Wanted

by Kinrade, Karpov

  The door to our bedroom stood ajar, and I nudged it open.

  On the floor in front of the fire, my brother sat across from Leonard, playing a board game. They were both laughing, Jeremy a full belly laugh and Leonard more of a dry chuckle. They stopped when I walked into the room.

  "Kassy! You're okay!" Jeremy threw himself into my arms.

  I hugged him fiercely and kissed the top of his head. "Hey, buddy. I'm fine." I pushed him back a little to get a better look at him. "Are you okay? Promise? This has been kind of a crazy night." That was an understatement, but I had no idea how much he knew. I had to proceed cautiously in order to not alarm him more than he already was.

  His mouth took on a grim cast. "Dad showed up," he said softly, looking down at his feet before lifting his head and relaxing into a genuine smile. "But then Leonard scared him off and didn't even seem upset about how dad was acting. He's so cool. I want to be like Leonard when I grow up."

  I snorted at that and glanced over at Leonard.

  The butler looked slightly abashed at the compliment. Then, he turned his attention to my brother. "You are already very brave. You need only strive to be more of yourself."

  Jeremy puffed out his chest at that and dragged me to the board game, some kind of a fantasy quest saga. He handed me the mini princess sculpture and said, "I saved her for you to play. Come on. It's fun. We're about to fight the trolls."

  I raised an eyebrow at that, thinking of the bog troll trapped by Don. And that only served to bring my thoughts back to the Count.

  As if reading my mind, Leonard leaned over and asked quietly. "Where has he gone?"

  I shrugged. "He didn't say, but he was pissed."

  Leonard nodded as if it was all par for the course.

  I eyed him curiously, wanting to ask him what he was, if not human or vampire… or troll, presumably. But with Jeremy right there, I knew it wasn’t the right time. So, instead, I took my place on the floor before the fire and played the game.

  I learned three things that night.

  One: My brother was even more clever than I’d realized.

  Two: Leonard was downright funny.

  And three: My patience hadn’t improved at all since I was a child.

  It took everything in me to not pace the floor and wear a hole in the hardwood while waiting for the Count to return. Everything about my life and future lay at his feet and I hated not knowing what would become of us.

  I tried to focus on just the positive, of having Jeremy safe and sound. I ruffled his hair just to have an excuse to touch him. Time passed. I rolled the dice and made my moves. Excited, Jeremy offered his opinions on how to play my character, sharing his strategies, but I only half listened.

  My attention was more on the front door, downstairs.

  It wasn’t until an hour later—an hour that felt more like a year of sitting tense, every nerve raw with anticipation—that I heard the door open.

  The sound sent me to my feet. “I have to go,” I choked, my heart thumping loud in my chest. I glanced at Leonard. “Stay with him?"

  The butler nodded.

  "I'll be back, kiddo,” I murmured to Jeremy, stroking his head one last time, just to remind myself that no matter what happened, it had all been worth it. “I just have to check in on the Count."

  Jeremy nodded through his disappointment that I wouldn't be staying to finish the game, but he didn't argue. After all, the kid was used to being let down.

  I raced downstairs, but the Count wasn’t in the foyer. I found him in the kitchen, his back to the door, his long cloak stained with slashes of crimson.

  Blood. My gut twisted.

  "What happened?" I whispered, not sure I really wanted to know.

  "I told you,” he replied in a low voice without turning around. “I will kill to protect you and Jeremy."

  My heart skipped a beat and my mouth went dry. "What did you do?"

  He straightened and shifted his weight before turning to face me. "What needed to be done."

  It took me a moment to register what he held in his hand.

  When it clicked, I screamed.

  The Count held a severed head, dripping blood onto the recently mopped kitchen floor.

  And it wasn’t just anyone’s head.

  It was Don’s, his eyes still open, but empty of all life.

  "You killed him?" I asked in a cracked whisper.

  The Count eyed me, his handsome face an impassive mask. "This is who I am.” He paused, and then dropped his voice to an even lower rumble to ask, “Who are you, Kassandra?"

  16

  I covered my mouth with my hands to stop from screaming even as I asked myself the same question. Who was I?

  The answer snapped together in sharp relief as I stared at the decapitated head of the man who had tortured me for so long. And with each passing moment, the urge to scream faded away.

  Who was I? I knew the answer to that. I really did. I stepped forward, only stopping before the Count when I was less than two feet away.

  "I am a woman who can handle your darkness," I said, locking a fierce gaze with his. "That is, if you can handle mine."

  At my response, a wealth of raw, naked emotion played over the Count’s face. Desire. Delight. And so many more.

  He didn’t move as I took Don’s head from his grasp.

  The hair felt greasy in my hands and the head weighed more than I’d imagined. I lifted it up, enough to stare into the dead eyes. Finally. It was over. I’d never have to hear his voice or deal with his sick cruelty ever again.

  Relief bubbled inside me, along with years of pent anger. I’d suffered so much because of Don. I’d lived in such fear. Furious, I spat on his face and then tossed the head to the side, watching it roll along the tile until it thudded against a cabinet and came to a stop.

  The Count lifted a cool brow, and then, he pulled me to him, and bending his head down, claimed my mouth with his own. I tasted blood on his tongue. Whose, I didn’t know, nor did I care. I just let him sweep me away.

  He kissed me with a rough possession, a kiss as fierce and dangerous as the man itself—well, not a man, but a vampire. The only kind of creature who could really match me, accept me as I was.

  His tongue danced over mine, drawing me into his world in a kind of kiss that invited me to stay, and I kissed him back with everything I had until I felt like I would burst.

  God, I belonged with him.

  I ran my hands over his hard-muscled chest and then wanting to feel his skin against mine, pulled his shirt free enough to slip my hands beneath.

  He moaned into my mouth as I ran my palms up his spine, marveling in the soft, satiny coolness that covered muscle as hard as rock.

  He answered my exploration with one of his own, sliding his hands down over my hips to cup my ass and pull me, sharply, against him.

  He was hard. I arched against him, wanting more this time.

  “Stay with me,” he groaned, thrusting his hips forward to meet me.

  “Forever,” I promised in a whisper.

  He blanched at my response, and for a sick moment, I thought he’d pull away, that I’d ruined the heat sizzling between us. Forever? Why was that such a trigger word?

  I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to kiss him desperately, letting him feel the need inside me. I kissed him with everything I had.

  He relaxed and gathered me back in his arms, this time, holding me gently, as if I might break. Then, he hefted me onto the granite island, the difference in height allowing him to bury his face against my throat.

  I closed my eyes and let my head fall back as he kissed the line of my collarbone, making his way to the vein on my neck.

  When his fangs grazed my skin, I felt no fear. Instead, the touch sent shivers through my every nerve, kindling a heat, deep inside me. A heat that demanded I had to have him.

  Now.

  I didn’t care what he might think. I tugged at his cloak, sending it to the floor, and t
hen I attacked his shirt, ripping a few of the buttons impatiently, wanting to again feel every inch of him pressed against mine.

  He did a far better job with the shirt ripping. In one smooth motion, he had mine off entirely. My bra quickly followed.

  “Like an instrument,” he murmured against my neck, and then, his mouth descended in a slow, lazy inspection that left a trail of fire until finally, his mouth closed over my breast.

  “God, don’t stop,” I gasped as he suckled, each pull driving me into a hotter frenzy.

  I held his head tight against me, playing with his hair as he teased me, alternating his tongue with tiny pricks of his fangs. This was what I’d been looking for while cutting. The sheer amount of emotion, of feeling. After this, I’d never cut again.

  Then, he was pushing me back against the granite, flat on my back. The stone felt cool beneath my skin as he unzipped my jeans and peeled them off my legs so easily, leaving me in nothing but my panties, a red lacy thong.

  That fact summoned a wealth of disappointment, but before I could give voice to my dissatisfaction, he stepped between my legs and dropped his mouth against the tender flesh of my inner thigh.

  Slowly, he kissed each of my scars, taking his time, and then, his fangs skimmed along my veins, up and ever up, until his tongue slid so slowly, so torturously, beneath the lace of my thong.

  I gasped.

  I didn’t last long under that gentle assault. He nibbled and nipped, and I could do nothing but lay on the granite, clutching his head in my hands as his tongue drove me to the brink of sweet madness and then beyond.

  I came, harder than I ever have, the strength of my orgasm sending me nearly off the kitchen island. He rose to hold me tenderly.

  “I want you,” he breathed in my ear as I collapsed against him.

  He wanted me. Me. What did that say, after all I’d done? That I was worth being loved?

  The thought made it hard to breathe.

  “For me, this will be forever,” he continued, nuzzling my neck.

  “Me too,” I said, never meaning it more, even as part of me, deep inside, wondered if his version of ‘forever’ meant something more than the normal wordplay between lovers.

  Then, I heard him unbuckle his belt and as his pants slid to the floor, all other thoughts faded away. I could only feel, experience every nuance of sensation his mouth summoned as it explored me, teasing me again into a passionate, heated fever.

  He took me there, against the island. Hard and powerful, raw. A master, balancing me easily in his arms until this time, we both came together.

  Afterwards, he held me close for a time, in complete silence. Then, still in silence, he carried me up the steps to his room, so quickly that to all other eyes, we were but a blur.

  “You are mine,” he rumbled, laying me gently on the satin sheets. “You’re mine. Wanted. Forever.”

  Our passions lasted all night, never fully satiated no matter how many times we each climaxed together. His stamina was endless, as endless as my need for him, my desperate need to feel him inside me. As one last orgasm crashed through me, his teeth sunk into my neck, and the balance of pleasure and pain made me lose my mind in the best possible way.

  After, we lay together, my head on his chest, his arms wrapped possessively around me, my left leg intertwined with his as my body curved against him. I traced the contours of his chest, breathing in the scent of him, the gift of him.

  "Shit!" I said, looking up at him as a sudden realization dawned on me.

  "What is it?" he asked, his voice heavy with our recent escapades.

  "It just occurred to me I don't even know your name."

  His lips curved up into a smirk. "Some might say confessing eternity to someone whose name you do not know is folly."

  I stretched up to kiss his chin. "What is a name anyways? It doesn't change the nature of a thing. I know you. But it would be helpful to also know your name."

  "Vlad Dracule," he said softly. "But that name comes with a lot of history, much of it I'd rather forget."

  "Vlad Dracule?" I asked, my mind sifting through the stories and lore. "Like, as in Dracula? You were named after Dracula?"

  When he didn't respond, the truth slammed into me and I gasped, sitting bolt upright. "Not named after Dracula," I clarified, the puzzle completing in my mind. "You are Dracula? Vlad the Impaler? All the stories?"

  He nodded, his narrowed eyes watching my every move. "I am. Though the stories are not all true.” He paused noticeably, before adding, “The truth is much worse. I am much worse."

  His words contained no self-pity, just unvarnished truth. He wanted me to see him, the real him. He’d showed me his truth when he’d brought me Don's head. Now, from the way he studied me, I understood he needed to know if I could handle the full impact of his history, as well.

  I slid back into the sheets and propped myself up on his chest so I could see his face better. Then, caressing his cheek, I held his gaze with mine. "You can call yourself whatever you want. You can be whoever you want. I love you as you are. You don't have to hide from me."

  His eyes flickered wider, then he cupped my face, sliding a finger down my jawline. "You are most extraordinary, Kassandra. You have me. My love. My eternal devotion. I will always stand by you."

  My heart swelled with his words, reshaping my inner landscape from the barren wasteland I always imagined it to be to something fertile and ripe with new growth. His love planted within me nourished my soul in a way nothing else had ever done. I was his. He was mine. Nothing could tear us apart.

  "What would you like me to call you?" I asked.

  "Vlad," he said. "You can call me Vlad."

  I smiled. "It's a good name. It suits you."

  We spent the rest of the night talking. Sharing our stories, our pain, our triumphs. He told me more about his wife, her death, their child. It ripped open my heart, seeing him so vulnerable.

  "I loved her," he confessed softly, "but it was an incomplete love. She could never accept the darkness inside me. I tried to change for her, to be more human, but that wasn't in me to give her."

  "You don't need to change for me," I reminded him. "I accept you as you are."

  I knew as we talked that I would never know everything about him. He had lived too many lives to ever encapsulate that into mere words. But I got to know the essence of him. His hopes and dreams. His loves and losses.

  As we finally fell asleep in each other's arms, there was only one question I didn't dare ask. One thought that haunted me and made me wonder.

  He had wanted a child so badly he married a human and she had died.

  He never turned her.

  Had he planned to? Or had he been content to let her live her mortal life to its completion?

  And what did that mean for me? Would he want me to become like him? A vampire? So we could live together forever? Or did our love have an expiration date. Would he want me to stay human?

  And what did I want from all this?

  Was I ready to give up my humanity—and daylight—for an eternity with him?

  As soon as I thought the question, I knew the answer.

  Yes.

  Humanity had never done much for me anyways, and the sun was overrated.

  I wanted to be like him. I wanted to become a vampire.

  But would he want to make me one?

  That's the question I was scared to ask.

  Because if he said no, that meant our time together was finite.

  And that broke the fragile hope growing with me.

  I needed forever with him.

  Nothing less would ever do.

  17

  When I woke, I could tell it was daylight outside. The Count—Vlad—slept deeply by my side, our limbs entangled, his body, even in sleep, primed and ready for another round of lovemaking. I gazed with longing at this beautiful being I would spend my life with and wondered at all that had happened since I came to this mansion.

  I was still in shock how e
asily he’d accepted my confessions. I truly expected him to flip the hell out, and if not kill me outright, certainly kick my butt to the curb.

  But instead, he'd brought me my enemy’s head.

  That should have freaked me out, but it didn't. It made me feel loved.

  Maybe that made me sick, but I didn't care. It made us a match, and I was happier than I could ever remember being.

  He eased my emotional pain and made me feel alive in a way nothing else had, not even cutting. Looking at him now, I knew I wouldn't need my razors anymore. Not with him in my bed, inside my body and soul. He had woken up the dormant part of me and injected me with a life unlike any other.

  Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, in desperate need of the bathroom, a shower, and coffee. My body ached pleasantly as I took care of my morning business—though at this point, it was probably late afternoon.

  The hot shower eased some of the tenderness created by a vigorous night of lovemaking, and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled the details of being with him. It took everything I had not to crawl back into bed to see how deeply he actually slept during the day, but instead, I dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweats and headed downstairs for coffee.

  I grabbed my phone on the way, checking missed calls, and sighed. Over twenty-three. Two from Don—pre-beheading, obviously, the rest from my father. The sight of Don’s number made me think of the head in the kitchen, and I realized I had to clean it up before Jeremy woke. God, if he was already up, the sight of Don's head would send him to therapy for the rest of his life.

  But when I entered the kitchen, it was spotless. Not a drop of blood, and no sign of severed heads.

  Leonard had clearly gotten here first. Bless that man, whatever he was.

  I did, however, notice the large chest he’d brought back from his trip stood in the corner of the kitchen by the pantry.

  As the housekeeper, it would be inappropriate to snoop.

  As Vlad's… what was I? His girlfriend? Lover? Mate? At any rate, my role had changed overnight, so that had to change the rules, right?

  Justifying my curiosity, I lifted the lid an inch to peek inside.