Once Burned np-1

by Jeaniene Frost

  I have no idea how long I screamed, but my throat was burning by the time I regained control enough to distinguish reality from other people’s memories. My face was also wet from tears, and shudders wracked me so violently that the ache in my limbs wasn’t due to phantom pains, but from being so lost in the horrific memories that I’d managed to hurt myself with my reaction—something that had never happened before.

  Of course, in all the recollections I’d relived, I had never experienced anything like this. When I realized that I was sagged in Vlad’s arms, my first reaction was revulsion so deep that a roar tore from my wounded throat.

  “Getawaydonttouchme!”

  He released me so abruptly that I fell onto the floor. Instinct made me curl my right hand to my side instead of using it to break my fall. I sprawled into a heap, but the action meant I didn’t pick up any new memories from stained stone ground, which was the most important thing.

  “Should I help?” Maximus asked in a carefully neutral tone.

  I doubted the question was directed at me, but I answered anyway. “No. Give me a minute.”

  My voice was still raw. I sat on the floor, trying to paste together my fractured emotions while hugging myself for warmth. That was a mistake I wouldn’t have made had I been thinking clearly. As soon as my right hand came in contact with Vlad’s coat, another memory assailed me.

  I stood naked in front of a closet on the far side of my bedroom. With the press of a button, row upon row of clothes whirled by, some casual, some formal, and a few so ornate they were meant only for ceremonial events. I stroked my jaw as I considered my choices. I couldn’t meet her family wearing just anything. She deserved better than that. Finally, I selected a long coat inlaid with black sapphires at the collars and cuffs.

  This would do. Perhaps the gloves would also help to soothe her ire. Their completion came not a moment too soon.

  That image faded, replaced by Vlad looming over me in this oppressive dungeon instead of gloriously naked in his bedroom. I stared up at him, the memory of his actions shocking me for a different reason this time.

  “You dressed up to meet my family?” The unexpectedly thoughtful gesture made me choke on a laugh. “How can you be the same person that did all those other things? You’re not just versatile and complex—it’s like you’re a schizophrenic!”

  Vlad knelt next to me, an emerald sheen encompassing his eyes like a cat’s when light shone upon them.

  “We are all more than the sum of our sins,” he said in an even voice. “You know that better than most people, Leila.”

  Then he held out his hand. I stared at it, what I’d experienced through the multiple essences contained in those manacles making horror flit over me. Then other images covered those, my memories of Vlad, so different in comparison. Very slowly, I placed my hand in his and let him help me up. I walked back to the manacles, repressing a shudder. The second time is always easier, I reminded myself. Vlad had ordered my family pulled in, but Maximus had been unable to reach Marty. He might be fine or he might need help, and the only way to find out was to follow the essence trail Marty had left in these restraints the day Vlad had questioned him.

  Before I grasped the wrist manacles again, I fingered the edge of Vlad’s coat and gave him a faint smile.

  “Nice choice. You looked great in this.”

  His brow arched. “Of course I did.”

  His indefatigable arrogance made me shake my head, but it also gave me the last bit of strength I needed to grab the metal clamps again. That same swarm of horrendous images bombarded my mind, but as expected, they were fainter, allowing me to fight through them and find the essence thread I was looking for. Once I did, I concentrated until everything else fell away.

  To my dread, the new surroundings I found myself looking at didn’t appear much better than the ones I was actually in. Instead of dark stone walls, concrete was all around me, the few splashes of color a wooden door in the corner and blood staining the front of Marty’s shirt.

  Mihaly Szilagyi stood in front of him, wearing another nondescript outfit and holding a knife dripping with red. The silver-haired vampire who’d snapped my legs and left me to die was there, too, restraining Marty while chewing an unlit cigarette and looking bored.

  I dropped the link with a snarl that came from a part of me I hadn’t known existed.

  “I found Marty. Szilagyi’s got him.”

  “No,” Vlad said again.

  I paced in front of the fireplace. Despite him turning it into an inferno that was barely contained by the gilded grate, I still felt chilled to the bone.

  “I have the right to talk to the bastard who kidnapped my friend,” I snapped. “Since we don’t have his phone number, linking to him through my abilities is the only option.”

  Vlad settled back into the crimson Louis XV chair, an elbow propped on the armrest, chin balanced on his hand. He looked completely relaxed except for his eyes, which focused on me with unrelenting intensity.

  “You link to Szilagyi, and his response will be to torture your friend to a level designated to break you. That’s why he took Martin. He wants you to see what he does to him, but if you’re not looking, then he won’t spare the effort.”

  My hair swung with my furious strides. “Marty was already cut up pretty good, so Szilagyi isn’t waiting for anyone!”

  “That’s for information” was his pitiless reply, “but Martin can’t relay anything of real import, so his primary effectiveness lies in your affection. Once Szilagyi realizes he can’t use him to force you to betray me, Martin’s usefulness ends, so if you want to keep your friend alive and in the best possible condition, you won’t link to Szilagyi.”

  “Why doesn’t he find another psychic?” I muttered. “I’m not the only one: psychics work with police all the time.”

  “A regular psychic isn’t enough. You can track people in the present and get accurate glimpses of the future. I’ve only met two other people with that ability. One is dead, and the other is having what you might call technical difficulties with his power.”

  My fists clenched, currents pulsing so strongly inside me that I half expected the nearest light socket to short-circuit.

  “You wouldn’t abandon one of your people to this fate, so don’t expect me to respond any differently, Vlad.”

  “You were at that club less than two hours before those vampires attacked,” he stated. “When you spied upon Szilagyi, he was fully clothed while resting under several blankets. He made sure you saw him in nothing but a nondescript concrete room, and a nondescript concrete room is where he has Martin.”

  “What does this have to do with anything?” I demanded.

  “It means that he’s not far,” he replied, tone implying it was obvious. “Szilagyi gave the silver-haired vampire orders to kill or retrieve you after they saw surveillance footage of you at the club, so that puts him at less than two hours away. He hasn’t left Romania since or he wouldn’t be so concerned with you seeing details of where he’s hiding, and I doubt it’s a modern or even refurbished house because most of those have heat, yet he used blankets when vampires don’t easily get cold.”

  He ticked off the items as he spoke. Put together, they made sense, and I cursed myself for not seeing it, too.

  “I have my people scouring all abandoned or seldom used buildings within a two-hundred-mile radius,” Vlad continued. “It’s a large area, but soon we’ll either find Szilagyi or force him to run. Once he surfaces, then you, my beautiful psychic, can link to him and see exactly where he is.”

  It was a logical plan that tightened the noose around Szilagyi’s neck, yet left Marty to the whims of fate. Maybe Szilagyi would kill him before he ran. Maybe he wouldn’t. Problem was, I didn’t have a better idea. That didn’t mean I was settling for coin-flipping odds on my friend, however.

  “If I come up with a way to stick it to Szilagyi and save Marty, promise me you’ll act on it.”

  Vlad’s gaze was hard yet steady.
“I don’t want him to die since it would hurt you and he was acting under my orders when he was captured. So if you find a way that doesn’t pose more danger to my people, you have my word that it will be done.”

  Chapter 33

  I walked through the huge hall, catching glimpses of a few vampires in their discreet yet vigilant positions as I passed. Vlad told me he had some things to attend to before dinner, but I think he sensed that I wanted to be alone. My emotions had been put through the wringer and today still wasn’t over. Soon, I had to sit across from my family and keep up the witness protection charade. If their lives hadn’t been upended in a spectacular way because of me, I would have pled a headache and stayed in my room, but I couldn’t be so selfish.

  “Leila,” a familiar voice hissed.

  I blinked, seeing my father come out from around the back of the staircase as if he’d been hiding behind it.

  “What are you doing?” I wondered.

  He walked over, his limp more pronounced from his haste. The effects from the roadside bomb that precipitated his early retirement would stay with him forever.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” he stated while his gaze darted around. “No one would tell me where you were, either. They just said I’d see you at dinner.”

  After decades of being in command, my dad would love that sort of evasiveness. He started toward the back of the staircase and gestured for me to follow. I did with a sigh, making a mental note to tell Vlad to have his people be a little more forthcoming than their normal, stonewalling selves.

  “Sorry about that,” I began. “Vlad’s staff is used to—”

  “You have no idea the danger you’re in,” my father cut me off, voice still barely above a whisper.

  “Um, sure, the European Mafia are scary people—”

  “Not them.”

  He must not have thought I was moving fast enough because he tugged me behind the staircase. My borrowed coat muted the effects of the voltage, but a wince still crossed his face.

  “It’s him,” he said, gesturing to Vlad’s coat. “That man isn’t who he says he is. Vladislav Basarab is an alias, and a twisted one. I know you must care for him, but when I ran his name through my contacts, you wouldn’t believe what I found.”

  Struck by the same exhausted, overstressed irrationalism that led some people to cackle at funerals, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Maybe this was the last straw for my sanity.

  “I can imagine your face when they told you that was the real name of Dracula!” I snorted, tears leaking out. “That’s what you get for snooping instead of being sequestered from the outside world like you’re supposed to under witness protection.”

  His expression was like a thundercloud now. “This isn’t a joke, Leila. The man who goes by the name Vladislav Basarab is so heavily involved in organized crime that my contacts advised me not to investigate him further or I might disappear. Does that sound funny to you?”

  Organized crime. That was one way to describe it, if you didn’t know that vampire hierarchy predated most current laws.

  “Dad,” I said, getting control of myself, “Vlad isn’t who you need to worry about. He won’t hurt you, Gretchen, or me, but you do need to stop investigating him. None of your contacts would be able to dig up anything close to the truth, anyway.”

  “Then tell me the tru . . .”

  His voice trailed off, and his gaze narrowed. “Why are there blood specks on your collar?”

  Before I realized what he intended, he’d yanked my turtleneck down.

  “What is this?” he spat, staring at the holes in my neck.

  I didn’t have the chance to reply. Shrapnel appeared, lifting my father off the ground with one meaty arm.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, aghast.

  “He grabbed for your throat,” Shrapnel said in explanation, my father’s furious struggles not even causing him to twitch.

  “Leila, run!” my dad said hoarsely.

  “Oh my God, what is happening?” Gretchen screeched, rounding the bottom of the staircase.

  If a bridge had suddenly materialized, I would’ve jumped off it. “Let him down,” I told Shrapnel, who released my father with a muttered “Fine, but if he lunges for your throat again—”

  “He won’t,” I said shortly. “Gretchen, stop screaming. Dad, I don’t need to run. Vlad’s people are crazy protective of me and you might not see them, but trust me, they’re around.”

  My father stared at me like I was a stranger. “What have you gotten involved in?” he asked, so quiet that I could barely hear him above Gretchen’s litany of “Oh God, oh God.”

  “Your neck, his alias, this castle.” My dad’s tone hardened. “Is that the trouble you’re in? You saw some sick form of role-playing among rich foreigners that went too far?”

  “And now I’m struck with déjà vu,” an ironic voice said behind me. “You may go, Shrapnel. I’ll handle this.”

  Shrapnel bowed to Vlad and vanished. I was used to people disappearing with vampiric speed, but my sister blanched and my dad’s brows drew together like they’d been yanked by a string.

  “How the fuck did he do that?” he demanded harshly.

  I had two choices: Tell the truth, or have Vlad mesmerize my dad and sister into believing a lie. Nothing less than mind control would work now that my dad had seen holes in my neck and the two of them watched a bulky guard seemingly disappear.

  Vlad moved next to me, his hand resting on my back. “I’ll honor whatever decision you make, but the truth is always better than a lie, even when it’s the more difficult path.”

  I looked at my father’s granite expression and my sister’s frightened one, and sighed. “They’ll tell people.”

  Vlad flashed a charming smile at my father. “No they won’t. He’s smart enough to realize that repeating such information is futile. The only people who’d believe him are others of my kind, and they don’t suffer whistleblowers or fools. As for her”—a nod indicated Gretchen—“she’ll do as he tells her.”

  My sister bristled. “I’m twenty-two years old. No one tells me what to do!”

  “Gretchen, be quiet,” my dad growled.

  She glared at him but didn’t say anything else. My lips twitched despite the seriousness of the situation. Vlad’s instincts were correct—she’d never go against a direct order from our father. Hugh Dalton had always intimidated her.

  “Tell me the truth about what’s going on,” my dad ordered.

  I, however, had never been intimidated by him. But I did want to try and repair my relationship with my family, and if our reconciliation wasn’t built on honesty, then it wouldn’t be real.

  “Show him, Vlad,” I said.

  His gaze changed from copper to bright, glowing green, and his smile bared teeth that now had two sharp fangs. A muscle ticked in my father’s jaw but his expression didn’t change.

  “Fancy contacts and novelty teeth don’t im-press me.”

  “I didn’t think they would,” Vlad replied in a silky voice. “But that happens before I do this.”

  He levitated into the air, hovering several feet off the ground. Then flames erupted from his hands, first eerie blue, then orange, yellow, and red. They climbed up his arms, licked the edges of his long brown hair, and while their heat was palpable, not a stitch of fabric or a single hair on him burned.

  “I am Vladislav Basarab Dracul, born 1431 as a mortal, but reborn in 1462 as a vampire,” Vlad stated, staring into my father’s eyes. “And I am but one out of millions of vampires, ghouls, ghosts, and demons that live in secret among you.”

  Piling the drama on a little thick, aren’t you? I thought. Then a thud made my gaze swing to the right.

  My sister had fainted.

  Vlad opened the wine and poured the deep red liquid to the brim before handing me the glass. I accepted it like it was a lifeline, taking a large, graceless gulp. On the plus side, my father no longer thought I was mixed up in a rich, role-playing cult. In the
negative column, he was probably on the phone with the Pentagon right now, helping to organize a full-scale attack against any creature that didn’t have a pulse.

  Vlad gave me a look of sardonic amusement as he poured his own glass. “High-level officials all over the world already know other species exist, but as long as we don’t interfere in their affairs, they’re happy to pretend that we’re not real.”

  In truth, I was less worried about my father telling anyone than I was about him and Gretchen getting over their horror that the undead existed—and that I was dating one of them. Now that I was thrown together with my family, I realized how much I’d missed them. We’d all made mistakes, but maybe we could learn to work through them enough to have some sort of relationship.

  If Gretchen ever stopped screaming, that was.

  “What about your other girlfriends?” I muttered, plopping onto the bed. “Did their families eventually settle down?”

  He sat next to me with a fluid, powerful grace that only someone with control over every muscle in their body could exhibit. If I’d moved like that when I was thirteen, I would’ve been a shoe-in for a gold medal.

  “Depends,” he said, surprising me by answering what had mostly been a rhetorical question. “Five of them were vampires themselves. Out of the humans, the last one’s family did come to accept it, the two before her didn’t tell their families, the one before that didn’t have any living family, and the first . . . her family incited others in their village to burn my house down while shouting, ‘Death to the wampyre!’ ”

  I laughed before the underlying significance made my breath catch. “You’re almost six hundred years old, but you’ve only had ten girlfriends before me?”

  “Ten lovers, two wives, and a few dozen anonymous encounters when loneliness got the better of my standards.”

  Wow. Vlad said he was selective about who he slept with, but some part of me must not have believed him.