The Forbidden Prince (Dracula's Bloodline Book 5)

by Ana Calin

  “Moreover,” he continues, drinking in the sight of me for signs of pain as he says the next words. “I will have your lover fight the alligator to death. May the best man win. Then, if he survives Darius, which I doubt, he will fight me—after I’ve taken Dracula’s blood.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I spew.

  “There’s more,” he presses, pointing a long finger with a sharp tip at me, slime dripping off it. The monster is high with anticipation. “I will have you watch all of it.”

  CHAPTER XI – May the Best Man Win

  Isolde

  I CRY OUT AS SERPENTS coil around me from behind, and try to drag me away from Tristan. Tristan whips around, flashes out his blades, and slices the serpent’s bodies off of me. The sharp metal goes through them like butter. I stare in awe at the still twisted serpent bodies as I fall in Tristan’s granite arms.

  “You’re only making this more difficult on both of you,” Mark says from behind Tristan, anger lurking behind his oily tone. “You can keep her if you like—in the same ring in which you’ll fight the alligator. Are you sure you want to have her, taking some of the blows for you?”

  Electricity cuts through Tristan’s icy blue eyes, his lips pressing together as he lets me go.

  “I will stop fighting and let myself be easily killed if anything happens to her,” he tells Mark without turning to face him. “That would spoil your fun, wouldn’t it?”

  “Don’t worry,” Mark says cunningly. “She will be in your field of vision at all times. Now, if you will please come along, Prince of Spades.”

  Tristan looks long at me, and bends down to kiss me.

  “Don’t,” Mark cuts in. Tristan’s lips stop only an inch away from mine. I can feel his frosty breath on my mouth.

  “There will be plenty of time,” Mark hisses. “If you survive the fights.”

  Tristan whips around to face Mark. “Do you swear that, if I win both fights, Isolde belongs to me?”

  Mark raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “As her mate, do you officially proclaim that, if you die tonight, by my hand, your wife becomes mine?”

  There’s a long silence, all serpents waiting tensely. As for me, I’m dumbfounded.

  “Come on,” Tristan insists. “I barely stand a chance, and you know it. I might even lose motivation if things go too bad. If you take Lord Dracula’s blood before we fight each other, your victory will be as good as guaranteed. But even so, with incentive such as making Isolde mine for eternity, I will keep fighting to the last drop of blood, ensuring your maximum pleasure.”

  Though the idea of me in Tristan’s arms clearly irks him, Mark can’t resist the chance of maximizing the pleasure he can get out of this. I know him well enough to see it. He licks his lips, his long body glistening with slime between the open sides of his floral robe. Pain is his porn. He cums for it, and he wouldn’t miss the chance to cum so hard that it’ll rock his world.

  “All right, it’s a deal.”

  Serpents relieve Tristan of his blades—he has an arsenal of them on him—while others grab me from behind, and lead me forward.

  My heart beats like crazy, even though Tristan glances behind with reassurance. A smile quivers on my lips every time he does, because I don’t want to make this harder on him, but inside I’m desperate. I don’t see a way out of this, and the sound of an army of serpents slithering their way in front and behind us isn’t making it any better. On the one hand I’m sure Tristan must have a plan, on the other, I can’t imagine what it can possibly be.

  The Old Priest is allowed to lead the way, calling the leading serpents to turn left or right until we emerge into a broader tunnel, and then into a large cave.

  “This is the heart of the labyrinth,” the Old Priest explains.

  “You two,” Mark tells the two serpents close to him. “Follow the trail back outside—” Some have shed skin on our way here, and now I understand why. “Wait for Dracula, and bring him to us when he arrives.”

  Soraya steps in. “I sent instructions he should come alone, or only with one of his people. It isn’t supposed to be his brother.” She looks at her father as she explains. “The Prince of Midnight is too powerful. Together, they would have a chance to bring us down.”

  Hope lights up inside of me, though I struggle to hide it. Lord Dracula isn’t only a powerful warrior, but also a cunning one. He kept his brilliance as a strategist hidden for centuries. It’s not the most famous thing about him, and that’s one hell of a strategy in itself. His secret weapon remains secret.

  At Mark’s signal, the serpents form a circle along the cave’s wet walls. The air is humid in here, filling my lungs in a heavy way, making it difficult to breathe. We must be deep inside the mountain, too, because the pressure weighs on my eyeballs.

  The Old Priest finds a cozy place nearby to watch. I bend from my waist, looking at him around the serpent to my right.

  “Whatever your plan was, you underestimated Lord Dracula,” I tell him. “He will find a way to get Tristan out of this.”

  The Old Priest laughs quietly, without looking at me, as if he doesn’t want to miss anything from the preparations for the fight between Tristan and the alligator.

  “I know Dracula better than you think. This time, my plan is flawless.”

  This time....

  “And what part did I play in your wicked plan?” I spew.

  The Old Priest turns his ugly face to me, and it’s all I can do to keep from shaking.

  “I attracted Mark Serpaint into your life, knowing full well what would happen. I knew he’d want to have you, you’re, how shall I put this.” He narrows his eyes as if he’s looking for the word. “There’s something about you that invites abuse. You’re the perfect victim, Isolde. So soft, so caring, oh-so-saintly. It was only logical that a supernatural with a sadistic core would want to find your breaking point. What’s the point at which you stop caring about others and show the true nature of the human—selfishness? At what point do you begin caring about your own pain more than about anyone else’s, and walk over dead bodies in order to save your own sweet ass?” He inspects my face, looking for the answer.

  With my mouth twisted in a combination of disgust and fear, I look to the center of the ring. My eyes find Tristan, and my heart aches.

  “Lord Dracula will save him,” I whisper, more as reassurance to myself, but the Old Priest feels compelled to respond.

  “No, he won’t. I’ve devised the perfect plan to bring Dracula down, sweet girl. This time, God or the devil himself would have to step in to save him—and your sweetheart.” He’s drunk on his own anticipation, I can hear it in his scraping voice.

  The alligator steps to the center of the cave, slowly throwing off his clothes. Soon he’s standing shirtless in the middle of the ring, a huge tattooed beast facing my beautiful vampire prince.

  Tristan doesn’t move at all as Darius starts to shift, shedding his human skin like he would the skin of a serpent, a green reptile emerging from underneath his tattoos. He grows bigger out of his own skin, roaring in the pain of the shifting process as deadly fangs pierce his gums, pushing his human teeth apart. He rolls completely out of his human body, now standing as a giant alligator monster, snapping his jaws at his opponent—my Tristan.

  I gasp and jolt forward, but the serpents keep me back.

  “If you want what’s best for him,” one of them says, “you better keep your mouth shut. You wouldn’t want to distract him.” A glance at the speaker reveals a slimy grin that enjoys my distress as well. Hell, why do serpents enjoy others’ pain so much? Even vampires seem purring cats compared to them.

  I lived a good while with a vampire best friend under the same roof, then I lived among a whole army of vampires in Bran for almost a month when my sister Juliet and my niece Rux married the two princes. But none of the vampires was inherently evil. Most of them were soft hearted once you got to know them. Despite popular belief, none of them
killed the weak, but rather picked on the strong, the wicked, and the oppressive.

  Tristan moves, and my back tenses. My vision tunnels on him. He’s all that matters, now and forever.

  He strips off his shirt, revealing his broad-shouldered, athletic body that puts all serpents to shame. He’s so beautiful, my warrior prince, that it seems a sacrilege anything should scar that body. There are scars on his back, but they are too fine for the human eye to see. He was still human when that bastard Mark inflicted those whiplashes on him, and after Lord Dracula turned him into a vampire, they completely sealed. The only reason they are visible to vampire eyes is that those lashes left a mark on Tristan’s soul. And vampires’ bodies reflect their soul.

  The Old Priest is a strange case, though. I remember what Juliet told me about him. His soul is so ugly that even vampire beauty wasn’t guaranteed on him—beauty being one of the main reasons why he wanted to become a vampire. But he turned out to be an exception, and his existence as a vampire became a source of frustration.

  The air turns thick as Tristan begins showing his vampire self. The bones of his face protrude, making him seem half man half beast. His upper lip curls over his lengthening fangs, his blue eye glinting like metal so sharp they could cut.

  His muscles bulge, his knuckles grow like concrete, and claws push out from his fingers. I know he’s done transforming when he balls his fists that seem both claws and hammers.

  “He is magnificent, isn’t he?” The Old Priest says, now even closer to me. He smells rotten. “If I’d turned out anything like him, none of this would be happening, sweet Isolde.”

  “You have only yourself to blame for having become a monster. What you were on the inside spilled itself on the outside once you became a vampire.” I force myself to look at him as I say, “As a great wise man once said—change your heart and you’ll change your face; change your face and you’ll change your fate.” I hold his gaze. “There’s nothing anyone can do about your looks or weaknesses, Old Priest. Only you can. By the way.” I tilt my head to the side, my interest genuine. “What is your real name?”

  He snorts. “That’s funny. You’re the only person who ever asked.”

  There’s a whoosh through the air, and my head snaps back to Tristan, my heart slamming against my ribcage.

  “It has begun,” the Old Priest says, clearly looking forward to the show.

  Tristan leaps out of the way as the alligator attacks him. Being so big and heavy, the shifter is slower than my vampire prince. But it looks like he’s as strong as the Hulk, and one blow would be enough to seriously damage Tristan.

  My heart slams harder with each one of the alligator’s attacks. He lunges forward with his jaws, snapping them at Tristan. The sound fills the cave, the serpents hissing as they cheer him on. My skin crawls with all the hissing that echoes against the natural vaulted ceiling of the cave.

  Darius is dangerously strong. He forces Tristan against the wall and lurches forward with his open snout at him.

  “God, no,” I yelp, slapping my hands to my cheeks, but luckily Tristan doesn’t get distracted. The alligator’s open snout rams straight into Tristan’s powerful claws. The alligator wriggles his heavy body, his tail lashing through the air left and right. It hits the rock wall, breaking a whole chunk of it.

  “Hell, the creature is strong,” the Old Priest says, his voice full of excitement.

  A cracking sound rips through the cave as Tristan twists the alligator’s head, his hands clenched on the beast’s jaws, the muscles in his arms rippling. I stop breathing—could it be that Tristan snapped his neck?

  But the alligator gets up, shaking the confusion from his head, and taking his huge claw to his thick nape.

  Tristan doesn’t wait for a second attack. He flashes forward, his claws slicing the air and the alligator’s skin, quick like bullets from a machine gun. I can’t even follow the movement. I only see a blur of his claws, and hear them cutting the air.

  The creature backs away, growling and grunting, soon putting up his claws to protect from Tristan’s attack. An intense sensation that I’m being watched makes me look at Mark just the moment he signals something to one of the serpents flanking me. The next thing I know, a serpent tail slithers around my neck, and squeezes. He doesn’t do it hard enough to hurt me, not even to take away my voice, but enough to make me scream in terror, my hands gripping the snake tail around my neck.

  As Mark intended, Tristan’s eyes snap to me. He points to the serpent, baring his fangs.

  “Hey! Let her go!” He lunges toward me, but the alligator intercepts him in the air with a blow.

  Fuck, this was meant to distract Tristan, and I fell right into the trap!

  I scream as my Tristan flies through the air and hits the cave wall, trickling to the ground. He stops on his feet, but he’s unstable. The alligator stomps over and starts serving him blow after blow like an angry Hulk. I scream, tears blurring my eyes.

  Maybe it’s better this way. Better not to see Tristan getting killed. My heart aches so much that if I catch a glimpse of his battered body I might drop dead from heartbreak.

  “Stop this show, right now,” a voice fills the cave, interrupting my thoughts. I blink my tears away, clinging to hope as I search the cave for the source.

  The disembodied voice speaks again, coming from everywhere at the same time. The serpents, including Mark, move their heads around just as confused, their bodies slithering, their forked tongues hissing.

  I notice the grey mist up in the air when it begins clustering up in the ring, between Tristan and the alligator. My mouth pops open as the mist hardens into the shape of none other than Lord Dracula.

  I blink rapidly, even though I’m as sure as it gets that it’s him. He’s huge, bigger even than the alligator, his features brutal, his eyes red as blood, wild warrior hair brushing large shoulders. Not to mention, he’s stark naked, but still looking kingly even exposed. I avert my eyes to Tristan quickly.

  The first thing Lord Dracula does is inspect Tristan, my beautiful vampire prince, worried about his state. Streams of blood mar his beautiful athletic body. It’s his own blood, but in the confusion since Lord Dracula revealed himself, his wounds have already closed, nothing but the blood left on his face and body. My heart swells with gratitude for that.

  The serpents at the entrance hiss, slithering out of the way to reveal a woman sauntering in like a queen.

  “By God,” I squeal. “Rux!”

  She gives me a small smile before her ink-back eyes settle on Lord Dracula again. She’s carrying his clothes.

  “My husband tends to lose his clothes when he transforms into mist,” she says to the entire cave, her voice calm and crystalline, but stately. “I thought I’d bring them to him so he can properly negotiate.”

  “His wife?” Soraya says, and bursts into laughter. “I give him the chance to bring one of his men so that he can at least stand a chance, and he decides to bring his wife?” She laughs harder, clearly trying to instigate the others to laugh along. But only very few do, and Mark grabs her elbow, pulling her closer.

  He says something in her ear, and I imagine it has to do with Ruxandra’s demoness powers as a Mistress of Pain. She’s well known and feared among the supernaturals, but apparently Soraya didn’t get the memo. Still, by the face she makes while her daddy explains, I should think she gets it now. I can see her swallow down her words.

  “Now, I suggest we let the fight continue,” Lord Dracula says after he’s put on the pants and boots his wife has brought, now throwing on a plain white T-shirt. I never saw him dressed so modernly, and I must say the V-necked white T-shirt makes him look even larger, his size intimidating.

  “Then, we’ll negotiate the rest. But since this fight has already started, I might as well let my best man take down your best guy, Mark.” Then, to Tristan. “Do what you have to do, brother. Don’t hold back. I got you.”

  Tristan looks right back into Lord Dracula’s eyes, and I can se
e the trust, drive and bloodlust mounting in him. His electric irises recharge, his beautiful features lock in a dangerous expression, and his deadly fists ball.

  Lord Dracula moves out of the way, winding an arm around Rux, who seems so much smaller than him. But I know how powerful a woman my sweet little niece has become. I’m also proud of the show they put up—her walking in from the tunnel where he left her to make an entrance. He must have transported her over enwrapped in the fog that his body became. It’s the only way they could have both gotten here so fast.

  Tristan draws all eyes to him as he moves away from the wall, watching the alligator with the eyes of death. Chills run through me. Everybody in Bran had stories to tell about Tristan DeKnight’s assassin skills, and it looks like he’s about to unleash them now without holding back. Of what I heard in Bran, he can do with his bare claws what he can do with his blades, and it seems he’s looking forward to it.

  The presence of Lord Dracula and Rux gives me strength, too, and I look defiantly to the Old Priest. He watches the couple with an intense glare.

  “Something tells me your plan will backfire this time, too.”

  “They’re only acting like they’re in control. In truth, they’re screwed, and they both know it.”

  I grin. “If they knew, they wouldn’t be here. If they’re acting cool, it’s because they are.”

  Fear shadows the Old Priest’s face.

  “You and Soraya made sure the King of Vampires didn’t bring his brother, the Prince of Midnight, because you feared the combo between the two of them. But you forgot to consider the deadly team he makes with his wife.” I pause, watching the logic come together in the priest’s eyes. Indeed, the old prick didn’t see this one coming. “You better find a way out of here before they get to you.”

  I can barely believe it when it happens, but he actually does try to escape. He turns around and scurries to the exit, but serpents intercept him and force him back.