He did, gripping my hips while a deep thrust tore a cry from me. I held him tighter, arching against him for more despite the quicksilver flash of pain from his size and our lack of foreplay. Still, that was nothing compared to the rapturous burn of feeling him inside me, or the jolt that seared my most sensitive nerve endings when he erotically ground against my clitoris after fully sheathing himself within my depths.
My nails raked down his back as I arched harder against him. He made a low, guttural noise and lifted me, drawing all the way out before thrusting forward to penetrate even deeper. The sharp intensity of the pleasure made sparks spring up like beads of sweat on my skin, and he laughed with dark sensuality when he saw them.
“I love how passionate you are,” he muttered as his mouth burned a path down to my neck. Then fangs pressed against the spot where my pulse used to be. He licked it before sinking those sharp points into my flesh and thrusting forward again, leaving me shuddering at the double impact of pleasure. He continued in that devastating rhythm, his hard strokes matched by deep, sensual suctions, until my mind was wiped of everything except the overwhelming pleasure and the urgent need for more.
My hands started to race around his body, alternatively gripping his head or his hips. I couldn’t stop trying to get closer to him despite there being no air between us. Yet soon, even that wasn’t enough. Lost in the primal sensations, I sank my fangs into his neck, wanting to fill myself with him that way, too. From the spike of pleasure that cascaded through our connection, he liked that, and I dug my fangs deeper into him in response, moaning as I swallowed his blood.
That rich liquid awakened a new hunger in me. His blood wasn’t food, but it was still heady, intoxicating, and most of all, part of him. I drew deeper on the punctures, sliding my fangs in again when they closed as he healed with supernatural quickness, then felt his low, rasping laughter against my neck.
“Don’t be gentle. Bite me harder.”
I did, a gasp escaping me as he increased his pace and his teeth sank with rapturous roughness into my throat. Soon, my neck throbbed as much as my loins and I was rocking against him with a reckless disregard for anything except the ecstasy that straddled a knife’s edge between too much pleasure and a dash of pain. It consumed me, until I didn’t care that the sparks beading from me had the sheets smoking, or that the headboard banged hard enough against the wall to rattle the windowpanes.
Need more, yes, more, so good, please, yes, yes, yes!
My shout coincided with that incredible pleasure cresting within me. Then I shouted again at the additional, instant wave of ecstasy as Vlad shuddered against me, his grip turning to iron. My fangs slipped out of him as my head fell back, that sizzle replaced by a bone-deep languorousness that made my limbs feel heavy with satiation.
Moments later, Vlad’s fangs left my neck and he pulled out of me. Then he shifted until I lay next to him instead of beneath him. His hands, only slightly less heated than before, began brushing back the wild tangle of hair from my face as he stared at me, the faintest smile curling his mouth.
“Seems you were right. We both needed that to forget for a little while.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “You should listen without arguing next time.”
He chuckled, continuing to tuck those errant black strands back from my face, but I mourned as I watched that former tenseness start to fill his features again. I didn’t want to give up on our moment of peace this soon, yet neither of us could hide from reality. Ready or not, it was here, about to pounce.
Still, I wasn’t without good news that I could share to help keep those dark thoughts at bay a little longer. “I figured out how to link to Mircea.”
He sat up so abruptly that it startled me. “Do you know where he is?”
“No,” I said with a small, frustrated sigh. “And he doesn’t, either. His captors have him in an underground cave, so there are no landmarks or identifying structures. I could talk to him, though, like he’s been able to talk to me, and he’s willing to tell us how to find people who do know where he is.”
Now Vlad’s face was all stony again. Inwardly, I sighed. So much for our peaceful interlude. “Why should we believe a word he tells you?”
“He knows his captors will kill him anyway once they’re done giving you grisly tasks to perform,” I replied. “He also knows that with the spell linking us together, you can’t kill him, so he realizes you’re his best chance to survive.”
“For now,” Vlad muttered darkly. “He must know that I’ll kill him the moment we find a way to break your spell.”
I left that alone and chose my next words carefully, not wanting to blast him for sins he’d committed more than five hundred years ago, but also not wanting to leave him unaware of Mircea’s other motivations.
“He also still longs for your respect, Vlad, even if he knows your approval is out of the question.”
“My approval?” he repeated in disbelief. “Is he insane?”
“Maybe a bit,” I replied, shrugging. “But he was a little boy who loved and idolized you once, and part of that little boy is still buried inside the hateful man he’s become. He knows you despise cowardice more than anything else, so by giving you a chance to find him, he’s showing you he’s man enough to fight for his life even though the odds are very much against him.”
He stared at me, an expression of disbelief overtaking his features. “You believe that ridiculous manipulation? Leila, he’s lying in order to lure us into a trap.”
How could I explain the awful, soul-scarring rejection Mircea had forced me to relive without slapping Vlad in the face with it? There was no way, and without my explaining it, Vlad wouldn’t believe that Mircea’s offer was real. I couldn’t lose our best chance to find him by sparing Vlad’s feelings, so I’d have to settle for the metaphoric face slap.
“You were a terrible father to him,” I said bluntly. “Mircea didn’t know he wasn’t your son, so all he knew was that he loved you completely and you couldn’t tolerate being near him. That broke something in him that’s never healed, and I know he’s not faking that because my father’s continued rejections broke something in me, too. But just like a never-grown-up part of me still longs for my father’s respect, Mircea still longs for yours, and this is his last chance to earn it.”
He drew away even more. “You think I was a terrible father? My father sent me to live with his worst enemy in exchange for political security, resulting in my torture, rape, starvation, and abuse for over a decade. Even though they weren’t my children, I never mistreated Mircea or Ilona’s other child. Instead, the boys were protected, well-fed, and well-educated.”
“Yes, of course you had it much worse.”
And he had, by far. Yet that didn’t negate what Mircea had gone through. How could I make him understand that? With his own horrendous childhood, no wonder he was having trouble relating. Add in Vlad being from a tyrannical medieval culture in general, and I could see why he found Mircea’s genuine hurt nonsensical.
“But emotional damage can sometimes be just as scarring as physical abuse,” I went on. “Back then, what you describe might have been considered stellar parenting, but Mircea was still really hurt. And if you think about it, you know a parent’s rejection can be devastating to a person even long past their childhood. You even told my dad that he had no right to judge you so harshly because your firstborn son never had to plead for the love my dad kept withholding from me, remember?”
“That’s not the same,” Vlad muttered, but he looked away a little too quickly.
I moved closer, until he had to meet my gaze or turn his head to avoid it. “I’m sorry, but it is. Yes, things were incredibly difficult for you and all your focus was on saving your country, but you still left a boy who thought he was your son behind. Sometimes kids act out because negative attention is better than no attention. That’s basically what Mircea has done, if you add in centuries of being warped by your revenge-obsessed enemy Szilagyi, while also lear
ning lots of nasty magic from who-knows-who. I’m not saying it’s okay, but I am saying that I one hundred percent believe he did all of it because he’d rather you hate him than continue to ignore him.”
Vlad got off the bed, pausing to give a frustrated look at the small room before his strides began eating up the limited floor space. Maybe that’s why his bedroom at the castle was so large. There, he had plenty of room to pace off his frustration.
“Mircea could have come to me,” he finally said, daggers of his frustration starting to spike into my own emotions. “Had he done so beforehand, had he explained why he sided with Szilagyi and pretended to be dead . . . I might have forgiven him.”
“Would you?” I asked with more brutal bluntness. “You’re known for a lot of things, but forgiveness isn’t one of them.”
He threw me a jaded look. “True, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Mircea tried to kill you. Even if I were the most forgiving of souls, I wouldn’t forgive that.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said, getting out of bed, too. “But I am asking you to believe that Mircea wants your respect. Since you couldn’t give it to him as your stepson, he’s willing for you to respect him as your enemy. Take that, and the fact that he wants a chance to live versus the certainty of death by his captors, and I don’t think he’s lying with this lead.”
I went over to Vlad, lightly running my hands over the back he’d turned to me. He’d closed his feelings off again. Maybe he was still consumed with anger, or maybe he was remembering back when he’d been the only father Mircea had ever known, and was rethinking his former treatment of him.
“What was the lead?” Vlad asked after a long silence.
I closed my eyes in relief. “To take down some necromancers in the group that’s holding him captive. Apparently they’re members of a cult that call themselves Acolytes of Imhotep, and all the members know where Mircea is. If we can keep one alive, we can get the location out of him.”
Chapter 29
As soon as dawn broke, Vlad and I went to the basement cell. Gretchen, as expected, was now passed out on the cot, her shirt so stained with red that I couldn’t remember what its original color had been. Smelling the blood from her messy feedings reminded me that I hadn’t eaten in over a day. I hadn’t slept in over a day, either, and I’d have to do both if I was going to be fighting a group of powerful necromancers tonight.
But first . . . “I’ll take her upstairs and get her cleaned up,” I told Maximus, starting to unlock Gretchen’s wrist and ankle cuffs. “She won’t wake up until dusk, so it’ll be safe. You should get some rest, too, while you can.”
Maximus looked as tired as I felt, and he also was in bad need of a shower and new clothes. His shirt and pants were almost as stained as Gretchen’s, and his hair was now the same russet color as Ian’s from all the blood in it. But his gaze wasn’t tired. It was flintlike as he looked past me to Vlad.
“What did you do with Samir?”
“I buried him on the ridge,” Vlad replied.
Maximus gave a short nod. “I’m glad. When the time comes, I want to spend my final rest with our other fallen brothers, too.” Then he paused, and the laugh that came out of him sounded forced. “Unless that’s no longer an option. I have been expelled from your line. I suppose that means you’ve changed your mind about burying me with the rest of your people after I’m gone.”
Vlad didn’t reply. He just looked at Maximus. The staggering amount of years between them, both good and bad, seemed to fill the space and the silence, adding a weight to the atmosphere that hadn’t been there moments before.
“No,” Vlad said at last, his voice rougher, almost hoarse. “I haven’t changed my mind about that.”
I had to look away, blinking back the tears that were welling in my eyes. This past year had pushed their friendship past the breaking point several times. Not too long ago, Maximus had been in Vlad’s dungeons, and not long after that, Vlad’s now-dead enemy Szilagyi had sent Vlad a video of what looked like Maximus raping me. None of us thought that Vlad could get past that even when he discovered that it wasn’t real, but he had. He and Maximus still weren’t back to where they’d been before, but maybe this was bringing them one step closer.
Then Maximus said, “Leila can transfer the spell on her to Gretchen,” and my hopeful mood shattered.
Vlad spun to face me. “What?” he asked in a tone that could have split rock.
I stared at Maximus while my mind briefly went blank from rage. He stared back at me, unblinking.
“Go ahead, slice out my heart. I don’t fear death, and to die for my prince is a great honor.”
I was torn between that mind-numbing rage and a frustrated sort of admiration. I hated Maximus for telling Vlad because of how it endangered Gretchen, and I respected him because his staunch loyalty meant he could do nothing else except tell Vlad.
“No one is dying for me today,” Vlad said, his tone suddenly betraying a weariness that his sizzling aura gave no indication of. “But you will tell me what he means, Leila.”
And so, far sooner than I intended, I found myself telling Vlad about the legacy magic in my Cherokee line, how Gretchen was the only matrilineal relative that it could be transferred to, and what it did to both the person giving it and receiving it. With each word, Vlad’s gaze grew greener, brighter, until by the end, it felt as if I was staring into twin emerald suns.
“Do it” were his first words once I was finished.
I gave a seething glance at Maximus before refocusing my attention back on Vlad. Sometimes it sucked to be right.
“Look, I hate that you’re being jerked around by Mircea’s captors because of me. I hate it to my core, and I will carry the guilt of Samir’s death for the rest of my life because you did it to save me. But I can’t transfer this spell to Gretchen. For starters, I don’t even know how, and—”
“Leotie!” Vlad thundered, spinning on his heel to face the open cell door. “I know you’re listening, get down here!”
“And I can’t condemn Gretchen to death that way,” I went on as if he hadn’t interrupted me. “Admit it, Vlad! Yesterday, if your choice would have been Gretchen’s life or Samir’s, you would have chosen Samir. I get why; he was your loyal friend for hundreds of years and you only met Gretchen a few months ago.” I drew in a breath, forcing myself to go on. “The problem is, the reason why I understand is because I feel the same way. I liked Samir and I feel awful about his death, but I only knew him for a few months. Gretchen was born when I was three, so I don’t have a single memory where she wasn’t a part of my life. Hell, when we were little and had to cross a street, Mom would hold my hand and I would hold Gretchen’s. I was her big sister, so of course I knew it was my job to watch out for her . . .”
I paused to dash away the tears that started to leak from my eyes. Dammit, I didn’t have time for those any more than I had time for another electrical meltdown! My emotions would have to wait until things calmed down enough for them to take the wheel.
“She’s my little sister and I love her,” I summarized, fighting to sound brisk instead of broken, which was what I felt like over this next admission. “And I would sacrifice my life and everyone else’s life for hers . . . except your life.”
More treacherous tears slipped out. This time, I didn’t swipe them away. I was too busy staring at Vlad as I bared the most vulnerable, selfish part of my soul.
“That’s the real reason I wasn’t going to tell you about the spell transfer until after we had safely retrieved Mircea. No matter how much I love Gretchen, I love you more, so if it somehow came down to your life or risking hers by giving Gretchen the hex, I’d choose you.”
The tears fell faster now, until everything in the room seemed to waver from my looking at it through a liquid lens.
“And I know you’d choose me. That’s why I didn’t want you to know that I could transfer the spell to Gretchen. I knew what you’d say. There’s nothing either of us wouldn’t do to
save the other, but unless it is your life on the line, I’m not doing it. I can’t, so be furious with me because I chose Gretchen over Samir, but please, don’t ask me to transfer the spell again.”
Vlad didn’t say anything. He just folded me into his arms and held me hard enough to force the remaining air out of my lungs. When I felt something burning brush across on my forehead, I knew it was his lips.
“I’m not furious with you,” he murmured against my skin. “I’m not even angry. You’re fighting for those you love the most. How could I, out of all people, fail to understand that?”
“You might not have to choose between Vlad and your sister,” a cool voice noted behind us. “I know a way to give Gretchen the spell without it endangering her.”
Chapter 30
My head jerked up and the arms around me tensed. I hadn’t noticed Leotie coming down here, yet she now stood in the cell’s open doorway.
“How?” Vlad asked before I could.
Leotie raised a graceful brow. “Legacy magic transforms into whatever the person needs most at the time of transfer. When I received it, I most needed to hide from my pursuers, so it gave me the gift of shape-shifting. When Leila received it, she most needed to survive a lethal dose of voltage, so it gave her the gift of making that electricity a functioning part of her body. Right now, Gretchen most needs blood, but in a few weeks . . .”
Leotie let the sentence dangle. I picked it up with an almost crushing sense of relief.
“She’ll be over the worst of her cravings, so if I wait to transfer the legacy to her, then what she’ll most need is to be protected from the lethal effects of my spell.”
Leotie nodded, and I wanted to cry from sheer joy this time. Could the solution really be that simple? Was the break we’d so desperately needed finally within our grasp?
“But you’ll have to wait until then,” Leotie said, looking at Vlad now instead of me. “Otherwise, Gretchen’s uncontrollable craving for blood will trick the magic, making it believe that blood is what she needs most. Not only would you lose the chance to protect her from the spell, her gift could turn dark in order to provide ways for Gretchen to fulfill her insatiable hunger.”
Into the Fire Page 16
