Enemy Within (Vampire Born Trilogy, #2)

by Kace, Angeline

  Ace laughs. “Then, nah. Hand me that pillow and blanket and I’ll be fine over here.”

  I hear the clap of the pillow as Ace catches it, followed by the rustle as he lies down and adjusts next to the desk along the wall.

  The room is somewhat small, but the furniture is nice and so is the color scheme. What I think allows the hotel to charge as much as it does is the view.

  From the sixth floor, a large portion of the city spreads out before me. Almost all the rooftops are cloaked in the same faded coral tiles. It’s beautiful in the moonlight, accented by the sparkling city lights. It’s so foreign from the States.

  And right outside is Ban Jelacic Square. Croatia is six hours ahead of Virginia time, so it’s three in the morning, but there’s some kind of event or festival going on down there. The muffled music makes its way into our room, even though the window’s shut.

  December in Croatia feels similar to how it does in Virginia, so it’s cold tonight. Regardless, the square is filled with people.

  The lampposts are intricate in design, painted the same shade of white. They stretch high above the cobblestone streets. I’m excited we get to see more of the city tomorrow.

  Mirko says we’ll be doing a lot of walking and where we can’t walk, we’ll take the tram, which goes through the square. Everything is so different and wondrous here. I’d like to be visiting under different circumstances and be able to stay longer.

  I imagine Mirko and me down in the square, surrounded by people, bundled in our coats, dancing to Lady Gaga through the speakers, just like everyone else. He holds my hand, touches my waist, and smiles at me like he used to—with his lips and his eyes. The bright lights from the streetlamps would make his chestnut eyes sparkle.

  I shake the thought away and stare at my feet as I walk back to the bed and climb in. I turn to face the window.

  Kaitlynn squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.

  I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about Mirko anymore tonight.

  ***

  After the delicious breakfast service, Kaitlynn and Ace separate from Mirko and me. Kaitlynn still can’t locate Kresimira, so we have to go out and search for her.

  Mirko switches out American money for kuna and I follow him out to the square. I’m pretty sure he’s spending all of his own money. “I’ll have Garwin reimburse you when we get home.”

  Mirko nods but doesn’t say anything.

  Maybe I should’ve requested to go with Ace. I was hoping an opportunity would arise that would allow some of the tension to ease between us, but it won’t if he’s going to act like this the whole time.

  Normally, whenever I’ve talked about money with him, he’s told me not to worry about it. I’m not sad he’s no longer willing to pay my way, but more because of the reason behind it; I’m not his anymore.

  Mirko and I walk the city for hours. The narrow streets and cobblestone pathways are like a fairy tale come to life. We pass a Romanesque-style museum and Gothic cathedral after Gothic cathedral. I love it all.

  We stop occasionally while Mirko asks in Croatian for directions, or if people have seen this person or that person, who hopefully could lead us to Kresimira, and then we’re walking again.

  I try to carry on conversations with him, but he’s short in his responses. Eventually, I give up and focus on enjoying the city.

  Zagreb has a welcoming feel to it. It is foreign, but I embrace it. The people have all been nice, and overall most of them seem happy here.

  The tram runs everywhere and shares lanes with the cars. Mirko doesn’t want to take the tram yet, though. “It’s harder to spot someone when you’re not on the street,” he says.

  I don’t mind. A lot of the streets are lined with stone-tiled walkways that give the area a special look. I wish we had more places like this in the States. But the idea back home is always to build cheaper and faster. There’s pride here beyond the number or height of high-rises. There is a bustle here, but the vibe is … alive, instead of rushed. Reveling in it makes it easier for me to not dwell on Mirko’s continued silent treatment.

  “I want to try one more place before we meet back up with Ace and Kaitlynn,” Mirko says when he stops at an ATM-looking kiosk to buy tram tickets.

  I don’t say anything in response because it seems kind of pointless. We’re doing it anyway, and it’s not like anything I say will keep him talking.

  I notice the kiosk has an option to exchange currency. “How come you traded the money out at the hotel instead of with one of these?”

  “Because the service fee rate for the exchange the hotel gave me is better than what we could get at these kiosks.”

  “Oh.”

  We wait with a small crowd of people and board the blue train. I watch the cars and the people and the city as the train stops for lights and other drop-off points.

  There’s something else I’ve been wondering. “You’ve been in America for a long time now. And you use a lot of slang like Ace and Hawk, so why do you still have your accent?”

  He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “I was Croatian before I was turned, before I was someone’s property. It’s a part of me I never wanted to lose.”

  And I love him for it. I’m sad, but I smile.

  Mirko doesn’t see it. He stands as we approach a stop closer to the square. I follow him off the tram when the doors open.

  We walk for a little bit and then up to a large, beige-stoned building with older architecture and a sign that Mirko translates—a museum. “Kersten is a historian for the Zao Duhs and Pijawikas. He’s one of us, and he’s outside the gangs of Zao Duhs, but I can’t be certain he won’t speak to someone about me coming by. He’ll recognize me, so let’s try to make this a good visit. Ask him lots of questions. There’s nothing Kersten enjoys more than rambling about our history.”

  “Does he speak English?”

  “Yes, most Croats do. And Kersten has been around a long time, so he’s had longer to practice it.”

  When we walk inside, the lobby is huge. Polished stone covers the floor, the walls, and the desk in the center.

  We stroll up to the desk and Mirko speaks to the clerk in Croatian. I take in the expanse since I don’t understand a word he’s saying. Well, except “Bog,” which is hello. I figured that one out on my own. It’s the first thing Mirko says when we approach someone.

  The clerk rises from her seat and leads us down the hall. We pass statues in bronze and stone, framed rugs, and antiquities I’d love to stop and look at.

  When we reach the end of a corridor, the lady types some numbers into a keypad and then the wall in front of us separates into a small doorway with stairs leading down.

  Mirko turns to her and says what I think is “thank you.” He goes first and I follow him down the winding steps. When we reach close enough to the bottom that we see the checkered floor in front of us, Mirko calls out to Kersten.

  A mustached man in an orange T-shirt and dark jeans pops out from behind an old bookcase. “Mirko!” he greets jovially.

  Yep, he recognizes him.

  Mirko talks to him in Croatian, which I think is kind of jerkface of him because he said the dude can speak English fine.

  They go back and forth. It appears Mirko keeps asking something, and Kersten is trying to reassure Mirko of it. Good, maybe he’s willing to help us.

  Mirko finally points to me and says, “This is Brooke. She’d like for you to give her a tour of our history.”

  Kersten beams at me and leans in, kissing my right cheek, then my left. “Brooke, welcome. Follow me,” Kersten says. “Everything you see down here is from our history only. The human history is upstairs.”

  “Wow,” I say. Some of this stuff looks really old.

  The space down here is large like it is upstairs, but the place is packed and has a stuffier, claustrophobic feel to it. There are rows and rows of items in glass cases for preservation. We stop at a lot of them for Kersten to explain all about the contents. He also explains ho
w the first documented case of vampires was actually here in Croatia, from a Pijawika who didn’t own anyone or anything, so he spent his evenings terrorizing the townsfolk.

  At this point, I’m fascinated. I don’t have to put on an act to seem interested or to keep the questions coming. They roll off my tongue, and Kersten beams the whole time.

  I like him. He has so much passion for this history that it’s hard not to be excited with him.

  We stop at a case that has what looks like wrought iron handcuffs. They’re rusted and old. Metal on the side of one cuff has eroded.

  “These are leg cuffs from the eighteenth century. They were used mostly on the Zao Duhs because they were the ones who were harder to catch if they ran,” Kersten says.

  I look over at Mirko.

  Did he wear something similar to these?

  He stares at me, neither accepting nor denying my questioning face, which can only mean he did.

  I’m not excited about this stuff anymore. The horrors Mirko lived through were always very real to me, but seeing real evidence of something used to keep him in bondage makes me sick.

  I turn and walk away with my hand covering my mouth. Tears burn my eyes. I want to talk to Mirko about it. I long to wrap my arms around him and take away the pain he endured. I want to make it better. But I can’t. Not even if things were right between us could I take all that terrible away from him.

  “Over here,” Kersten says. “There’s one more thing I want to show you.” He still sounds excited, but at the same time, anxious. Like he’s worried I’m going to end his show-and-tell.

  I swallow hard and compose myself. I’m ready to leave now, but I better play along. We need his help and I don’t want my inability to stomach this sadness to be what gets us into trouble.

  I turn around but don’t look at Mirko or the case with the shackles. Kersten is hovering over a different case that houses a browning parchment with handwriting that appears ancient.

  “This,” Kersten says, and he’s so enthused, I’m irritated, “is the document your father wrote and signed, giving humans and Zao Duhs their freedom.”

  I turn to Kersten and my annoyance fades. I glance back at Mirko, then back to the case and take a closer look. I can’t read anything it says because it’s not in English. “Read it to me, please?” I have to know what it says.

  “I, Zladislov Posavski, the Head of the worldwide Pijawikan Commission, hereby declare from this day forward that no Pijawikan may take a human or Zao Duh, or their likeness, as property.

  “All owners shall release their servants at once. Freedom is the epitome of power, for those who rule with a free people are those who contain the most organic power. It is for the benefit of all our races that we should all be free, ruled only by Pijawikas of the highest order.”

  Wow! My dad did this. I am in awe. I replay in my head what Kersten read, try to engrave it in my memory.

  “And he signed it right here.” Kersten taps his finger to the glass above where the signature is.

  I stare at the document. This is like a version of the US Constitution. Or the Emancipation Proclamation. Only Abraham Lincoln is my dad! Holy shit.

  I stand up on my toes and kiss Kersten on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you so much for showing me this. You have given me something I can never, ever repay you for.”

  Kersten’s mustache straightens into a line when he smiles again. “Thank you, child. I haven’t been this thrilled to show someone something in a long while.”

  Mirko speaks for the first time since he introduced me to Kersten. “We’re looking for Kresimira. Do you know where she is or where we should start looking for her?”

  Kersten watches Mirko for a moment. “She is in town, I know that much. I would check the Sirup Club or Club Gallery if it is electronic music night.”

  “Really?” I ask. An old vampire enjoys techno? I hold back a laugh.

  “Yes, she is very fond of those places.”

  Hmm. I guess vampires don’t stop living when time goes on. They’d have to adapt and change with the world, and techno is a big thing in Europe right now. Everywhere, actually.

  Mirko thanks Kersten and says a few other things in Croatian, and then we leave.

  We head back toward our earlier tram stop.

  We’re quiet, as we both seem to be lost in our own thoughts. At least I am. Mirko could be giving me the cold shoulder still, but I’m too enamored with everything I saw to tell the difference. I do have some questions, though. “When my dad wrote that humans, Zao Duhs, and their likeness were not to be property anymore, do you think it was because he already knew Emerik was a melez?”

  Mirko actually answers me. “He’d have to have known. It reads like forethought about melezes, as if he had a reason to care about them too. He wasn’t referencing werewolves because they don’t exist,” he jokes.

  I don’t attempt to hold back a smile. The heaviness in my chest eases. It’s all related to him talking to me because the other question I have is a yucky one. “So when my dad wrote that, did Jelena let you go right away?”

  Mirko’s quiet for a minute, and I start to believe he won’t answer me. When he does, he’s hesitant. “No. She did not.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “When your father found out she hadn’t released us, he came in and forced our release.”

  “Wow, he’s full of surprises today.” And so is Mirko. Mirko stuck by me against not only the man who wrote the legislation that freed him but also the man who demanded his freedom in person.

  I can’t imagine the kind of allegiance that could garner. Or why he’d still defend me after finding out who my dad is.

  “He was the one who came to me with the key and opened my shackles.”

  I halt and pull his elbow to stop him because there’s a crowd by the tram stop. “Mirko, I—”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t.” He looks away. “The tram’s coming.” He walks off toward the crowd.

  Everything about Mirko is more layered than I realized. I love him more and more each day, even when he doesn’t want me anymore.

  My heart beats slowly, like pain is blocking some of its chambers.

  I cross my arms tight over my chest, pushing my shoulders up to my ears, and breathe heavily to try to get it working normal again.

  I relax some standing next to Mirko. I follow him onto the tram and we sit on one of the bench seats. “We’ll have to go shopping once we meet up with Kaitlynn and Ace.”

  Shopping? “What for?”

  “If we’re going clubbing tonight, we need to be dressed appropriately.”

  I drop my hands into my lap. Me in sexy clothes in a dark, tight space with Mirko? He’ll have no choice but to pay attention to me.

  Tonight. Tonight I’ll fix things.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Mirko

  Ace and Kaitlynn are on their way to Club Gallery because tonight is electronica night.

  Brooke and I are on our way to the Sirup Club. Both are swanky as hell, so I had to pay more for our shopping excursion than expected. I can’t really say it’s a bad thing, though, because the number Brooke is wearing is worth every penny.

  It’s a bronze, sequined mini that shines gold in the light, with a deep V-neck and skinny straps hugging her shoulders to keep it on her body.

  The shiny fabric is snug in all the right places and covers enough skin to make me want to see more. Too bad she had to go and put herself in the “do not touch” group because these fingers, this tongue, are itching to touch.

  We finally step up to the doorman in front of Club Sirup, and I hand him our IDs. “She’s eighteen,” I say, sprinkling in enough Sanjam to get the guy to let Brooke in, but not enough for anyone to think the better of it.

  He opens the door to stale cigarette smoke and puts his hand out for me to give him our cover charge.

  I give him the kunas and place my hand on the small of Brooke’s back as we walk inside. I’m not trying to get frisk
y with her, but I don’t want anyone else to, either.

  The white, padded walls of the tight curving hallway are lit with evenly placed neon blue LEDs. The walls mold into arched ceilings, giving the hall an intimate flair. We’re not even to the main area of the club yet and already it’s an experience.

  We check our coats at the end of the hall.

  “It’s cold,” Brooke says after we walk away from the coat check.

  “It’ll get warmer once we’re surrounded by the body heat on the main floor.”

  The thumping music vibrates beneath our feet before we reach the stairs. Lights are everywhere, serving as the primary focus of the club’s décor. Strategically placed lights run along the walls, down the stairs, along the bar and DJ booth, and along the ceiling. Pink, blue, and orange are the base colors with green and yellow lasers shooting across the crowded room.

  “Wow!” Brooke yells over the music. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” She’s bouncing her shoulders and hips to the tempo as we make our way along the wall over to the bar.

  I keep her close while searching the faces for the one we’re looking for.

  We wait behind a group of people ordering drinks. I get a good look at each of them as they pass, and then it’s our turn. “Two colas,” I tell the bartender in Croatian.

  As soon as he gives us our drinks, I’m clearing a path through the thumping crowd to the other side of the room.

  Brooke looks at me a couple of times and steps in front of me to get me to dance with her. A part of me wants to, but we’re here for more than that, and I need to stay focused. She has a way of making me forget everything else around us. Especially when she rocks her hips and shakes her ass like that.

  Brooke gets more and more frustrated throughout the night. But not for the same reasons I am.

  I’m wearing white pants and a black zip-up sweater. It hugs my chest and shoulders, but is loose around the waist and hips. Brooke’s been appreciating it all night. Plus, I won’t dance with her. I know she’s feeling awkward because we’re not dancing. According to her, we’re standing around like “a couple of weirdoes.”