Prince 0f Blood (Dracula's Bloodline Book 3)

by Ana Calin

  The priest pauses with a bitter expression on his face that is now clearer, having come out more from under his hood. I must say, he’s ugly as fuck.

  “Milord will be happy to hear that.”

  He makes to leave, but I stop him.

  “How will I find your Lord?”

  “Don’t worry about that. He will find you.”

  Lord Dracula

  I HEAR THE OLD PRIEST’S steps before he even enters the cave. Anticipation bubbles in my veins.

  “She has arrived?” I say when I hear him close at the bottom of the dais. I’m standing with my back to him beside my throne, facing my latest kill.

  He swallows hard, unable to answer—must be the sight of two vampires hanging from the stalactites where they’ve been impaled for treason, their blood pooling in golden cups in front of me. The others are creeping in from the adjacent tunnels, waiting for their turn at the traitors’ blood.

  “I’ve asked you a question.”

  “She has. I ensured her comfort at Magda the Witch’s old house.”

  I look up at the cave ceiling, the sensation of impending freedom filling my chest. I spread my arms, the black cape falling off my mailed forearms.

  “Finally, the Grail.” I breathe in and close my eyes, picturing myself walking into the sunlight, facing blades of silver, the cuts healing just like after contact with any other weapon. Finally, I’ll retake my rightful place in this world—at the top of it. It’s long overdue.

  “Come, my warriors,” I call the vampires, who have already started to creep faster out of the tunnels, sensing my good mood. “Enjoy the wine of the traitors’ blood. Let it run through your own veins.”

  Even though I’m still standing with my back to the Old Priest, up kingly dark stairs by a black thorny throne, I know he shudders.

  “You have more to tell me?” There’s darkness in my voice.

  “Milord, there’s something about her we might not have anticipated.”

  I swirl around, making him cringe and stumble backwards.

  “Yes?”

  “Milord, I—”

  I start down the stairs, the chains of my boots clamoring with each step. The moment I step down the last stair, the old man hunches harder under his priestly cape, rubbing his hands and walking backwards away from me. He seems unable to talk. I stop walking, eyes fixed on him. I can read in his face how much he hates me; he’d strike me dead if he could, but he’s not strong enough—yet, he thinks; I know he works on overthrowing me, and the two traitors now hanging from the stalactites were helping.

  “Old Priest, have you ever wondered why I resent you?”

  “I wonder every day, milord,” he admits. “After all, we are all vampires, creatures of the dark.”

  I snort. “Yes, but not all of us by choice, like you. I became what I am against my will, all these vampires here as well—I created them without asking their opinion; so their sins are on me. But those like you? Humans wanting to become vampires out of sheer power mongering? You are the real beasts.” I spit out the last word.

  “With all due respect, milord. Would you trade your power for mortality?”

  I clench my teeth to keep from biting his head off. “Of, course, you would think I enjoy being this—” I motion to myself with all the anger I feel. “—this monster.”

  “Forgive me, milord. But I can’t imagine how someone who’s experienced power at the level you have could ever again learn how to live without it.”

  The vampires around gasp and whisper at his nerve, some retreat again in fear. My jaw ticks in anger, my irises fill with blood, surely going ruby red. But just the moment the entire gathering is certain I’m going to squash the priest, I laugh and open my arms widely.

  “Well, I was always a liberal thinker. You are entitled to your opinion without being punished for it.” I motion behind me at the bleeding traitors. “Unless you act on those opinions.”

  “Milord,” the Old Priest says, “no matter my opinions, I came here to tell you something about Miss Ruxandra Len. Something that I, for one, didn’t anticipate. The girl is the spitting image of your late wife, Lady Ruxandra Basarab.”

  I watch him with the blood burning in my eyes for moments. He seems to disintegrate under the heaviness of my stare, but then I grin. It’s the grin of the vampire, shiny fangs and all, but he deserves no less.

  “I can tell by the look in your eyes you think she’ll sway me. You think I’ll go all weak and soft at the sight of her,” I continue as I pace past him, talking for the entire cave.

  “How little faith you have in me, Old Priest. And lack of faith is something I tolerate no better than being accused that I like being a monster.” I focus on the memory of Ruxandra. I remember her perfectly, every fine feature of her white face, the small but full mouth, the pretty nose, the big dark eyes. A beautiful woman, but beauty doesn’t do anything for me anymore, plus that Ruxandra betrayed me too deeply to still move me. My heart is cold inside my chest.

  “Milord,” the Old Priest says, “I’m not worried her looks might sway you.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  He licks his chapped lips and kneads his hands as if his nerves are close to snapping. “It’s the demon. The demon that Lady Ruxandra brought into your life centuries ago. It’s with the girl as well.”

  The news goes like a blade through me. I turn my back to the old man to hide the expression that must have loosened my features, and walk towards my throne.

  “An enemy you never defeated,” the Old Priest reminds me.

  “Do not try to make me appear weak, priest. I could not defeat Ruxandra’s demon because he kept himself in the dark. He never faced me, but crept in the shadows. If I had his name....” That last sentence is to myself. Having a demon’s name means having power over it, being able to banish it. I turn to the priest, pointing at him, my hand wrapped in mail as big as his head.

  “Maybe you know more about binding demons.”

  “The power over this one lies with the girl alone, milord.” He approaches the rocky base of my throne as he speaks the following, finally having reached the point he wanted to make all along.

  “The girl came here looking for answers. Our decoy, Dalton, went to England with the story of her bloodline leading to you, ready to fascinate her into coming here with him. But in England he discovered that a curse had been plaguing her for years—all the men who ever courted her ended up in a very bad state. Prince Radek and Juliet Jochs blocked her access to her dark powers when she was little, in order to keep her alive; her powers stayed in her past, but the demon never really went away.” He stops in front of the dais, his eyes glittering. This man is fascinated with all things evil. “She came here looking for a way to get rid of the curse. Help her, and you will finally unmask your arch-nemesis, and you’ll have his name. The name of the creature that took Lady Ruxandra away from you.”

  “He didn’t take Ruxandra away,” I say through my teeth. “She gave herself to him. She said she pledged herself in order to help me in my battles, but she used most of that power for herself. But the devil is a cunning ally. In the end, he seduced her, and then drove her to suicide.”

  The old man nods, eyes fixed on mine, pretending to understand. “You must have felt so betrayed.”

  “Betrayed, fooled, used,” I snarl, all the vampires around flinching and crawling backwards inside the tunnels, the Old Priest cringing hard.

  I walk away from him and the other vampires, facing my black throne. I take in a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

  “You say she came here looking for this demon.”

  “Looking for a way to get rid of her curse.” He pauses, letting me chew on my own thoughts, then he speaks again. “Help her first, milord. Finally defeat the creature, otherwise it will always be a shadow over you, always a threat. Then you can have the girl’s blood.”

  My temper flares, the blood shooting like fire all through me. I turn around swiftly, the cape flying
around me, and jump down to him. In an instant my mailed hand is around his neck, and I’ve lifted him from the ground.

  “Dirty fucker,” I snarl at him, baring my fangs. The hood falls off his blotched head, his face full of terror, his hands clawing to my grip as his legs dangle in the air. “You presume to tell me what I can have and when. You try to infiltrate my mind and order me around like a puppet king. I should crush your throat bones, then impale you right between those two traitors.” I jerk with my head behind me at the two dead vampires whose blood is pooling in the cups.

  “Milord,” Tristan, my second in command, intervenes. My mind taken with the Old Priest, the Grail and my arch-nemesis, I hadn’t paid attention to him coming into the cave.

  “If I may put in a good word for the priest,” he says, approaching in his black suit with a black turtleneck under it, looking like my personal hit man. With his icy blue eyes, chiseled young face and white hair arranged in spikes, he’s a vision of cruelty. Although hard and unforgiving, Tristan is very loyal. Like me, he bears the marks of torture on his body, and the scars of military training all over his dead heart. If anyone can bend my resolve, it’s him.

  “Killing the girl without eliminating the demon might trigger more trouble than it solves. Sure, you must face him, in the end. But without his name, you won’t be able to conquer him.”

  He stops by my side. He’s shorter and leaner than me, but still the only vampire whose mental and physical strength impresses me.

  I set the Old Priest down, looking straight into his eyes. “I will meet the girl tomorrow at the festival, and I will help her track down the demon. But don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Old Priest—you want the demon’s name so you can harness his power for yourself. For that, you need me and the Grail.” I snap with my face closer to him, making him drop to his knees in fear. “But know this—If I as much as sniff backstabbing, I will end you.” I step aside just to let him see the two dead vampires bleeding from the stalactites, one sharper, longer spike right between them.

  CHAPTER III

  Rux

  THE MARKET FAIR IS full of medieval artifacts and garments, especially now, on the first day of the festival. Tonight, this magical resort will be simmering with beautiful dresses and jewelry, cheery people heading to the castle.

  I walk around with a fluffy coat wrapped tightly around me. It’s so cold my breath turns to steam, and my scalp feels cold as ice despite the protection that long, thick hair gives me. But soon I’m in the heart of the fair, where it’s full of tourists, and much warmer.

  I have to squeeze my way to the stalls, where I expect to see little more than junk. But, to my genuine surprise, people don’t crowd around these stalls for nothing. They’re full of beautiful items and traditional clothing, a lot of Dracula merchandise, and pretty jewelry. The smell of roasted chestnuts fills the wintry air, and the welcoming fire where they boil wine, mixing with the scent of cinnamon makes me feel like I am really in a fairy tale.

  I stop in place, and breathe in deeply, looking up at the sky. It’s so beautiful here, the nature wild, somehow... truthful. This land feels ancient, and powerful. A feeling engulfs me, one I had many years ago with mum and dad, walking through a winter fair in a remote village somewhere in France. It’s a feeling of joy and magic that swells in my heart, something that tells me that, right now, right this moment, the world is at my feet. Everything is possible, and I have no limits.

  “Ruxandra,” a male voice calls. I snap from my state of trance, and clutch the coat around myself.

  I see Sedan, the gypsy lad from the train, presiding over medieval garments and jewelry behind a stall. He beckons me over, showing me proudly to his array of merchandise.

  “If you’re looking for something to wear at the festival tonight, allow me to present.” His hand moves over medieval dresses and tunics, gothic velvet with lace, silk and linen.

  “May I?” I say with a smile. I let my hand slide over a plush and satin gown.

  “A modern imitation, but a good one,” Sedan says. There’s something commanding about him, like he knows his goods and his craft so well he could rule the world. “There are more party gowns here.” He reaches behind himself and pushes a curtain aside that leads to what looks like a storeroom inside a circus-like tent.

  “I should probably choose one from what you have here at the stall, and get ready back at the bookstore.”

  “No need to be afraid of me, Miss Ruxandra. Besides, you won’t be able to put on a medieval lady’s dress by yourself. They weren’t designed that way, you see.”

  I feel a strange kinship with Sedan. He inspires me with more trust than Dalton, who stayed back at the old bookstore, reading as much about Dracula as he can before the festival. He sounded crazy when he said we needed to be prepared, as if he really expects to meet the king of the vampires tonight, but to each his own.

  I step through the curtains inside Sedan’s storeroom. A group of pretty gypsy girls with dark skin and dark curls laugh around while arranging dresses.

  “Tania, will you help the lady here find something dashing for tonight?”

  All the girls are young, but the one who turns to us seems to be the leader. She’s probably the oldest, and the first look she gives me is one full of suspicion, just like the large woman back on the train. She walks over.

  “This is my sister, Tania,” Sedan makes the presentations when she is close enough. “Tania, this is Lady Ruxandra. She comes from England, and she’s in Transylvania to find her roots.”

  Tania stops to look into my eyes, appearing as stricken as every other person I’ve met. The contrast between stark white skin and ink black eyes can give anyone the chills, and Tania is no exception. But, after a few moments of shock, the smile returns to her face.

  “You are a very pretty one indeed, milady,” she says in the same thick accent as Sedan. She takes my hand, and a few steps back to look me up and down. “And a pretty figure you have. The shape of the hourglass, big breasts, small waist, and a big butt.” She slaps me on it and I jump. She bursts into laughter, while I stare with big eyes at first. Then I laugh, too—it feels good, not being treated like I’m some kind of threat.

  “Now, milady,” she says, taking my hand, and leading me to the back of the tent among the velvety dresses. “You have the choice—you want to wear something you like, or you want to wear something that will make you look like a queen; in which case, I would choose for you.” We come to a stop, and she places herself in front of me.

  “I’ve never really been good with clothes, so you should probably choose.” I look around at all the beautiful materials, the shiny satins, the colorful silks, the eye-soothing velvet. “I usually just wear black.”

  “Well, you will love to wear it this time, too, only with some—” She looks around, tapping her chin with her forefinger. “Ah—red.” She picks a pole with a hook at one end, which she uses to bring down a hanger with a long dress.

  I gawk at it, which Tania interprets as dislike. “Don’t worry—it will look different on you.”

  I smile, shaking my head. “No, I’m sorry if I looked displeased. It’s just that I’ve never seen something that looks so...real, so authentic.”

  Medieval music begins drumming outside of the tent, then magical rhythms and crystalline instruments join in.

  “I have a feeling this will be a very special night for you, milady,” Sedan says from behind us. I forgot he’s even still there.

  “Sedan will be assisting us with the jewelry,” Tania says. “He’s the expert.”

  “Jewelry?”

  She takes my hand again. “Come on.”

  Soon, I’m wearing a red satin gown with black velvet coating, flare sleeves, and silver lining.

  “It’s not real silver.” Sedan walks over just as Tania fastens the dress behind my back, his hands heavy with glitter.

  “Yes, I know. I can feel it.”

  Sedan frowns. “You can what?”

&nbs
p; My eyes are drawn to all the glitter in his hands. My heart swells, and my mouth starts watering—all that silver....

  “Yes, I have a special relationship with silver,” I admit for the first time to a stranger. Only grandma Magda knows. I suppose mum and dad always suspected, too. “It’s like some kind of fetish. I feel happy when I’m around silver, especially when I touch it.” I bite my lip before I betray my most secret of secrets—silver turns me on when I have it in my hands.

  “There,” Tania says from behind me, satisfied. “The dress fits perfectly now, it showcases both your ample bust and your wasp-like waist.”

  Sedan approaches me, his eyes filled with a strange heaviness.

  “Since you love silver that much, you should probably wear it tonight.”

  I know what he means, and I shake my head. “Sedan, all this does feel very much like a fairy-tale, but I’m afraid I still don’t believe in vampires, much less in Dracula and his sensitivity to silver.”

  He smiles and shakes the dark mop of messy hair on his head. “Yes, of course not. But it’s the first night of the festival. Many will be dressed as vampires, some may even take the game a little too far.” He looks down to what I notice is a red velvet cushion on which the wonderful treasure of silver rests. He picks up a hairpin with a miniature festival mask at one end.

  “Just for good measure.”

  I look down at the beautifully carved hairpin, but before I can make a decision, Tania snatches it from her brother’s hand. “I’ll just use it to do your hair.”

  In the end, I pick glittery earrings and an elaborately carved necklace as well, but the hairpin is the only silver thing that can be used as a weapon. Sedan insists that I use it if any of the attendees crosses the line in the vampire game—again, just for good measure.