Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (11 page)

Her words finally made him pause. He lifted his penetrating gaze at her. “Is that so?”

In reply, she raised an eyebrow at him, feigning the easiness she did not feel. “Yes, it is so. You would not have the audacity.”

A slow smile lifted the corner of his lips, as his eyes flashed bright red. “We shall see.”

Talia’s heart jumped into her throat.

Without warning, Petran pulled her against him and swept his moist tongue along the column of her neck, from the base near her collar bone all the way to her earlobe, leaving a trail of pure lust in its wake.

Talia gasped, utterly surprised and shamefully aroused. “Do not dare do that again!”

“Oh, you challenge me again, milady,” he replied, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Now I must. I have a reputation to protect after all.”

“Petran, no!” Talia whisper-yelped but it was too late.

Her brain registered his movements but they were too fast for her to truly follow. For a second, she thought he’d simply run his tongue along her chin, but she was sorely wrong.

Without further ado, he cupped the nape of her neck and pulled her mouth against his. And kissed her.

As soon as his lips fastened on hers, she forgot who she was, where she was, and why she had gone to the veranda. There was no Balaur, no wedding dress, no Ivan, and no one else but Petran and her. His arm enveloped her waist, locking her in a tight embrace. The clash of his cold body against hers shook her in ways she’d never thought possible. His short beard brushed her skin lifting her desire an extra notch, sending a million different sensations down Talia’s body. In the back of her head, she knew she should be appalled by his audacity but that too deserted her as soon as his tongue parted her mouth open. She vaguely felt his hand guide her to turn her head so he could have more access, while his other hand brushed her back just above her hips. His lips caressed hers, his tongue rolled around hers—pulling, rubbing, sucking in an amazingly sensual dance. Her mind grew blurry, her knees grew weak, her core flared. A dull and unfamiliar ache emerged between her legs.

After a few moments of utter enthrallment, Petran pulled back. But his lips remained oh-so close to hers, his hand held her head in place, and his arm kept her captive.

“Why—why did you kiss me?” she asked weakly.

“To show you that Ivan Milek is not the only man who can stir the fire inside you.”

He was wrong because Ivan had never kissed her, neither had anyone else. This had been her first kiss, and it had been simply mind-boggling. She could not imagine anyone else stirring these amazing sensations inside her.

“A kiss is just a kiss, Natalia,” he carried on but his voice was soft, in contrast with his harsh words. “It means nothing in the game of power. Do you believe Milek speaks his heart when he kisses you? You shouldn’t, because he doesn’t.”

His words echoed in her muddled up mind, but she didn’t register them. She knew he meant them to hurt her, to snap her out of the trance but how could she when his hungry gaze had remained locked on her lips, his breathing never slowed down, and he insisted on keeping her locked in his arms?

“What does it mean though?” she asked absent-mindedly, wishing he would just stop talking and kiss her again. “A kiss can never be
just
a kiss.”

He shook his head, lingering nose-to-nose a fraction longer, as if he too was having a difficult time concentrating. Then, it was over.

He straightened up and released her, bequeathing her yet one more new feeling—withdrawal.

“Yes, a kiss can be just a kiss, my dear. And I assure you, your Ivan cares not for romance. No man does.” He stepped back, giving her the breathing space she never requested.

Talia blinked a few times, trying to mask the array of feelings his sudden change of heart had sparked in her. She was confused, appalled, angry, humiliated, and ashamed, all at once.

But the one thing his unforgiving words would not steal from her was her pride.

Swallowing the lump, which had suddenly lodged in her throat, she lifted her chin up and uttered, “Well, your majesty, I care not for your games and petty politics. All I want is for my people to stop suffering. I too am a ruler and the safety of my race is more important to me than any romance.”

“Good,” he replied coldly. “So get back in there and end that bloody engagement once and for all.”

Before Talia could retaliate in kind, she heard the double doors to the veranda click open.

“Milady?” Martha called.

“Remember my promise, Duchess,” Petran murmured, pulling her by the elbow. “If you don’t call it off, I will find a way of doing it myself. And I doubt you’ll like it.”

Talia stared at Petran’s beautiful eyes for a moment longer. The passion, which had flooded them both seconds before, was nowhere to be found. And that cut her deeper than any words he could have uttered.

“Milady?” Martha called again. 

“Yes,” she answered aloud but didn’t move, didn’t avert her gaze from his. The tightness in her heart wouldn’t let her.

“Are you feeling all right?” her maiden asked from the door. “Shall I ask for the physician?”

“No, Martha,” Talia replied, “My head is much clearer now.”

She nodded a silent farewell to the King of Vampires, and strolled back inside.

**********

Petran heard Natalia go inside followed by her asking where Balaur had gone.

“To see your father, milady,” the maiden answered. Their voices faded into the house and only then, did he dare leave the safety of the shadows and face the moon above.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t enough, his chest was still constricted.

He drew in another breath, and then another one. For Hiad’s sake, what had just happened? When he decided to come over, he hadn’t planned on kissing Natalia, or even talking to her for that matter, but when he heard the infatuation in her voice when she spoke Ivan Milek’s name, he snapped. For the first time in years, Petran had lost control of his passions and let them take possession of his reason, very much the same way he had taken possession of Natalia’s mouth.

Oh, her sweet mouth. She tasted like something exotic and delicious but he couldn’t put his finger on. Would her blood taste as decadent?

He rubbed his hand over his face and reviewed the words he’d given her—the kiss had been just to prove that he too could stir the heat inside her. In truth, his mind had screamed to possess her, his cock was raging, dripping to claim her.

He could not believe she had given her heart to Ivan Milek. Her association with that rebel troubled him on levels he could not understand. He’d have to be more careful the next time he saw her. On the outside, Lady Natalia was as delicate as a rose, with an angelic beauty and exemplary manners, but on the inside, fire burned as stirring and hot as the ones in Hiad itself.

She was a dangerous temptation he couldn’t afford to fall for. Not now, not ever.

Chapter Fourteen

A few nights later, the sound of one more wooden door being slammed shut echoed in the night. This was not going according to plan.

“They are too scared to talk to us, your majesty,” Arthur grumbled.

Petran exhaled an irritated breath. Yes, those bloody dracos were refusing to talk to them. Maybe he should have hired a draco to do the investigation, maybe then the villagers would open up for they were getting nowhere on their own.

This was the third village they had visited and nothing. They only discovered what they already knew. The villagers would get sick at the same time, carrying the same symptoms as Somenski—cold shivers, lower body temperatures, unexpected attacks where their skin would turn into scales, and reason would desert them. Death had claimed all the victims, with no exceptions, after just a few months of torture.

When Arthur had suggested to first go to the communities affected by the curse a few days ago, Petran did not have to think twice in order to see the benefits of such strategy. They had to be careful though. If news that the King of Vampires of Romania was visiting draconian villages landed in the Lords’ ears, his plan would go down the proverbial drain. So to be sure they were not recognized, they were posing as travelers in need of shelter. If the plan had worked, they hoped to be welcomed into one of the homes, and while the benevolent hosts served them warm chowder—which Petran would promptly pretend to eat—they would strike up conversation, and then inquire about the pandemic. But so far, no one had bought their story, no one had even stayed put long enough to hear their pitiful lies. The residents were scared, terrorized to be more precise. Something had scared them, and even though Petran would have been proud to say his vampire inmã exuded power, too much for these sorry villagers, he knew it wasn’t it.

“Bloody Hiad,” he cursed under his breath. “Let’s try another hamlet.”

“It won’t do you any good,” a small voice uttered.

Petran and Arthur swiveled around to find the owner of the voice, a boy, crouched behind the well. His demeanor screamed fear but his eyes were as acute as any good soldier. His dirty trousers and shirt were torn in several places, his light hair plastered to his face from lack of washing, and with one look, it was obvious he was much thinner than he should have been.

“And why is that, kid?” Arthur asked. “We bring no harm. All we want is a place to rest our feet for a couple of hours.”

The boy shrugged. “It don’t matter. No one around here or in any village will never open their doors to strangers anymore.”

Anymore?
Petran narrowed his eyes. “So, what will help them change their minds?” He slowly retrieved a bag of coins from his cloak. At once, the kid’s eyes widened in eagerness. It was obvious he was hungry. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Cornel.” His little gaze did not waver from the prize.

“Where are your parents, Cornel?”

“Dead.”

A strange pang pinched Petran’s heart with the blunt, cold answer. “How did they die?”

“The Curse,” the kid replied.

Arthur took a few steps forward, uncovering a loaf of bread from under his cloak. Cornel’s eyes left the bag of coins and zoomed in on the food. Petran could swear he heard the little one’s tummy rumble. In a fine display of generosity, his chamberlain tore away a large chunk and offered it to the child. The boy lifted his little hand obviously wanting to take the offering but then his eyes went wide in terror, as if something had just jolted his memory. Short legs stood up and ran away.

“Wait,” Arthur yelled but it was too late, the kid had disappeared into the woods. “Oh, for Hiad’s sake!”

“Come on, Arthur,” Petran uttered already darting after the boy. “Don’t just stand there waiting for a miracle. Let’s get him.”

It was not difficult. Even though Petran was not acquainted with these parts of Somenski’s lands, they were chasing a child. A clever one indeed but in the end, his young years were no match for Petran’s experience in tracking enemies, and they easily cornered the boy in a rocky alcove.

“Stay away,” Cornel shouted, blowing dragon fire at them.

Petran ducked low, narrowly escaping the blast. “Cornel, calm down. We don’t want to cause any harm.”

“You lie! That’s what the other ones said.” Another flaming blast almost caught Arthur, who promptly jumped to the side and prepared to attack.

This was pathetic. They were losing to a bloody kid barely out of puberty.

Petran stood up straight and lifted his hand. “Stop!”

Both froze at his command—Cornel and Arthur.

“Cornel, we will not attack you if you don’t attack us,” Petran stated in a leveled tone. “You are right. We are not travelers. We are here to find out what happened for this village to be cursed by the gods.”

The boy stared at him wearily, but didn’t move.

Petran crouched down, so his tall figure would seem less imposing to the poor kid. “You said that no one around here or in any village will ever open their doors to strangers anymore. Why is that?”

“The last time…that’s when the curse began,” Cornel answered weakly. “The others blame my parents but my dad didn’t know. I swear, he thought he was pleasing Apa Dobrý by giving shelter to the travelers.”

Petran took a glance at Arthur, who lifted a brow in acknowledgement. “Where were those travelers from?”

Cornel shrugged.

“Did they have any strange accents, or distinct scars?” Arthur asked, mirroring Petran’s stance and crouching low on the dirt ground.

“No,” Cornel replied. “But one of them smiled weird.”

“Smiled weird?”

“Yeah, he didn’t do it very often but when he did it looked like he was having a fit or something, more like a twitch.”

Petran narrowed his eyes, trying to remember if he had ever seen someone like that. By the puzzled look in Arthur’s face, his chamberlain was doing the same.

“Tell us what they did, how long they stayed.”

“Why should I?” the boy asked in blunt defiance. “I don’t know you.”

Bloody scoundrel without manners! The boy had managed to push Petran to lose his patience. Time was ticking and he had no intention of wasting any more than they already had. So, he stood up regally and towered over the kid. “Tell me what I want to know and I won’t curse you to meet your parents in Hiad.”

The boy’s eyes went wide in fear. Petran knew he was being cruel but he had to get to the bottom of things. It had taken them three villages to find someone with answers and he was not going to let tonight’s efforts go to waste.

“You’re gonna curse me?” the boy asked with a trembling lower lip. “Please don’t.”

“Answer my question, Cornel.”

And so the boy did.

Petran and Arthur spent a good hour interrogating the poor child, who was scared to death in the beginning but after a few questions, he loosened up and even relaxed a bit taking a seat on the ground. From what Petran gathered, two men had arrived in the village twelve months ago, claiming to be merchants of good silk and wool textiles. Cornel’s parents offered shelter and food for a day and a night and in return, the travelers left one of their blankets in gratitude for their generosity. Nothing else. The visitors didn’t even stay long to do any damage. So, how in Hiad had they managed to spread a lethal disease in their wake? For Petran was certain if they went back to the other villages they would discover the curse had also struck after the same seemly innocent merchants had gone through.

“Maybe they dropped something in the water?” Arthur pondered. “I’ve heard of diseases that can kill by infecting the water the victims drink.”

“That is a very good assumption,” Petran agreed. His father had won a war against the Desert Daemons by burning their crops and drying up the wells. Polluting them would have had the same effect.

With renewed hope, Petran stood from the rock he had sat on, and ordered, “Use your decanter to collect a sample of the water. We must find out if they used the wells to contaminate the victims.”

“Yes, your majesty,” his chamberlain replied, his eyes reflecting Petran’s optimism.

“What about me?” Cornel yelped. “Are you still gonna curse me?”

Petran turned to the poor kid and felt his heart cut in half. He now understood why Natalia had such an urge to help her people. How could she not? He was the Vampire King, these people could not be farther from his list of priorities, and yet, what he wanted to do most right now was wrap his arms around this draco boy and take him to safety.

“Arthur, give me the loaf of bread.” Arthur complied.

Petran sat down cross-legged next to Cornel, closed his eyes before lifting the bun up high with both hands. Then, doing his best to impersonate a Jungle Druid, he emitted a series of meaningless sounds and added a few grunts for effect, finishing with a powerful shake of shoulders. When he opened his eyes, the boy was as white as a ghost, staring at Petran as if he was one of the five gods of Apa Dobrý himself.

“Take this loaf of bread,” Petran stated, forcing his words to come out as deity-like as possible. “And eat it whole…but in a good pace,” he pondered. “Don’t choke or anything. After you finish it, you must fly to King Petran’s castle in Romania and ask for the Chamberlain. He will then provide you your next mission.”

Arthur stared at Petran as if asking him if he’d gone completely mad. Petran ignored him.

“The Vampire King?” the boy squealed. “I can’t go there. He drinks kids like me for supper!”

“Excuse me?” Petran raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Who in Hiad told you that?”

“Everyone knows it,” the boy exclaimed rolling his eyes.

“Well, it is not true. The Vampire King will not eat you, or any child, for supper. He doesn’t even have suppers. Now, scurry off and do as I tell you or I’ll come back and curse you and your dead family.”

The boy cringed and his chin started trembling furiously.

“Your majesty,” Arthur chided him.

Oh, bullocks, he really did not know how to deal with kids. “I won’t curse your dead family, kid, I promise.”

Cornel blinked back the tears, but one escaped cascading down his tiny, dirty cheek.

“Cornel, look at me,” Petran said softly, resting a comforting hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Just do as I tell you, and no harm will come to you again. No one will curse you. But promise me that you will seek the vampire’s castle.”

“I promise,” Cornel replied with a sniffle.

“Good boy. Now go along and eat your bread. You must be starving.”

After little Cornel had disappeared toward the village, Petran released a tired breath. Merciful Soartas, children were a handful. He turned around to find Arthur watching him with a smirk on his face.

“Oh, shut up, Arthur.”

“I did not say anything, your majesty.”

But the gleeful grin never left his chamberlain’s face.

**********

“As I said, Kalaur is glad you are feeling better, my lord. I will pass on the good news to him as soon as I return.”

The hooded man watched the Balaur leave Somenski’s sleeping chambers still carrying the blanket he was supposed to have left behind. Bloody dimwitted bastard.

Kalaur’s brother had stayed at his neighbor’s castle for a few days and had not yet finished what he had come here to do. The moron could not fuck a whore properly, why in Hiad did Kalaur think he could accomplish this?

Careful not to get wet in the splashing waterfall behind him, the hooded man slowly slid the double doors open, and tip toed inside the draconian lord’s chambers. The sound of heavy breathing echoed in the room. The old draco had already fallen asleep.

He walked to the four-poster bed and pulled the top blanket aside. Somenski stirred for a moment. The hooded man paused, knowing that any further movement could tip the scales against him. Somenski turned sideways, farted, then the snoring resumed.

Time to speed things up before someone discovered him here. 

Never retrieving the protective leather gloves, he pulled out the heavy blanket from the pack he carried and lifted it on top of the sleeping draco. Then, he threw the top blanket back to its initial position, safely hiding the new one.

“Have safe travels to the depths of Hiad, old man.”

The hooded man walked back to the balcony and disappeared within the waterfall.