The Veiled Series Collection

by Stacey Rourke

  Not trusting himself to drop fang so close to an injured human, Vlad bit the inside of his wrist with his human teeth, gnawing until he tore through to a claret gush. Unceremoniously, he forced his wrist to the cameraman’s lips.

  “Vampire blood is finicky and unpredictable,” he rumbled to the two green-hued aids. “There’s no telling if this will save his sight, yet it should spare him the gaping hole in his skull.” Satisfied with how much of his blood his patient ingested, Vlad clapped his opposite hand over his wrist and rose to his feet. “Stay with him until help arrives.”

  Striding to where I still sat in stunned confusion, Vlad hooked me by the elbow and dragged me to my feet.

  “The cameraman will be fine,” he muttered against my ear, rushing me from the mayhem.

  World moving in a dizzying blur, I peered up at Vlad, struck once more by the tragic poetry of his beauty. “That voice.” I slurred, tongue thick and heavy. “I’ve heard it before. Who was that?”

  Bursting out the side door into the brisk chill of night, Vlad’s wild eyes appeared—dare I say it?—scared. “That … was the Prince of Chaos.”

  Chapter nineteen

  Vlad

  King Corvinus lounged on his throne, eating a plum and licking its dripping juices off the side of his hand. With his double chin, gold embroidered robes, and powder-soft skin it appeared a full day’s hard labor was something this man never experienced. The platinum wig he wore sat slightly askew, just enough to be noticeable.

  Despite being announced before him, he still purposely kept me waiting. Hands clasped behind my back, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and struggled not to take this as a bad omen. Only after finishing every bit of the decadent fruit, and wiping his hands clean on a cloth offered by a footman, did he bother to glance my way.

  “Vlad Draculesti,” he boomed, his voice echoing through the cavernous throne room. “You’re a bold man for coming before me after stealing Jusztina’s hand, without bothering to ask my blessing. Have you any idea the life I had planned for her? As part of my peace treaty with Frederick III, she was to wed his nephew. That simpleton was so eager for the union he agreed to pay me a handsome dowry for arranging it. All was set, and arranged. Then, you snuck in like a fox in a chicken coop, and whisked her away. I assume you’ve come to apologize?”

  “I love Jusztina, Your Highness. For that, I will never apologize.” Nostrils flaring, the king bristled, prompting an immediate retraction on my part. “However, I will admit that my actions were ill-mannered. Her being a descendent of royal blood, I should have honored you by acquiring your blessing.”

  “Yes, you should have.” Spitting the words in a barely contained fury, foamy spittle gathered in the corners of Corvinus’s mouth. “After such insult, you have the gall to come before me? Why am I being forced to look upon you? Speak!”

  At the king’s rage, armored guards crept from the shadows, lining the perimeter of the cathedral. Fingers twitching toward my sword, I felt the icy chill of awareness that The Dragon remained silent. No churning darkness squirmed within. No red haze of wrath seeped around the edges of my vision. In fact, since Dorian muzzled Drákon, I had felt no stirrings from him at all.

  I was truly and utterly alone.

  A perplexing state of affairs given my current situation.

  Sensing this wasn’t going to end well, my hand drifted toward my sword. Fingers closing around the hilt, I kept it at my hip … for now. “I’ve come because I see the love you have for your family. You are a good and benevolent king, and would never want any harm to come to them. Right now, Jusztina is in great danger. As are the people of Transylvania.”

  Leaning back in his throne, Corvinus rubbed his palms over the armrests. “Yet here you are, brave hero, having left them behind to save yourself.”

  “Only to beseech your aid. The Ottoman Empire and Saxons are threatening—”

  “That’s what they do,” Corvinus chuckled, thoroughly enjoying my agitation. “They attack, and seize what they want by brutal, unforgiving means. I heard the worst of it came when their army was led by a man they referred to as The Impaler. But, you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Biting back a sharp rebuttal, I battled to keep my tone calm and measured. “Your Majesty, if they find Jusztina—”

  The king slouched to the side, attempting to shrivel me with a victorious smirk. “When they find her, they won’t harm one hair on her pretty little head. Because, you see, those were the terms we agreed upon when they came here … for my consent.”

  Top lip curling into a snarl, I freed my sword with a deadly hiss. “Lies! You’re a Christian. Even you couldn’t be so foul!” I bellowed.

  The guards drew their weapons in response, gazes locked on their king in anticipation of his signal to attack.

  Fortunately, Corvinus wasn’t done rubbing my nose in his betrayal. “The Catholic Church has offered no substantial aid to my reign. An oversight The Ottoman Empire was eager to remedy. I found their donation generous enough to rethink my policies against them. They were meant to kill you, finally freeing Jusztina for a suitable marriage. That said, I think it will be far more fun to imprison you for life. You can rot there, knowing your precious love is in the arms of another.”

  The king leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and jerked one finger at his men.

  Leaping to action, they charged.

  The steel of my sword met that of another in an ear-piercing clang. I struck and blocked with all of my might, all for naught. Without The Dragon, I was no match for their numbers.

  Chapter twenty

  Vinx

  With Vlad holding tight to my elbow, we burst out of the television studio at a sprint. Bile scorched up the back of my throat, tears burning behind my eyes.

  “Stop,” I managed in a barely audible whisper. “Please, Vlad. I need … I have to …”

  My words failed to register with the vampire king. Features set in a determined scowl, his eyes were glowing rubies of destruction.

  “Vlad? Can we just …” Planting my feet, I pulled against him with all my might. “Stop, damn it!”

  Snapped from his grim reverie, he spun to face me. “We can’t stop. We have to move.”

  Yanking my arm away, I refused to budge. “No! Not until you tell me what the fuck that was? I mean, that guy jabbed a pen in his own eye! Who has the power to make a person do that? You know what? No. On second thought, save it. I don’t want to hear it. Because, you need to realize that what just happened in there?” Jabbing my thumb in the direction of the studio, I dropped fang in open challenge. “It’s on you. You have all this strength and ability, yet refuse to use it! Our enemies are coming at us with everything they’ve got, and you won’t unleash our one and only weapon—you!”

  In a blink, his more beastly attributes vanished. Chased away by blatant sorrow. Rooted where he stood, he extended his hand to me palm up. “Come with me. It’s time for you to learn the truth.”

  “About what?” I hollered, wanting nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and shake his mountain of secrets out of him.

  “About who it is we are up against, and why we should all be terrified.”

  “Say the name Dracula and people respond with shivers of anticipation. The myth, legends, and lore paint me as a god, simply because I was the first. The reality is, I was little more than the earliest infected by the Nosferatu disease. Meanwhile, utterances of Vlad the Impaler garner a far different response.” Having whisked us back to Castle Dracul in a rolling fog, Vlad pushed aside a bookcase to reveal stone stairs leading down to a pitch-black tunnel.

  “Not everyone,” I corrected, flicking on the flash light setting on my phone. “Those busts of you throughout Transylvania tell the story of a group of people that view you a hero. Quick question, where are we? Because this kinda has a ‘Hallway
to Your Kill Room’ feel to it.”

  “Nothing like that. This is the route to my secret dungeon.”

  “So, by nothing like that you meant exactly like that. Got it.” Walking through a spiderweb, I did a full body shiver to shake it off.

  Vlad stopped outside of a wrought iron gate. Pulling a skeleton key from his breast pocket, he unlocked it. “Not a day passes that I don’t bless the people of Transylvania for remembering me with kindness.” The gate opened with a shriek of protest, inviting us into a closet-sized cell reeking of dirt and stale air. In the center of the room, carefully polished and cared for, hung an artistry of armor. The arm plates gleamed a brilliant silver, the chest stained a deep crimson. Every joint was riveted with gold, the leather binding straps freshly oiled.

  My mind traveled back to the march in Washington and the artifacts of Vlad’s on display. “Was this your original armor? There is one, pressed with your seal, that makes the rounds at public events.”

  “I would wager what you saw was my formal plating for parades and gatherings. Nothing more than decoration, really. This, however,” tongue clucking against the roof of his mouth, Vlad gazed upon the armor with tangible appreciation, “was a part of me, for quite some time.”

  Leaning one shoulder against the rough face of the stone wall, I studied the mythical marvel before me. “Tell me about it?”

  “When my heart still beat as a mortal man, this armor protected me in the most fierce of battles. See this mark, here?” He pointed to a nick in the lower left quadrant of the metal, no more than an inch in length. “That happened on a battle field in Turkey. A soldier leapt off his horse, hoping to drive his sword straight into my kidney. And this?” His fingers danced over a chip at the neck line, right below where his jugular would have been. “I challenged four men at once. One nearly claimed my head as a prize. Without this well-crafted iron, I would have died a hundred times over.” He fell silent for a moment, the expression that stole over his features bordering on wistful. Jerking himself from the trance of what might have been, he cast a quizzical glance in my direction. “Have you ever watched the intricate artform of armor being crafted?”

  I shook my head no, Vlad responding in turn with a nod of understanding.

  “The iron is heated over a fire stoked so hot it instantly scorches the skin, if the proper protective leathers aren’t worn. Then, it’s painstakingly hammered and molded into the ideal shape.” Fingertips dragging over the dragon stamped into the metal, Vlad peered at the armor like an ally he would lay down his life for. “That perfect shape saves lives, and wins battles.”

  While cold didn’t bother me as it once did, a chill from our chosen topic prompted goosebumps to sprout on my arms. “No doubt that would breed a sentimental attachment to it.”

  “It’s so much more than that,” Vlad traced over every rivet. “This iron shell protected me from the world. While the room we’re standing in protected the world … from me.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he caught my stare and dragged it to the wall behind me.

  Head swiveling, I let him steer my attention to heavy shackles chained to the stone floor, and a tapestry of a claw marks sliced into the stone. “Wha—what is that?”

  “That,” a sad smile tugged back one corner of his mouth, “is your introduction to Drákon, the entity that made me what I am.”

  Squatting down to inspect the markings, I poked my index finger into one of the crevices. At its deepest, it dug in up to my first knuckle. “How were these marks made?”

  “History believes him to be a demon.” Assuming a wide-legged stance, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit coat. “I was never satisfied with that titling. Demons are easily vanquished. Drákon’s level of benevolence seems far more … eternal.”

  Hanging on his every word, I wet my arid lips. “If not a demon, what was he?”

  Edging up beside me, shoulder brushing mine, Vlad eyed the lace work pattern of gouges. “I cannot say for sure. Yet, I believe him to be the very root of all evil. Every demented act committed in the world. Every twisted thought pondered. It all spawns from The Dragon. It’s the vile whisper at the back of our minds, tempting and taunting us into deplorable acts. It was the nails hammered into Christ on the cross. The snake that slithered through the Garden of Eden. Cain’s motivation for killing Abel. It was because of Dorian Gray, the man who overtook the studio tonight, that I had no choice but to submit to that malevolent crux.”

  Dropping my arm, I linked my hand with Vlad’s in a show of solidarity. “You took on The Dragon, and became the first of our kind. If we are all descendants of you—and what you believe of The Dragon is fact—that would make us exactly the evil beasts those bigots on the TV accuse us of being. I refuse to accept that. I’ve seen humans commit unspeakable acts, while vampires behave selflessly. And vice versa. I can’t wrap my mind around any version of this that reduces an entire faction of people down to one binding label.”

  Vlad peered down at our intertwined fingers. With a bend of his elbow, he turned them over in fascinated inspection. “The strength and attributes of my curse I have passed along to our kind. The Dragon is mine alone to bear. He chose me. Roosts only in me. Dorian summoned it, and sought to take it on himself. To his dismay, it selected me. Through the years I’ve tried to cast it out. It seems as long as it deems me worthy, I shall harbor its burden alone.”

  “While you continue to hate yourself for it.”

  “My own vessel is the only armor we truly have against that serpent of darkness. I can subdue the beast to some degree, but if it … no, I … were ever to lose control, you musn’t try to save me.” Gathering both my hands in his, he pressed them to the haunting stillness of his chest. “Were that to happen, promise you won’t try to save me. Run fast. Run far. Never look back. Swear that to me.”

  Feeling as if the walls were closing in under the weight of his ominous warning, I tried to extract my fingers from his vise grip hold. “Look, I hate to poke a literal sleeping dragon here, but couldn’t that be exactly what we need? My brother. Your son. All those people being killed and enslaved. We could just … you know … turn you loose and adopt that run like hell philosophy. You would be like our fanged grenade.”

  Lips pressed in a thin line, Vlad knelt beside the shackles on the floor. Picking one up, he weighed it in his palm. “You would be replacing one monster with another. I wouldn’t stop at our enemies. My thirst would rage until sated. That is exactly what Dorian wants. This is why he is provoking me. With nothing to gain from this, he craves only the chaos of war. How do you fight someone with nothing to lose?”

  “Is this why you brought me here? To prove it’s already over?” Hands on my hips, I shook my head. “No, I don’t accept that.”

  “There may be another way.” Vlad discarded the shackles to the floor with a clank, and rose to his feet. “Dorian’s mortality is tied to an enchanted portrait of himself. Were it in our possession, we may have a way to weaken him. Or, at the very least, a bargaining chip to use in our favor.”

  “The all-powerful warlock’s greatest weakness is a bad selfie? And people say the millennials are bad.”

  Rubbing his hands together, Vlad wiped off the lingering residue from the chains. “My resources are plentiful. I can have my men search the farthest reaches of the world to find that painting. In the meantime, I suggest we continue the plans for our nuptials. It will keep his attention focused on us, and away from our search efforts. Not to mention, we’ve already seen how it agitates him. It could benefit us to keep him off kilter.”

  “What if we can’t find it?” Dreading his answer, I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

  Shrinking back into the shadows of the cell, darkness stretched and rolled around Vlad’s silhouette, eager to consume him. “Then, we brace for the battle to come.”

  Chapter twenty-one

  Vinx

 
; Vlad said we.

  We will brace for the battle to come.

  Bleak as our circumstances were, I was choosing to cling to the glimmer of hope that he was slowly being swayed toward standing with us. Eager to share this news with the others, my hand was closing around the doorknob to my bedroom when it was yanked out of my grip from a hand on the other side.

  Chest rising and falling in frantic pants, Carter’s brow dripped with sweat. “Vincenza! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “And here you are. Alone in my room. Like a creeper. Again.”

  If he heard the judgement in my tone, Carter ignored it. Launching forward, he grabbed me in a bear hug, squeezing me with bone crushing urgency. Given our sudden intimate proximity, I couldn’t help but notice his entire body seemed to be vibrating.

  “Micah told us what happened at the studio, she got a ride back with Vlad’s people.” The word’s poured from his lips in a gushing spigot, showing no signs of slowing or stopping. “Have you seen some of those guys? Dressed in normal suits they look like the undead secret service. Mics said some cameraman jammed a pen in his eye. Is that true? Why would anyone do that? After that, everyone started looking for you. No one had any idea where you disappeared to, and crazy panic ensued. How did you get back, by the way? It doesn’t matter. I’m just so glad you’re here and you’re safe. You’ll probably get a major tongue lashing from Mics, though. The vamp she had to sit next to during the car ride home is on a special diet where he can only tolerate the blood of minks, ferrets, and weasels. Be prepared to hear all about his musky odor.” Finally pulling back, his spastically twitching stare bounced from one spot on my face to another, never settling. “Are you okay? Why aren’t you saying anything?”