Vlad

by Stacey Rourke

  Hours?

  Could that be right?

  A collection of minutes, and everything changed.

  One of the most pivotal differences being which side I stood on. I now proudly classified myself among the vampires. Something I thought I would never do. After watching my ex-boyfriend, Finn, slaughter my family, I made it my goal to expose the Nosferatu kind to the world as the monsters I believed them to be. Thanks to scientific advancements created by my parents, I was granted pseudo-vamp abilities in order to infiltrate their hives. All of their strength. None of their weaknesses. I should have been the perfect weapon against them … until I learned the truth. Even my own parents’ death was a manipulation of the artificial sulfur compound. Can you blame the girl that is assaulted at a party after being roofied? No. By that same logic, I couldn’t blame Finn for the part he played in my parents’ death. Would I ever be able to look at him without wanting to slice the features off his face? Hell no. Even so, I accepted this matter was far bigger than him.

  Unfortunately, the deceit didn’t stop there.

  As if spurred by my dreary thought, the picture on the screen changed. Markus’s smug face, all toothy grin and coifed hair, appeared in high-def glory. “Since being hired on retainer by DG Enterprises, I have been privy to details of Rau Mihnea’s countless violent rampages. All of which the vampire coalition paid to cover up. The most startling stories have come from his first victim, now brave enough to come forward.”

  Nostrils flaring, I dug my fingers into the armrests of my chair hard enough to puncture the leather.

  “His story, of being held captive for over a year while enduring inhumane torture, is truly a heartbreaking one.” Markus stared right into the camera without fear or hesitation, convinced his power and prestige would always protect him. “I ask you, can a being capable of such malevolence be called anything except a monster? My apologies, this isn’t my tale to tell.” Glancing to his left, he squeezed the hand of the person seated beside him. “Jeremy, the world is listening.”

  Memories of my brother having his neck snapped still haunted me, yet there he sat on national TV. Sandy blond hair falling into his warm chestnut eyes, he peered up from under his lashes to cast a lopsided grin at the camera. “I’ve told this story so many times now, I’m sure people are getting tired of hearing from me.”

  Scooting to the edge of his seat, Markus talked with his hands in animated gestures. “That’s the problem exactly! We have to talk about this. We need to! People must hear the truth that lies at the heart of this matter. Too many vamp-lovers are idolizing anything with fangs, not realizing these serpents will strike the moment their latest food supply runs out!”

  “Vinx?” A touch to my shoulder snapped my head around.

  Without thinking, I dropped fang, my top lip curling from my teeth in a threatening snarl.

  Retracting his hand, Carter Westerly raised them both in surrender. Despite the gesture, understanding roosted in the depths of his cerulean gaze. There was no denying the appeal of his charm and golden boy good looks. Unfortunately, Mr. Westerly once formed an addiction to the attentions of a female vamp. Fear of being nothing more than his next fix made us an impossibility. “Easy, killer. I come with word of Batdog, and Micah. And, yes, I purposely mentioned your pup first. I’ve learned that if you’ve got an ace up your sleeve, you play it.”

  Palming the remote, I turned off the television. “Where are they?”

  Carter’s hands dropped to his sides with a slap. The smile he forced came nowhere near reaching his eyes. “Micah grabbed the little guy before she and Finn hopped on their plane. They will be touching down in Romania within minutes of us.”

  Pushing off my chair, I leapt to my feet. “Look, I get why we jumped on this plane in the first place. A crazed maniac, willing to kill over his own jaded views, is a powerful motivator. But now, I think we need to take a beat. The Nosferatu and our allies are under attack in the US. Any chance of doing any real good is there. We’re leaving the people that need us behind, to chase Dracula—a legend long since dead. We have a presence back in the states … hell, we could take this to Congress, or any news crew that will listen! Back in the states, I can find Jeremy. I can talk to him before Markus gets his vile hooks wriggled into him even further. I could …” voice cracking with emotion, razor blades of sorrow sliced through. “I could save him. I didn’t get the chance to the first time. But, praise Vlad, I have a second chance. He’s my brother. The only family I have left. I have to help him.”

  “Do not speak to me of losing brothers.” Standing, Elodie planted herself in a pose of stone-cold conviction. “Duncan did not lay down his life that we may lose focus on what’s truly important now. You speak of family, as if it were a simple concept defined only by genetics. Whether made in a lab, or sired, we are a member of the Nosferatu clan. Right now, all of us are under attack. If that means sacrificing a few to save the lives of many, that is what we will do. If we do not, our kind will be reduced to ash, ground under the boots of our enemies. Our only chance, young vampress, is to arm ourselves with the wisdom of the past.” The grind of the jet’s landing gear being lowered resonated like a battle cry answering Elodie’s call to war. “To learn that lesson, we must journey to where it all began.”

  Chapter Three

  Vlad

  I sat huddled in a corner with my knees to my chest. Slashes of blood covered my skin, and soaked my clothing. None of it my own. That sinister voice had quieted, leaving me alone with the horrors my own treacherous hands created.

  Squatting beside me, his face ghost white, Dorian’s chin quivered. “It was meant to possess me, but only for a moment. Never like this. By pulling that blade …” Eyes glassing over, his stare swept over the carnage. After a beat, he adamantly shook his head, denying my horrible truth. “All magic can be undone, transferred, or vanquished. Every book I’ve read says so. We simply have to find the proper technique. There must be a way.”

  Unable to gaze upon the massacre a moment longer, I stared instead at the dried blood on my hands. Caked under my fingernails, it stained crimson moons around my cuticles. “Take it away, or don’t. My soul is forever tainted by what happened today. Christ himself, would have me cast from Heaven into hells eternal fires.”

  “Maybe forgiveness could be found after countless acts of contrition?” Eyebrows disappearing in his hairline, Dorian peered up at the spray of gore that somehow managed to reach the ceiling. “And, a whole lot of Hail Marys.”

  “You’re a devil.” Crawling out from under the table she hid beneath, the cook crossed herself and glared daggers of hate in my direction.

  Letting his head fall back against the wall, Dorian pretended not to notice the crimson ooze seeping into his hair. “Of course, there are two opinions on every matter.”

  “Spawn of Lucifer,” she croaked, clenching the hem of her filthy apron in a white-knuckled grip. “Beastly, unclean … thing! Ye’ll burn for this! The wrath of God will strike ye down and you shall burn!”

  “I think we’ve had our fill of that, wouldn’t you say?” Filling his lungs to capacity, Dorian pushed off the floor. With a determined gait, he strode straight for the belligerent woman. “Be gone! Be gone with ya! We spared you once, we won’t do it again! Run, or suffer our wrath same as the others!”

  Tripping over her feet, she stumbled toward the door. Dorian continued his march, driving her back, until she escaped outside to be swallowed by the night.

  Watching out of the corner of my eye, I begrudged his loyalty. Especially when I felt what I truly deserved was to be stoned. “You didn’t have to do that. She was right. I will face judgment over what I’ve done. If not now, then soon.”

  “Da, sooner than either of us may like.” Dorian stepped back from the door, obediently taking a knee and dropping his chin to his chest.

  Knowing there to be only one reason for such an immediate re
action, I scrambled to mirror his subservient pose. I make no false claims of being a brave or valiant lad. My teeth chattered with a force that I thought was sure to shatter them the instant I heard the heavy footfalls of Murad’s boots clomping across the planked wood floor.

  He uttered not a word, but clasped his hands behind his back to tour the scene of hellish delight. Blood squishing beneath his feet, Murad maintained a steady, casual pace. Having completed a full lap of stepping over bodies, and jamming his sword into any he thought to be alive, he planted himself between Dorian and myself.

  “The mission was to poison the Hungarian soldiers, that we may use their deaths to send a message to our enemies.” His tone was melted gold--smooth and enchanting, yet undeniably deadly. “What do I find here instead?”

  Risking a glance up, Dorian and I locked stares. Our brows furrowed with uncertainty over how to answer.

  Lucky for us, Murad posed that as a hypothetical question. “What I found was a caliber of initiative not often found amongst men. Rarer still in young boys. Tell me, which of you orchestrated this attack?”

  I thought for sure Dorian would point the finger at me. Not that I would blame him. While I didn’t fully understand what came over me, I knew the punishment for it was mine alone to bear. To spare him having to turn on his only friend, I tipped my face up to Murad. Draped in gold-plated armor, he dragged one hand down the length of his beard. Every finger was bejeweled with precious stones, announcing his power and prestige to all those who gazed upon him. Mouth creaking open, I struggled to form the words that would undoubtedly seal my fate.

  “We both did!” Dorian erupted. “T’was both of us, together, m’lord.”

  Murad’s black eyes narrowed as he considered us. “While it’s a far cry for two lads to achieve this level of carnage, it does seem it would border on impossible for one alone.”

  Outside, one of Murad’s men accompanying him gagged over the tavern’s grisly display.

  “My question,” Murad continued, twisting the ring on his pinky finger, “is who formed the plan that was carried out here?”

  “As he said, sir,” I managed, loathing how my voice cracked, “T’was both of us. Equal contributions led us here.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Had Dorian not called forth the Dragon I wouldn’t have fell victim to its influence.

  Folding his arms over his chest, Murad’s armor clanged together. “On top of everything, they believe in the strength of brotherhood.” Shaking his head, gray streaked hair brushed his shoulders. “Many called me mad, and doubted my methods, when I brought children into the folds of war. Behold what has grown from my efforts: a pair of cherub-faced lads deadlier than any blade.” With a crisp turn on his heel, he strode toward the door without a glance back. “The message here is clearly written. We need only ensure it is seen. Set a fire outside. Let’s draw a crowd to this spectacle.”

  “And the lads, sire?” One among his men ventured.

  Glancing back over his shoulder, a wry smile curled across Murad’s narrow face. “Them? They’re coming with us, of course. The finest room within my court shall be prepared. Any luxury they desire, that is within my grasp, will be granted to these industrious young men. From this point on, they are protected under my command, and considered an intricate part of my army. Anyone who dares to challenge, or harm them in any way will answer to me.”

  Somewhere deep within me, the Dragon hissed its wicked glee.

  Chapter Four

  Vinx

  Stepping off the jet, the wind lashed my hair against my cheeks, tossing what should have been my sleek bob haircut into a tangled disarray. Heavy gray clouds blocked out any traces of the sun, granting a temporary reprieve for the true vampires. For the moment, they could venture out without blanketed cover or the bothersome fear of spontaneously bursting into flames.

  The second the soles of my shoes connected with the concrete runway, I was greeted by a merry symphony of excited yips. Batdog, the French Bulldog I rescued from one of Markus’s twisted associates, wriggled free from Finn’s arms and scampered straight for me as fast as his chubby little legs would allow. Pointed ears blew back as he ran, and his tongue slapped against the side of his face. Happily scooping him up, I squeezed my eyes shut while he covered my face with sloppy kisses.

  Carter reached over my arm, to scratch the pup’s adorable smoosh face. “Oh, sure, when Batdog greets you like that, it’s cute. When I do it, I get told I should never have a third margarita.”

  “If it had just been me you did that to, it would have been okay,” I jabbed back, shifting the wriggling pooch from one hip to the other. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that’s why the mail lady doesn’t ring the bell when she drops off packages anymore.”

  Our attempt at lighthearted humor was squashed when we caught a glimpse of Micah rounding the nose of the jet. Head hanging, her long rope braids fell in a curtain that shielded her face. Arms crossed firmly over her chest, even at twenty yards away I could hear her sniffles. Tears slipped from her lashes in a steady current, glistening zigzagged paths down her mocha cheeks.

  Finn hung back at a respectful distance for a beat before hesitantly following her over. Maintaining an arms distance space, his silver-blue eyes traveled the length of her. Seductively handsome with an edge of danger, he dripped with sexual charisma. Undeniable pretty packaging—unless that package tore your family to pieces. Combine that with his arrogant demeanor, and tolerating him without bloodshed was the closest we would ever get toward reconciliation.

  “Mics?” Carter ventured, taking a tentative step in her direction.

  Micah wiped her nose on the back of her hand, her almond-shaped eyes brimming with blood-tinged tears. “I … I didn’t know,” she managed, chin quivering with a fresh round of sobs.

  “Know what?” My gaze lobbed from her to Finn and back again.

  “Jeremy!” Her voice broke at his name, shoulders shaking with a fresh peal of sobs. “I had no idea he was alive. The officers on the scene … my field techs … all confirmed you were the only survivor. Had I known, I would have brought him to the facility. I would have done all I could to save you both.”

  “She’s been crying since she saw the footage.” Looping his thumbs in the front pockets of his black jeans, Finn’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug of indifference. “I tried to tell her I was at that house and the kid even smelled dead, but that didn’t make her feel any better.”

  Carter pantomimed a stunned jerk at that revelation. “Wait, that didn’t make her feel better? Weird. It’s almost as if she can’t find the humor in the death of a sixteen-year-old kid.”

  Setting Batdog down, I let him run sprints around our cluster while I closed the distance between Micah and I. Rubbing my hands up and down her arms, I searched my brain for some sentiment that could make any of this better. Finding no such thing existed, I settled for the ugly truth. “I watched them break his neck, Mics,” I managed, in little more than a raspy whisper. “That bottom-feeder vamp I killed told me he drained what little life was left in Jer, then took his ear as a trophy. How he could have survived any of that, I don’t know. There’s no explanation for it, nor should you blame yourself in any way.”

  “Actually, Miss Larow, I can think of one very simple explanation you failed to consider.” They moved in a silent flock, riding the wind with little more than the rustle of fabric. Their team was made up of nearly twenty, comprised of men and women. Practically every race imaginable was represented amongst their numbers. All had their heads shaved, and wore matching black smocks and coordinating pants adorned with red piping. Broadswords, nestled in supple leather sheaths, were slung across their backs. The hilt of each engraved with the symbol for the Order of the Dragon.

  It was a black man with an easy smile, in the middle of the pack, that spoke. Pausing, he sent a nod of recognition to Elodie as she trotted down the stairs
of the jet with her bag flung over her shoulder. “I would guess your brother either had the serum your parents’ created in his blood stream prior to his death, or he drank from a vamp shortly beforehand.”

  I could feel the ache of my threatening fangs, and straightened my spine in attempt to keep my brewing rage contained. “My parents, whoever the hell you are—” Seeing his mouth swing open to fill in that blank, I held up one finger to halt him. “Not asking, don’t care. Point is, they kept their work on that project far from my brother and I. They never would have experimented on us without us knowing.”

  Smile widening, his gaze sharpened with equal parts interest and amusement. “I never said it was them, nor did I say he didn’t know.”

  A slew of nasty expletives threatening, I dragged my tongue over my top teeth. “Look, Captain Asshat—”

  “He goes by Ego,” Elodie interjected. Striding into the heart of our huddle, she punched her bag into Finn’s gut for him to take it. “He’s a member of the V.H.M.”

  “Oh, shit!” Micah snorted, laughing through her tears. “Vinx went for the passing insult. Elodie opted for the roundhouse-nut punch combo!”

  Clapping her fist over her heart, Elodie offered the squadron a salute they returned. “No one’s nuts were punched, I assure you. These elite humans are members of the Van Helsing Magi. Sworn protectors of Lord Draculesti. Guardians of the Nosferatu way of life. Once joining the ranks, they forego their identity and take on the call name of the mortal sin they are most guilty of. As you can see by his smirk, Ego has yet to overcome his earthly curse.”