Blood Shadows (6 page)

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.

“Oskar?”

“I like this plan…very much.” He nodded his head—once. “In fact, I look forward to watching the games unfold.”

Salvatore chuckled in spite of himself. “So, do I, Vadovsky. So do I.”

four

Three days after she arrived in Dark Moon Vale, Deanna Dubois stared at the front door of the remote medical clinic, somewhat astonished that the place actually existed. It seemed more than a little odd that an unlisted medical facility would be built into the face of a canyon at the end of a dirt road, beyond a narrow bridge that crossed a forceful stream of water, or that the entrance would be placed at the top of a vertical incline following a steep series of stone steps. Glancing around, she couldn’t help but feel that the proprietor wanted to keep people away—especially people who were sick or injured. Go figure.

Just the same, the clinic was real.

And the surroundings were as cryptic as they were in her drawings.

Deanna coated her lips with a soft layer of lip balm to protect the sensitive skin against the unusually dry climate and took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves. Figuring
there’s no time like the
present
, she made a fist and knocked vigorously on the door.

An attractive young woman with skinny arms and legs answered—she appeared to sniff the air, and then she frowned.

Really?
Deanna thought. Did this woman just
sniff
the air?
Okay…
“Hi.” Deanna smiled broadly. “I’m Darcy Dubois. I’m a certified nurse practitioner who just moved to the area—Silverton Creek to be exact—and I was wondering if you might be hiring.”

The woman looked at Deanna like she had egg on her face. “No,” she said brusquely. “We never hire from the outside.” Her stare went from disapproving to suspicious, and Deanna had to gather all the courage she had not to just turn around and run. What was it with the women in this town, anyway? They were odd, to say the least. Deanna cleared her throat. “I understand, but would you mind if I just filled out an application and left it with the administrator? It would go a long way to convincing my unemployment counselor that I really am out here trying to find a job. I promise I won’t take much of your time.” Just then, a cool breeze swept over Deanna, and she shuddered.

What in the world?

“Listen here, lady,” the woman said, with more than a little disdain in her voice, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you are knocking on all the wrong doors. Trust me. I suggest you turn around and go somewhere else…while you can.”

Whoa
, Deanna thought.
Now that
was
just
downright…Texas Chainsaw Massacre;
but then she thought about the beautiful man in her drawings, just how far she had come to find him, and the improbable fact that the Dark Moon Vale Clinic was real. No, she could not turn back now. She was too close to…something. She could just feel it.

She reached into her back pocket, pulled out a thin gray wallet, and, using only one hand, flipped it open with a flick of her wrist. “You’re right, ma’am. I’m sorry. My real name is Deanna Dubois, and I’m with the Department of Health and Human Services. There have been some recent complaints about this establishment, and I’m afraid I need to take a look around and speak with your director.”

The woman smiled and drew in a slow, yawning breath. Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped to a silky smooth lilt. “You’ve had complaints? From whom?”

“Patients, ma’am.”

The lady’s mouth turned up in a wry, wicked smile. “Patients? Patients who were served at
this
clinic?”

“Yes,” Deanna said, wondering why that seemed so implausible. She tried to sound confident. “If you could just—”

The lady waved a leisurely hand in dismissal and sneered. “Oh, well then, by all means; let me go get the owner for you. I think he will be
very
interested to hear of this. Please, come in.” She stepped back from the door, and for some bizarre reason, it suddenly felt like Deanna was being asked to enter Dracula’s castle. Like she was stepping through a portal from which there was no return.

Deanna hugged her chest and shivered. Careful to keep her attaché case in front of her, she ran her palms up and down her arms to generate heat against the sudden chill. Man, she had to be stone-raving mad to persist with this, but it was a little too late to turn back now.

As the woman slowly walked away—smiling eerily like a cat who had just consumed a naïve canary—Deanna looked around the room. The clinic was definitely five-star: It was tiled with expensive slate tiles, decorated with custom-made furnishings, and outfitted with everything from an unobtrusive flat-screen TV, mounted inconspicuously on the lobby wall, to a classy beverage station inside the waiting room. Fashioned art-niches were spaced out evenly and filled with unique, rustic sculptures or framed scenic photography, each reflecting the local topography; and the entire space gave off a sort of peaceful, Tibetan monastery vibe. That is, if one could overlook the beautiful yet cold bride-of-Dracula nurse who had so recently answered the door.