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

by Ana Calin

She opens her legs, giving herself to me in the erotic dream I’m causing her to have. The best part is—I play myself in her dream, and I’m delighted to see that my image is making her wet.

  I place myself between her legs as she spreads them wider, greedy to take me in. I slide my fingers over the straps of her gown, stroking her skin feather-light as I undress her, baring her body to her waist.

  God, strike me dead now. This woman is a vision of perfection. The scent of her blood and her arousal make a cocktail so dangerous to my senses that I hiss loudly, baring my fangs, a step away from throwing myself at her, sinking my teeth inside her throat and plunging my cock into her pussy.

  It takes all my power of self-control to keep from doing it. My fists clench as I watch her stretch her arms above her head, pushing her head into the pillow and offering me her breasts, writhing in pleasure, her feminine moans filling my ears.

  My cock is so hard the veins have swollen, making me flex and buck with desire. But I can’t do this to her, take her virtue and then... No. But I will give her an orgasm to surpass even her wildest dreams.

  I wipe my mouth on my forearm to avoid giving her my blood, and lean with my face over her. She’s small compared to me, so fragile. My eyes are drawn to her virgin lips. She senses my closeness and sticks out her chin, inviting me to kiss that rose of a mouth. Now I’m the one hypnotized as I lower my face and press my mouth to hers, taking first her plump upper lip between my lips, and suckling on that pillow of flesh that tastes of her exquisite blood.

  I go dizzy, my pulse through the roof, my cock so hard it’s painful. I’m grimacing in aching desire, kissing her harder, taking both her lips between mine and feasting on her. I moan hard, no longer able to control myself, the sinews of my back tightening as I slither on her, parting her legs with my knees.

  This is the very first time that I’ve craved a female’s body like this. Despite my long life, it’s only now that I understand the full extent of what testosterone can do to a man when he’s with a woman that he truly desires.

  I push the tip of my cock between her folds, and she pushes against it, lifting her face into my kiss and moaning, making me hot with need. My arms snake around her as she lifts herself into my embrace, pressing her to me, crushing her big breasts against my chest that feels like a steel breastplate against their warm softness. I swear I’m going to die drowned in her sweetness.

  I slide my tongue into her mouth, craving to feel her deeper, to become one with her. But then the scent of her blood and flesh, that deadly mix, takes over my brain, and the craving to sink my fangs into her becomes overwhelming.

  I must rip myself away from her, or I’ll fuck her and kill her at the same time, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. Now, being so intimate with her, the tip of my engorged manhood pushed just a little into her pussy without pressing on her maiden veil, I feel her past, her hurt. I can sense that skinny girl whom people have tried to kill as if she were a plague to this world. And God knows how well I can relate to that.

  I rip away from the intimate embrace, and force my body to dissipate into mist again, snaking on her body and sliding between her folds. My mind screams in need as I feel that wet flesh on me, her nub swollen and pulsing. I touch it like I would with my tongue, her taste spilling over my buds, making her come and writhe in bed in only two minutes. The scent of her cum mixed with that of her blood running like crazy through her veins makes my cells blast with hunger, and I need to roar with it.

  Barely able to take the longing in my body that is now made of mist, I slink out of the house, transformed into rivers of black mist rushing through the woods, and rising to the top of the nearest hill. There I take human form again, the last traces of mist still making small clouds around my naked body lying in the moonlight, where I howl brokenly at the moon.

  I grab my cock and stroke hard, convulsing as the pleasure pours out of me. I lay there on the wet grass with my legs curled under my body as the realization blasts in my brain—this girl has cracked the hard shell around my heart and, despite my age and wisdom, all it took was a taste of her innocence.

  Rux

  PUSHING THE WINDOW open, I take in the morning freshness, breathing in, smelling the dew. This is a good morning. I feel so strong and happy I barely recognize myself.

  I fold and place the last of the clothes I prepared into the small suitcase that I’ll be taking with me. Today, Vlad and I travel to the Northern Monastery to try and find out the details of what happened that night with Ruxandra, centuries ago. We want to discover the demon’s name.

  I drop on the edge of the bed, looking around the attic room and thinking whether or not I forgot something. I’m wearing a pink sweater that accents the swell of my breasts, and the slimness my waist. The jeans are pretty tight, too, but I have to admit with a smile—I want to be attractive to him.

  Then I think—what chance do I stand? He’s Lord Dracula, for God’s sakes, he’s probably had so many women in his long life that no one can impress him anymore. How can a woman still be special to him? Judging by his incredible looks, women must have fought hard for him. Not to mention that, if the legend is true, he must be surrounded by irresistible vampire girls that I could never compete with.

  Still, there’s one thing no one can take away from me anymore. Last night I had a vivid erotic dream with him. He was naked in my bed; he kissed me, deeply and lustfully, his bulging arms tight around my body, crushing me against his steely chest. For the first time ever, I came in my sleep. I woke up with my juices spilled over my nightgown, and I must say, I hope to God it’ll happen again.

  There’s a knock on the door. I jump to my feet.

  “Yes?” My voice hitches. Fuck, he’ll realize just how eager I am to see him.

  But the one who enters the room isn’t Vlad, but Dalton. Still wearing his pajamas, he’s obviously not feeling well.

  “They’re waiting for you.” His voice is muffled behind the handkerchief he holds in front of his mouth. He’s paler and sweatier than usual, so I imagine he must have gotten the flu or something.

  A large man appears behind him, a frowning red-haired and red-bearded brute who gives me a once over with the disdain he would give a worm.

  Dressed in a black pullover and black trousers, he stomps with army boots into the room, and picks up my backpack that I could have carried myself. Now that I get a closer look I see he is a vampire. He has the same white skin as Dracula, the same ghostly hue despite the beautiful shine, and his eyes are dead.

  “Please,” he says in a brutish voice that doesn’t go with that word at all. “Follow me.”

  He leads me down the creaky wooden stairs to the living room and then outside. A black SUV waits on the beaten dirt road in front of the porch. I expect the red-bearded guy to hold out a door for me after he tosses my luggage in the boot, but while he does that Vlad emerges from the driver’s side of the car.

  My breath catches as he walks around it to the passenger side. I stop in my tracks when he opens the door, scanning him up and down, my face probably showing all the awe I feel.

  The world famous Lord Dracula, Prince of Blood, Lord of the Vampires, dressed in modern clothes, the muscles of his arms and chest bulging through the black sweater. Pair that with black jeans and army boots, his long dark hair spreading wild down his shoulders, and I start to cream down there.

  The erotic dream I had about him last night comes back to mind, and I have a sickening feeling he knows it. He looks at me with a certain something in his eyes, like he has knowledge of my body. Like he knows that I came for him last night.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and walk by him, getting inside the car with my head down, glad that at least we won’t be riding alone because the red-bearded brute would be coming with us. But before Vlad closes my door, I hear him say,

  “Stay with the boy, Gruia.” He motions with his head towards Dalton, who’s still staring at him from the porch, bespectacled eyes big over the handkerchief he still holds
at his mouth.

  Gruia joins a terrified Dalton on the porch, placing a hand on his shoulder like a butcher on the neck of a hen. A golden chain with a round talisman emerges from under his sweater as he makes to grab Dalton, drawing my attention. It’s an impressive piece of golden jewelry, big enough to compete with old rappers ‘ch-chains’, and making him look just as dangerous.

  “Will he be all right?” I inquire as Dracula drives off.

  He glances at me with much more goodwill than he showed Gruia.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  There’s a long pause, while I watch the landscape glide past as Vlad drives us out of the village. The further we travel away from the quaint houses and strolling tourists, the more worried I grow.

  “What’s happening with Dalton, anyway?” I crack. “He isn’t feeling well, he’s been like that for days, he—”

  “He doesn’t deserve for you to worry about him, Lady Rux—you will allow me to call you that, yes? It helps make the distinction between you, and—”

  He doesn’t finish, but I know that he means his late wife. Jealousy squeezes my heart, and my teeth clench together, but I manage to hide it by looking out the window.

  “Why do you say he doesn’t deserve it?”

  “He came here looking for vampires, with the ultimate purpose of becoming one. Let’s say he got what he wanted.”

  My head snaps to him. My heart beats hard, but the leather scent of the car now mingles with Dracula’s scent of metal and man, and soon all else pales. Boy, am I an idiot, allowing the attraction to control me?

  “For Christ’s sakes, Vlad.” I turn to the side, facing him. I expect his jaw to tighten because I called him by his first name again, but on the contrary. He blinks slowly a few times as if he enjoys it, hard-carved profile focused ahead on the road, arms flexing as he grips the wheel tighter.

  “I know you’re a very old creature,” I continue, taking the opportunity and drinking him in. “And you must know what you’re doing but, having had a curse on my back for years, I know what your kind of supernaturals can do to the world. I mean, shouldn’t you strive to keep the number of vampires as low as possible?”

  “And what would be the right thing to do, Rux? Simply feed on people until their veins run dry, and then let them die?”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “Hm?” Vlad dares me. “Or perhaps I should have used Mr. Dalton, and then not fulfilled my side of the bargain. Lying to him, treating him like junk?”

  “Did he do something for you in exchange?”

  He glances at me then back at the road.

  “Not for me directly. For the Old Priest.”

  My mouth distorts. That man really is a sleaze. “I didn’t know he was a vampire, too. He is very ugly, while the other two vampires that I saw, you and Gruia, are, well, beautiful creatures.”

  Vlad snorts. “There is a catch to the appearance of vampires. The Old Priest served me his entire human life and, in the end, I granted him what he wanted, and turned him into a vampire. He hoped that would make him young and beautiful again. But actually, when one becomes a vampire, their inner self shows much stronger than when in human form.” He motions with his big hand over his face before he puts it back on the wheel. “With me, it was war and cruelty. With Gruia, it’s meanness. With the Old Priest, it’s, how can I explain—”

  “It’s his soul,” I whisper. “He has a soul full of hatred and darkness. A foul heart.”

  Vlad nods. “Yes.”

  I look out the windshield at the increasingly wild landscape. Towering mountains with forests so deep and trees so thick I doubt humans would be willing to venture in them. The SUV takes us up snaking dirt and stone roads, putting up with things that would tear other cars in two. I know the brand, it’s something Eastern, and very resistant. I think I saw it on Top Gear many years ago, it climbed rocky mountains like a freaking goat.

  “I wonder what I would look like as a vampire.”

  Vlad doesn’t answer, but I feel the tension. In the deep of the dark forests I’m opening up, long-forgotten powers return, as if the connection with my past and my demon strengthens by the mile.

  “I’m not saying I’d like to become one.” Unless I’d get to be with you forever. “I’m just thinking what that would reveal about my soul.”

  Silence settles in for moments, with only the SUV humming and rattling over stones as dusk falls.

  “I think it would show the soul of a girl,” Vlad says softly, surprising me, “innocent but powerful, her face like a china doll’s except for her eyes that could bore into souls.”

  “I like the sound of that. But I’m afraid I’d be a dark demoness that would exude some sort of dark mist, threatening to consume the people around her.”

  His body tightens at the mention of dark mist.

  “Must be a dream I had last night that inspired the description,” I mention, and try to hide my ogling of him again. The more time I spend with him, in his presence, the more handsome he appears to me. I wonder—could he take my virginity without the demon attacking him? In the end, he is the great Dracula, isn’t he?

  We stop when I get hungry, and he brings food from the boot. He keeps driving while I peel the shell off an orange and decide to touch on the subject.

  “Back at the castle, when you basically held me prisoner in your arms. The demon didn’t intervene, which was a first in my entire life. Is there a special reason for that?”

  “I am a sort of demon myself. One of the most—” I can tell he doesn’t like it. “—powerful creatures ever created. I can imagine the demon picking on lesser vampires, but not on the Prince of Blood.”

  “So Dalton was right to lead me to you.”

  “I don’t think he knew the curse couldn’t touch me. He wanted to find true vampires, and you, your curse, your bloodline held the promise of leading him to what he wanted.”

  “So he just used me.” I pause, hands on the orange but not peeling it, gauging his reaction. I can tell he’s hiding something. “Doesn’t matter.” I resume peeling. “What matters is that you can help me. Dalton was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

  The car stops, Vlad’s wolfish irises gleaming out the windshield. I follow his gaze to see a small village with cozy orange lights in the windows, resting like a sleepy relic of medieval times in a valley between huge, dark mountains. Streaks of smoke rise from the chimneys, and a sense of romanticism swells in my chest.

  “See the cross right on top of that mountain?” He points to the top of the highest mountain, where the shadow of a cross in the glowing reddish dusk sits on a bloody backdrop.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “That is the monastery. That’s where we need to get tomorrow.”

  “I thought we were going there now.”

  “It’s a long walk up there, because we can’t reach the monastery by car. You need to rest tonight, and we’ll go on in the morning.”

  He drives us to a cozy looking medieval inn that he seems to know well. He knocks on the big wooden door, and the metal plate swishes off a grated viewer, just like at an authentic medieval inn. A big, dirty, bearded man lets us in.

  The pub is full and noisy, but the bar lady—friendly, plump and middle-aged—shows us to a special table in a corner that seems reserved for us.

  “Do you come here often?” I ask fascinated, looking around. People are staring, of course, neither Vlad or I look exactly like normal people.

  “I’m not the usual pub goer,” he says as he takes his seat, leaning with his forearms on the table. I swallow hard, feeling awkward, my cheeks lighting up. Those bulging arms, broad shoulders, wild hair, wild eyes, and by God those sensual blood-red lips....

  “But this pub is a very old one,” he continues, signaling the barmaid, who scurries over. “I used to come here with my men after many battles.” He looks around, clearly thinking of fond memories. “Now I come about once a season, after business trips with my secon
d in command, Tristan. Yes, I do go on business trips sometimes. I may live in the wild, but it’s important that I have knowledge of the world in its form today. One cannot keep power if one doesn’t know the world. They keep this place just as it was back in the day, that’s what I love about it.” He looks straight into my eyes, and blood rises in my cheeks again. Fuck, why do I get the feeling he can read my mind every time?

  “Wonderful to see you, Mr. Basarab,” the barmaid says with a broad grin on her face and so much admiration in her eyes I’m afraid she’ll spill herself all over our table.

  “What will it be today for you and your companion?” She looks me up and down, then takes a step back. Of course. The white skin and black eyes. I cast my eyes down to avoid the fear and suspicion in hers.

  “Would you like something to eat, Lady Rux?”

  I shake my head no. “I ate enough on the road. Just something to drink, please. Something strong.”

  “A bottle of good old whiskey, Otilia, please,” Vlad orders. “And three glasses. I’d really appreciate it if you sat down with us. My companion would love to hear some stories of old, and no one tells them like you.”

  My eyes snap up at him, and move quickly to Otilia just in time to find her taking a curt bow, glance at me from under her dyed eyebrows and scurry over to the bar.

  “I thought we wanted privacy,” I grunt, not sure I can hide the jealousy I feel. I must be crazy.

  “Otilia and her family have lived in this village in the Northern Mountains for generations.” Vlad explains patiently. “She knows a lot about the monastery, and a whole lot about the legend of Ruxandra—the Lady of the Dark Veil. She knows things that might help reopen your channels.”

  I lean back on the wooden bench, focused on Vlad, and impatient for the barmaid Otilia to return. It’s only a few minutes until she bangs a bottle and three glasses on the wood, taking a seat at the head of the table, pretty much in the middle of the aisle that drunkards need to stroll down in order to reach the toilet.

  “Fucking mind your step,” she says in Romanian as one of them stumbles over her chair, after about half an hour of small talk in which she told Vlad all about the repairs and additions she’s made to the inn and pub lately. I used this time to toss glass after glass of whiskey down my throat, not entirely unaware of how she and Vlad glanced at me.