“We could go our separate way from him,” Bella replied thoughtfully. “He will not turn back from this fight, no matter how hopeless it is.”
“We can’t leave him here. He’d…he wouldn’t stand a chance on his own.”
“I don’t know as we stand a chance if we stay by his side, Eddie.” Bella reached out and placed her hand on the young man’s arm. His face rose in hope. Zadok was playing on the boy’s broken heart. “But we could survive together without him. You and me.”
Damn you to Hell, Zadok. Damn you to the pits for this.
And damn Eddie for not seeing through the vampire’s ploy. Eddie was smiling at her with such a puppy-dog expression it forced Maxine to turn away to keep from revealing the game. She needed to hide her face and her look of horror and disgust. She could not have imagined that Zadok could have hidden himself for two days among the people who claimed to know Bella best.
But he was right. Eddie loved the idea of her and clung to the hope of a future with her through all the signs that something might be amiss.
The monsters around her always seemed to be right.
“What’s wrong, Maxine?” Bella asked.
The curses she rattled off in her head toward Zadok were colorful and creative. The Roma had taught her well. She was going to give him an earful when this was all said and done. “Nothing. I am tired. There is a cloud in this city of corruption, maliciousness, and lies. It is wearing me thin.”
“Yeah. It’s influencing all of us.” Eddie grunted. “C’mon. Tomorrow we’ll try to talk sense into Al again. Maybe if the three of us try to convince him, it’ll work.”
“I don’t think so.” Maxine turned back to them when she could swallow the urge to punch “Bella” in the face. “Sadly, I think there is little that will sway him from his need for revenge.”
“I know.” Eddie took off his leather hat to scratch over his dusty hair. He was in bad need of a bath. They all were. “But sometimes it’s not about winning, it’s about trying. Sometimes that’s all we’ve got to show for ourselves in the end.”
And with that, the young man plodded up the stairs after his leader who, by the sounds of it, was still intent on destroying furniture in his impotent rage.
“Who knew the whelp was a prophet?” Zadok snickered before nudging Maxine’s elbow. “I did not miss your jab, don’t worry. Come on, my dove. Tonight, I win my bet.” With that, the false huntress walked up the stairs, carrying Maxine’s chains. She had no choice but to follow.
She did not know what she dreaded more—spending another night in the house with the hunters, one of whom was irate, or fishing through the vampire’s head for some unknown reason.
They were about tied.
12
The hunters were silent all through dinner and into the evening. “Evening” being only the product of the clocks in the house and Alfonzo’s pocket watch keeping the time. The darkness never changed.
Maxine did nothing to try to break the silence or to spark up a conversation. Alfonzo appeared itching to break someone or scream, and she was not going to volunteer to be first in line to either event. She ate the scavenged food and took up her position lying on the sofa by the wall.
Bella offered to take the first shift, and Maxine knew why. Alfonzo and Eddie agreed, and they lay down on their makeshift beds and seemingly fell asleep. Whether they did so naturally or because they had some help from Zadok and his magic, she did not know. It was all the same to her.
The “woman” sat on the ground near where Maxine was lying, her back against the front of the sofa. She patted her dress dramatically.
“Really, I’m not sure how your gender gets anything done. It isn’t even the tits that are the problem—yes, fine, they’re distracting—it’s the damnable lack of pockets that is the real issue here.” Bella looked down at herself and picked up the folds of her skirt and dropped them in frustration. “Is this a manner of repression I have been previously unaware of? That if we let you wear comfortable clothing that serves any functional purpose, you might revolt?”
Maxine rolled over to lie on her back, watching the false huntress complain. “It’s quite possible.”
“It’s asinine.” Bella’s form melted back into that of the vampire’s true shape, who stretched and grunted as if releasing himself from constraints. “That’s better. That’s a world better.”
“And you weren’t even wearing a corset. I am grateful I haven’t had to march through the city in mine, I will admit.”
“I am not sure how you are still walking. All Eddie can do is complain about his feet, and he’s in sensible footwear. You’re in heels.”
“It’s astonishing what people will learn to accept if they feel they don’t have any other option.” Maxine looked up at the ceiling. “Zadok…what happens tomorrow?”
“Pardon?”
“Vlad has led me to believe this jaunt around the city ends tomorrow. He has referenced that the hunters will abandon me in this city. You have hinted at the same. What are you both plotting?”
“Do you really wish to know?”
“This time, yes, I think I do.”
Zadok shrugged. “As you wish. Tomorrow, I will reveal that Bella is our prisoner and has been for two days. If they agree to leave us and this city in peace, we shall return Bella to them unharmed.”
“I cannot imagine Mordecai will agree to that.”
“It will not happen, so it does not matter. Eddie will wish to take the deal. Alfonzo will not. He is too caught up in his desperate need to destroy Dracula to turn away now. It will be what fractures them in half.”
Maxine sighed and shut her eyes. “You’re right.”
“I am a manipulator and an illusionist. This is my game. And with Vlad’s assistance, I fear they stand little chance.” Zadok leaned his head back and rested it on her arm. There was no need to pull away from him. It was a friendly gesture, little more. She had enough reasons to loathe the man; she did not need to take insult where there was none meant. It was clear he was accustomed to being near to others in a way that she was not. “And then, I fear, comes your part to play in tomorrow’s affairs.”
“Which is what?”
“We will tell them that the only way they will be allowed to make forward progress into our Master’s city is if they leave you behind. The boy will chase after Bella and try to free her. The old fool will hunt down our Master alone. They will both die.”
Maxine shut her eyes and knew he was very likely correct in his assumptions. Zadok was, for all his faults, a strong judge of a person’s character. He had played the role of Bella flawlessly for two days and skillfully hidden his lie from the two men. And her predictions were, sadly, the same as his.
“You do not wish to argue? To fight me and claim that they shall do the right thing? That they could not possibly be so foolhardy in their selfish needs?”
“No. I have nothing on which to base such opinions. I dread what may become of them, and I may hope you are wrong, but it is merely that—hopes alone. And I have long since learned that when it comes to predicting human nature…optimism is worthless.”
“I am glad to end this game. I tire of the charade. Now it is simply boring. But I do have one opportunity for entertainment left, do I not? I won our bet.”
“I never did honestly agree to any of this.”
“Oh, come now. Don’t be such a sorry sport. Besides—you could rip my soul from my body if you find me so repulsive, no?” He nudged her arm, and when she looked over to him, he was holding up his hand to her. “Where is the harm in it?”
“The harm in it is quite simply this—if I tear out your soul, a piece of it remains within me, forever marking me like a scar. I would have to suffer with a bit of you inside my mind for the rest of my life.”
“That explains why you do not simply run about destroying everyone who annoys you.” Zadok cringed then grinned. “But mine will not be so much of a scar as it would be a beauty mark, no? Think of it—a l
ittle bit of me, following you about wherever you go. How wonderful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why, Zadok? Why put yourself at risk? I cannot imagine you are so curious as to why Dracula has become interested in me that you would put your own eternal existence on the line.”
His expression darkened, and he lowered his hand with a sigh. “If he dies…if he truly dies? If you rip him to pieces because you decide he is not worthy of life? Then I will be left alone. I suppose it is possible that I could die as well—all of us, our eternal plague—might fall apart without the source at its head. I think I would prefer that to the alternative. To abandonment.”
There was an ache in his words. A hollowness that struck her. She reached out and placed her gloved hand on his shoulder. For all his showmanship, he was terrified. She could sense it burning away like a fire. It was a childish kind of fear. One that cried out for someone to come and make it right. A lonely kind of thing, desperate for an embrace.
He was afraid of being left alone. Dracula was his family.
“I want to know why you’re worth it.”
Maxine took off her glove and offered him her hand. “I will do my best not to destroy you. I am sorry if I do.”
“I am not so fragile as those mortal things you killed.” He smiled, an expression that did not reach his eyes and left him looking sad more than anything else. “And if I am, then enjoy carrying a piece of me around with you, I suppose.” He took her hand.
His touch was cold like Vlad’s.
Then it happened. His soul was touching hers.
She pulled in a breath and shut her eyes as his memories crashed over her.
“Get up, sewer rat!”
A foot met his ribs. He tasted blood and dirt in his mouth. It didn’t matter. He didn’t have much else to taste. This time he did not feel a crunch when the foot met his midsection like he did the previous week. He grunted in pain and spat the viscous liquid that pooled under his tongue, bitter and hot.
“Get up! It’s no fun if you don’t fight back.”
“Stop it, Robin.”
One of the older boys—one of the stronger ones—reached down and yanked him up from the ground. The world tilted and moved violently as he was pushed. He reeled, crashed into a pile of crates in the warehouse their little pack had taken up residence in. The wood constructs rocked and teetered, but he was much smaller than they were.
He was smaller than most of the other boys, even for his age.
The older boy—Girard—marched forward and glowered down at him with his best attempt at looking authoritative. “What’ve you got to show for your day?”
He was supposed to have gathered and stolen. Pickpocketed and lied to bring back a haul for the others. But it had been a terrible day. It had rained throughout the entirety of it, and the markets were bare of the foolish aristocrats who kept their belongings tucked in the easily pilfered outer pockets of their coats.
Zadok could only shake his head. He had nothing. He had come back emptyhanded.
And that was a sin.
A sin he had to pay for.
“Then you know what happens.” Girard sneered as he undid the fly of his pants. “Turn around, sewer rat.”
This was his punishment. He deserved this. It was better than being alone.
Anything was better than being alone.
He turned and bent over the crate. This was not his first time being scolded in such a way.
He doubted it would be his last.
“No! Don’t leave me—please, please don’t—” he cried as he watched the carriage roll away. He chased it, tripping over himself. His aching ankle, sprained from the beating he had been given, was useless. He landed in the dirt and the muck and the ruts left behind by the wheels of those with money and privilege.
How he wished to be like them.
Fancy. Rich. Clean. Popular. Beautiful.
But he was a servant. An orphan. A homeless man who had scrubbed pots and risen through the ranks of the local lord in an attempt to secure himself some manner of safety, of security, of family.
The lord’s daughter had taken a shining to him. He did clean up well, she said. She had brought him to the garden one night, pulling him along by the hand, and had begged him to touch her. She had spread her legs, rolled up her skirt, and displayed herself to him like a fruit on a branch, begging to be tasted.
And so, he had.
And the lord had found out about it when she was with child.
She was to be taken to a local doctor to “dispose of the infection.” When he had screamed and raged over the destruction of a life that belonged to him, as well, the lord had seen him beaten low and driven to the middle of nowhere and left for dead.
To rot.
To ruin.
Perhaps he should die like this. In the gutters and the dirt where he was born.
It was dark when he heard the wolf howl in the distance. The moon was high in the sky when teeth tore into his throat. Not those of an animal—but those of a man. Cruel and harsh. He thought he had desired death to greet him. He thought he would welcome it with open arms. But standing there at the precipice, he fought back. He wanted to live. He wanted to fight for each new breath as the one that followed might be denied to him.
His fervor caught the monster’s attention.
A bloody wrist was proffered to him, and he drank from it greedily.
It tasted like home.
Ash. That was all he saw. Ash. Not the room, not the note upon the dresser, not the others standing about him weeping for their loss.
Only ash.
His Master was gone. The sun still streamed from the curtains, pooling on the carpet, painting it in shades of blue and black. The fire that had consumed his Master had done great damage to the thick and expensive covering.
Numbly, he walked to the desk and picked up the note that lay upon it. He did not read every word. He did not need to. He knew what it said.
It expressed sorrow, reluctance, but a need to go. A lack of desire to keep living. It was what notes like these all said. It was empty of real meaning and real regret.
Zadok crumpled the note and left to pack his things. His Master was dead. His family was once more gone. But there was another, an eternal one, whispered in lore and legends and spoken of even amongst their kind like the King of All who Died. A dangerous and powerful thing who had been denied true death long ago.
He would find this King of Vampires.
And he would kneel at his feet.
He would find a home that could not leave him. Someday. Somehow.
Maxine snapped out of the visions with a gasp and sat up. She was shaking like a leaf. Those visions and more crashed through her mind. A life of loneliness, of fleeting pleasure both taken and given, and a life of seeking a place to belong.
Her heart was pounding in her ears, and it took her a long time to steady her breathing. It was only then that she looked to Zadok, wondering if she would find him empty-eyed upon the floor, staring up at the ceiling only never to see it again.
But he was not a shell of a creature. He was crying. Silently, tears of crimson ran down his cheeks. Vampires could cry, it seemed…and they did so in blood. It was only fitting. She slid down onto the floor beside him and, reaching up her bare hands, slowly brushed the tears from his cheeks. She did not care for how they might stain. She reached out and gently gathered him into her arms. Wordlessly, she pulled him into an embrace.
He sobbed, all tension fleeing him as he chose to lie in her lap. She stroked his hair slowly, shushing him. Trying to do what she could to soothe his pain. Pain she now understood firsthand.
If she killed Dracula, he would be alone again.
“I am so sorry, Zadok…” she whispered. “My platitudes are vapid and bland, I know. There is little to be said for things that have been suffered. There is little condolence to be said to those whose lives have been like yours that does not feel insipid. But I am here, and I…I am sorry.”
Hi
s yellow eyes shut, and he lay there in her embrace, his fingers curling into the fabric of her skirts like a child hugging a pillow. They stayed like that for some time in silence, with her gently stroking his hair.
He pulled in a deep and wavering breath before letting it out in a rush. When he spoke, his voice was haggard and strained. “Thank you. I understand now.”
13
Bella was lounging against the headboard. She had pillows arranged behind her, but she was sitting upright, thinking over the creature who was lying half in her lap like a giant cat. Mordecai—the incubus, a thought that still seemed to hitch her thoughts every time it occurred to her—was asleep. His head was in her lap, horns and all, and he was draped over her right leg.
His tail had wound around her ankle several times, holding on to her as if that part of him was concerned she might wander off. A tail, with its jewelry at the end, that seemed to have a life of its own. He swore it acted of its own whim and on instinct most of the time. She now knew in a very personal sense. Oh, the terrible things he had done with it during the night made her cheeks grow warm. The terrible and wonderful things he had done.
She began stroking his rakish, unevenly cut blond hair. It looked like someone had tried to cut it with hedge sheers, but it suited him all the same. Slowly, she kept stroking her fingernails gently along his scalp. The gesture had lured him to sleep, and now it seemed to be doing quite a good job of keeping him there.
She was touching him like a lover.
We are lovers.
She had taken him into her body willingly. She had been the one who had climbed into bed with him. He had not coerced or blackmailed her. He had merely pointed out the faulty reasoning behind her adherence to her shame. The darkest thing he had done to convince her to sleep with him had only been to point out that she had no reason to feel guilty for it.
Curse of Dracula Page 11
