Dragon Slayer (Sons of Rome Book 3)

by Lauren Gilley

  Val looked to Mia, who shrugged. “He’s very imperious, you know.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  There was indeed a trail, a narrow one that plunged into the trees, a grown-over game trail just big enough for them to proceed single file. Vlad led the way, and Ramirez held back to fall in last. Val didn’t like her eyes on the back of his head, but was glad Mia was ahead of him so that he could serve as a buffer between the two women. Ramirez had her orders – but the second one of those orders put Mia in harm’s way, Val would cheerfully kill her.

  The track led them into a dense forest populated with a mix of hardwoods and pines. The underbrush grew dense and wild here, in a way that it hadn’t in Romania. Birds trilled overhead. Sunlight pierced the canopy in thin fingers, the world a kaleidoscope of gold and green dapples. The leaves on the hardwoods had just started to turn, brittle in patches, brown at the edges. Val tilted his head back and stared up, fascinated.

  “Don’t get yourself knocked off by a low branch,” Mia advised with a laugh, and he righted himself to see that she’d twisted around in her saddle to look at him.

  He returned her smile; his face was starting to ache from smiling. “Same goes to you.”

  Vlad led them deeper, and the path began a slow rise, the way strewn with rocks, shaded by low limbs. After a time, Val picked up the gentle chuckle of running water, and soon after, its scent. Clear mountain spring water, coming down from the Virginia hills. Gin lifted her head and walked a little faster; it smelled nice to her as well.

  The trail widened, and Mia dropped back to ride beside him. She was still smiling, but he could read the concern in the little groove between her brows. “You doing alright?”

  “Fine,” he said immediately, but he could already feel that he’d be sore later. The long muscles in his thighs had begun to twitch every few strides, and his shoulders ached. He hated the weakness, but gave her his brightest smile. “I could keep going for hours.”

  Her look said she knew that was a lie, but she let it slide. “How’s it feel to be back in the saddle?”

  “Like being able to breathe again.”

  Her smile turned soft and sweet. “I meant what I said about you looking good.”

  “I know, darling.” He winked. “I look good riding other things, too.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and for a moment, Val wanted to kick himself. It was such a line, so crass and – and the sort of thing he said to men, just to fuck with them. (Usually right before they tried to actually fuck him.) He swallowed against a sudden surge of nausea.

  But Mia blushed and glanced away. “Alright,” she said with an embarrassed little laugh. “I didn’t doubt that, but whatever.”

  “Didn’t doubt it?” His own voice sounded hollow. “What do you mean?”

  She breathed a disbelieving sound. “Are you serious?”

  “Quite.” She’d figured out that he was a whore, then. Doubtless her father had told her, or one of the officers who’d gone to collect her. It was common knowledge, wasn’t it? Of the two brothers, one was a terrifying warrior, and the other was a pretty mistress. He swallowed again. “Mia–”

  “You’re gorgeous,” she said, blush deepening as she stared fixedly ahead. “I know you know that. Unfairly so. I mean…” She made a vague gesture toward him. “And then you say stuff like that? You don’t have to.”

  His heart pounded. “Why not? Do you dislike it?”

  “I…didn’t say that.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  She didn’t answer, instead bit down on her lip until he thought it might bleed, blush darker than ever.

  Oh. Oh, she liked it.

  “You don’t have to,” she repeated, softly.

  Slowly, his panic eased, like a clenched fist opening. He smiled and leaned out of his saddle, getting in closer. “Sweetheart, that wasn’t the question.”

  She turned her head to look at him, and beneath the brim of her helmet, her eyes were very blue. Why hadn’t he kissed her yesterday? What kind of idiot was he?

  But then they reached the stream, and he smelled the bear, and everything went to hell.

  52

  VLAD THE FUCKING IMPALER

  Adela hadn’t lied – she really had ridden jumpers in high school. And before that, too, all the way back to the jodhpur-straps and short boot phase of her equestrian career. Her Uncle Miguel had been a horse trainer in Cali, breaking rodeo mounts and pleasure horses out of a massive Quarter Horse barn owned by three rich white men who were nice enough, but didn’t expect to break a sweat when they stopped in, lit cigars in-hand, to inspect their animals. Miguel had been part of a huge crew, from grooms, to stall-muckers, to other trainers like him. He’d taught her to ride in a big western saddle as broad as an armchair, and she’d taken to it with an almost violent passion. But then she’d seen one of the owner’s girls riding English – jumping a big-boned chestnut horse over rails – and she’d known that was what she wanted to do. She’d scraped and saved every summer, and her own jumper, bought with her uncle’s help when she was twelve, had been gray and rangy, with a bad tendency to bolt. She’d gone to Regionals at sixteen.

  A natural, so many had said of her.

  But then her father had died, and her mother had needed her help, and she couldn’t afford to keep her horse.

  And then the economy had tanked, and Mama had gotten sick, and even three fast food jobs hadn’t been enough to keep them afloat.

  And then she’d joined the Army. And she’d been good at it.

  And then she’d lost her foot…

  She hadn’t lied, but she’d left a good many things out. Things like that fact that she’d been the one to pick the horses at Blackmere, and track down all the necessary tack; had guessed right about the size saddle Vlad the fucking Impaler would need.

  A babysitter, the girl – Mia – had called her. And she was. She was also: scared out of her skin to be in the company of these two immortal monsters; and enjoying herself in spite of it, because a chance to ride was a chance to ride, no matter the company.

  When the trail widened, Mia reined up so she could ride alongside Valerian, which meant Adela had to watch them flirt awkwardly with one another. Which…ugh. Yes, he had golden hair, and yes he was pretty in a Lord of the Rings kind of way, but what could the girl possibly see in him? He was a criminal, for God’s sakes. And, according to what Talbot had told them, a one-time kept sex pet of his brother’s worst enemy. That did not make him a catch in Adela’s opinion.

  They reached the stream – one that she’d scouted out the week before on her own, and found it to be wide, but not deep, its water clean and clear. That day, she’d dismounted and taken her boots off, rolled up her breeches, and waded in, towing her horse – a sweet-natured Bay named Ranger – in after her. It had been the best afternoon she’d had in years.

  Now, she steered Ranger up past the lovebirds and to the water’s edge. The gelding lowered his head and whuffed, eager for a drink. She loosened her reins, letting them slide through her fingers, spine relaxing…

  “Wait,” both brothers said at once.

  Ranger flung up his head. He inhaled once, deeply, and let out a huge snort, like a frightened buck.

  She tightened her reins in a single movement, winding her fingertips in a chunk of mane for good measure. “What?” But then she saw it. On the opposite bank: a bear.

  She’d done a cursory review of Virginia’s native wildlife one night in the manor, bored out of her mind and not wanting any surprises on a trail ride. Black bears were listed as indigenous, but the website had described them as “small and shy.” This bear was big. Not grizzly-sized, no, but still broad and healthy, its coat shining in the dappled light, its shoulders and flanks well-padded with the fat that it was already gathering for winter. A bear didn’t have to be that large to kill you, she thought, stupidly, in the tense moment that she and her horse both stared at it.

  And then she saw the cubs. Two bright-eyed, fluffy th
ings peeking around from behind their mother’s back legs.

  Oh shit.

  Ranger snorted again, and attempted to duck and whirl away. She tucked her elbow into her side and held the rein fast. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” she tried to soothe him, but she spoke through gritted teeth.

  He backed up instead, hasty, unsteady steps over the loose rock of the bank, and bumped into one of the other horses.

  “Control him,” Vlad commanded, voice oddly quiet.

  Adela put a leg into him, and murmured comforting nonsense, and grappled for control of the bit. The other horses were nervous and edgy, but only Ranger was losing his mind. He spun, a full one-eighty, kicking up a loud spray of water, and she caught brief flashes of the others’ faces. Fear, surprise, grim resolution – that last was Vlad.

  Ranger slipped and nearly went to his knees. “Shit.” Adela braced her hands on his neck, trying not to throw him further off balance.

  When he stopped, suddenly, she nearly fell off, still spinning, her weight thrown awkwardly half-out of the saddle. Vlad stood at Ranger’s head, holding his bridle. He murmured something to him in another language. Ranger quivered, from nose to tail, but he froze, and his ears swiveled wildly between her, and the bear, and Vlad. Adela could see the white of one eye as he tried to shift his head. Vlad held him tight.

  Vlad looked up at her, and their gazes locked. His eyes were almost gray in this strange forest light, and very calm. “Dismount,” he instructed.

  What an excellent fucking idea.

  She nodded, and then began to ease her weight out of her right stirrup. Slow and steady, no sudden movements.

  That was when the bear let out a furious sound and charged across the stream toward them.

  Adela knew right then that she would fall, and that it would be bad, but it seemed to happen in slow motion, and she noticed everything in a hazy swirl, certain details leaping out with strange vividness. She noticed:

  Vlad letting go of Ranger, turning to move toward the bear.

  Ranger screaming, gathering himself to rear.

  Val and Mia out of their saddles, Val reaching for Adela’s reins.

  But it was too late. Ranger reared, and his rear hooves slipped on the wet rocks.

  Adela scrambled at his neck, throwing her weight forward, trying to force him back down onto all four legs. But with only one foot in the stirrup, she was off balance, and she slipped to the left.

  No, no, no.

  It happened in the span of a heartbeat. The horse toppled backward. She tried to throw herself free, but it was too late.

  The last thing she saw, before they landed, was Vlad standing nose-to-nose with the bear, bent forward at the waist, shoulders jacked up around his ears. He was snarling like an animal.

  And then her helmet cracked open on the rocks.

  ~*~

  Mia hadn’t seen someone take a spill like this in a long time; it wasn’t something that ever got easier to watch. She didn’t really like Sergeant Ramirez, but that didn’t mean she’d wanted anything like this to happen.

  The bay gelding scrambled up immediately, shaking off water, snorting, blowing, still panicking about the bear – the bear that was slowly slinking backward, head lowered, cowering in the face of Vlad’s panther roar. Ramirez didn’t get up, though. In fact, she didn’t move. She lay limp as a doll in the first shallow inches of the stream, eyes shut, limbs sprawled out to the side.

  “Here.” Val shoved Gin’s reins into her hand, and went for the bay.

  Gin, and Mia’s horse Astrid, were both nervous, blowing and dancing, but so far hadn’t set so much as a hoof out of place. A few paces away, Vlad’s big black stood stoic, reins dangling. Mia wondered if the vampires had put some sort of enchantment on them, and if so, decided she was glad for it.

  The mother bear finally turned tail and ran, her cubs at her heels. Thank God.

  Val snagged the bay’s dangling reins and reeled him in, murmuring soothingly, pulling his flashing hooves away from Ramirez.

  Who still hadn’t moved.

  Mia, horses in tow, walked over to the edge of the streambed to join Val, who’d managed to quiet the bay with some gentle words and pats to his neck. The black gelding joined them, nosing at his nervous friends, and that left Vlad with his hands free to see to Ramirez.

  When the bear was gone for good, he turned and viewed the situation, made his way over to the fallen agent.

  Closer now, Mia could see that her helmet hadn’t survived the fall, cracked down the middle; a thin trickle of blood had slid out of her hairline and trailed across her cheek. And her right leg–

  Mia glimpsed the slick white of bone protruding and looked away, swallowing hard. “Compound fracture,” she said, and felt shock pulse hot and then cold under her skin.

  There was a quiet splash, and she dared a look back to see that Vlad was on his knees in the water, lifting Ramirez’s upper body into his lap. “Oh, you shouldn’t move her,” Mia said, startled into forward motion. Val’s free hand landed on her shoulder. “She could have a spinal injury. She–”

  “I know how to handle the injured, girl,” he said, gaze trained on the sergeant’s slack face. With a quick, but careful, movement, he unsnapped her ruined helmet and drew it off. There was a gash at her hairline, oozing bright red blood. It wasn’t bad – but the head trauma beneath probably was.

  Vlad cupped a hand around the back of her head, and leaned over her; for one sick moment, Mia thought he meant to put his mouth to her wound. But instead he thumbed open her eyelids with his fee hand and examined them closely.

  “A concussion,” he announced, sitting back on his heels. “At the very least.” Then his gaze swept down to her leg, and he frowned. “She won’t be able to keep the leg.”

  Mia said, “What?”

  Vlad sent her an unreadable look.

  “That – that kind of break is bad, I know. She’ll need surgery. But usually doctors can save the leg.”

  He shook his head. “That leg isn’t hers. It’s a dead woman’s. The vampire blood concoction your father gives her is all that’s allowed her to keep it thus far.”

  A woman lost a foot, Dad had said. “Holy shit.”

  “We have to get her back to the manor,” Val said, voice strained. He stared fixedly at the place where her leg was bent the wrong way, the bone jutting through.

  Mia looked down, and saw thin little trails of crimson go swirling along with the stream’s current.

  “I’ll carry her,” Vlad said, lifting her into her arms without effort. “The two of you ride ahead. Tell them to make preparations.”

  53

  CATS AND DOGS

  Jake was…really tired of all this magic bullshit. Despite what Dr. Talbot had insisted during his initial debriefing – when he’d made the transition from patient to operative; before that disastrous trip out west to retrieve Ruby Russell – magic appeared to be completely uncontrollable for mere mortals. It was bad enough with the werewolves, and the girl, and the angry Marine, and those bow-and-arrow guys who’d stormed the place. Not to mention the resident vampires. But now here sat this red-haired shithead, and Jake was…pretty much done.

  They sat in the upstairs study, the one in the main part of the house that Dr. Talbot used to entertain visitors he didn’t want to drag through the chaotic, ugly lab area in the basement; the people he needed to schmooze. Jake didn’t understand why he was here, and was doing his best to melt back into the flocked wallpaper.

  Today, Liam Price was dressed in olive-colored slacks with a knife crease, a cream sweater, and had a black topcoat draped over his shoulders. He sat with his elbows braced on the arms of his chair, hands linked together in front of him. It was such a calculated, designed-to-impress pose, and Jake hated him for it.

  “I’m assuming you still want me to perform the locating spell?” he said.

  “Er, yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble. I’ve already spoken with Lord Dracula about his use of electrical
corrective measures in the future,” Talbot said.

  Price leaned forward a fraction, gaze going to the door. “Shall we do it now? No time like the present. Then we can begin searching for my daughter in earnest.”

  Talbot winced – Jake suspected mostly because the idea of launching another search for Russell, this time with her fire-wielding parents in tow, sounded truly awful. “Actually. Well. Prince Valerian isn’t here at the moment.”

  That caught Price’s attention. He turned back slowly, red brows lifted. “Beg pardon? I thought you had him chained up for everyone’s safety.”

  “We did. We do. It’s only – his brother’s taken him riding this morning.”

  “His – brother?”

  Talbot looked ashamed. “Yes.”

  “I was under the impression they hated one another.”

  “I’m not sure they don’t.”

  Jake could still see Prince Valerian laid out on the library rug when he blinked. Arms and legs twitching, blood pouring out of his mouth and down his chin, matting his hair. A wound like a canyon, opening him at his neck, and shoulder, and chest. Jake had seen ribs. Jake had been to war, and that was part of the reason, he was sure, he’d staggered away and vomited into an ornate vase in the hallway.

  It had seemed like the sort of wound delivered by a hateful hand. It was one thing to kill on orders, to drop an enemy in combat; it was another to savage an opponent like that.

  But Price stroked his chin with one long finger and looked pensive. “Vampires often have strange relationships with one another. They love deeply, but they aren’t pack animals. It makes for unusual personal dynamics.”

  Jake snorted despite his determination to keep quiet. “So werewolves are dogs and vampires are cats?”

  “More or less,” Price said, serious. “Is this the first time he’s been out of his cell?” he asked Talbot.

  “N-no. It’s…the third.”

  Price lifted his brows, inviting an explanation.

  Talbot sighed, looking caught between shame and dread. Like a scolded child, Jake thought. “Yesterday, before you arrived, Vlad unhooked his brother’s restraints and took him up to his own room, to be bathed and cleaned and redressed. Before that…there was an escape.”