Prince 0f Midnight (Dracula's Bloodline Book 1)

by Ana Calin

  “I’m not here to talk Hollywood, Prince Radek, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t spend all that money acquiring my services from Herald Gruff to talk blockbusters either. If we are to go into glamorous comparisons though, how about Silicon Valley?”

  She seems proud of herself for making some point that caught me off guard. I want to laugh again, but I refrain. “Why don’t you just tell me directly what you mean.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “The pictures on my smartphone, Prince.”

  “Ah, those.” I arch an eyebrow over my glass of wine, too. “You’re an intelligent woman. I’m sure you came up with an explanation yourself.”

  She raises her chin. “Involving hackers and your very large bank accounts.”

  “I’ll leave that as a mystery for you to solve during your stay here. But I’ll give you a hint—no hackers.”

  “No hackers, no vampires, I’m running out of options here.”

  “Because you’re looking at this in a two-dimensional way—considering the real world, technology included, and the paranormal world. You don’t even believe in the latter but hey, it’s made a career, right, like this castle? But there’s another dimension to reality, a very scientific and provable one, that most people fail to take into account.”

  “And that is?”

  I keep analyzing her face. “You’re a puzzle to me, Miss Jochs. You’re ambitious, willing to work hard and make sacrifices for your career. Yet as a person, you’re so humble.”

  She frowns, confused. “What makes you think I’m humble?”

  I get up and pace leisurely towards her along the table with the glass of wine in my hand. “You haven’t asked the one question anyone would have in your place before anything else—why you.” It was the first thing all the others wanted to know before her—what was special about them. It’s almost as if Juliet Jochs doesn’t care, as if she isn’t about herself at all. Highly ambitious, yet the epitome of modesty.

  “Now that you mention it, that did surprise not only me, but also my boss, Herald Gruff.” She squares her shoulders. “He does have his theories, though. Herald, I mean.”

  “Like what?”

  “He thinks it’s because of the article I wrote about you.”

  I stop close to her, flapping the cape to the side and taking a seat on the table, resting the glass of wine on my thigh and looking down at her slightly freckled face with almost translucent skin.

  She is pretty, naturally so. The nose is just a little bit too large for her face, giving her the air of a strong personality. She’s not only pretty, but also interesting. The kind of woman that, once you see up close, you can hardly look away.

  “What in that article does he think caught my attention?” I ask casually, sipping from the wine, feeling its richness on my tongue.

  “He suspects it was the part where I said you used your beauty in order to charm the public, daze them away from how dirty your dealings really were.”

  “It is true, Miss Jochs.”

  Her eyes snap wider, surely in surprise at the unexpected admission. “That it was that part which grabbed your attention, or that you’re using your beauty in order to daze people?” She looks up at me with all the daring she can muster, but her hands are still clamped tightly together on her lap, betraying how nervous she is.

  “Both. There have been people who made similar mentions before related to my business, and I invited them over to put their worries at rest. You see, no matter how private I am or how much I may seem above what the public thinks, when journalists plant seed after seed of discord, sooner or later things get ugly.”

  “So there were others before me? What happened to them?”

  I open my arms. “I wish I knew.”

  “You lost contact after they left here?” She narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t believe one iota. “You just let them go with everything they knew?”

  I grin. “Let’s say I made sure they’d keep it to themselves. But I’m not someone people want to keep close once they get to know me.” I allow the darkness to slip into my smile. “They only crave it in the beginning, when all they see is a pretty face that dazes them.”

  Her eyes narrow. “And what would make them run away later?”

  “The things they discover.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’d rather not cause you prejudice. Let me hear your own ideas. I’m sure you have some, judging by the article you wrote.”

  Tilting her head to the side she ponders, accepting the game. “Your acquiring so much real estate around Europe, in secrecy, and getting your hands on objects other investors wouldn’t dream of getting close to implies that you are very well connected, all over Europe, not only here. On the other hand, Herald suspects you’re the one blocking building infrastructure in your own country because you and some powerful group you belong to don’t want foreign investment.”

  “Well, it’s true that my countrymen prefer to exploit the available resources themselves, that’s—”

  “But I do not think fear of foreign control over your country’s resources is the reason, Prince.”

  Did she just interrupt me? I arch an eyebrow, half surprised, half amused.

  “I believe you’re trying to keep something secret.” Her whole body seems stiff as if she’s made of wood, her chin proudly out at me, but her lips are slightly trembling. She’s scared, her skin white as alabaster, but she goes on. “And whatever that secret is, it’s worth the efforts you’re putting into blocking infrastructure and foreign investment.”

  “I must say, Miss Jochs, you are very intelligent. You’re spot on.”

  She frowns, again surprised. I keep my gaze locked on hers without blinking, while she opens her mouth and closes it again, not knowing what to say. I get off the table and walk towards the exit, placing my glass on the end of the table.

  “I think we’re done for the night, Miss Jochs, you must be tired.” I don’t look at her as I throw the words over my shoulder. “Miss Victoria will take you back to your chambers, and she will attend to your needs for the rest of your stay.”

  “How long will that be, Prince?”

  I stop just as I reach the arched exit. I look to the side, but not back at her. “Excuse me?”

  “I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome, if you know what I mean.”

  I can’t help a wicked grin from stretching my lips. The clock strikes midnight, and the moon reaches the side windows, sending its silvery light through. My skin begins to crack. Down in the dungeons, mirrors start turning liquid. A good thing the moment hasn’t caught me still facing Miss Jochs.

  “You’re free to leave whenever you want, Miss Jochs—if you can.”

  CHAPTER V

  Radek

  The old priest drags his hunched frame along the nave towards the altar. He stiffens as he makes out my shape lurking in the shadow. After all this time, he’s still not used to the sight of me in this form, and who can blame him?

  The old man can only do so much to hide the shudder that goes through him before he comes forward and kneels in front of the altar, as he always does when we meet. I kneel by his side, keeping my gaze ahead. Side by side, he’s not in danger from my face.

  “I have a new one,” I tell him.

  “And how does that concern me?” His voice is jittery, not only from fear and his age, but also from the animosity he feels towards me. I can’t help a grin. Frightening the old priest witless is one of my few pleasures, especially knowing he prefers the so-called Blood Angels. They’re all pretty and shiny, and he hopes to be made one of them eventually.

  “When I’m done with her I’m willing to give her over to him. I want you to deliver the message.”

  His body stiffens, but he keeps his eyes ahead. “What? Why would you do that?”

  “She’s what he looks for. Young, healthy—from what I can tell of her scent she’s in exquisite genetic shape. And she’s very intelligent, every sentence that comes out of her mouth is charged with
a hundred hues.” A ripple goes through my stomach at that, some kind of exaltation. My mouth waters—I’m going to enjoy her. “Her sap will add to his power.”

  The old priest can’t resist peeking sideways at me. I know he’s looking at my hood, avoiding the danger. “Exactly. So why would you offer him someone so... nutritious? If he grows more powerful than you, the truce between you two doesn’t have a chance of holding.”

  My laugh echoes around the ancient church, and the old priest shrinks under his priestly hood.

  “He won’t grow that powerful anytime soon, and you know that.” I’d almost welcome an end, eternity as what I am is only bearable thanks to sacrificial lambs like Juliet Jochs. “As for my reasons to give her over at the end... Well, consider the alternative.”

  “The alternative never bothered you before.”

  My jaw tightens. “I don’t think she deserves the same fate as the others.”

  “And her fate with him would be better, you think?”

  “You know it would.” My face snaps toward the old man, giving him a full view of who I am under the hood. He jolts backwards as my eyes sear his face.

  “Mercy, Dark Prince,” he screeches, hand up with splayed fingers to protect himself from the curse he fears I may spew at him. “I didn’t mean to question your decisions. I was merely trying to understand.”

  I withdraw my pressure, my eyes losing intensity. The old priest’s hand lowers, his eyes downward, still afraid I might infect him with my curse.

  I scrutinize him one more time, then I get up and start towards the exit. I lower my chin, the hood falling over my face, hands under my sleeves, making me seem a monk leaving church after his night prayers.

  Juliet

  PRINCE RADEK FASCINATES me. Everything he said got the wheels in my head turning, and I’m so hungry for more that I can barely sleep. It doesn’t help that this place is as creepy as those castles in horror movies, doors creaking in distant rooms, chills stirring the drapes around my bed. I grip the duvet and pull it over my nose, doubling up under it, wearing the fluffy pajama that Isolde was inspired enough to pack up for me.

  Miss Victoria, the stuck-up woman looking like a witch who is supposed to attend me during my stay, sleeps in a room close by. Charming lady. While she showed me around my ‘quarters’ she looked me up and down as if she disapproved of me to the bone. She reminded me of the headmistress at our boarding school.

  I fall asleep late and wake up late. Glaring sun on my closed eyelids torments the last phase of my rest, causing me to toss and turn, dreaming all kinds of won’t-let-me-sleep-won’t-let-me-get-up stuff. I get only a few moments of blissful no-idea-where-I-am until it hits me—I’m here for the Prince! Miss Victoria said I better get up early if I am to get time with him, since he’s a very busy man and it will be as good as impossible to grab a spot in his schedule after the small hours.

  I jump out of bed, spin around for my stuff, spot my suitcase and start rummaging like a mad woman. In a few minutes I’m wearing an elastic black overall that hugs my body tightly over a plain white shirt with zero cleavage. I brush my teeth and fix my hair in the gothic looking bathroom that I admired in detail last night during my bath—hot water, but getting out into the chill of the room wasn’t fun, I’ll tell you that much. To my fascination, this place isn’t my modern concept of ‘vintage’, it’s the real thing—the plumbing old copper, the walls naked stone not insulated against the cold, the only source of heat an original and impressive fourteenth century fireplace. I don’t want to imagine what it feels like in winter.

  I find my way to the inner courtyard thanks to a set of indicating arrows—the Prince thought of everything, it would seem, making it easy for his guests to get out of the private area into the full tourist zone. I spin around by the well, desperate I lost my chance for the day, lost among the gawking, strolling tourists in the late September sun. Desperate, I raise my hands in the air, the notebook I planned to use to take notes in one hand. I’m just about to blurt out the f-word when a young man’s voice calls out my name.

  “Miss Jochs.” My eyes search the courtyard until they find the young driver from yesterday. The notebook in my hand must have drawn his attention when I raised it. Now he’s standing with leaflets in his hands at the entrance to The Time Tunnel—his second job with the Prince, it would seem. He points to a medieval looking iron gate that must have risen and fallen to let troops in and out back in the day. “Last chance, get him!”

  I recognize Radek’s back leading a group of men towards the gate. They’re all wearing black suits, but you don’t mistake Prince Radek Basarab once you know him. Tall and stately, his shape would stand out from a thousand. There’s something indeed princely about his moves, something unmistakable about the power of his back, the whiteness of the skin visible between his thick chestnut hair and the starched collar of his suit jacket.

  I run after them, only to find myself stopped with a mailed hand on my chest when I try to follow them down a dark corridor that seems carved into the rock.

  “Not allowed in here, miss,” the guard says. He’s dressed in mail, like in medieval times.

  “But I’m the prince’s guest,” I make a desperate attempt, terrified the Prince might be disappointed in me for having slept in, thinking I’m completely undeserving. Not that I care on a personal level, do I? This is just work.

  “We’re all aware of his guests, miss.” He looks me up and down with a trace of contempt. “And we have instructions to never make exceptions for them. You’re either there in the small hours when the Prince is available, or you’ve missed your opportunity of speaking to him personally. He’s not the stable boy, you know.”

  Stable boy. I frown, realizing the man’s vocabulary, manner of talking, even his attitude and his accent go tumbling back a few centuries.

  “But I—”

  “You can always try again on the morrow.”

  On the morrow. This guy gives me the creeps. I back away from him, taking in his strikingly original medieval appearance. The brittle reddish beard, the leathery skin of a tried warrior burnt by sun and battles even though everything else about him makes him look in his thirties. The Prince’s team sure does a great job of reconstructing the medieval world. As I move away from him, it feels like moving away from another world.

  My only savior at this point can only be the driver. I try to remember his name. It was something unique, easily noticed, but not easily remembered. That’s right—Lazarus. Maybe he knows a way to get me to the Prince.

  “You look rested, miss,” he says in his educated accent. “Had a good night’s sleep?”

  “Please, call me Juliet.” He nods, smiling warmly. He’s actually kinda cute with his French-student-ruffled hair and warm blue eyes. Tall and lean, tribal tattoos coiling up both his forearms, I’m sure girls go crushing on him often.

  “And yes, it was a good night,” I say. “It’s not every evening that you get to dine with a real prince, in a real medieval castle.” I lean in with a wink. “And not just any castle—Dracula’s very keep.”

  “Excuse me,” a family of tourists interrupts, addressing Lazarus. “Is this the entrance to the Time Tunnel?”

  I wait until he explains the drill to them, subsequently showing them into a modern elevator with green neon light linings that would take them deep inside the rocky base of the castle to ‘experience history and legend.’ The doors close to grinning faces full of expectation, and then Lazarus returns his attention to me. He nods with his chin towards the gate where Radek and the other men had disappeared.

  “You weren’t fast enough?”

  “Oh, I was fast. The guard at the basement where they went wouldn’t let me through.” I lean in to him again, touching his forearm. “Is there anything you could do about it, you think?”

  Lazarus frowns. “Guard?” Then his face brightens as he suddenly remembers. “Today’s Time Traveler’s Day, the Prince organized special shows, but I hadn’t realized guards were p
art of them.”

  “Time Traveler’s Day?”

  He points over his shoulder at the entrance to the Time Tunnel. “This tunnel is actually still in development, but the Prince opens it once a year in late September. It’s the only event he holds besides the big Christmas festival. It’ll become officially public in 2018 but, until then, a few lucky people like these guys here—” He intercepts a group of students with leaflets and maps of their own who are clearly looking for the secret entrance to the tunnel. Same drill as with the family before, and off they go with the elevator down the old well into the underground.

  “The official version is that this tunnel was built in the 40s, but that’s not true. It’s much older than that,” he tells me secretively. “Most of the original props are still there. You get to see the real medieval weapons and armors, as well as—” He leans towards my ear, and I, like a curious child, lean in closer. “The masks they used for their secret rituals.”

  My heart jumps. “Secret rituals?”

  He nods at me with eyes full of story. “How do you think Vlad the Impaler could keep at bay and even defeat the immense Ottoman army?”

  I snort. “I seriously doubt it was with rituals.”

  “Well, he had to do it someway, since militarily he didn’t stand much chance. His army was much smaller than the Turks’.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Let’s make this easier—are you suggesting Vlad the Impaler was indeed Dracula, and his soldiers were vampires?”

  Lazarus looks at me like at a rookie of some sort. “Okay, let’s start with the beginning. Do you know why they called him Vlad Dracul?”

  I raise my chin, proud of my research. “I know that he was a member of a secret Order, Order of the Dragon, and that it’s a widely spread misconception that Dracul means Dragon. You’ll find it in every other vampire movie and vampire book. In truth, Dracul means devil in your language. They called him Vlad the Devil.”

  Lazarus’ eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise. He pauses to give a few more visitors leaflets and show them to the elevator, but he moves faster this time, eager to get back to our talk as tourists continue walking by us snapping pictures, reading their leaflets or gawking around the stone courtyard, fascinated.