Once Burned np-1

by Jeaniene Frost

  “This could be a formidable weapon. You’ve only ever practiced suppressing your power, but where has that gotten you? Stop trying to get rid of it and bend it to your will instead.”

  “What if I don’t want my power to get any stronger?” Exhaustion from continually manifesting currents made my voice harsh. “Power might be the ultimate status symbol for vampires, but I never wanted these abilities to begin with. They’ve shattered my life more than once and without drinking vampire blood, they’d kill me. I want less power, not more.”

  “You want to survive, don’t you?” he countered mercilessly. “As you are, most vampires could overcome you. Right now you hope that whoever ordered your kidnapping hasn’t spread word of your psychic abilities, but if he has, you’ll be very popular in the undead world. If that happens, you can stay helpless, relying on my protection forever, or learn how to defend yourself. Your choice.”

  Damn him for knowing the right buttons to push. Growing my abilities might have emotional and physical drawbacks, but they beat being helpless against another kidnapping attempt.

  “Fine,” I said after a long pause. “I’ll hone my power into the best weapon it can be.”

  Vlad traced the path of my scar from my hand all the way up to my face. His voice lowered. “First you need to let go of your guilt over your mother’s death. It’s crippling you.”

  The words hit me like a slap. “You have no right,” I gasped, knocking his hand away. “I never told you about that, so you stole it from my mind! Do I bring up that day by the river to you? No, because you didn’t share it with me of your own free will, so I leave it alone. Leave this alone, Vlad. I mean it.”

  “I’m gonna go,” Maximus muttered, slinking away from us.

  I ignored him, focused on the vampire in front of me. Vlad stared back, impenitent and uncompromising.

  “You don’t need to bring up that day by the river because I dealt with my guilt a long time ago. But you’re right. You didn’t share this with me of your own free will, so I won’t mention it again . . . unless you continue to let it handicap you.”

  Something boiled over in me at that. I could actually feel the current pulsing under my skin as if begging to be freed.

  “I’ll show you handicapped,” I spat, and snapped my right hand at the nearest statue—a life-sized male warrior. A long, white current rocketed from my skin, lashing the statue’s neck. Some part of me must’ve held back with Maximus before, because this time, the current cut all the way through. The marble head smashed onto the floor, breaking into several pieces.

  Maximus ran back down the hall and stared at the remains in horror. “That was fifth-century Grecian!”

  My surge of fury vanished as I looked at the wreckage. Surprise at what I’d done competed with shame. My sister Gretchen used to break things when she was upset, and I’d sworn never to be that way. Now I’d broken that vow—and a priceless statue along with it.

  “I’m so sorry,” I began, looking over at Vlad, but his expression stopped me from saying anything else.

  “You see?” he said with supreme satisfaction. “A formidable weapon, just as I told you. Now that you know what you’re capable of, we’ll keep working to improve on it.”

  Chapter 27

  When I finished with my shower, I saw that my bedroom door leading to the sitting area was open. It hadn’t been when I first went into the bathroom. Murmured voices drifted in from the other room. Curious, I wrapped my robe tighter around me and peered around the frame.

  No one but Vlad on the leather couch, jacket off, feet up, watching a vampire movie of all things. I came inside the room.

  “Didn’t know you were a fan of those.”

  He waved at the TV. “These never cease to amuse. If we’re not being portrayed as bloodthirsty eunuchs, then we’re angst-filled imbeciles whining about our lost humanity.”

  “Then you must love the cinematic retellings of your life.”

  “Most of them don’t retell my life,” he replied coolly, his eyes flashing green. “They retell Stoker’s fabrication, which bears no resemblance to me except for the moniker—and even that’s incorrect. Dracula doesn’t mean son of the devil. It means son of the dragon, as my father was known in his time.”

  I shouldn’t have brought this up. I blamed it on the fact that I was tired and still upset at Vlad for throwing up my mother’s death to me, but two wrongs didn’t make a right, as the cliché went.

  “Forget it,” I murmured.

  He rose, walking over with the unhurried grace of a predator who knew his prey couldn’t outrun him.

  “You have the right to know about the man you’ve taken for a lover. Much of what history’s written is false, but some things are true, even if my motivations are often portrayed incorrectly.”

  When he reached me, he traced his finger up the sleeve of the mulberry-colored robe. The firelight made deeper hollows out of his striking features, and his coppery eyes seemed to hold their own inner flame.

  “Go on,” he said with soft challenge. “Ask me something.”

  I glanced away, both enticed and unnerved by the offer. “Really, Vlad, I only know what the movies say about you, which you confirmed was bull. I wouldn’t even know what to ask—”

  “Liar,” he interrupted, the word more statement than accusation. “You have questions, so ask.”

  “Is Marty right?” It came out before I could stop myself. “Will you break my heart?”

  As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. We’d agreed that love wasn’t an option between us, and here I was talking about a broken heart like a moonstruck teenager. Maybe this was a sign that I was already in over my head emotionally in this relationship.

  He leaned against the door frame, his body so close that a deep breath from me would have us touching.

  “Why would I seek to break your heart?”

  “Because you can be a merciless bastard at times,” I answered honestly.

  A smile flitted across his lips. “True, but I want you with me.” His head dipped, mouth grazing my neck to send a scattershot of shivers through me.

  Even amidst my enjoyment over his actions, I felt a pinprick of disappointment. I hadn’t been looking for a promise of forever, but I had hoped to hear something . . . more. He wanted me with him now, but what happened after we caught his mysterious enemy and I no longer needed to live under his roof? Would we attempt a long distance relationship with me back in the States and him here? Would he ask me to stay? If so, would I?

  “Do you feel anything for me aside from lust?” I forced myself to ask. Not until the words were out did I realize how much his answer mattered. Yeah, I was in way over my head.

  His lips continued to brush my skin with feathery strokes that elicited countless tingles despite my nervousness as I waited for his reply.

  “You challenged my authority in full view of the lowest order of my people,” he said at last. “And what did I do?”

  “You had me electrocute Maximus over and over,” I replied, not sure where he was going with this.

  “I gave him a lighter punishment while also showing you how to grow your powers,” he countered in a seductively smooth voice. “If I felt nothing more for you than lust, Maximus would be on that pole for a week, and you, my lovely interloper, would not be here with me now.”

  Hardly the words you’d find on a Hallmark card, but they caused a glow of happiness nonetheless. Okay, so this wasn’t love, but at least it was something real to him. That was enough for now. Before Vlad asked what I felt for him—a question I wasn’t ready to answer with my runaway emotions—I changed the subject.

  “How like you to kill two birds with one stone: punishing Maximus and working out my powers at the same time.”

  I meant to sound glib, but it was tough when each brush of his mouth made my toes curl. Either my distraction worked or he didn’t want to know what I felt, because he addressed my statement instead of my mental musings.

  “A
s I told you—due diligence.”

  His reply reminded me of the only tidbit I’d gleaned from sifting through hours of memories today.

  “The puppet master,” I began, my breath catching when he nipped my neck with teeth that now had two prominent, sharp fangs. “He had a funky ring. It was kind of like yours, only it had a bird on the front instead of a dragon.”

  Vlad’s mouth stilled. “What kind of bird?”

  “Maybe a crow? It was hard to tell since I only saw the ring when he was gesturing as he spoke—”

  Vlad disappeared into his room before I finished speaking, my robe fluttering from how fast he’d moved. I blinked in surprise. Moments later he was back, holding a torn page.

  “Is this the image you saw?”

  I took the yellowed page from him, not understanding the language of the antique writing on it, but recognizing the icon.

  “Yeah, that’s it. I thought the thing in the bird’s beak was a twig, but now I see that it’s a little hoop.”

  Vlad muttered something in Romanian. From his tone, I guessed that it translated into several four-letter words.

  “What’s wrong?” He’d recognized the symbol, so the ring was a lead. That was a good thing, wasn’t it?

  He stared at me, and the expression on his face was so fierce, I almost took a step backward.

  “That ring bears the Corvinus family coat of arms. The last time I saw one like it was on the hand of Mihaly Szilagyi.”

  “The man the sketch resembled,” I said slowly. “You told me you burned him to death, but the coincidences are piling up.”

  “Yes, they are.” His voice was tight. Then his gaze raked over me. “Dress warmly. We’re going out.”

  Chapter 28

  After more than an hour of flying, I thought I’d figured out the trick to it. Don’t look down: The icy wind was hell on my eyes. Keep both arms around Vlad: Not because he’d drop me, but because the warmth emanating from his body kept my hands from feeling like ice packs. Keep my legs around him for same reason. Pretend it was a roller-coaster ride: That helped with the fear when he made an unexpected roll or descent.

  I figured out the most important tip when he finally set us on the ground: Don’t try to walk right away. My frazzled equilibrium made my legs feel like they were different lengths and I misjudged my steps. Had Vlad not righted me, I would’ve fallen face-first into the snow.

  “Why didn’t we take the limo again?” I muttered.

  He looped my scarf back around my neck. At some point during our flight, it had ended up halfway down my coat. “Because if someone’s watching the house, we don’t want them to follow us and see where we’re going.”

  I finally looked around and my breath caught. Strategically placed lights illuminated the remains of an ancient castle, church, courtyard, and tower. Some of the structures looked fully restored, like the brick-based pale tower, but others had crumbled. Railed walkways and signs showed that these ruins were a tourist haunt, but the modern insertions looked out of place amidst the aged brick and stone. I could almost feel the ancient remains throb with the essence of thousands of memories, but I didn’t reach out. I stayed still, drinking in the beauty around me, the wind and noises from the nearby highway the only sounds aside from my fog-flumed breaths.

  “The Royal Court of Targoviste.” Something lurked in Vlad’s tone that I couldn’t put a name to. “I never thought to return here, but this is where I buried Szilagyi’s remains.”

  I stared at Vlad, thinking how right he looked in these surroundings. His lean, rough handsomeness, wind-whipped dark hair, and determined expression held as much barbaric splendor as the former medieval palace. In many ways, Vlad reminded me of these ruins; an untamed slice of the past amidst the veneer of modern civilization.

  “This was where you lived when you were prince?”

  He gave me a brief, jaded smile. “Not for long. My time as voivode was spent trying to keep Wallachia from falling prey to her enemies. It left little room for relaxing at court.”

  Then he started walking toward the tower, hopping over a half-crumbled wall and holding out his hand to me.

  I gave him a look as I ignored his hand and leapt over the wall with the same ease as him. “Former gymnast, remember?”

  Another sardonic smile. “I do, but not because you told me. You never speak of your time before the accident.”

  Walked right into that one, I thought as I picked my way through the dilapidated courtyard. Earlier, he’d offered to answer any question I asked him. Too late, I realized that offer came with hooks. But if I was willing to do the asking, I couldn’t chicken out on answering when it was my turn.

  “As a child, I was very good at gymnastics.” He’d already filched this from my mind, but it seemed he wanted to hear it the regular way. “So good that when I was thirteen, I won the chance to compete for a spot on the Olympic team. Problem was, at the same time, my dad got a change of duty station to Germany. He could go unaccompanied for one year, or take all of us with him for three years. If we went, I’d lose my coach, my training facility . . . basically my best shot at the team.”

  We were at the perimeter of the tower now. Signs around it advertised in Romanian and English that inside was the “real” story of Vlad Dracul, complete with a picture that looked nothing like the man standing next to me. Vlad went around to the back of the tower, beckoning me to follow.

  I did, tucking my hands into my coat. Even through my gloves, the cold was biting. Vlad knelt at the base of the tower, running his fingers along the faded bricks.

  “Szilagyi’s sword struck here when he attempted to take my head off,” he said, indicating a crack that I hadn’t noticed until he tapped it. Then he rose, pivoted, and took six long strides in the opposite direction before kneeling again.

  “And here is where I buried him.” He began clearing away the snow. I was about to ask why he hadn’t brought a shovel when he shoved his hands through the frozen earth with enough force to make the ground shudder.

  Yeah, a shovel would be a little redundant.

  I watched him dig with a sense of relief that ended when he said, “And then what?” in a tone that dared me not to answer.

  My snort blew out a plume of white. “You want to dig up the past metaphorically and literally at the same time?”

  His eyes glowed green through the veil of his hair as he glanced up at me. “Call me a multitasker.”

  It wasn’t because he’d offered to tell me anything that I answered him. It was because he hadn’t shied away from his darkest sin when confronted with it, so how could keep refusing to talk about mine?

  “I begged for him to take the one year unaccompanied, or to let me live with my aunt Brenda so I could still compete in the tryouts. Making the team was all I cared about, and I was so mad that my dad would let his job ruin everything.” Bitter sigh at how stupid I’d been. “My mother refused both options, said that nothing was more important than our family sticking together. That’s when I told her what I’d found a week before when I rummaged through my dad’s foot locker looking for camping gear.”

  Vlad had dug more than three feet down, piles of earth he tossed aside dark smudges against the snow. As soon as I stopped speaking, he paused, that commanding stare leveled on me.

  “For a smart man, he was dumb for leaving a crumpled-up letter from a woman he’d slept with at the bottom of his duffel bag,” I continued. “I told my mom about dad cheating—not because I thought she had a right to know, but as revenge on him for ruining my Olympics dream, and on her for refusing to let me stay at my aunt’s. That’s who I was. A pathologically narcissistic bitch.”

  Vlad hadn’t resumed digging, but he still knelt in the snow, staring up at me with the oddest expression. It took me several seconds to realize what. Sympathy. No wonder I hadn’t recognized it. I’d never seen him show that emotion before.

  Choked laugh. “This is what you finally feel pity over?”

  “You were a spoiled
child who did a cruel thing. You deserved to be beaten and confined to your room, but you didn’t deserve to lose everything.”

  I swiped at the sudden wetness near my eyes. “Oh? I wanted to stay with my aunt, and I got my wish. My mom, sister, and I moved in with Aunt Brenda when she told my dad to go to Germany unaccompanied while she figured out what to do. Then a month later, tornados knocked a bunch of trees down in our neighborhood. Afterward, I heard a dog whining in the yard. It was so weird; the dog just sat there, tree limbs all around him. I didn’t see the downed power line. I went to clear the debris away . . . and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital.” Harsh sigh. “The doctors said I was lucky the shock knocked me across the yard. Otherwise, I’d have burned to a crisp while stuck to that power line. But what no one could explain was why my mother died from the leftover voltage in my body when she tried to help me, yet that same voltage didn’t kill me.”

  “Why?” Vlad’s lips curled, his sympathetic expression gone. “Some things just are, Leila. You survived. She didn’t. Wondering why is as irrelevant as it is futile.”

  After everything I’d experienced, I knew that to be true. Yet it didn’t make the pain of my mother’s death go away, let alone my guilt over how I’d ripped my family apart.

  Vlad began digging again. Either he was impatient or the ground wasn’t as frozen farther down because his progress was faster.

  “Again you’re being naive. Your father’s infidelity ripped your family apart. You were merely the messenger.”

  I’d never told anyone this next part, and it took two tries before I could force the words past my newly tight throat.

  “He wanted to work things out. He cheated on my mom, but he still loved her, and when she died . . . part of him blamed me so much that he avoided me. He never said that, but I saw it when I touched him.” My voice cracked. “It’s his worst sin.”

  Vlad abandoned his digging and rose, but I held out a hand. “Don’t. Right now I need you to be cold. If you’re not, then I have to remember how much that hurt, and I don’t want to.”