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.