forces, and do whatever is necessary, in spite of the propriety of the deed. If the day comes when I determine that your mental or spiritual health is truly in jeopardy, I
will
take that which has not been given. I will not let you die for me twice, not in any sense of the word.”

Nachari swallowed hard. He hadn’t even thought about what it might be like to live without the knowledge of his time in the Abyss; to move forward without the repercussions, as if it never were. But to give the burden to Napolean?

Napolean held up his hand to halt Nachari’s words before he could respond. “I’ll be watching you, Nachari.” And then he said something that Nachari never thought he would hear in a million years—not from the formidable, ancient leader of the house of Jadon. “I love you, brother.”

Nachari opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and then opened it again—only to let it hang open and catch flies for a moment. “I think…I’m speechless.”

Napolean rocked back on the balls of his feet then, apparently satisfied. “Am I that bad?” he teased.

“No!” Nachari said immediately before catching the joke. “You’re just…intimidating…and I’ve always secretly wondered when or if you were going to…kill me, actually.”

Napolean laughed wholeheartedly. “Wizard, I’m going to have to reach into my grab bag of theatrical skills to even pretend to be angry with you from this day forward—and I know that you will do something eventually that requires my correction.”

Nachari chuckled then. “Probably. Most likely.”

Napolean shrugged. “I don’t think you truly get it, but you will. In time. Our relationship has changed.”