Vlad

by Stacey Rourke

  “Fantastic.” Pivoting on my heel, I pointed to Finn. “You—”

  “I want to find Jeremy,” he interrupted, the inflection of each word dripping with remorse.

  Stunned by his request, a slight nod of encouragement was all I could muster.

  “I’m with you,” Micah linked her arm with mine. “We’ll go check on Batdog, and prevent you from doing anything stupid—like storming back in there to challenge Big Daddy vamp to a fang-off.”

  “Bless you,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth, patting her hand. Chest swelling with purpose, I met the stares of my crew head on. “Vlad thinks we wanted him to be our sword. Let’s show him we can change the world with a platform and a megaphone.”

  Chapter Ten

  Vlad

  I woke in a pile of leaves, shirtless and painted with blood. The soles of my feet were filthy and covered in scratches, my ribcage sliced with five distinct claw marks. Sucking air through my teeth, I pulled myself up to my knees. Pulse pounding unforgiving spikes of pain into my temples, I paused with one hand in the dirt and waited for the forest to stop spinning around me. Sticky wetness squished between my fingers. With a knot of dread tightening in my throat, I cast a hesitant stare down. Beside my thigh, an unseeing eye peered up at me from the decapitated head of a black bear. Emitting a shocked yelp, I crab crawled away from it only to slam into what remained of the furry lump of its body. Forcing myself up on shaky legs, I struggled to find north, then hobbled in that direction quick as I could. A short while later, I broke through a thatch of foliage at the edge of the forest, breathless and holding my cramping side.

  There stood Dorian with a clean change of clothes thrown over his arm, and a bucket of clean water at his feet. Stumbling to his side, I fell to my knees to slurp water from the bucket by the handful.

  “I killed a grizzly bear,” I gasped, in between gulps.

  “I’m very well aware,” Dorian stated, picking dandelion fuzz off the jacket he brought. “I’ve been baiting the woods for them. The Dragon seems amused by the challenge of killing them, for now at least.”

  Splashing water over my face, I washed away a bit of the grime and gore. “I wouldn’t know. The days of it taunting me with my kills seem to be behind me. For which, I’m grateful.”

  “Maybe it feels there’s nothing worth showing … yet. With that in mind, I have to ask—once more—are you sure you want to go through with this?” His head jerked in the direction of the suit he held.

  Dipping my hands into the water, I rubbed my palms together. “Why would I change my mind?”

  “Why?” Dorian parroted, eyebrows lifting in question. “How about because your blackouts are becoming more and more frequent? Or, that you lose time quite regularly? If you find neither of those reasons to be adequate, we could go with the ugly truth that it’s not a question of if you’re going to hurt her, but when.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Rising to my feet, I reached for my shirt. “With your help, we can keep her safe. I know we can.”

  “What if I’m tired of helping?” Dorian freed the shirt from under its accompanying jacket, and slapped it into my hand. “I should be researching spells to rid you of The Dragon, not concocting new ways to make your life more tolerable with it.”

  Shrugging on the garment, I thumbed the buttons closed. “No one is stopping you from finding a spell. Please, by all means, do! In the meantime, I’m going to try with all of my might to claim somewhat of a normal life.”

  Sighing his annoyance, Dorian dragged one hand over the stubble on his chin. “You realize there is another bend in this particular path that we’ve failed to consider …”

  Bristling, I froze. “Don’t say it.”

  Dorian’s shoulders sank. “Someone has to. You need to hear it, Vlad. The Dragon used to tell you all the time that by the sacrament of blood you would solidify your bond to it and be granted control. I have had no luck finding an extraction spell that works. That may be your only option left.”

  Snatching my coat from his grip, I yanked it up my arms. “We will speak of this no further.”

  “Yes, of course. Because you have everything under control.” Dorian glanced back toward town, and my Transylvanian home, feigning a yawn. “Tell me, with all that you’ve been gifted, how can you settle for this mediocre existence?”

  Untying my hair, I combed my fingers through it, then reknotted it at the nape of my neck. “Don’t confuse comfort with mediocrity.”

  “Horses of the same color,” Dorian let one shoulder rise and fall in a dismissive shrug. “Think of all you’re capable of, and what you could achieve if you were bold enough to claim it. This life is beneath you, Vlad.”

  I felt The Dragon role in my gut, stretching its essence in response to my hammering heart. “That’s enough,” I hissed through my teeth.

  Eyes narrowed with interest, Dorian didn’t miss a moment of my tense reaction. “It’s not just this town, you know. Jusztina is beneath you.”

  The Dragon emerged with a deafening roar. Seizing Dorian by his shirt collar, I slammed his shoulder blades into the trunk of a towering oak. “You will not speak ill of her! Not ye who put this vile thing inside of me. I have spilled buckets of blood because of you!” Drákon’s satanic hiss echoed through my mind, urging me to crush Dorian’s windpipe beneath my forearm. Battling against that violent yearning, I fought to loosen my hold.

  Eyes watering, Dorian rasped, “There it is. There’s the beast you claim you can control. Can you feel it clawing to the surface? Your power over it slipping from your grasp? Does it feel good to unleash it? To let every fiber of your being feed into that hypnotic rage?”

  As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I wanted nothing more than to rip his head from his shoulders, and paint the earth with his blood. Staring hard at my white-knuckled grip of his shirt, I willed my fingers to loosen.

  “You’re wrong about me,” I rumbled to Drákon as much as Dorian. “That isn’t who I am.”

  Free from my grasp, Dorian gasped for breath with his hands on his knees. “Not yet, but it will be. Eventually, you’ll give in, and lose yourself entirely. I would wager that the harder you fight, the bloodier that day will be. That’s why I’m leaving. I will see you through today. After that, I can’t bear to witness what is sure to follow. If I find an unbinding spell powerful enough to work, I will return. Until then, you’re on your own, brother.”

  In a meadow bursting with wildflowers, Jusztina waited. Cascades of ebony hair fell to her waist in a curtain. Plump cherry lips parted in eager anticipation. Her features, delicate as that of an angel, brightened at the sight of me. Her beauty stole the breath from my lungs, reminding me that no matter what sins lay in my past, heaven sought fit to bless me with her love.

  We clasped hands alongside the bubbling spring at the edge of Draculesti grounds, where rippling water lapped gently over time polished rocks and pebbles. Birds chirped a merry chorus, sunlight filtering down through the canopy of branches overhead. Jusztina’s handmaiden, Elena, and Dorian acted as witnesses, standing on opposite sides of the priest who performed my baptism when I was a child, Father Van Helsing.

  “Do you, Jusztina Szilágyi, take Vlad Tepes of House Draculesti to be your husband, in good times and bad, in sickness and health, to love and to honor the remainder of your days until parted by death?”

  “I do,” she eagerly responded.

  Those two simple words ignited a blaze of glorious victory in my heart.

  Unable to hold back, I caught my bride by the waist and claimed her lips with mine.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” Van Helsing chuckled, closing his bible with a thump.

  Jusztina buried her head in the crook of my neck, giggling as I lifted her from the ground to spin us both in a joyful circle. The white fabric of her gauze gown belled out, snapping and cracking in the breeze
.

  One lone cloud blew in, casting ominous shadows over Dorian’s features. “Til death do they part … indeed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Vinx

  I sensed the sinister presence before it dared show its face. It twined in, like a satin ribbon of darkness that knotted around my throat. Inky shadows swelled around me, licking over my curves and nipping at the tender flesh of my neck. Simultaneously, I feared and longed for it.

  While I gasped for air, a lover’s voice murmured against my ear. “May my mind and will become one with hers. When I walk, she will walk with me. When I speak, she will echo each syllable. When I feel sorrow or lust, her heart will respond in kind. I thank you, my dark lords, for helping me. May you make the cord between myself and Vincenza strong like the chains … of a prisoner.”

  I wanted to run.

  To fight against his magnetic pull.

  Neither of which was possible when the sweet nectar of his blood washed over my lips. He tasted like a hard rain after an arid drought. The first flower of spring that persevered after a harsh, unforgiving winter. The lilt of a child’s laugh riding a gentle breeze.

  Life. Love. Happiness. Strength.

  All intermingling in the heady brew he gifted me.

  With each pull of his blood, invisible tendrils coiled around me, chaining me where I stood. Arms yanked out wide, legs stretched to their breaking point. I could feel his will snaking through my veins, binding my free will. I was nothing more than his puppet. A hapless marionette for him to toy with to his violent delight.

  Bolting upright, I woke with a start. Sleep hadn’t been my intention. Unfortunately, extreme jetlag demanded otherwise. Laying on top of the covers, the notebook I scribbled press conference ideas in slid off my leg. True to her word, Mics hadn’t left my side. Slumped in an armchair in the corner, her chin drooped to her chest. Her thick rope braids fell forward, blanketing Batdog in his spot sprawled across her lap. Snoring his contentment, he filled the air with the potent smell of dog farts.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I grabbed my oversized hoodie from the bench at the foot of the four-post bed and tugged it over my t-shirt. Tucking my grandmother’s silver nail file into the elastic band of my cotton pajama pants, I padded to the door on bare feet. The door creaked open, its resistant hinges begging me to reconsider. What I was looking for in that twilight hour, I couldn’t say. Like so many other moments of uncertainty in my life, I was pretty sure I could find whatever it was in the kitchen. My hunger awoke right along with me, causing my fangs to ache for the coppery tang of raw meat. Moving on whispered steps, I meandered the halls in search of a fridge to raid.

  Flickering light from a darkened room lassoed my attention. Momentarily putting my quest for sustenance on hold, I tiptoed closer. Peeking around the corner, I found a den furnished with a blend of antiques and modern-day comforts. The far wall was a bank of television screens, all of which broadcasted news of the brewing vampire war on every station imaginable. A male figure sat perched on the edge of a ruby red loveseat, silhouetted by the glow of the screens. Forearms on his knees, he watched the slew of tragedy unfold without blinking. On the cushion beside him, a tablet showcased continuous coverage from yet another media source. Countless reports. So many points of view. Yet, the message being uttered rang with a ceaseless loop of similarity.

  “If it wasn’t for the humanitarian efforts of DG Enterprises …”

  “Another life saved by DG Enterprises …”

  “… A new medical advancement by DG Enterprises.”

  “An act of mercy from DG Enterprises …”

  “… brought to you by DG Enterprises.”

  The company logo, a silver DG encircled with a twining vine, flashed on three of the screens. Something about it scratched at a memory I couldn’t quite recall.

  A roar ripping from his throat, the shadowy figure sprang to his feet and hurled the tablet at the wall. It cracked the plaster on contact, exploding in a spray of broken plastic and circuitry. Sensing my presence, he spun in a blur, the sharp angles of his features more beast than man.

  “Lord Draculesti?” I managed, feeling I stumbled into a rattle snake pit.

  Physically shaking off the effects of his outburst, he bowed his head in a chivalrous show of respect. “A thousand apologies, Miss Larow. I believed myself to be alone. Elsewise, I would never have behaved in such a fashion.”

  “No apology needed.” Clearing my throat, I hunted for some passable variation of my normal voice. “If I had a nickel for every tablet I dropped or smashed I would have …” that’s the moment I realized the awkward flaw in my story, “ten cents. It’s only happened twice.”

  And that, kids, is how you make yourself look like a complete asshole in front of the King of Night.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he peered at the remains of the shattered tablet. “It’s an infuriating device. If it’s going to spew such ugliness, it should be notably more durable.”

  “I don’t think they’re meant to be spiked by a vampire god.” Crossing one ankle over the other, I leaned against the door frame and jerked my chin toward the screens. “Although, I am encouraged by you being riled up over the circumstances. Makes me hopeful you’ll reconsider joining our cause.”

  Without a word, he strode to the window, peering out at the amethyst sky that marked the setting sun.

  I shoved off the wall, risking a step closer. “You saw through my eyes, along with the footage. Your own son is buried in this so deep, there’s no way he can claw his way out alone. He’s devoted his life to honoring your teachings by helping others. Now, he’s the one that needs help. We can still save him, if you join us.”

  Tendons of his jaw tightening, Vlad bitterly shook his head. “Rau was a sweet child that lost his loving mother far too soon. I never wanted this life for him. I sought to protect him, and keep him unmarred by this damning curse. Still, he is and always will be my son. I would save him now … if I could.”

  Wincing, I rapidly blinked in confusion. “Dude, you’re the first of the Nosferatu kind, and inspiration for countless monster movies! The mere mention of your name evokes fear in the hearts of your enemies. We’re up against posturing politicians. You drop fang once in front of them and they’ll soil their tighty-whities and make a public apology to all vampire-kind.”

  Heels sinking into the thick nap of the taupe rug, Vlad glanced my way over his shoulder. “How can you fight, when you don’t even know your true enemy?”

  Lacing my fingers together, I dropped my hands in front of me to squash my growing desire to throttle Dracula. Which, even in my jetlagged state, seemed like a monumentally bad idea. “The enemy seems pretty straight forward. They are a bunch of narrow-minded bigots who would rather take innocent lives than to let go of their preconceived notions of our kind.”

  Vlad’s stare drifted once more to the continuous news coverage. “Those people are nothing more than pawns, easily moved and maneuvered by their own hatred. The real enemy is one far more dangerous.”

  “Markus,” lip curling in disgust, I jabbed my hand in the direction of the screen playing his latest bullshit interview, “has literally killed to further the segregation of the Nosferatu people. He thrives off of hatred. The idea of being up against someone worse than him is chilling.”

  “You should be more than chilled. You should be paralyzed with fear to the very marrow of your bones.” Closing the gap of space between us, Vlad rose to full height and peered down the bridge of his nose at me. Shadows darkened the shallows of his cheeks, blacking out his eyes in a trick of light that made him appear every bit the demi-god of death. “For, how can you fight someone who craves nothing but the bloody chaos of war? He feels nothing. Wants for nothing. Longs only to tear everything, and everyone apart. His great victory would be watching the world burn. My advice, copil? Grab those you love, and run. Hide in the
farthest reaches of the earth, and pray he never finds you.”

  Dragging my fingers through my hair, I trudged my way through his ominous warning to the heart of truth buried beneath. “I don’t know what history you have with this mysterious terror, but people I care about are caught up in this. One way or another, I have to get them out.”

  I’m sure in some book of etiquette it was considered rude for me to turn my back on a man of his station. For the life of me, I couldn’t begin to care. I came in search of hope, not cowardice. Offering no explanation, I shook my head and strode for the door.

  “What will you do?” Vlad’s head tilted, his gaze sharpening with something that resembled respect.

  “Now?” One hand on the doorframe, I glanced back with a bitter attempt at a smile. “Right now, I’m going to get something to eat. Then, I’ll unleash holy hell if that’s what it takes.”

  “Miss Larow?” The Son of the Dragon called after me, his tone an alluring pool of lapping warmth. “Would you honor me with a hunt?”

  Stopping short, my eyes bulged. Hunting with Dracula. That was like the marijuana enthusiast’s equivalent of toking up with Willie Nelson.

  He clasped his hands behind his back, dipping his chin in a brief nod of encouragement. “Blood is life … and strength. It is wise for you to feed for the fight to come.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Vinx

  We moved between the trees with feline fluidity, springing over saplings and repelling off boulders. Barefoot, the night air caught the loose fabric of our clothing, snapping it behind us like cresting waves. Following Vlad’s trail, I couldn’t help but marvel at his beauty. Before, I viewed him as an untouchable myth, a monument among men. His striking truth revealed itself in ghostly quiet strides through the moonlit forest. Shirt blowing open, the muscles of his sculpted torso worked with the synchronized poetry of a galloping stallion. A current of hair, the hue of polished sandstone, danced around his face. Tipping his chin skyward he sniffed the air, a scruff of whiskers accentuating the sharp cut of his jawline. Ethereal green eyes pierced the foliage, searching for traces of movement.