Blood Oath Read online

  BLOOD OATH

  An Ellora’s Cave publication written by

  KIT TUNSTALL

  MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-478-7

  Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-479-5

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML

  © Copyright Kit Tunstall, May 2003.

  All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave.

  Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA

  Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

  This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author/publisher permission.

  Edited by Ann Richardson

  Cover Art by Christine Clavel

  Warning:

  The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. BLOOD OATH has been rated NC17, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

  Prologue

  27 years ago…

  “What have you done?”

  Demi jumped with fright at the angry sound of Valdemeer’s voice carrying through the castle. He dropped the play sword on the floor of his bedroom with the clunk of wood against stone and ran in the direction of the shout. It sounded like it came from farther down the hallway of the children’s wing.

  He pumped his scrawny legs for speed as he rushed up the spiraled stone steps. Demi disdained the wooden handrail and conquered the steps with an ease born of youth. He turned down the passage and continued running. He heard Valdemeer’s voice again, laced with anger, but the words weren’t as distinct.

  He nodded to the guard nearby as he veered through a set of tall wooden doors that had been propped open. He skidded to a halt at the sight before him.

  Valdemeer held his six-year-old daughter by the lapels of her robe and was shaking her. “Answer me, Nikia,” he demanded.

  Demi’s mouth dropped open with shock. In the four years he had lived at Castle Draganescu, he’d never heard the master raise his voice, nor witnessed any acts of violence.

  Nikia’s expression remained serene. The only indication of her emotions was the glittering anger in her brown eyes. “I disposed of the wench, Papa.” She spoke with a calm belying her tender years.

  Valdemeer growled with rage and thrust the girl away from him. Even in his anger, he was careful to make sure she wouldn’t fall before he released her, Demi noticed.

  He shook his head as he ran fingers through his thinning, brown-gray strands of hair. “Why would you send away your mother?”

  Nikia’s eyes darkened, and she spat out, “Stepmother.”

  Valdemeer sighed, and the flush of anger seemed to leave his cheeks slowly. His enraged expression changed to one of bewilderment. “She was kindness itself to you. Why?”

  Nikia’s lips compressed, and she looked pointedly at the wall. Her mouth curled when she saw Demi in the doorway. “Ask your spy, Papa. Perhaps he knows.”

  Valdemeer whirled around, his stance wary. His stiff posture relaxed when he saw Demi. He turned away from his daughter and walked toward Demi. Over his shoulder, he said, “This is not finished, Nikia. You are confined to your rooms.”

  Demi winced as Nikia shrieked her outrage and stamped her foot. Her wild auburn hair flew around her face in a thick cloud, giving her the appearance of wearing a halo of blood. As Valdemeer drew near, he turned his attention from the girl and bowed to his king. “What troubles you, sire?”

  Valdemeer placed his hand on Demi’s shoulder. “Walk with me, Nicodemus.”

  Demi fell in step beside the older man, pausing with him when the king stopped to speak with the guard. He waited silently while Valdemeer passed along instructions not to allow Nikia to leave her quarters.

  Once more, they began walking. Demi wanted to ask again, but he didn’t. He knew his king would speak when he was ready.

  “You were Nikia’s age when you came to the castle, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Valdemeer shook his head. “You have proven yourself a faithful companion. You’re like a son to me.”

  “Thank you, sire.” Demi swallowed heavily, understanding what a compliment that was, in light of both of Valdemeer’s sons dying—one in the womb, and the other when he was but a few days old.

  Demi followed the king into his chambers. He stood silently while Valdemeer paced. “What’s happened?” he asked again, after a long silence.

  With a heavy sigh, Valdemeer dropped into a massive wooden chair. “Katrine has fled. She didn’t say much in her note—only that she couldn’t live in fear.”

  “Nikia,” Demi whispered under his breath. God’s truth, the young girl frightened him sometimes too, with her terrible rages and dark looks. “What did she do?” he asked in a louder tone.

  Valdemeer shrugged. “She will not say, and Katrine didn’t explain. I don’t understand it, Nicodemus. Nikia was a toddler when I married Katrine. Yet, she refused to accept her from the beginning. When Julian was born, she became uncontrollable. I would have thought she was jealous, if she had ever enjoyed Katrine’s company.”

  Demi cleared his throat. “I…” He trailed off, debating about the wisdom of saying anything.

  The older man’s brow quirked. “Yes, boy?”

  “It probably means nothing, but I heard Nikia tell the cook’s daughter, Sian, she would take the Blood Oath.”

  The king blinked, and then his eyelids dropped over his eyes. He fell into a long silence.

  Demi stood by the door, wondering if he should say or do something. Finally, he licked his lips and said, “It isn’t too late to stop Queen Katrine from leaving, is it? Even if she has arrived at the train station, you can stop her.”

  The silence continued for long seconds, broken only by the ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantle. Eventually, Valdemeer shook his head. “No, I can’t stop her, son.”

  “But—“

  “Perhaps it is for the best. Now that I suspect…” He stroked his full mustache. “They will be safer away from this place.”

  Demi frowned. “They, sire? Will you send Nikia away too?”

  Valdemeer’s brown eyes seemed to grow cloudier. “I can’t. She is flesh of my flesh. What would I do with her? Where would I send her?”

  Demi nodded his understanding, though he didn’t fully grasp what his king meant. “Then who is ‘they’, sire?”

  “My wife and child.” Valdemeer’s shoulder’s drooped. “She is pregnant, Nicodemus. Katrine carries the one chosen for the Blood Oath. Your lifemate.”

  Demi’s eyes widened. “You must bring her back immediately.”

  Valdemeer shook his head. “One day, she will return to Corsova, but not while she is a defenseless baby. For a time, she must remain far away from here.” His head bowed forward. “May she and Katrine forgive me.”

  Chapter 1

  Anca looked up as the bell on the door tinkled. Her eyes slid to the clock near the cash register, and she bit back a groan. Four minutes until closing. She plastered on a smile as her potential customer came into view.

  The fake smile faded as she got a glimpse of him. She forgot how to breathe as the finest specimen of manhood she had ever seen strode to the front counter. He was well over six feet tall, with rippling muscles, a lean build, and silvery-blond hair that was a sharp contrast to his tanned skin and dark eyes. The perfect cut of his suit emphasized his magnificent physique, while contributing to his aura of power.

  Or perhaps the suit had nothing to do with it. She swallowed heavily as he stopped in front of her. His chiseled lips didn’t curve into a smile. Her mouth parted, and she couldn’t
seem to tear her gaze from him. Her nipples tightened against the lace of her bra, and she blushed, wondering if evidence of her arousal showed through the silk Nehru-style jacket she wore.

  She glanced down and was relieved to see a barely discernable protrusion of her nipples against the pink fabric, silk-screened with roses. Her gaze returned to his when he cleared his throat. “Good evening,” she said, pleased she didn’t stumble over the words in her flustered state.

  “Are you Anca Draganescu?” His voice was crisp and businesslike, but the accent underlying his words lent them a husky sensuality.

  With that voice, he could make a discussion on weather turn her on. She almost giggled at the thought and strove to compose her features into a professional mask. “Yes. I’m the proprietor of Dragan’s Whimsy.”

  He nodded. “You are a psychic, no?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t always control the gift—”

  He interrupted before she could give her standard speech about no guarantees. “You will read me.”

  Her eyes widened at his imperious command. “The store will be closing soon, sir. I’d be happy to schedule an appointment for you tomorrow. I had a cancellation just this afternoon.”

  He shook his head. “Impossible, Miss Draganescu. Now, please.”

  She took a deep breath, struggling to maintain control of her temper. Even though he looked as though he’d stepped from a GQ ad, that didn’t give him the right to be rude. “That is impossible. Tomorrow.”

  “I will be on my way home by tomorrow. My flight leaves at midnight.” He glanced at his watch as he pushed back the cuff of his suit and light-blue shirt. “I took the liberty of flipping your closed sign and locking the door.”

  Anca’s mouth fell open. “That’s unacceptable. How dare you?”

  “I will pay any amount.” His eyes softened. “You must do this.”

  She frowned, disconcerted when the anger forming banked at his gentler expression and lowered tone. “Why is it so important?”

  He shrugged. “I must appease my curiosity.”

  She sighed. “Fine, but I’ll expect double the standard fee.” Anca turned the key to lock the register and slipped the ring in the pocket of her silk slacks. “Please make yourself comfortable while I brew tea.”

  He walked to the beige suede sofa and chairs in the corner of the store without responding. Anca watched him take a seat before she left her post behind the counter and went to the tea cozy in the opposite corner. The water in the pot was still hot, and she selected her special blend of jasmine, chamomile, and lemon verbena tea, used to enhance consciousness.

  She added two scoops of the leaves to a small ceramic pot. Anca measured water from the metal pot on the warmer and added it to the teapot decorated with roses and ribbons. While it steeped, she added matching teacups and saucers to a silver tray. When they were arranged aesthetically, she put the small steeping pot on the tray and carried it over to her customer.

  He had chosen the sofa, and he was leaning back against the cushions. There was an aura of grace about his movements as he shifted to sit up straight. “What’s the tea for?” He eyed the pot as though it contained something less innocuous than tea.

  Anca smiled at him as she lifted a cup and saucer to pour the brew. “It aids in relaxation. The more open you are, the more I’ll be able to pick up.”

  He lifted a brow as he took the cup she had filled.

  She watched with amusement as he sniffed the contents before sipping it. He frowned, but didn’t thrust it away. She poured a cup for herself and took the chair closest to him. “May I ask why you want a reading, sir? What do you hope to learn today?”

  Anca sipped her tea, waiting to hear the standard questions: When will I be promoted? Will I get married? Should we have children? Are my wife and I drifting apart? Her eyes sought out his left hand and saw the ring finger lacked a gold band, but that didn’t mean anything.

  His gaze was forthright when he met hers. “I want to see if you’re who I think you are.”

  She swallowed without thought, not expecting such an answer, and unable to form a coherent reply. The hot tea burned her tongue, and she gasped. Who did he think she was?

  “Are you all right, Miss Draganescu?”

  Anca waved her hand before setting the cup on the tray. “I’m fine. Shall we begin, Mr.…?” The sooner they finished, the sooner she could get him out of her shop. Once upstairs in her apartment, her unease would fade away, she assured herself.

  “Demi Golina.” He didn’t offer his hand to shake.

  “May I see your hand, Mr. Golina?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you a palm reader, Miss Draganescu?” His tone bordered on scathing.

  She shook her head. “No. I simply find touch the easiest way to read someone.”

  He extended his hand.

  Anca folded it between hers, careful not to rake his flesh with her long nails. She cried out as soon as they touched. Visions raced through her mind in a dizzying array of colors and sound, with little form. She had never experienced anything like it before.

  She tried to jerk away, but only succeeded in freeing one hand. He tightened his grip on the other. She cried out again, begging him with a jumble of incoherent sounds to release her.

  “Tell me what you see, Anca,” he purred. He looked intense, but there wasn’t a trace of cruelty on his face. He didn’t seem to receive any pleasure from prolonging the contact or causing her fear.

  “A-a ch-chalice,” she stuttered. “Gold, antique, with a ruby in its handle…” She shook her head as the cup left her mind, replaced by a vision that had color sweeping up her neck.

  Mr. Golina had her bent backwards over a table, and she moaned as he sucked on her nipple. From the waist up, they were both nude. Pressed together, they struggled to get even closer. Anca heard a moan escape her lips, and it held the same passion as in her vision.

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head, unable to describe the scene. When she met his eyes, she saw a half-smile curved his lips, and his eyes had darkened. Was he experiencing the same vision? She had never shared one with another person before. She had only relayed what she saw in the past.

  She broke eye contact and closed her eyes. Anca shook her head, struggling to dispel the vision. She counted slowly to ten, which was usually enough to break her concentration if a vision became too vivid. This time, it only increased in clarity. As he continued to suckle at her breast, his hand slid down her stomach, into the waistband of her pants, and over her panties.

  Anca jerked in the chair as he stroked her pussy in the vision. She grew wet in real life, and she was already dripping with need in the vision. Her pussy spasmed with yearning as his fingers explored her.

  The experience was disconcerting enough to cause her eyes to fly open. Anca tore her hand from his. “No more, please. I don’t see anything at all.”

  He chuckled. “Didn’t your mother raise you not to fib, Anca?”

  “You must go now, Mr. Golina. No charge for the reading.” Anca bounded from the seat and began stacking the cups haphazardly on the tray. She stiffened when he touched her arm, but the visions didn’t return. She breathed a small sigh of relief.

  “I can’t just yet.”

  “Why not?” A flash of the vision returned to her, along with a quiver of fear. Did this man plan to rape her? Anca frowned, remembering how aroused she was in the vision. It didn’t fit.

  “My purpose in coming here wasn’t for a reading. I was sent to find you, Anca.”

  Her eyes widened. “By who?”

  He took a deep breath. “Your father.”

  Anca dropped the tray she had just lifted, and it fell with a small clatter onto the wooden table. “That’s a lie. My father is dead.”

  Mr. Golina shook his head. “No. He lives, and he’s anxious to meet you. He’s waited so long.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she struggled to speak. “That’s another lie. I’ve been here in New York the pas
t twenty-six years. He could have found me.”

  He ran a hand through his short, blond hair. “He’s dying, Anca. He needs to see you now.”

  She shook her head. “He’s dead. My mother told me he died before I was born.”

  “Katrine was trying to protect you.”

  Suspicion clouded her eyes. “My mother’s name is Kathryn, and you’ve just blown your entire scam. Get out of here before I call the police.”

  He sighed heavily. “It is no confidence game that brings me here, I assure you. I’m acting as the emissary of your father, whose dying wish is to meet his daughter. Will you deny him?”

  She tilted her chin. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You wear a ruby pendant around your neck,” he said softly. “You never take it off.”

  Anca frowned at his knowledge, but she bluffed her way through. “That’s no big secret. Last year, one of my clients tried to buy it from me. When I wouldn’t sell it, she hired someone to steal it. It was in the papers.”

  His brow furrowed, and he muttered something that sounded like a name under his breath. “Yes, I’m sure it was her,” he said more loudly. He looked thoughtful, but then he blinked, and his expression returned to one of earnestness as he dismissed the topic of the attempted theft. “At different times of the year, the pendant seems to glow with an internal light. It warms to the touch.”

  “I…” Anca broke off, unable to reply. She hadn’t told anyone about that, fearing they would think she had gone nuts.

  “You’ve always had the pendant.”

  She nodded, not able to remember a time when she didn’t wear it.

  “Your mother took it with her when she fled the castle and Corsova. Katrine knew what it represented, and she knew it was your birthright.”

  “What are you talking about? My mother is an immigrant from the Ukraine.”

  Mr. Golina shook his head emphatically. “No, she was born in the Corsovan village of Rij, at the starting point of the Bulgain Mountains. Romania and Moldova border our country, as does the Ukraine, but she never visited that country, to my knowledge. Katrine spent her whole life in her village, until she married your father when she was seventeen. She ran away after they had been married four years. That was the first time she left the borders of Corsova.”