Blood Bond asc-9

by Jeanne C. Stein

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” I whisper back.

  “Thanks to Vlad.”

  Who clears his throat. “My driver will take you home if you are ready.”

  Frey slips an arm around my shoulder. “Actually, if you can take us back to Le Course café, we’d appreciate it. We left our car there.”

  “Of course. Shall we go?”

  * * *

  IT’S QUIET ON THE RIDE BACK TO THE CAFÉ. VLAD’S driver has raised the privacy partition though he needn’t have bothered. Fatigue seems to have seeped our energy.

  I’m laying in the crook of Frey’s arm, my feet curled up on the seat. From the rhythmic rise and fall of Frey’s chest, I’m guessing he has fallen asleep.

  Vlad faces us, his head resting against the window, his eyes closed.

  Are you asleep? I inquire gently, not wanting to wake him if he’s dozed off.

  No. He smiles. Are you?

  He rouses himself to a seating position. I study the man sitting across from me. I’ve had a lot of unbelievable things happen to me in the months since becoming vampire—not all of them good—but sitting in a car at six a.m. with the one who might just be the original, the first vampire, has to top the list.

  What would you like to ask me? His dark, intense gaze is as penetrating as his ability to probe my thoughts.

  At first, the question seems too complicated to tackle. Until I realize it’s really very simple. Are you the first vampire?

  No. He frowns. Legend bestowed that title on me. And that hack Stoker perpetuated it.

  Then who—?

  No one knows. The vampire has been a part of every culture stretching back as long as man’s memory.

  Why do we exist?

  Vlad reaches for my hand. That is like asking why there are a million species of birds or insects or why there are different races.

  No. I shake my head. Not the same thing. Evolution, environment, climate. They dictate flora and fauna on this earth. We are not evolved. We are made. One from the other. But for what purpose? We are parasites, feeding on the blood of mortals.

  You think we have no purpose.

  I haven’t determined one yet. I know I have little experience in this existence, but what I have has led me to believe there are more like Steffan in our ranks than like me.

  Perhaps you just answered your own question.

  He is stroking my hand. I pull it free. I hope not, if you’re saying I have nothing to look forward to but evenings like tonight—an immortal lifetime of fighting vampires intent on world domination.

  But you succeeded, did you not? The world is safe for mankind once again. He chuckles, raising an imaginary glass. To humanity. The vampire’s greatest weakness.

  I don’t see the humor. But safe for how long? I want to live a simple life. I want to marry the man I love and raise his child.

  Frey will die. Vlad utters the words without emotion, a simple statement of fact.

  My own answer is more heated. I know that. I lean toward him. But at some point one has to decide what is important. If we have forty years together, thirty, twenty, they will be good years and worth the pain of loss when the end comes. I suddenly remember a fact of history. Wasn’t your time with your mortal wife Jusztina worth it?

  Vlad looks surprised that I would know his wife’s name. I smile ruefully. There is very little about your life that has not been recorded. Including the way she met her death.

  He looks away, briefly, as if unsure how to respond. When he meets my eyes again, they are clouded with remorse. I was away when that happened—when she threw herself from the parapet. I’ve wished every day of my life since that I would have turned her before I’d left on that godforsaken mission.

  Why didn’t you?

  Instead of answering, he searches my face. Your mother is facing death, is she not?

  Yes. Bravely. She is the most heroic woman I know.

  I assume you considered turning her?

  I gave her the choice. She turned it down. She believes in the immortal life her god promises.

  Then you understand how it was with Jusztina. Do you hold your mother’s beliefs?

  I did when I was young. No longer. I have seen too much. I let a beat go by. Do you still think of Jusztina?

  After six hundred years? He smiles, softly, sweetly. Every day.

  Would you have preferred she never existed? That you never loved so deeply?

  No. My memories of our life together sustain me. Life is too grim otherwise.

  Then you understand how it is with Frey.

  I realize suddenly that he is asking more questions of me than I of him. This isn’t going quite the way I expected.

  Vlad laughs softly, feeling my discomfort, and answers the question swirling around my head. You are intriguing. I wanted to know more about this Chosen One.

  Why?

  I believe we have a lot in common, you and I.

  And what have you learned?

  That the rumors about you are true. I saw it myself tonight. Still, I’d like to learn more. Will you meet me tomorrow?

  I shake my head. I’m afraid that’s not possible. Frey and I are getting married in two days. After that, well, how long we stay depends on— I can’t bring myself to finish the thought, the words stick in my throat.

  Vlad nods sympathetically. Your mother. I understand. But we will meet again. When one has all the time in the world, one develops patience.

  All the time in the world. I sigh. What history you have lived.

  Vlad shrugs. History is just the present in retrospect. Times change but people do not. After a while you come to realize stepping back from mortals is the only way to survive. Otherwise your soul becomes deadened by the evil humans perpetuate upon themselves.

  Yet were you not mortal when you received the name Vlad the Impaler? I ask quietly.

  Vlad doesn’t shrink from the question but meets my eyes squarely. Yes. I was a fanatic willing to protect my country against all threats—whether Ottoman Turks or German merchants. As ruler I thought I could eliminate crime by being pitiless against transgressors. I held myself as arbiter of morality and punished anyone whose conduct I deemed morally wrong. I deserve to be called cruel but not capricious. Those in my kingdom knew what I stood for and if they committed a transgression, they understood the consequences.

  His words are straightforward but the emotion behind them is great sadness.

  Do you think history has judged you too harshly? If so, why don’t you try to set the record straight?

  He chuckles. You mean write a book? The Real Untold Story of Vlad Dracul the Third? Who would believe it? My enemies were thorough. The portrait left behind of me is one of a monster who lived only to torture and kill. But I no longer care what history chooses to remember. It very rarely reflects the truth.

  Obviously. History says you were killed by the Ottomans, your head put on a stake outside of Constantinople.

  Vlad smiles, stretches his arms over his head. Inventing your own death is something you will learn to deal with as time goes by. Though it was far easier to disappear with no Internet or newspapers or even photographs to leave a trail.

  Hmm. When the time comes, I hope I don’t have to resort to leaving some innocent person’s head on a stake to make it happen.

  Who said he was innocent?

  The driver knocks gently on the partition, signaling we are nearing the café. Before I rouse Frey, I reach a hand to Vlad. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Vlad Dracul.

  He takes my hand, raising it to his lips. And you, Anna Strong.

  CHAPTER 28

  WHEN WE GET BACK TO THE VILLA, THE SUN IS ALREADY SNAKING THROUGH THE WINDOWS. We tiptoe in without waking the house, stopping only to erase a telephone message from Vlad’s assistant.

  “Some romantic road trip, huh?” Frey whispers.

  I take his hand and steer him toward the stairs. Suddenly, the events of the evening, how close I came to losing him, have me shaking.r />
  When we’re safe behind closed bedroom doors, I waste no time slipping out of Steffan’s dress. We don’t say another word to each other. There’s no need. Frey reads the urgency in my eyes, in my hands as I help him strip off his clothes. Then we’re on the bed, and he guides my lips to his neck.

  “Drink.”

  His hands hold me tight, his pulse thunders just under that fragile layer of skin. His breath is hot and ragged against my cheek.

  “Drink, Anna,” he says again.

  And I do.

  * * *

  I WATCH FREY SLEEP. HE’S LYING ON HIS SIDE, NAKED under the sheets. I spoon my body against his and loop an arm around his waist. We’ve only been in bed an hour. I expect any minute to hear my parents and the kids as they make their way downstairs to start the day. I know I should be tired, should try to grab at least a few minutes’ sleep. But sleep is slow to come. My body still tingles from feeding, my nerves still on fire from the kill.

  Frey knew I needed to feed. The vampire had been denied the blood of the bear and bloodlust still raged—leaving me ragged and unsatisfied. He understood as he understands so much about me.

  I’m tempted to slip down between his legs. Take him into my mouth. Watch as he awakens, surprise and pleasure lighting up his face. Give him something back for all he’s given me.

  But he needs to sleep.

  I kiss his cheek.

  I’ll return the favor, though. In delicious ways.

  The promise sends heat rushing through my body.

  * * *

  MUCH LATER, I AWAKEN TO THE SUN BEAMING IN through a gap in drawn curtains. Frey is still asleep. When he, too, awakens, he rolls over and catches me looking at him. His arms go around me and he pulls me close. “How are you feeling?”

  I snuggle close, one hand trailing down between his legs. “Ready to return the favor,” I whisper.

  He glances over my head to the clock on the nightstand. He stops my hand. “We’d better wait. We’re already late for breakfast.”

  I groan and he attempts to sit up. He doesn’t get very far. His head barely off the pillow, he slaps a hand to his forehead and falls back. He groans again, for real this time.

  I lean over him, “Are you all right?”

  “Killer headache.” He looks at me and smiles ruefully. “Did I get hit in the head last night? I don’t remember much.”

  I place a gentle hand on his forehead. “That bear did a pretty good job on you. Knocked you into a wall.”

  He sits up abruptly, pushing himself all the way this time. “Vlad. I remember now.”

  “He saved you. Twice.”

  “No offense, but I hope we’ve seen the last of him.”

  “We have,” I assure him with a teasing grin. “I told him we were going to be busy for the next few days, getting married and all. And then we’ll be spending time with the family. I expect we’ve seen the last of Dracul.”

  I trace a finger along the curve of his jaw. “Now kiss me. But keep it sweet, not sexy. You’re not in any shape to get excited. And we do have to get up. The wedding planners are coming at noon. And this afternoon we have to drive to Cannes to pick up David and Tracey.”

  “Not in shape, huh?” Frey pushes me down on the bed. He leans close and teases me with his lips, bringing them close, then pulling back. I finally tangle my fingers in his hair and settle his mouth on mine. At the same time, he’s teasing another part of my anatomy, fingers tormenting until I arch my back and thrust against his hand and he slips his fingers inside.

  “I thought we had to get up,” he says, but he continues to probe, slower, deeper.

  “I thought you had a headache,” I gasp back.

  But I don’t try to stop him.

  I’m shuddering with excitement, lost in the sensations flooding over and through me. If he tried to stop now, I would scream in protest. I move with the rhythm of his thrusts. When the climax comes, it lifts my hips off the bed. He holds me close, driving every wave of passion until the swell breaks and I collapse against him.

  “What was that you were saying?” he says, stroking my hair.

  I lift myself on my elbows to look at him. “It was supposed to be your turn.”

  He grins. “Oh, you’ll make it up to me. Just wait.”

  * * *

  FREY AND I CREEP DOWNSTAIRS WONDERING WHAT type of reception we’ll get from my dad for being late once again. For the same reason, too.

  We needn’t have worried. I’d forgotten it was Sunday. On the kitchen counter we find a note:

  Gone to Mass. Took John-John with us. Catherine has the day off but there are fresh brioches in the cupboard. Thought you kids would want to sleep in since you got in so late last night. Remember the wedding planners will be here at noon.

  Love, Mom

  Frey grins. “Want to go back upstairs? We have two hours. We can make all the noise we want.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “First one up the stairs gets to be on top.”

  It turns out to be a tie.

  CHAPTER 29

  TWO HOURS LATER, FREY AND I ARE FRESHLY SHOWERED AND RESPECTABLE AND SITTING AT THE DINING ROOM TABLE ACROSS FROM A MAN AND WOMAN who represent the company that’s officiating at our wedding ceremony—tomorrow. My head swims at the thought.

  The man is well dressed, suit and tie, carefully slicked-back hair framing what I’ve come to think of as a “French” face—closely shaven, well-groomed, thin nose, dark eyes. He’s wearing a citrusy cologne or aftershave, I can’t tell which it is. But it’s strong. His name is Pierre.

  His partner, Lorraine, is beautiful. Tall, model thin, expertly and subtly made up. Her dark eyes have a slight upward tilt and she has a mouth that begs to be kissed, wide, full-lipped and eager. I have to give Frey a surreptitious elbow more than once to stop him from staring at those lips.

  Pierre is reading us examples of vows that we might choose from. We decide on a simple recitation that combines the traditional with a modern spin. The entire ceremony will take no more than fifteen minutes.

  We are finished with the technicalities in less than an hour.

  Frey gives them a credit card. They process the payment. Then we usher them to the door. As they leave, a truck pulls into the driveway. The crew who is to transform the back of the house into a tented, flower- and ribbon-strewn wonderland has arrived. Mom made all the arrangements, only consulting me on things requiring my opinion, so that Frey and I would be surprised. We have strict orders to point the workmen to the site, but not to peek as the work progresses.

  When we are back inside, I look at Frey. “Can you believe we’re getting married day after tomorrow?”

  He puts his arms around me. “Getting cold feet?”

  “Vampire, remember?” I tease. “Cold feet, cold hands.”

  “Not always.”

  And then we’re kissing and he proves how right he is. But before things take their natural progression with us, we hear my folks’ car in the driveway.

  John-John is the first through the door, holding a white paper bag up high. “Guess what they call doughnuts in French?” he asks, running to greet us. “Beignets!”

  I catch Mom’s eyes over his head. The circle of life. Memories of my brother and I heading home after church, in the backseat of my parents car, a bag of hot, fresh doughnuts between us. My eyes fill with tears. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

  * * *

  FREY IS AT THE WHEEL OF DAD’S CAR AND WE’RE ON OUR way to Cannes to pick up David and Tracey. The pilot called to let us know they would be in at three. I’m slumped back on the seat, window open to the warm spring day, thoughts cascading through my head in a stream of consciousness that is making me dizzy.

  “Anna?” Frey’s voice. “What are you thinking?”

  I swivel on the seat to face him. “You really want to know?”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Uh-oh. Am I going to regret asking?”

  I give his knee a squeeze. “No. It’s nothing like th
at. I’m not going to call off the wedding.”

  “Well that’s a relief. I don’t think I’d get my twelve hundred bucks back from Pierre and Hot Lips.”

  I swat his arm.

  Frey’s expression sobers. “No, really, Anna. Are you upset about something?” He catches himself. “That was stupid. Of course you’re upset about your mother. But I get the feeling it’s more than that. You have a very serious look on your face. Are you thinking about last night? Because I am fine.”

  I reach over and touch his knee. “I know you are,” I kid. “You proved it this morning, remember?” But even his smile doesn’t chase away the uneasiness still clouding my thoughts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  He picks up my hand and kisses it. “I don’t intend you’ll ever have to find out.”

  I lay my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  “No. When was it?”

  The tone of his voice gives lie to his words. There’s humor there and a hint of a tease. He chuckles, then says, “Let’s see. You came to see me at school, convinced I might have had something to do with Trish’s disappearance. You were ready to tear my head off.”

  “You won’t ever forget that will you?”

  “Well, it turned out all right. Considering you bit me and almost sucked me dry to get at the truth.”

  “And considering how we ended up, your neck wasn’t the only thing I sucked.”

  Frey laughs. “First time we made love. You did it for the blood . . .”

  His voice trails off.

  “I wish I had been smart enough to realize then what I know now. It would have saved us both a lot of mistakes. Me with Max and Lance and Stephen. You with—what was her name?”

  Frey looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t remember.”

  “Good answer.” I pause a moment, sorting the images flashing in my head. “Then there was Belinda Burke. I almost got you killed the night of the demon raising. I’ll never forget how I felt seeing you lying at that bitch’s feet.”

  More mental snapshots, flying by like frames in a PowerPoint presentation. “You saved Culebra by letting yourself be put under a spell because I asked you to. You saved me by coming to Palm Springs when I’d been burned. You helped me prepare for the vampire convocation that very probably would have resulted in my death if it hadn’t been for you. Then, you stood by me when I dragged you to Monument Valley, even when John-John’s mother was killed—” The flow of words stops, choked off by a strong surge of emotion.