Her heart wrenched in her chest, and she sank lower in her chair. “I—It would presume too much to—” She put her hand over her face and tried her best to hide it. That card had always represented her for as long as she had read them.
His hand touched her wrist. He was no longer sitting but standing over her. Once more his chair had not moved—he had not pushed it away. Fingers curled underneath her chin and tipped her head up to look at him. The sense of him rolled over her. Restrained, but close. The more she touched him—or rather, the more he touched her—the less out of control it became. “Do not hide from me, Maxine.”
“I am not—” She could deny it, but it was true. She was hiding. Hiding her face. Hiding everything. She looked up at him and met his crimson eyes and stopped her protests. Once more, hypnotism was not to blame. It was simply the fathomless depths of red that had done the deed.
“You have no need to shy away from me. Not now, not ever.” He leaned down and placed a kiss against her forehead. “Come. I would like to walk with you. Sunset has come, and the city is beautiful at this time of night.”
“I will need to get properly dressed.”
He chuckled, looking down at her housedress. She felt her face grow warm again under his scrutiny. “No need. Throw on a coat. No one will know the difference. Otherwise, I will be happy to assist you.” That wicked smile returned to his face. “If so…do strip, and I will be happy to lace your corset.”
“I—I—” She swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed him away from her. “No!” She coughed. “No. A coat will be fine.” Her face was burning as she stood from her chair and went to her wardrobe, fetching one of her long, thin coats, despite the summer air. Pulled tightly over her, he was right. No one would know she was half-dressed underneath.
He chuckled. “For shame. Although I do admit I would prefer to remove your clothes than help place them on you.”
She put her head against the door of her wardrobe, the wood cool against her forehead. She prayed for patience from anyone who would listen. “Where will we walk, Count?”
“Wherever you wish. It is the company I seek, not the destination.”
“I think you’re lying to me.” She turned to look at him and found him watching her with that softer expression once more. “I think the destination is all you seek tonight.”
He grinned. It was both predatory and amused. “How quickly you learn, Miss Parker. Very well. I eagerly await the moment you no longer hide from me. But in my advanced years, I have come to appreciate the journey as much as I do the arrival.” His eyes flicked over her body, and she fought the urge to tighten her coat around her. “Although…that may not be true in this case.”
She turned her head away to hide her face and her inevitable blush. Her face went warm on cue. There she was again, hiding from him. She sighed and straightened her back, trying to find resilience. “Let us get on with it, then.”
Vlad was smiling, but there was no mocking look on his granite features. “I will see you outside. I wish to ensure that your new intrepid houseguests do not lay in wait for me.”
“I—”
Vlad vanished, and she watched a dark shadow slip across the wall and the floor, as if it were cast there by some unseen light. It slipped over the sill of her window, under the closed pane, and was gone.
“Must I put up with this now? Really? Bad enough he is unstoppable. Worse yet that he is of a constantly impermanent location.” She didn’t know who she was complaining to and decided it didn’t matter. Glancing over at the table with her tarot cards, her eyes fell on the two in the final position. The Ten of Swords, or the Lovers. Which was it to be?
Which did she want it to be?
Shaking her head, she opened the door and decided that no matter which, leaving the vampire waiting on her stoop was likely unwise.
17
Vlad watched Maxine with deep curiosity as she emerged from the door of her home. Once more, he summoned, and she followed. He had donned a pair of sunglasses to help shield his eyes from the fading streaks of amber and gold that decorated the sky. It did not hurt him, but that was not to say he enjoyed the glow. It was far too bright for his tastes.
His children found the glowing orb far more deadly than he. Zadok would burn in time as if scalded by acid. Even Walter, ancient and purebred as he was, would suffer after prolonged exposure. Yet both men claimed they missed it terribly. Zadok would often wax poetic about missing the warmth of the daylight, although the Frenchman was never quiet and found himself expounding on topics more frequently than not.
Vlad did not care much about the sun or its absence when it was gone. But perhaps that was the nature of all men—to only desire that which they could not have. While that was certainly a flaw of his, he was faced now with the counterargument given flesh.
He could very much have this Maxine Parker. He suspected that in a matter of days, she would truly belong to him of her own volition. While he could take her—and he desired very much to do so—it would spoil the prize in the end.
But whether she gave to him her heart and mind this night, or in ten years, it did not change the fact that she was inarguably his. The brilliant child with the flashing dark eyes was even coming to understand it herself.
He held out his hand, and she eyed his pale skin and pointed sharp nails scrupulously. She did not trust him. She had no reason to, and if she did, he would call her a fool.
But it was for the precise reason that she was not an idiot that she put her hand in his and let him draw her gently down the stairs and to his side. They began to move down the sidewalk in thoughtful and delightfully companionable silence. No one glanced at them. They looked like any other couple. An odd one, perhaps a bit morbid as they were, dressed both in black and quite pale. He far more frightfully than she.
He would not rush her. Either to speak or otherwise. She was plenty quick enough for him.
“When do you plan to begin your war in earnest?”
He cast a glance down to her. It was how he spent every day of his life—looking down at others. Both literally and metaphorically. He smiled idly and looked back up to the fading rays of the sun. “When the other battle I wage is won.”
“If you seek to convince me to surrender to your advances, Count, that is not the way to do it.”
He laughed and, taking her hand, slipped it into his elbow so they walked together as the living did. And each time he placed his hand against her warm skin, he felt her pulse quicken. His nearness both terrified and excited her—it was a quickly addicting drug. “I do not need any assistance in wooing you.”
“Is that what this is, then? You are courting me?”
“I thought I had made that quite clear. Forgive me. Should I invite you to the theatre instead?”
“Perhaps.”
“Consider it done.”
“Please do not insult me by fooling me into thinking this is all not some sick game of yours. Do you find yourself a toy to play with in every city you destroy?”
He watched her, curious at her sudden ire. “You are trying to find any excuse you can muster to refuse me, aren’t you, Miss Parker? If not the validity of your curiosity and desire toward me, if not my murderous ways, then you would paint me a malicious womanizer? You would shun me for that you think I am merely after the prize you keep between your legs?”
The muscle in her jaw twitched as she watched the street ahead of them, those amber-brown eyes of hers stormy and thoughtful. “You could have far better prizes than me, Count. I can’t imagine someone with your experience finds it entertaining to dally with those who know not where to begin in such physical affairs.”
“Enough. I will hear no more self-defamation from you. I am here with you this night, no one else. I ignore the threat of your houseguests to walk with you.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Her wince betrayed that yes, she did. That her clever mind had already worked out the secret he had refused
to speak out loud. He needn’t bother. She could hear it plain, each time he touched her.
She could see the whole of him. She could hold the facets of him and know him for what he was where all others might fail. That was what he wished for.
See me, empath. See my soul…and love me for what I really am.
Hope welled in his chest. A terrible, insidious thing.
“Why do you let me walk free? You could just as easily have me in chains and keep my mind in thrall to yours. I cannot fight you. You’ve proven that much quite clearly.”
“And if perhaps you had known me a few thousand years ago, such would be the case.” He could not help but let himself imagine her shackled to his bed, her body naked and prone, tears stinging her eyes as she begged for mercy, the pleas changing into desperate need for him as he entered her mind and eased her fears away. Her agony would turn to bliss as she opened herself, whimpering not in terror but instead for his touch. It was a delicious sight, and he felt his heart lurch once in his chest as his body found life at the thought of it. But he forced it away. “It would be a terrible waste.”
“A waste of what?”
“You.”
And there was the delicate blush on her pale features. It came to her so quickly, and he found it amusing to draw from her. It was fascinating to him how furtive and shy she was—a beautiful thing like her—and it made her all the more precious to him. That she was unaccustomed to the advances of a man was not what he found interesting. He had no care for whether a woman was untouched or more experienced.
Indeed, she was not wrong. A woman who was not ignorant of the pleasures of the flesh was preferable to him, if he were given an otherwise equal choice. Purity was a human conceit. Empty mortal lies layered upon women to shame them and keep them powerless and a commodity. He cared not for it.
It was that she did not see in herself her own value that he found both troubling and served as an inspiration for how much he delighted in teasing her. He understood why the living avoided her. He could smell the feeling of the unnatural in the air about her, her connection to the aether that mortals found so unappealing. She was a reminder to them, whether they could sense it or not, that their lives were not quite as they saw them.
He had watched her at the gala thrown by that insipid little man Zadok had pretended to be and subsequently had taken for his own amusement. Vlad had stood in the shadows and observed her as she waited for the cruel Vampire King to arrive for nearly an hour.
The living avoided her. Men would glance over to her thoughtfully, then seem to shudder and look away. Like a lonely cemetery angel, standing guard over the corpses and souls of the deceased, she was both beautiful and loathsome to them.
She saw too much in those dark eyes. They looked into the soul. It was too much for the living to endure.
But not for him.
“Why did you dance with me at the gala, Maxine?”
“Hm?” She was startled at his sudden question—they had been walking for silence for some time—and she glanced up at him curiously before she turned away once more in thought. “I thought it would be rude to refuse a man’s request to dance.”
“I do not think you are one to care much for being rude. You were there to bait and potentially attack me. You had a very dangerous game playing out around you. Yet you took the chance to dance with a stranger. Why?”
She paused. He witnessed the moment she came to her conclusion and found it sorely lacking. She took a defiant expression instead. “You know why,” she accused him.
“What makes you say that?”
“The only questions you ask me are the ones you already know the answer to, Count Dracula.”
He chuckled. She was correct. “Then why do you suppose I ask them at all?”
She hesitated, and when the answer came to her, she flinched. Watching her untangle his strings was an addicting game. He had moved a piece upon the board that she had not expected and found herself cornered. She would have to sacrifice a pawn to move her queen to safety. “You ask them to see if I am brave enough to answer you.”
“Correct.” He slipped his hand over the back of hers where it rested at his elbow. “Why did you dance with the man who approached you? Did you find the face I wore more appealing than my own?”
“No.”
“Then why take his hand?”
“I felt…something else about him. Something deeper. Something I now recognize as you. Or you were hypnotizing me.”
“I was doing no such thing. You can sense when I am in your mind. You would have known me for what I was in that moment.”
“Why did you pretend at all?” She shook her head. “Why hide yourself? You know my home, and you need no invitation to come inside. You could have taken me or introduced yourself in any other manner. Why like that?”
“You know the answer.”
“Yes.” A playful grin crossed her features. Oh, how he treasured that look upon her face. He adored her fear. It was intoxicating, but he looked forward eagerly to the day it was replaced with that—her fire—instead. “I suppose I am seeing if you are brave enough to answer me.”
“Touché, madam.” He bowed his head once. “I drew you out into the open because I wished to better know my opponent. I wanted to see if you could recognize the situation in which you had been placed and how you would play your hand. Also, by doing so, I better ensured that you were not simply some whimpering, terrified thing lying at my feet, begging for your freedom. I admit I tire of attempting to converse with catatonic individuals.”
She laughed. That was not the response he was expecting. “Then perhaps you should stop frightening them so.”
“Precisely why I approached you in the manner I did.” He hummed. “And now I am glad for it.”
“You mean to say you enjoy speaking with me, Vlad? That this is not merely the means to the ends you seek?”
“I seek many ends.” He grinned. She slapped him in the chest. He blinked at the sudden show of violence from her, then roared in laughter. “Oh, Maxine. I do enjoy you very much. And not simply because I enjoy playing with my food.” He cast her a wicked grin and was delighted to see the pink rise in her cheeks once more. He paused, and added, finding the inspiration to be honest with her, “I danced with you wearing a false face because I wished to see how you would speak with me if you were not aware of what I was. How we might have been, should the circumstances be different. If this were to be another world, and I a living man.”
“It is not your vampirism that troubles me, Vlad.” They had come to a small park in the road, a gathering of a few benches beneath several trees. She turned to look at him, stopping their progress. She reached out to touch his elbow, and he obediently turned to face her.
It was so rare that others chose to touch him.
“Oh?” He challenged her assertion that it was not his inhumanity that was the source of her unease. “I have trouble believing that.”
She shook her head, insisting. “It is what you seek to do that troubles me. That you are what you are is…frightening. I feel as though I am in a cage with a hungry tiger each time you look at me. But I do not blame the cat for thinking me its food. I do not fault you for your nature.”
“Then what troubles you? Why do you hide from me?” He lifted a hand to her cheek and let his fingers brush against the warmth he saw there. He knew his touch was tepid. To her credit, and his deep pleasure, she had not once flinched away from it. “Shall we speak of our dream, now?”
He felt her soul there, close to his, an inexplicable and uncanny sensation. It was truly unique. He was eager to discover how it might join them when they were paired in other ways. He idly wondered who would be inside whom.
Her face went crimson nearly in an instant, and she drew back from him. He let her go, and he watched as she paced around the bench, a hand against her cheek where he had touched her. “I…I am sorry that happened.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“I am not apolog
izing to you.” She glared at him, and he chuckled at the indignity in her eyes. “I am as I said—sorry that it happened at all.”
“Why? Did you not find pleasure in it?” He let his voice drop into the sultry purr he knew was so wonderfully effective on her. “Reality will be much more enjoyable, I assure you.”
She growled in frustration and turned her back to him, putting her head in both her hands. “Stop teasing me.”
“Never.”
She laughed, a weak, defeated sounding thing. She sighed and looked up at the sky, now pale purple as the stars began to emerge. “And when you have me, Vlad—”
“When.” He pointed out to her the choice of words.
She hesitated and nodded. He grinned to himself, glad she did not see the expression upon the tiger who waited for her in his cage.
“When,” she repeated. “What then?”
The emptiness in her tone—the forlorn quality to her question shattered his sense of victory and pride. He stepped to her side, and slipped a hand onto her shoulder, but did not turn her to face him. “What are you asking me, Maxine?”
Dark amber-brown eyes met his and sliced into his soul like a knife. “Will you forget me like all the rest?”
Who was this little mortal child, who could dig her hand so deep into his chest and tear out his heart without even knowing the damage she had done? He could not hide his grimace of pain as he turned away from her. The cards she had read for him, detailing that he had chosen to be numb to world to avoid feeling anything at all, had been terrifyingly accurate. He was both the helpless pauper and the terrible king in the same breath. She had seen that his egotism was not a lie to cover his helplessness—she understood that both could be very true at once.
She could see straight to the core of him, and she had no qualms about tearing him to pieces in the process.
It was only fair, he supposed.
Undone and exposed by a child, he hung his head. “Maxine, I—”
Heart of Dracula Page 19
