Dance in the Dark

by Megan Derr

  Johnnie nodded. "I will." Then he turned away and strode to his waiting car, and slid into the back seat. As the car pulled away, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

  "So have we learned something from all this, Highness?"

  Johnnie jerked, eyes snapping open to see Bergrin sitting in the far corner of the opposite seat, so ensconced in shadows that it was little wonder Johnnie had not seen him. "When did you get here?" he snapped, furious. "When were you going to let me know you were here and not dead or bleeding out—" He cut himself off. "You are truly obnoxious, babysitter. Nothing but growling and sniping and skulking about and vanishing dramatically."

  "Maybe the next time I tell you that something is bad idea, you will fucking listen to me!" Bergrin snapped.

  "Their behavior was illogical," Johnnie said. "Attacking me over the auctions was disproportionate to my actions."

  "Criminals don't have to make sense!" Bergrin snarled. "You hurt their pride, you snatched up goods they've been eying for weeks if not months, and you flaunted your power. Of course they fucking tried to kill you!"

  "The first group, maybe," Johnnie said. "But the second group was looking to capture."

  "Yes," Bergrin said.

  "You took care of them."

  "Yes."

  Johnnie was silent, then slowly said, "I am sorry."

  Bergrin grunted, then said just as stiffly, "You were trying to do the right thing. Forget it."

  "Are you hurt?"

  Bergrin smirked briefly. "Only scrapes and bruises. They never stood a chance."

  Johnnie shot him a withering look. "You have a great deal of nerve getting on me for arrogance."

  "I don't flaunt it to the point of suicide, Highness," Bergrin retorted. "Even you did not think I was more than a local drunk."

  Preferring not to think about that, Johnnie moved the conversation along. "So did you inform my father?"

  "I thought I'd see if you were going to face the music."

  "No," Johnnie said, "but it little matters. Someone else will have already scurried along to tell the Dracula that his silly little adopted human was throwing around money in the Pits." His father was going to kill him. Really, though, what was he supposed to have done? Left them all to be bought up by the very same men who had just tried to capture or kill him? Johnnie stifled a sigh and looked out the window, wondering if there was any possible way to convince his father not to drag him home and lock him in his room.

  "So what did you do with the others you bought?" Bergrin asked, breaking the silence.

  "Mark is going to see they get to where they want to be. I left the cars to assist," Johnnie replied. "Hopefully they will not be recaptured."

  Silence fell again, and Johnnie resumed staring morosely out the window at the passing glimpses of night-shrouded scenery. He wanted to be back home at the Bremen, playing cards or reading, enjoying a glass of vodka.

  Instead, he was minutes away from his father's wrath. He was surprised Bergrin was not yelling at him more than he had.

  "So can you actually use that fancy little sword stick of yours?" Bergrin asked.

  "Yes," Johnnie said. "My father is very traditional. I am well schooled in swordsmanship, as well as other things. My father would not have given me my dagger if he did not believe I could properly use it."

  Bergrin only murmured a thoughtful, possibly doubtful, "Hmm."

  Johnnie thought about snapping at him, then decided against it. He did not know what Bergrin had done to make his assailants scream like they had, but he knew even his dagger, impressive as it was, could not begin to compare.

  "So how does one become an Enforcer?" Johnnie asked.

  Bergrin stirred from wherever his mind had taken him, and glanced at Johnnie in surprise. He smiled faintly, bringing his plain face to life, and making Johnnie think of the Cheshire Cat. "One goes down the rabbit-hole," Bergrin said.

  "One falls into it?" Johnnie asked dryly. "That seems rather … lax, for so important a position."

  "Well, it's not exactly the sort of job one finds in the wanted section," Bergrin replied. "It was your brother, years ago. Slinking off to where you shouldn't go seems to be a family trait. I saw him, I knew who he was, followed him. Some men were ready for him—but they weren't ready for me. I got him back home, left him there. Three days later, your father offered me a job. I was hired on a trial basis for one year, then made a full employee, if that's even the word for it."

  Johnnie's curiosity was well and truly piqued now, despite himself. "So do you usually play bodyguard?"

  "No, though I have done that a time or six for your brother. Usually I do find and retrieve style work. I have a knack for finding things people don't want me to find."

  "Somehow, that does not surprise me," Johnnie said, and realized with annoyance that he wanted to smile.

  Bergrin smirked.

  Scowling, Johnnie asked, "So why were you switched to watching me?"

  "Your father trusts me more than some of the others. He does not want so much as a single hair harmed on the head of his golden boy."

  Johnnie snorted at that. Ellie was Father's golden boy. Johnnie was a constant reminder of past tragedies. A human—a normal.

  "You don't believe me?"

  "It is illogical," Johnnie replied. "Father dotes on his real son."

  Bergrin shrugged and said nothing. Johnnie resumed his staring, until the car finally pulled up in front of the Bremen. Climbing out of the car, thanking the driver, he waited until Bergrin was with him, then led the way inside. A group of wide-eyed, silent, pale-faced men greeted him. Johnnie frowned at them. "You all look like a group of normals who have seen their first ghost."

  "Uh—worse," Peyton said, and pointed one finger to the ceiling, indicating Johnnie's rooms. "We just saw a Dracula."

  Johnnie froze. His father was here? He pinched the bridge of his nose, then managed a brief, "Excuse me one moment." Striding across the room, he quickly climbed the stairs and opened the door to his apartment.

  Ontoniel sat in a leather chair in the living area, reading a book by the light of a tiffany lamp. Johnnie recognized the book as one of his herbalists. His father removed his reading glasses and looked up as Johnnie arrived, his mouth quirked with amusement as he said, "If you want to be a philanthropist, John, there are less dramatic ways to go about it."

  "I knew they would not waste time running to you," Johnnie said in disgust.

  "My secretary fielded no less than thirty phone calls," Ontoniel replied, and picked up the cup of tea on the side table by his chair. Johnnie recognized the smell of it—rose tea, another of his father's favorites. But Johnnie had not brought any of it with him. Ontoniel had brought tea?

  He honestly could not determine what that meant. "I am sorry they caused you so much trouble. I did not intend to cause such a ruckus."

  Ontoniel looked at him a long time, expression shuttered, making Johnnie want to fidget. At last he sighed and said, "Sit down, John. Tell me what transpired, beginning to end."

  Johnnie nodded, but instead of sitting, he strode to his bedroom and put away his jacket, hat, and other bits of going-out clothing, making certain it was all neat and properly hung, and not yet in need of cleaning. In just his shirt sleeves and vest, he returned to the living area. Settling down in his favorite spot on his leather couch, he recounted everything, from Rostiya's arrival to this return to the Bremen. Silence fell, thick and oppressive, as he finished.

  Finally Ontoniel said, "You have absolutely no real comprehension as regards your actions, do you?"

  Johnnie bristled. "I am fully aware of my mistakes, Father."

  "I do not doubt you believe that, John," Ontoniel said. "You have always been a quick learner; you learn too quickly for anyone's peace of mind, especially mine." Not certain what to say to that, Johnnie said nothing, only continued to scowl. Ontoniel sighed. "You were stupid, John. I do not assign bodyguards because I think you weak or ill-equipped or any of the other things go
ing through that head of yours. I give you bodyguards because people know you are no fool, and will use means beyond your ability to counter."

  "Which is essentially all things abnormal," Johnnie said, not quite able to keep all the bitterness from his voice.

  For a moment, something like gentleness flickered across Ontoniel's face. It quickly vanished beneath his more familiar sternness. "John … if tragedy had not struck, even now you would be completely normal. It is not so bad a thing to be. Non omnia possumus omnes."

  'We cannot all do everything,' Johnnie silently translated, and shrugged irritably, quoting, "And oftentimes excusing of a fault/Doth make the fault worse by the excuse."

  Ontoniel sighed. "I am not making excuses for you Johnnie. You are hardly normal, in the end, for all you may not posses any particular abnormal traits—"

  "What about the way that spell rebounded?" Johnnie demanded. "Why in the hell did it do that?"

  "I do not know," Ontoniel said. "I think it best to leave the matter alone for now. You are alive and safe, that is all that matters to me."

  Johnnie looked at him, and realized that his father was lying. He started to say that, then thought better of it. Fine. If he wanted to play games, then games they would play. He would figure it out by himself, just like he always did.

  "Your parents wanted you to be normal," Ontoniel said with the firm voice of a Dracula. "I defied their wishes when I adopted you. That you flourish the way you do, never hampered by your lack of abnormal abilities, speaks all the better of you. I suppose you will only see that with time.

  "But," he continued, "it was not to your mistakes I referred, when I said you did not comprehend your actions. I can see you will tread more carefully, and better remember to have a care for poor Bergrin."

  Johnnie nodded stiffly. The bastard was insufferable and arrogant and smug, but Johnnie did not want him dead.

  "Good," Ontoniel said. "I was referring to the fact you spent three million—"

  "Two million," Johnnie corrected.

  Ontoniel smiled in that razor way of his, and Johnnie realized he had been played. "Two million dollars on buying up abnormals simply because it was the right thing to do. Sariah—" He stopped for a moment, then said quietly, "Sariah was given to much the same propensities."

  Johnnie stared at him shock. Ontoniel had never mentioned his late wife, and he had definitely never compared Johnnie to her.

  "You need to be more careful, John," Ontoniel continued. "Here, on your own, away from the safety of my homes, it is harder to keep you safe. Though Elam is Alucard, you are by far the better prize to capture."

  Johnnie frowned at that, because it made no sense—but then he saw it, and wondered why he had not seen it before. He was normal, he was one hundred percent human. Weaker, and less important to the wider community. If anyone dared to harm the Alucard, they would bring down far more than the Dracula on their heads. But for one adopted human? He was the better—easier—catch, though he was still was not convinced that Ontoniel would or even should pay a ransom for him.

  But he could not bring himself to ask. "Yes, Father," he said stiffly.

  Ontoniel sighed. "I am not going to order you home, John, not unless I feel there is no other choice. I do not like you out here in the open, and in so dangerous an area, but if this makes you happy, I will put up with it. Simply try harder to have a care. Recklessness is a predominant trait with you, and it is a dangerous trait. Even your remarkable intelligence will not temper your recklessness much. I had hoped, and still am hoping, that Bergrin will provide a calming influence."

  Johnnie sneered at that, but at the look his father gave him, did not voice his thoughts.

  Chuckling, Ontoniel said, "Perhaps he is already doing that. At any rate, he is a quieter presence than Rostislav."

  "Yes," Johnnie said, "about Rostiya. Bergrin mentioned before that Rostiya is not on the banned list." Ontoniel laughed. "So there is such a list?" Johnnie demanded.

  "Yes," Ontoniel said. "It is a standard list for my entire household, with one or two unique additions per person. Six hundred years is a long time, John; plenty of time to acquire enemies." He stopped, then added dryly, "Though I did not have half so many as you do at your age."

  Johnnie pointedly ignored that. "Why did you not add Rostiya?"

  Ontoniel snorted. "Jesse and Rostiya are not evil; they are merely scandalous. If that was all it took to be blacklisted by me, we would have no friends or acquaintances at all. Everyone is kicking up a fuss now, but it will ease over time. Six hundred or so years is also plenty of time to forget these sorts of things have and will happen."

  "Ellie was rather harsh—"

  "Your brother is young, and very inflexible," Ontoniel said. "Part of that is my fault, as I am very traditional about some things. He was spoken to, I promise."

  Johnnie unbent slightly. "Rostiya said it was Ellie who told him I was at the Bremen."

  "Interesting," Ontoniel said, looking surprised. "Perhaps he has relaxed more than I realized. So I trust that for now you will stop trying to get yourself and Bergrin killed, and giving me heart attacks?"

  Johnnie snorted at the absurdity of Ontoniel having a heart attack, but dutifully replied, "Yes, Father."

  "Then I will leave you to rest," Ontoniel said. "I also brought a couple of boxes of things that Lila insisted you should have."

  "Thank you," Johnnie said. "I am sorry to have bothered you, Father."

  Ontoniel shook his head. "It is not that you bothered me, but I expect that is the only way you would see it."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Good night, John," Ontoniel replied, and then was gone.

  Grimacing, Johnnie gave up thinking about all of it. Striding back into his bedroom, he stripped off his clothes and set them aside for dry-cleaning. Retrieving a towel from its hook in the closet, he left his bedroom and crossed the living room to the bathroom, turning out lights as he went. Only the orange-yellow glow of the street lamps and the blue-white nightlight in the bathroom kept his apartment from absolute dark. Turning on the shower, he waited until the water turned steaming, then climbed inside and began to scrub away the day.

  Several minutes later he climbed out, reaching for his towel and drying off roughly before he returned to his bedroom. He dried off more thoroughly, then threw his towel in a hamper. Moving to his dresser, he combed out his hair, then strode to his bed and slipped beneath the covers.

  He had just closed his eyes when he felt an awareness that had become far too familiar. Johnnie opened his eyes and sat up. Predictably, he could see nothing. But he could smell myrrh and musk roses. He could feel the magic prickle along his skin. He could feel Eros' eyes on him, more deeply and thoroughly than he would shortly feel Eros' touch.

  Johnnie drew breath to speak—a mouth covered his and a long, hard body pushed him down into the bedding. A hand captured both of his, pinned them to the mattress. Eros' mouth was rough, almost aggressive, bruising Johnnie's mouth. His free hand was no better as he tore away blankets and mapped Johnnie's skin.

  Grunting, Johnnie bit hard at Eros' lips, gasped for breath when Eros pulled back. "What—"

  "Shut up," Eros muttered, and attacked his mouth again, not relenting until Johnnie was hot and dizzy and incapable of remembering why he had been angry. Eros withdrew with a last biting kiss, to trail his mouth down Johnnie's body, freeing Johnnie's wrists only so he would have both hands free.

  Johnnie gasped and jerked as two fingers shoved inside him, abrupt and unexpected, but warm and slick. He obediently spread his legs wider when Eros silently ordered it, scrambling for purchase in Eros' soft hair, the sweat-slick skin of his well-muscled body, desperate for more as he was thoroughly finger-fucked.

  Tonight was different. Eros was usually gentler, more thorough, a slow and steady burn. Tonight was more like a flash fire, and Johnnie sensed he would be feeling it for days. He groaned as the fingers withdrew and Eros began to push inside, hard and hot, filling him. Jo
hnnie's head fell back, digging into the pillow. He reached out to grab hold of something, crying out as Eros rammed all the way in with a single hard motion.

  His nails dug into Eros' back, and he clung for dear life as Eros rode him hard and fast, setting a punishing pace. When he finally came, Johnnie bit his lip to keep from screaming loud enough to draw attention from downstairs.

  He barely held back a whimper as Eros pulled away, both of them panting heavily in the dark. When he could finally speak again, Johnnie asked, "What was that all about?"

  Eros kissed him hard. "I don't approve of your behavior. There is no pleasure in knowing you could have been kidnapped or killed."

  Johnnie drew back—or tried, but for his efforts only found himself tangled quite thoroughly by blankets and Eros, who pinned him by half-draping himself along Johnnie's body. "Why am I not surprised you know?" Johnnie said.