THE WOODSHED

The sun had set hours earlier.

The December moon was radiant, large, and glowing.

And the midnight-blue sky was virtually glittering with dense, wet snowflakes, the cold crystal prisms swirling as they fell, only to be swept away in gentle, hidden eddies of sparkling light.

It was the perfect backdrop for a Christmas Eve smack-down.

It was the perfect night for Ciopori’s revenge.

Unfortunately, as soon as Marquis realized that it was Ciopori, not Keitaro, who was going to dish out his punishment—Keitaro was just an enforcer—the warrior could not stop laughing.

Which only made Ciopori see red.

Well, she would show him how the cow ate the bacon…or the pig ate the horse…or the mule ate some cabbage…

Whatever!

As she continued to rummage through the large cedar shed—searching for just the right implement of torture—she could hear the Ancient Master Warrior laughing outside the creaking door. “What are you looking for, my love?” he asked in that deep, king-of-the-jungle voice.

Ciopori smirked. “A baseball bat, my darling.”

Marquis chuckled like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “You’re going to beat me with a bat?” he asked, laughing so hard he snorted. “I’m afraid we don’t have one, draga mea.”

My darling.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ciopori snipped.

She emerged from the shed with a four-foot-long, three-inch-thick wooden paddle, drew it back over her shoulder, and swung it forward in a slow, level line—several times in a row—like a professional baseball player warming up at home plate. “I believe this will do just fine.”

Marquis’s long, silky hair fell to his broad, muscular back as he folded his arms above his head, placed them against the shed’s cedar siding, and spread his legs a shoulder’s width apart, offering Ciopori his ass.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Great Celestial Ancestors, the male had a backside to die for.

Her mouth fell open, and she started to drool—but she quickly stifled the reaction.

This was neither the place nor the time for such antics.

She could always molest him later.

Right now, it was time to teach the Ancient Master Warrior a lesson.

His voice dropped to a heated, savage purr, and Ciopori almost lost her concentration when he glanced over his shoulder, flashed a hint of fang, and flexed both of those perfect globes. “Hurt me, baby.”

Nachari started laughing, and Kagen smacked him in the arm.

Kristina cackled like a Salem witch, and Vanya leaned against her, angling her head to the side—apparently, the regal princess wanted a better angle.

Nathaniel just smiled, like the deviant he was.

And Keitaro?

Well, his dark eyes twinkled, like he was thoroughly amused, as he placed one foot on a tree stump, braced his elbow on his knee, and leaned in to watch the action.

Yeah, well, Ciopori thought, we’ll see who’s amused when I’m finished. “Three strikes for three spanks,” she announced. And then, without hesitation or preamble, she drew back the paddle and swung it like a bat, breaking the wood on Marquis’s upper thighs.

“You missed, sister,” Nachari said, pointing out the obvious.

“Blessed Andromeda!” Ciopori snarled. She stared at the broken paddle, huffed her annoyance, and tossed it aside, heading for the nearest tree. She returned moments later with an equally long branch, handed it to Keitaro so he could strip off the leaves, and studied Marquis while he waited. She couldn’t help but notice that the vampire had grown quiet.

Silent as the falling snow.

And as an ivory beam of moonlight illuminated his handsome profile, she noticed something else…

His fangs had descended in his mouth.

The vampire was no longer laughing…or teasing.

Good!

Her message was getting through.

She stepped up to the “plate” once again, drew back the heavy tree branch, and let him have it—hard—this time, right in the center of his cheeks.

He groaned in pain.

Or was that a purr?

It sounded a bit like a feral growl.

“How do you like them oranges?” she goaded.

“Apples,” Nachari supplied.

She spun around and glared at the Master Wizard. “What!”

“How do you like them apples?” he repeated.

“Oh, well, fine,” she huffed. “How do you like them apples, Marquis?”

Once again, the warrior groaned.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she sliced the branch through the air one last time, and smacked him with every ounce of vampiric power she could muster. The back of his black cargo jeans tore along the seam as a snag in the branch caught the denim. “Oh, gods!” Ciopori cried, suddenly feeling ashamed. “Marquis! Are you oaky?”

The vampire spun around with all the stealth and grace of his predatory species and dropped into a squat, his biceps bulging, his quads trembling, his elbows resting on his knees.

His eyes were glowing.

His fangs were fully extended.

And his…oh-my-gods…was standing to attention.

Marquis had definitely lied to her earlier: He absolutely had a baseball bat.

“Time to blaze a trail,” Nachari murmured, grimacing.

“Uh, yeah,” Kagen grunted. “Could’ve gone a lifetime without seeing that image.”

“Oh, just…no,” Kristina bellyached, and Vanya covered her eyes.

“Keitaro?” Ciopori cast a desperate glance toward the patriarch, looking to her father-in-law for assistance.

The strong, resilient male shook his head. “You made this bed, Ciopori—you and Marquis, both—now you have to lie in it.” With that, he simply vanished into thin air, along with the other vampires.

Ciopori turned her attention to the heated vampire in front of her. “Did I hurt you?” she crooned, her voice soft with compassion and maybe a little apology.

“No.”

“Are you angry?” she whispered.

“No,” he snarled.

She gulped and took a cautious step back.

“You must think I’m the petulant child.”

Marquis Silivasi stood to his full, imposing height and took three purposeful strides forward. “I think you are the single most beautiful, sexy, and powerful female on the planet.” His features grew strained and his voice raspy. “You are master of our home; I will follow where you lead; and I’m sorry that I spanked your sexy ass to begin with. I will never do it again.” He paused. “Unless you ask me to.”

Ciopori gulped, but she didn’t have time to reply.

The vampire scooped her up by the waist, tossed her over his shoulder, and carted her into the shed, where he slammed her—albeit gently—against the interior wall and ripped the skirt from her hips.

His tattered jeans were off in an instant—her undergarments were ripped to shreds—as he grasped her thighs, surged between them, and thrust forward with his powerful hips.

And the rest was Christmas history…

As Ciopori whimpered and moaned.

To heck with the meal—this holiday was epic!

Glorious…

Indescribable.

Blissful.

* * *

Nathaniel Silivasi flashed out of sight, departing the scene of the woodshed before he got an eyeful of something he could never forget. Truly, Marquis and Ciopori were a comic—and perfect—match, literally made in the heavens.

As he rounded the back corner of Marquis’s expansive farmhouse, he noticed two human men, bundled in winter coats, wool hats, and insulated gloves, chatting quietly amongst themselves, just yards away from a familiar old blue pickup truck. The Chevy belonged to Kevin Parker, the human male who ran the Dark Moon Stables for DMV Prime—the overarching corporation encompassing all the house of Jadon’s business holdings—and the male beside him was none other than the mystery guest from dinner. No doubt, Nachari had already handled the business, just as Keitaro had asked him to, but Nathaniel decided to check it out…just to be safe.

He was surprised when Kevin Parker stepped forward and approached him first. “Mr. Silivasi, I’m glad we ran into you.” He hunched his shoulders, shivering a bit from the cold. “Well, actually, that’s not entirely true—we were hanging around on purpose, hoping to get a word.”

Nathaniel’s eyebrows hitched up. “Call me Nathaniel.”

The human nodded. “Nathaniel…”

The thin blond guy standing next to Kevin shifted nervously back and forth on his booted feet, and he couldn’t hold Nathaniel’s seeking gaze.

Interesting…

Kevin gave his friend a reassuring nod and continued addressing Nathaniel. “Look, I realize you oversee the management of the ski resort and lodge, and that I have full authority to run the stables as I see fit. I’d like to bring Michael, here, in as a private contractor to help with upkeep of the ranch, the equipment, and the guest cabins. He’s talented, and he’s also married to my third cousin, Michelle. So he’s family.”

He placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and Nathaniel eyed the newcomer more closely. There was something oddly reminiscent about the human, something Nathaniel couldn’t quite place—something in those bluish-gray eyes looked familiar. “Okay,” he drawled, wondering what else was up.

Kevin sighed. “Damn,” he whispered, “this is harder than I thought.” He took a slow, diaphragm-breath for courage, and got straight to the point. “Nathaniel, I’d like to bring Michael on as more than an employee. I’d like to bring him into the house of Jadon, at least from a human standpoint.”

Nathaniel’s shifted into a slightly more dominant posture, his eyes narrowing with concern.

That wasn’t Kevin’s call.

That wasn’t any human’s call.

A vampire usually had to suggest it, and then Napolean Mondragon, the Vampyr king, made the final determination. What the heck was going on?

He angled his head to the side and studied Kevin’s body language: The male was nervous, but he was shooting from the hip. “Did Nachari—”

“Yeah.” Kevin cut him off more out of eagerness than impropriety. Just the same, he instantly caught his mistake—the man was standing in front of an ancient, lethal predator and he knew it. Both hands hit the air in apology. “Sorry for interrupting. I just meant that—yeah, Nachari approached us—and I headed him off at the pass before he could work his magic. I asked for permission to speak to you first, and I promised that I’d bring Michael back inside if I didn’t run into you. Or if you weren’t open to the conversation.”

Nathaniel licked his bottom lip in an absent, lupine gesture. As long as they were being direct, he had no intentions of bullshitting around, not when it came to the safety, confidentiality, and integrity of the house of Jadon. “Very well,” he stated. “Then since we both know the deal—minds are going to be scrubbed; memories are going to be altered; and my brothers and I are going to take a serious look at this unconventional suggestion—we may as well cut to the chase. Humans don’t enter the house of Jadon without some considerable history behind them, without proving their undying loyalty to someone of influence, and not without demonstrating the willingness to abandon their previous lives in exchange for our hospitality, our protection, and our allegiance. As we both know, it’s a lifelong commitment: the good, the bad, and the ugly. And typically, most of our families have been with us for generations. Hell, for centuries. Why is this man standing here, Kevin?”

Kevin nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Nathaniel held up his hand to silence him. “No,” the vampire said, “not you, Kevin. Him.” He leveled a searing, no-nonsense gaze at the now-trembling human, and allowed the tips of his fangs to elongate—this was serious business, and if the human couldn’t handle the sight of a nocturnal creature, then there was no need to go any further. “Who are you? What do you know of this valley? And why would I want to meet you?” It may have been blunt, but oh well.

The human nervously licked his lips, exchanged an anxious glance with Kevin, and took a slow, deep breath. “Mr. Silivasi, I’m exactly who Kevin says I am. I don’t know much at all about this valley, other than the fact that I’d love to move here and could really use the job, and Kevin hasn’t told me anything about you—about any of you, really. It’s more…how Kevin reacted to something I told him.”

Now this piqued Nathaniel’s curiosity. “And what was that?”

Michael swallowed an obvious lump in his throat, lowered his head, and cast it to the side, in an unconscious show of submission. “Sir, I spent six years of my life in a federal prison in the state of California for first-degree murder.” He rushed his words in an attempt to offer an explanation: “But I didn’t do it, sir. I swear. I was framed for a double homicide.” He sighed as if the story was too long—too grueling—too emotionally taxing, and he was praying he didn’t have to tell it.

Nathaniel didn’t press him, either way.

He could take whatever he needed from the human’s mind later, if it was necessary.

“Anyhow,” Michael continued, “one night, a couple years back, in August, some really strange shit happened. I was just released from prison—out of the blue—no pardon, no parole, no explanation. They simply let me go. And, trust me, that was cool. I wasn’t about to question it. I had a two-year-old son and a one-year-old daughter”—he cocked one shoulder and smiled sheepishly—“conjugal visits with Michelle. Anyhow, the reason I got those special visits, early on, was because I’d been battling a rare form of cancer for a decade, and by the time the prison released me, it was no longer treatable. I was free, but I didn’t have much time to live. Or so I thought.”

Michael paused to eye Kevin again, as if seeking permission to continue, and Kevin nodded. “For a man who has always been unlucky, fate must’ve smiled on me that August, because not only did I walk away from that prison, but I walked away cancer-free. And not just in remission, but like I’d never had it to begin with. I was telling Kevin the story the other day. Michelle and I had just arrived in DMV; he’d offered me the job at the stables, and we were sitting around catching up when Kevin said, ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’” Despite the frigid cold, Michael’s brow was sweating, and Nathaniel could hear his heart racing. “And here we are.”

Impropriety be dammed, Nathaniel reached out, grasped Michael by the jaw, and turned his head to force his gaze. “Look at me,” he commanded in a silken voice of compulsion.

And then it all came rushing back.

The night Nathaniel had learned about Valentine Nistor’s betrayal—the fact that the Dark One had stolen his youngest brother’s destiny and taken her life in a hideous ritual; the night Nathaniel had gone hunting in a feral rage, needing to slake a thirst so primal, so savage, that nothing but a federal penitentiary would do; the night Nathaniel had stolen into a dark, dank cell and torn open a human’s throat, only to discover that he was draining an innocent man. He had pulled back, released his incisors, and injected that prisoner with healing venom, mostly to repair his throat. Then he had altered the prison’s computers and generated a full set of pre-release orders, creating the conditions to set the stranger free by morning—to set Michael free by morning.

The national news had covered the prison massacre, but no one would have understood the curious story, except—perhaps—a human servant, familiar with all the clues.

“Michael White?” Nathaniel asked, recalling the prisoner’s full name.

The human jerked back in surprise. “Yeah.”

Nathaniel turned his attention to Kevin, and his voice grew infinitely softer. “Kevin, why is this important to you? Will having your family here bring you some peace?” He didn’t have to speak the underlying name—or mention the underlying tragedy. They both knew what it was.

Joelle.

Kevin’s beautiful, innocent daughter.

The girl who had become infatuated with Marquis and preyed upon by the same treacherous Dark One who had killed Shelby’s destiny: Valentine Nistor. Joelle had been slain during a ruse, when Valentine pretended to be Marquis.

Kevin bit his bottom lip, his eyes misted over, and he looked off into the distance, gazing at the falling snow. “This is something that I need…personally.”

Nathaniel felt the pain beneath the words. “Very well,” he intoned. “This night, I will…soften…Michael’s awareness.” He flicked his wrist, placing an instant murky haze over the human’s mind before continuing: “And I will speak immediately with one of the valley’s sentinels, so he can take it back to the king without delay. If you are certain about your cousin’s loyalty, the ability of his children to be temporarily compelled—and to adjust to our lifestyle—if you believe they should be raised to serve our kind, and you are certain this is what Michael and Michelle would want—will want—then I will tell the sentinel to ask the king to consider it seriously.” He watched as plumes of vapor formed each time the humans exhaled, and he absently cooled his own breath to make it do the same thing. It was an unconscious reflex, adjusting one’s nature when dealing with humans—even though they knew what he was. “I want you to know that this is highly unorthodox, Kevin, not something I would ordinarily do. And it isn’t a matter of trusting you or not. It’s a matter of establishing history and honor. But…” He declined his head in a gesture of respect. “My family owes yours an eternal debt, and I will speak to my brothers in a few moments. I will appeal to Marquis directly.”

Visibly trembling, Kevin pulled his attention away from the forest and the mesmerizing, swirling snow, and he fixed his soft-brown gaze on Nathaniel, who couldn’t help but notice—Kevin’s eyes were the same almond shape as Joelle’s. “Nathaniel,” Kevin said quietly. “When you speak with Marquis, tell the Ancient Master Warrior that he doesn’t need to avoid me. Not anymore. Tell him that I get it.” He made a visor with his thumb and forefinger, shielding his eyes with his hand, and Nathaniel understood that he needed a moment to regain his composure and maintain his pride.

“Take your time,” Nathaniel breathed.

Kevin paused for the space of several heartbeats, lowered his hand, and continued. “He couldn’t have seen it coming—none of us could have. And it wasn’t Marquis’s fault. We were all victims of the house of Jaegar, and for whatever it’s worth, we get that—us humans—when we agree to this life. Yeah, I may have been born to it, but I’ve been blessed with ridiculous wealth, unending security, and mostly guaranteed safety, every day of my life. My entire family has…until Joelle.” He sighed, not wanting to elaborate. “Shit. Just. Happens.” His voice cracked, and he pumped his hands into fists to curtail the emotion. “Tell Marquis I don’t want this to linger between us. I don’t want him to live with any guilt…not for me. Nathaniel? Tell Marquis…” His shoulders shook, and Nathaniel felt the strength of his conviction. “Tell him, he’s my friend.”

Nathaniel bent over, braced his palms on his thighs, and dug his nails into his quads, needing to take a moment to collect his thoughts. By all the gods, the regret the Silivasis felt over Joelle’s loss—the guilt, the remorse, and the anger—it would never go away, but Kevin was right. Life was meant for the living. They were all recovering from an equally tragic loss, and their burden would be lighter—their journey would be easier—if they shared their grief as fellow travelers. He stood to his full, majestic height. “I’ll tell him.”

Then he reached out to lift Michael’s chin, locked his gaze with the human’s, and reset his memories to retain only that which was pertinent.

Content that all was well, he vanished into the night.