Blood Harvest (Blood Curse #12) - Tessa Dawn Page 0,3

his rank and file.

Perhaps a female human, corrupt to her core, who would relinquish her immortal soul for the promise of everlasting life on earth—immortality—a woman drenched in iniquity: a dark, soulless vessel who could bear Achilles offspring, again and again.

Or perhaps a blue-eyed redhead who was already Vampyr…

A cherished daughter to the Silivasi clan; a loyal servant of Napolean Mondragon; a hot, ditzy, prime piece of ass who strutted around in stiletto heels and whose soul would taste like honey, whose innocence…goodness…ultimate light would supersede and overshadow the familiar taste and taint of an already immoral soul.

Yeah…

Achilles would rather claim a female from the light than convert a soul already lost to darkness.

He was perverse that way.

The thought of defiling her innocence…again and again…forcing her to bear children for the house of Jaegar, taking her away from those arrogant, worthless, motherfucking halfwits from the house of Jadon was just too damn tempting…

First, he would take her away from Nachari Silivasi, a bastard who had once almost bested Achilles in battle outside Saber Alexiares’ cave when Diablo had shown up to kill the “dragon”: Achilles had stabbed the Master Wizard with a ten-inch-dagger. Nachari had shifted into that detestable black panther, and the cat had nearly eviscerated Achilles’ throat.

And second, he would take her away from Braden Bratianu, who had eluded Ian Lacusta’s nefarious plot to kill the youngster at River Rock Creek: Ian had managed to grasp Braden’s heart, and he had almost extracted it from the kid’s adolescent body, but not unlike Nachari, Braden had shifted just in time, leaving Ian with a fistful of eagle feathers instead.

And last, but not least, Achilles would take the female from Napolean-freakin’-Mondragon’s collection of faithful servants, from the monarch who had single-handedly slaughtered eighty-seven dark soldiers during that first Colony raid…

Using only his eyes and his power…

So yeah—shit yeah—it would be worth having a ditzy bitch for a consort, just to irritate, insult, and outwit the house of Jackasses…

And that’s why Achilles had no intentions of siring offspring tomorrow night.

While he would join his dark brothers in celebrating all the bloody sacrifices Prince Jaegar, their forefather, once performed in Romania—while he would take his fair share of innocent lives in the most brutal and imaginative ways possible, slaking his itch and assuaging his restless, brutal nature—he would opt out of the procreation…

For now.

He would wait to claim a richer prize…

Kristina Riley Silivasi.

Chapter One

They were waiting for him in the Ceremonial Hall of Justice.

All of them: Marquis, Nathaniel, Kagen, Nachari, and even Keitaro; all four sentinels, including the notorious fifth-wheel tracker, Julien Lacusta; and of course, Napolean himself and the closest thing the king had ever had to an equal, the infamous High Mage, Fabian Antonescu.

Way too formal.

The whole ominous setting.

Braden would have just as well preferred the outdoor terrace, a bunch of Master Warriors, sentinels, wizards, a Master Healer, and the supreme Master Justice huddled around the veranda’s fireplace; hell, roasting a few marshmallows over the pit just to keep it simple…to keep it real…somewhat normal. It wasn’t like they actually had to eat them—the low-key ambiance would have at least been inviting, maybe even relaxing. As it stood, Braden was keenly aware that his stepdad, his mother, and his little brother, Conrad, were waiting as well at the Dark Moon Lodge. They had been in the valley since early August, and yeah, didn’t that just underscore the ultra-serious nature of the whole situation—the Bratianu family back together, at least in theory and definitely in urgency. In truth, the reunion had gone well. Everything was the way it should be: Braden had never been closer to his mother, Lily, and he and Conrad were making some great brotherly inroads.

He blinked away the distraction.

He had to maintain his focus on the immediate cluster of hardcore vampires at hand, the imminent crisis before him—well, conference, not crisis—but why parse words. He had to keep his full attention on the upcoming meeting.

As he approached the two heavy, wooden arched doors at the end of the long, circular, underground tunnel, the cobblestone floor feeling uneven beneath his boots, he paused just for a second before reaching to grasp the thick iron handle on the left. That door on the right—the one that led to the Chamber of Sacrifice and Atonement, the one that abutted another door bearing crossbones and an eerie warning inscribed in the Old Language, Behold the portal to the corridor of the dead, the one that ultimately ushered one into the Death