Blood Harvest (Blood Curse #12) - Tessa Dawn Page 0,2

years of pent-up frustration…restrained desire…flow into the kiss.

She gasped and reached for his shoulders, but he just as quickly pulled away.

He still had to meet with Nachari, the rest of the Silivasi brothers—the sentinels and Julien, the king and even Fabian, the High Mage—at Napolean’s manse.

Time was running out.

Without looking back, he headed to the elegant sliding doors that led to Kristina’s wrap-around balcony, brushed them open with two stiff fingers and a backward flick of his wrist, then strolled across the decking, leaped over the banister, and shifted into a glorious eagle the moment his body hit the cool night air.

Because yeah, he had gotten better at that shit too…

Even though, with the exception of Nachari, who could shift into a panther—and now, Fabian Antonescu, the great High Mage who could probably do all kinds of miraculous crap—most vampires were restricted to only bats or mist.

As he tilted his outstretched wings in the direction of the Vampyr king’s compound, Braden did his best not to think of the complicated, confused, beautiful redhead still seated on her couch.

Achilles Zahora, the Dark One otherwise known as The Executioner, was feeling restless, twitchy, amped up, and loaded for bear…

But he had no idea why.

Salvatore Nistor had been right about one thing: Achilles had always been a bloodthirsty savage, a giant of a vampire, and a killing machine…a force to be reckoned with.

He reveled in the slaughter.

He luxuriated in the taste and feel of fresh blood on his tongue, the thick, sticky fluid snaking down his fangs; and he could never get enough carnage, destruction, or bloodshed.

Maybe it was just as simple as that…

Achilles hadn’t fed in a while; he hadn’t left a string of brutalized human bodies in his wake for at least two or three moons; and he hadn’t executed a rebel or a sinner in the house of Jaegar for just as many months. Still, tomorrow night marked the coming of the Millenia Harvest Moon, and the house of Jaegar would be busy, indeed: busy feeding on human hosts so younger siblings could feed their fathers…their brothers…in the ancient familial rite; busy satiating carnal appetites of every bent and perverse imagining; busy impregnating beautiful young women who would give birth to two dark sons, forty-eight hours later, and die a wretched death as the younglings, the evil offspring, clawed their way out of their sensual, fertile bodies.

Achilles wanted no part in the latter, to become a father…just yet.

True, in the house of Jaegar, it was every male’s ultimate duty to procreate, and Achilles’ offspring would be a coveted prize to his dark brethren. Yet and still, he wasn’t ready. It was as simple as that.

Two years back, when that brutish son of Jadon, Marquis Silivasi, had discovered one of the last remaining females of a proud and ancient race—Ciopori Demir—and managed to claim her as his own, seduce her, even as he was caught up in a wicked deceitful love triangle, believing Kristina Riley to be his true destiny, chosen by the gods, Salvatore had managed to abduct the careless princess and bring her back to the Colony: The promise of heated nights, thrusting inside that royal womb; the mystery and allure of a female who might not die—who might still have access to celestial magic and might be able to circumvent the Curse, and thus give birth to female offspring?—had been too strong for Salvatore to pass up. Salvatore had needed to know more. So much remained a puzzle. And he had pulled the trigger, taken the princess, a bit too soon.

He had been reckless, selfish, premature.

And as a result, the sons of Jadon had invaded the Dark Ones’ Colony, entering the underground settlement from a tunnel in the back of the sacrificial cave under the cover of night to rescue the missing princess, and they had slaughtered—annihilated—fifty sons of Jaegar, malevolent infant offspring who had just begun their eternal reigns of terror. In reply, Oskar Vadovsky, the new chair of the Dark Council, had ordered every male over the age of five hundred to go out and reproduce, to replace the lost, slain souls, until at least 250 new demon spawn slept in new cribs.

Achilles Zahora was over a thousand years old, but the Colony Guard and the illustrious council were exceptions to the edict, as were many other males whose seed was not ultimately needed, as 250 women were impregnated rather…quickly.

As far as Achilles was concerned, it was just as well.

He had always craved something better…different…worthy of