Love At First Bite

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  That mistake and the well-known tragedy of their lives during the fifteenth century was what would lead a man called William Shakespeare to write Romeo and Juliet roughly a hundred years later. And just like his couple, their secret marriage had led to both their deaths.

  But it’d been her husband’s black sorcery that had led to their resurrections and immortality. Damn him! Even after all these centuries she couldn’t forgive him. Besides, what few times she’d weakened, he’d always done something to renew her anger.

  She pushed that thought aside as they reached the hotel. She got out first while the driver went to pull their suitcases from the trunk. Retta looked up at the quaint hotel with its highly arched roof and stylized black trim. Dusk was setting as she took her suitcase from the older man and paid him his fee.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Retta inclined her head as she and Francesca made their way toward the hotel’s blackwood stairs.

  Francesca frowned at a flyer that was on a bulletin board at the base of them. It was identical to several others except for the fact that it was written in English. “Did you see this? Dracula tour begins in an hour at the old church.”

  Retta seethed. “A pox on both his testicles.”

  Francesca laughed at that. “That’s harsh.”

  “Yes, it is. But he deserves a lot worse. Bastard.”

  “May I help you with your bags?”

  Retta jumped at the deep, thickly accented voice that appeared suddenly. Where the hell had he come from? Turning around, she met the gaze of a handsome man in his late twenties who stood just in front of her. A man who looked enough like Francesca to be her brother—right down to the dark chestnut hair and strikingly blue eyes. “Are you with the hotel?”

  “Yes, my lady. My name is Andrei and I will be here to serve you in any manner you wish.”

  Francesca laughed, but Retta had a sneaking suspicion that his double entendre wasn’t from trying to speak a different language. He knew what he was offering. “Thank you, Andrei,” she said coldly as she handed him her bag. “We just need to check in.”

  “As you wish… madame?”

  “She’s a madame, I’m a miss,” Francesca said, handing him her suitcase as well.

  “I knew I should have left you in Chicago,” Retta mumbled as Francesca winked at the handsome Romanian. Yet she wasn’t flirting with him, which for Francesca was a first.

  “I am sure you will both enjoy your stays here at Hotel…”—he paused for effect before he rolled the next word with true Romanian flare—“Dracula. We are having a special tonight. Staked steak with a tart raspberry sauce and minced-garlic mashed potatoes for keeping away those evil vampires.” There was a devilish gleam in his eyes that Retta didn’t find charming or amusing.

  Rather, it just pissed her off.

  “I imagine the garlic will keep away much more than vampires, eh, Andrei?” she said sarcastically.

  He didn’t speak as he led them up the stairs to the hotel’s doors. There was a stereotypical winged vampire head on each door that opened into the bloodred lobby. There were pictures of different Hollywood depictions of Dracula everywhere, along with sketchings and paintings of Retta’s father.

  And her “favorite” was the golden cup in a case with the plaque that declared it to be the cup her father had set out in the central square of Tîrgoviste. He’d proclaimed his lands so free of crime that he’d put it there to tempt thieves. Terrified of him, none had ever dared to touch it. It’d stayed in the square all throughout his reign.

  Right next to that was what appeared to be a stake with dried blood on it and a plaque that said it was the one her father had used to skewer a monk for lying to him. Bile rose in her throat.

  “Ever feel like you’ve walked into a nightmare?” Retta asked Francesca.

  “Oh, c’mon. Enjoy it.”

  Yeah, right. The only thing she would enjoy was kicking Velkan’s balls so hard that they came out of his nostrils. Hmmm… maybe she was her father’s daughter after all. For once she understood her father’s deep need to torture his enemies.

  Andrei led them across the lobby. “Would you like tickets for tonight’s tour?”

  Retta spoke without thinking. “Like another hole in my head.”

  He frowned at her.

  “That’s American slang for ‘no thank you,’” Francesca said quickly.

  “Strange. When I was in New York it was slang for ‘no fucking way.’”

  “You were in New York? When?” Francesca asked in a stunned tone.

  “A year ago. It was… interesting.”

  Something strange passed between them.

  Retta shook her head. “It must have been quite the culture shock for you.”

  “It took a little getting used to, but I enjoyed it there.”

  “What made you come back?” Retta asked.

  His gaze bored into hers as if he knew who and what she was. “Once Transylvania is in your blood, it never leaves you.”

  Retta disregarded that. “Tell me, Andrei. Do you know a Viktor Petcu?”

  He arched one handsome brow. “And why would you wish to speak to him?”

  “I’m an old friend.”

  “I somehow doubt that, since I know all of his old friends and I would have remembered a woman so beautiful in his past.”

  Someone tsked.

  Retta turned toward the counter to find a woman moving to stand before the old-fashioned ledger that was there. Appearing around the age of forty, she was dressed in the traditional Romanian peasant blouse and loose skirt. Tall and quite striking, she was someone Retta hadn’t seen in over five hundred years.

  Surely it couldn’t be…

  “It is not Viktor she wants, Andrei,” the woman said, indicating Retta with a tilt of her chin. “She is here for Prince Velkan.”

  “Raluca?” Retta breathed as she stared in shock at the woman.

  She bowed to her. “It is good to have you home again, Princess. Welcome.”

  Her jaw slack, Retta approached the woman slowly so that she could study her features. She looked only slightly older than she’d been when Retta had last seen her. Only then Raluca had been a servant in Retta’s father’s castle.

  “How is this possible?”

  The woman glanced to Andrei before she answered. “I am a Were-Hunter, Princess.”

  Were-Hunter. They were akin to the vampires or Daimons her husband had been created to kill. The Daimons had once been mortals who’d run afoul of the Greek god Apollo. A group of them had assassinated the god’s mistress and child. As a result, Apollo had cursed them all to having to drink blood to live and for all of them to die at the tender age of twenty-seven. The only way for them to live longer was to steal human souls. Dark-Hunters had been created by Apollo’s sister Artemis to kill the Daimons and free the human souls before they died.

  Several thousand years after that, an ancient king had unknowingly married one of their cursed race. When his wife had decayed on her twenty-seventh birthday, he’d realized that his beloved sons would meet their mother’s fate. To save them, he’d magically merged the souls of animals with their race until he’d found a way to save them. Thus, the Were-Hunters had been created. Able to bend the laws of physics and with highly developed psychic sense, the shape-shifters lived for centuries.

  But it was rare for a Were-Hunter to be near a Dark-Hunter, never mind serve one. Since Dark-Hunters were created to kill their Daimon cousins, most Were-Hunters avoided them at all costs.

  Most.

  Retta looked over her shoulder to Francesca, who was now squirming uncomfortably. A bad feeling went through Retta as she realized that Francesca had befriended her just weeks after she’d fled Romania. They’d known each other almost fifteen years before Francesca had confided the truth of her existence to Retta.

  Now she had a suspicion that sickened her.

  “Lykos?” Retta asked Raluca. That was the Were-Hunter term for their wolf branch.

&nb
sp; “Raluca is my mother,” Francesca said quietly. “Andrei and Viktor are my brothers—it’s why I never used a surname. I didn’t want you to realize I was one of the family.”

  Retta couldn’t breathe as she stood there with her emotions in turmoil. Anger, hurt, betrayal. They were all there and they each wanted a turn at Raluca and Francesca, but most of all, they wanted Retta to beat her husband. “I see.”

  “Please, Princess,” Raluca said, her bright blue eyes burning with intensity. “We’re only here to help you.”

  “Then call me another cab and get me back to the airport ASAP.”

  Francesca shook her head. “We can’t do that.”

  Retta glared at her. “Fine then. I’ll do it myself.” As she moved toward the phone on the desk, Raluca pulled it away.

  Retta saw the sympathy in Raluca’s eyes as she cradled the phone to her chest. “I’m truly sorry, but you can’t leave here, Princess.”

  “Oh yes, hell I can and I am.” Retta started for the door, only to have Andrei block her path.

  “You are in danger, Princess.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “Not me, buddy. But you are if you don’t move out of my way.”

  Francesca took a step toward her. “Listen to him, Retta, please.”

  She turned on Francesca with a hiss. “Don’t you dare start on me. I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am your friend.”

  “Bullshit! You lied to me. Deceived me. You knew how I felt about Velkan and yet you never once told me that you serve him.”

  Francesca glared at her. “Yes, Retta. Prince Velkan sent me to watch over you because he was afraid for you to be alone. As you’ve said repeatedly over the centuries, you were young and naive. You spent the whole of your life behind a convent wall. The last thing he wanted was for you to be hurt again, so I was charged with your care. Is that really a crime after all we’ve been through together?”

  “I didn’t need a babysitter. How could you play both sides of the fence when you knew how much I hated him?”

  Those blue eyes singed her with sincerity. “I never played you. Okay, so I didn’t mention that he’d sent me to stay with you originally. So what? We are friends.”

  “Uh-huh. Friends don’t lie to each other.”

  “What lie?”

  “You said you never met him.”

  “She has never met him,” Raluca said quietly. “I am the one who sent my daughter after you at the prince’s request. She was the one closest to your area when you left here. But Francesca has never met His Highness. Not once.”

  That made Retta feel better than she wanted to admit, but still it didn’t rectify any of this. They’d all deceived her and she was too tired to play this game anymore. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going home.”

  Andrei blocked her way again. “You are home, Princess.”

  “Like hell.” She feinted to the right, then rushed left, past him.

  He caught her in his arms before she could make it to the door.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Andrei, but so help me, I will.”

  Before he complied, Francesca went to the door and locked it with a key. “You’re not leaving.”

  “Damn you!”

  “Look, spew at me all you want, but you need to be aware of why I brought you here.”

  Retta crossed her arms over her chest. “Let me guess. Velkan wants to see me?”

  “No,” Raluca said, joining them. “The only thing His Highness would like to see in regards to you, Princess, is your disembowelment.”

  Now that surprised her. “Since when?”

  It was Andrei who answered. “Since about halfway through the sixteenth century when it became obvious that you had no intention of returning. He’s been cursing your name ever since. Loudly, too, I might add.”

  Raluca nodded eagerly.

  For some reason Retta didn’t want to think about, that actually hurt her feelings. She’d assumed that all of his attempts to besmirch her father’s name and reputation had been his way of getting her to contact him. Of course, she’d had no intention of ever doing that since she still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t intended to kill her the night he’d given her his sleeping potion.

  “Then why am I here?”

  Andrei took a deep breath before he answered. “Because of Stephen Corwin.”

  She was baffled by the name. How in the world could he fit into this madness? “The investment broker?”

  “Among other things,” Francesca said. “Remember when I told you I had a weird feeling about him?”

  “You have weird feelings all the time. Nine times out of ten, they’re attributable to either pizza or spoiled beer.”

  Francesca gave her an unamused stare. “Yeah, right. Remember when I told you that his scent bothered me? That I couldn’t place it? Well, I did some checking and it turns out he’s a member of the Order of the Dragon. Sound familiar?”

  Retta rolled her eyes. Both her father and grandfather had been members. Their epitaphs of Dracul and Dracula had stemmed from their membership. “That order ceased to exist not long after Velkan killed my father.”

  Raluca shook her head. “No, Princess, it didn’t. They merely went underground and wanted the rest of the world to think that. It was a cousin to Mathhias Corvinus who lost his wife to a Daimon. Horrified by the demon who claimed her life and soul, he reestablished the order to purge the world of the undead. They went on a killing spree of Daimons, and he called for his brethren to help him. But they didn’t stop there. They killed our people and countless Dark-Hunters as well. They don’t distinguish between us. To them, one preternatural being is the same as the other and all of us should be exterminated. Even now, centuries later, they hunt us without discrimination, brutally slaughtering all they find.”

  Retta felt terrible about that, but it still didn’t explain why they wanted her to stay here. “What has this to do with me?”

  Francesca took a deep breath before she answered. “I think Stephen was sent to kill you.”

  Retta scowled at her friend. “Are you insane? There’s no way.”

  “Remember the tattoo on his arm you told me about? The one of a dragon coiled around the cross? It’s their emblem. He’s one of them, Ret, trust me.”

  “Trust you? After all these centuries when you were lying to me? Think again. Stephen wouldn’t hurt me. He’s had ample time to try.”

  Francesca gave her a deep, meaningful stare. “Are you sure?”

  Retta hesitated, then hated herself for it. Stephen had never once given her an indication that he was anything more than an acquaintance who wanted to be more significant in her life. But since she was still technically married and an immortal, she’d kept him at bay. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Then why has he been sniffing around you?” Francesca asked coldly.

  “Because maybe he likes me?”

  “Or he was trying to use you to get to Prince Velkan,” Raluca said. “That has been my theory. It is why the prince made sure that all mentions of you and your mother were purged from historical records. He didn’t want anyone to learn that Vlad Dracula had a daughter, and most especially he didn’t want them to know that you had married him. He knew that the order would pursue you to the ends of the earth if they ever learned of your existence.”

  “It makes sense,” Andrei added. “The Corvinuses and the Danestis have a long history of bad blood between them.”

  Still Retta discounted their argument. “This is not the Middle Ages, people. In case you haven’t noticed, the wars are over.”

  “No,” Andrei said, glancing past her, toward the door. “I think the war is only beginning.”

  Frowning at his dire tone, she turned her head to see what had his attention.

  Her heart stopped beating as she saw the tall figure dressed in black armor, complete with helm and heraldry.

  It was Velkan’s.

  And he was heading straight for her.

  Chapter Threer />
  Retta couldn’t so much as draw a breath as Raluca opened the door and Velkan swaggered in. At six foot four, he’d seemed like a giant to her when she’d been human. And again, she remembered the first time she’d seen him. Blood had coated that black armor. The blood of those out to rape and kill her. She could still recall the sound of steel scraping steel as he moved. The sight of his dexterity even though every inch of his body had been covered by armor.

  More than that, she remembered the beauty of his face… the tenderness of his callused hands as they caressed her bare skin. The way he’d held her as if she were unspeakably precious, as if he feared she would shatter in his arms and leave him alone again.

  Those memories surged and buried all the anger and hatred she’d nursed against him. There for a moment, she wanted to go back to the beginning of their marriage. Back to the days when she had lived and died for this man. When she had trusted him without question.

  He had been her entire world.

  She’d known this moment would come, and in her mind she’d practiced a thousand things to say to him.

  A thousand and then some.

  But every one of them fled her memory as he approached her and some foreign part wanted to embrace him after all these centuries. She wanted to rush into his arms and just feel him hold her again.

  She’d expected him to curse her or kiss her. To stare at her as if he couldn’t believe she was here. To try to strangle her. Something. Anything. But in all her imagined scenarios nothing had come close to what he did next.

  He walked right past her as if he didn’t know her and seized Francesca in a fierce hug before he danced around the room with her.

  Baffled, Retta put her hands on her hips as a wave of rage whipped through her body. How dare he grab another woman and not even acknowledge her! She opened her mouth to speak only to be hushed as the knight started laughing in a tone that was nothing like Velkan’s. It was light and almost boyish.

  “Oh, my little sister! It’s been far too long since I last saw you. How have you been?”

  “Viktor,” Raluca said with a laugh. “Put Francesca down before you bruise her.”

  Francesca pulled the bird-shaped helm from his head, exposing his laughing features, as opposed to Velkan’s serious countenance. With brown hair and teasing blue eyes, Viktor quickly complied with his mother’s orders and set Francesca back on her feet. Laughing, she hugged him close while Retta let out a long breath.