by K. J. Sutton
Chapter Ten
I stayed up all night with the fox.
In the morning, I got ready before the rest of the house even stirred. I stepped onto the porch, carrying the fox in a cardboard box, and started at the sight of Finn.
He sat in one of the rocking chairs. Though his face was unreadable as ever, I got the impression that he was making a point. It was the first time in days he’d left his wolf form, and I caught myself examining him with a critical eye, hoping to see more changes from the starving creature I’d first met. “Ready to go?” was all I said.
He got up and followed me to the van.
With Finn in the back and a fox in the passenger seat, I drove the small animal to Greenwood Wildlife Rehabilitation Center.
It was harder than I thought it would be—walking away. But I did it feeling better than I had in ages, having saved a life, for once, rather than taking one.
Finn and I were silent on the drive back. It wasn’t from a lack of interest, on my part, but rather the desire to let him choose whether or not to speak. As we passed the sign welcoming us to Granby, a floral smell emanated from the vents—I’d gotten another air freshener to overpower the stench of goblin. My grip on the steering wheel was tight, a habit I’d developed since being run off the road by one of Astrid’s werewolves. Every experience I’d had these past few weeks had marked me, scarred me, even if most of them weren’t visible on my skin.
“How do you do it?” I asked without thinking. “How do you keep going after what you’ve been through? How do you get through each day?”
The werewolf at my side didn’t answer. Three minutes went by, and when he did speak, I’d half-forgotten I had even asked him something. “You become both beast and prey,” Finn said in his gravelly voice. I darted a sideways glance at him, wanting to see his expression, but he kept his gaze on the road. “Equally fierce, neither quite wild enough to be rabid, nor quite tame enough to be touched.”
I waited for him to continue, but apparently, that was all he had to say. No one talks like that, I thought. As though poetry was a language all its own. But Finn’s words made me realize how little I knew about this person. How few conversations we’d actually had. Was he a writer, in his previous life? A teacher? Despite what had happened to his mate and daughter, was there a family still looking for him or hoping for his safe return?
A war raged in my heart—I wanted to ask him, to know him better—but then we reached town and it felt like the opportunity had passed. The businesses of Main Street appeared on either side. Open signs competed with the vibrant light of a new day. My gaze went to Bea’s first, as it always did, and moved across the street. The restlessness was back in my veins, filling me with the desire to fight, move, avoid.
“I think I’ll head to Adam’s,” I said. “Do you want me to drop you off at the house first?”
Finn didn’t answer, but the silence was weighted now, full of his stubborn refusal to be left behind. I smiled faintly and turned on the blinker. Within a minute, I parked the van in my usual spot and reached for a bag I kept in the backseat. Finn got out and strode toward the line of trees beyond the street, where he would undoubtedly change forms. I watched him go, wondering whether I would do the same, if I had the option. What a relief it would be, to howl at the sky and face the world with sharp teeth. To actually be the animal that lived inside all of us.
I let out a brief, wistful sigh and left the warm van. I jogged down the sidewalk and pulled the door to Adam’s shop open.
As usual, there were no customers in sight. Only two suspended vehicles and rock music floating through the air. “Adam? Are you here?” I called, walking toward the bathrooms.
“Your Majesty. What a pleasant surprise.” The voice came from behind. I spun and rose my hands instinctively, simultaneously prepared to fight or inflict terror. My gym bag bounced against my hip. Dracula stood in the office doorway, his lovely lips curved into a polite smile. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Where’s Adam?” I asked, knowing he could hear how my heart had accelerated. I was alone with one of the oldest, most powerful vampires in existence. Why hadn’t I thought to text Adam before coming?
Dracula inclined his head. “I believe he said something about a coffee shop.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I started to turn away, but the vampire’s silken voice reached for me again, wrapping around my mind like delicate ribbons.
“May I offer my own considerable expertise?” he asked. When I faced Dracula again, he bent into a slight bow, the movement like liquid. “After all, I am the one who trained Adam.”
I hesitated. In another lifetime, I probably would have accepted without thought, driven by my desire to learn. But the world of Fallen had endless shadows, countless pockets of darkness, and now I knew what lurked within them. My mind went to Dracula’s motives for offering his time and efforts to someone he didn’t know. Did he hope to have my heart? My throne?
I glanced at the vampire’s hands. They were uncovered, which meant that if I trained with him, I would be able to discover those answers under his skin. Not only for my sake, but for everyone I cared about. Bea, Gretchen, Ariel—none of them knew the truth of what else existed in the world. They were vulnerable, especially if Dracula was a creature who placed no value on human life.
The ancient vampire had remained silent while I debated. But I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, disconcerting in their steadiness. As though he were a jaguar, sitting up in a tree, peering down at some small-boned creature and lazily contemplating whether or not to descend. “That would be great,” I said at last. “I just need to change.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
Without another word, Dracula strode toward the mats Adam had laid down in a far corner. He wore a cream-colored vest, which came off as he faced me. He stripped off his filmy shirt next—I wasn’t ready for the sight of him. His dark skin gleamed beneath the florescent lights, the planes and edges of his stomach like something from a sculpture.
“Do you not know where the facilities are?” Dracula questioned, his golden eyes moving toward the bag I still clutched.
Heat rushed to my face. “Sorry. I got… distracted. I’ll be right back.”
As I hurried toward the bathrooms, I could’ve sworn I caught a faint smile curving Dracula’s lips. I closed the door and released a breath of relief, meeting my own gaze in the mirror. The person trapped inside the glass looked human. There were smudges beneath her eyes and her skin was the color of grief. I looked away from that sad creature, dropped my bag on the floor, and started taking off my jeans.
By the time I reemerged into the shop, Finn had apparently finished shifting—I must’ve taken longer than I realized. He was on the floor, much closer to the mats than usual, and watched me approach without blinking. “How did you even open the door?” I asked him. Finn just looked back without expression. His whiskers twitched.
Dracula was right where I left him, and once again, it felt like there was something unnatural about his stillness. Those golden eyes tracked my movements with such cold calculation that it sent a quake of fear through me. I took my time putting the bag down and stepping onto the mat.
I’d barely had a chance to face the vampire when he flew at me.
In less than a second, it was obvious Dracula was faster, stronger, and far more brutal than Adam. I parried his blows, moving just quick enough to protect myself, but I couldn’t land any hits of my own. After another minute, my breathing was hard and there were beads of sweat on my forehead. Dracula, however, didn’t even look winded. He spoke as we moved in blurs.
“Your biggest strength is the ability to be both light-footed and agile,” he informed me, sweeping his leg. I leapt over it and lifted my arm, which connected with his and sent a tremor through my bones. “By utilizing this, your opponent is likely to exhaust themselves. It’s also likely they’ll become overconfident and leave an opening.”
“Oh, like
this one?” I asked, breathless.
Our skin had only made contact for an instant, but that was all I needed. Before the vampire could react or respond, I was inside his mind. There was a wall, of course, which I’d expected—I shattered through with all my newfound strength as the Unseelie Queen.
Distantly, I heard Dracula gasp. Felt him try to push me out. Lives depended on me, though, and I needed to know everything about this creature that had come to my home.
Flavors coated my tongue as I straightened. I panted—a reflex more than anything, as there was no need for air in a place I didn’t actually exist—and looked around quickly. For a moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating. But I knew I was inside Dracula’s mind. I could feel him trapped within some in-between place, slamming at the wall I’d built with him on one side… and me with all of his secrets on the other.
It was the most extraordinary psyche I had ever seen. I stood in a library, and the ceiling was several floors up. It was covered in the same paintings as the Sistine Chapel. Every shelf within sight was filled. Unlike Collith’s collection, there was nothing untidy or chaotic about these. Every volume was neatly shelved, tucked between other books of equally impressive organization. There seemed to be no end to the room—in both directions, it stretched as far as my eyes could see. Was this what my mind would look like, if I’d been alive as long as Dracula?
There was no time to think about it. The walls groaned, and my hold on Dracula’s mind almost slipped. I ran to the closest shelf and opened a random book. The pages were blank. I frowned and flipped to the middle, but it was more of the same. Not a single image or word, just empty paper.
I put the book back, then grabbed onto the shelves for balance as the library shifted. Pain vibrated through my head at the strength of Dracula’s blow. I tried to focus on the spines of the books, which made it easier to think about why I couldn’t find his fears. Maybe you’re going about this all wrong. Dracula wasn’t a typical creature with a weak mind, but that’s how I was treating him.
Gritting my teeth against another wave of pain, I searched for a different book. One that would give me useful information in the diminishing time I had left.
After a minute of this, I arrived at a leather-bound book that felt heavier. The entire room started to shake, and tiny bits of rubble fell from the ceiling. “This is an important one, huh?” I muttered, eyeing the pillars and beams around me. Hopefully they’d hold against an enraged, ancient vampire. Okay, here goes nothing. This time, when I opened the book, I didn’t think about Dracula’s fears or his weaknesses.
I thought about blood.
The one thing that could affect any vampire, no matter how old or controlled they were. It was entwined with every thought and every memory. The master key to every lock.
It worked. I got a glimpse of elegant, blinding words scrawled across the pages, and then I was falling.
I opened my eyes in a land of tufted grass and distant mountains. No, I corrected myself, this was not my body or my memory. Bako—that was his real name—was on his back, staring up at a blue sky. In his peripheral vision, he could see the bodies of his fallen comrades. The ones that had been clinging to life, filling the air with their moans, were mostly silent now. Despite his waning strength, Bako kept one of his hands pressed against a gaping wound across his stomach. He knew if he were to stand, all his innards would spill out. In his other hand, he still clutched a sword. It gleamed in harsh sunlight as his breathing slowed.
Night descended like a cloak, making the field of bloody, dead soldiers less tragic somehow. Still, Bako fought to stay. He stared up at a crescent moon, thinking there were worse ways to die. He didn’t fear the unknown.
His thoughts were not in English, but I was experiencing everything from his perspective—I spoke whatever languages he spoke and understood them.
“You fought bravely,” a voice said suddenly.
Bako’s eyes flicked toward the shadow approaching him. It was too dim to make out a face, but it was round and pale. He watched it loom nearer and nearer, until he saw it was a woman. She halted beside Bako’s prone form and added, “You have a choice to make, warrior.”
In spite of myself, I was intrigued, and I wanted to watch more when the memory began to fade around the edges—Dracula was finally succeeding in pushing me out.
Damn it. I still didn’t know his intentions or his weaknesses. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and held onto his mind with every scrap of endurance I could find. He pushed and I pulled. Agony rippled through me, but I found the strength to keep grabbing at books. I’d gotten the hang of it now, and it only took a moment or two to sink into the pages. I saw flashes of his life, spanning over centuries, rife with death and pain. But where were the screams and the jolts of fright? Almost everything in these books had occurred after Bako died and Dracula was born. It was as if he viewed the world through a sheet of unbreakable glass. Emotions were muted. Nothing was frightening or unexpected.
All at once, I understood.
Dracula didn’t have any small fears, none of the phobias that everything else had, but maybe that was the difference—he was no longer alive. Just as Nightmares were cursed by their beauty, and werewolves by the pain of their transformation, that was the curse of being a vampire. They didn’t feel the urgency of the living. So little mattered to them. Adam still seemed to care about things, but something told me he hadn’t been a vampire as long as his maker.
A huge piece of the ceiling crashed down nearby. I jumped and frantically kept rooting through Dracula’s enormous collection, keeping this revelation in mind. I need to go back further. I need to find Bako’s memories.
I decided to return the book in my hands and run to a different shelf. Just before I slammed it shut, I found it toward the end and froze. Fear. It was buried deep within a memory I had no time to observe.
Suddenly I knew the thing Dracula dreaded most. The moment a powerful vampire had shaped his entire existence to avoid.
He feared failure.
But failure of what?
Agony screamed through my head as Dracula rammed into me again. This time, I lost my grip on his psyche. The crumbling walls, the chipping painted ceilings, and all those colorful books rushed away like Alice down the well.
I snapped back to reality and staggered on the exercise mat. My temples pulsed. Once my vision cleared, I lifted my head and expected to see Dracula coming at me in a fit of rage. But the vampire stood eerily still again, hands shoved into his pockets, and regarded me with a strange expression. His muscles gleamed beneath a dewy layer of perspiration. “You are breathtaking,” he murmured.
“Good thing you don’t need to breathe, then,” I countered sweetly. In the next instant, I rolled, stood, and brought my fist up to hit him under the jaw. I put so much force behind the blow that Dracula stumbled. He caught his balance an instant later, of course. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, but as he faced me, he smiled and revealed straight, white teeth.
Then he straightened and dipped into an elegant bow. “You are as formidable as you are lovely, Fortuna Sworn.”
His body language made it clear he wasn’t going to attack. I noted that Finn was standing at the edge of the mat, his fur standing on end. I kept my eyes on the vampire, though, certain he was trying to trick me. Seconds ticked by and he still didn’t move.
However infamous he may be, it seemed Dracula was like everyone else when it came to a Nightmare’s influence. Vaguely disappointed, I dropped my hands and moved to get a towel from my bag. I heard Dracula move and reacted a beat too late. He used his forward momentum to slam into my waist, effectively folding me, and we both went down. The vampire flattened the length of his body—which was surprisingly heavy—along mine, and trapped me to the floor.
I heard Finn snarl. Dracula muttered something in another language and he jerked. My werewolf must’ve bitten him.
“My back was turned,” I managed. My voice trembled, not from desire but panic. Finn’s snar
ls stopped and Dracula went still. I didn’t look at either of them—instead, I stared up at the ceiling. It felt like beetles were crawling over my skin. I wanted to scream at Dracula. I wanted to beat him with my fists until his weight was gone. He must’ve seen something in my face, because in the space of time it took to blink, he was back on his feet. I stayed where I was, trying to contain the chaos inside of me.
Finn hovered near me as the vampire put his hand out. His palm was covered in scars and lines, and I had a strange burst of memory, an overlapping image of Savannah bent over my hand and running her finger along my fate line. “Your lesson of the day,” Dracula said, bleeding freely from the wound in his leg. “Never expect your opponent to fight fair.”
My mouth tasted like ashes. I slowly sat up and studied him, wondering if the vampire could possibly be as kind as he seemed. While I’d been in his mind, I got a sense of who he was. The essence of Dracula. To my surprise, it hadn’t been evil, per say. Mostly it had been… gray.
After another moment, I accepted his proffered hand. It was warm, just as I knew it would be, but I was surprised every time. Romance novels and movies depicted vampires as cold, dead things. It was true that they were formed from death, but a real vampire had a never-ending fever, a side effect or result from the resurrection process. Their skin was always heated.
I walked toward my bag again, and Dracula made no move to stop me this time. With every step I took away from the mat, I felt more normal. Whatever the hell that meant. I took out a hoodie and pulled it over my sweaty tank top. When I started walking toward the exit, Dracula appeared next to me, followed by a small gust of air. Finn growled and pressed against my leg—he didn’t like how quickly the vampire could move.
“Easy, warrior,” Dracula said. “I don’t intend to harm your queen.”
I didn’t stop, but my eyes narrowed at his wording—it had become habit from spending so much time with the fae. The vampire hadn’t said to Finn, I will not harm your queen.
Maybe there hadn’t been any double meaning to his words, or maybe it meant I had one more name to add to that ever-growing list of enemies. A memory resurfaced, one that was always floating nearby when I came to Adam’s. I can’t train right now. I might hurt you, he’d said that night.