Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (39 page)

He jumped up off Lady Natalia like she was on fire.

“Mighty Soartas, I can’t believe you’re alive!” Zoricah cried out, and pulled the former draconian duchess off the ground and into a bear hug. “What happened? Why hadn’t you reached out to me after the war?”

“I—I couldn’t, I had to flee,” Natalia replied, blinking fast. “How did you find us?”

“Do you remember the vampire chamberlain, Arthur? He had a letter from Petran telling everything that happened. But dear Soartas, this is insane! How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. Err, very good,” the duchess replied, finally smiling.

“Us”, Tardieh stated, calling the attention of both women who had been too caught up in their reunion to notice much of anything else.

“Excuse me?”

“You said…how did you find
us
?” Tardieh replied slowly. “As in, you are not alone.” His gut clenched, his heart pounded in his chest, his throat constricted as if an invisible hand was squeezing the air out of his lungs. No, it was not possible, whoever the man on the second floor was, he could not possibly be—

“Hello, son.”

Chapter Forty Two

Petran swallowed dry at the expression of utter disbelief stamped on Tardieh’s face. He had vowed never to let this happen. He had made Arthur promise but as it turned out, the Soartas had a different fate for his plans.

Nonetheless, it was overwhelmingly wonderful to see his son again. He looked a bit tired but he was more build up than before, his square jaw was clean shaven, and in place of his jovial aura was confidence and maturity.

By the gates of Hiad, how he had missed his son.

“You fucking liar!” the son in question bellowed just before he lunged at Petran tackling him to the ground. His first cross punch connected to Petran’s chin as female shouts rang out in the night. The second and third blows came right after the first one. Petran didn’t retaliate.

“Tardieh, stop,” he heard Zoricah scream between the fourth and fifth strikes.

“Tardieh, please!” It was Talia’s turn to plea.

The two women were now on top of his son, trying to hold him back. After a few more blows, they managed to do the deed. Tardieh growled, barring his fully extended fangs at him, then freed himself of their grasp, and started pacing up and down the front lawn like a lion on a cage.

Petran sat on the grass, slowly cleaning the blood off his chin and nose. He had just fed from Talia so even though Tardieh’s hits had been as mighty as they come, Petran had already healed. 

“You son of a bitch. How could you do this?” his son asked with a strained voice. “Why did you keep you begin alive from me?”

Petran had questioned his decision many times before and had regretted it many more. But the truth was, it was the only way.

“Do you remember the last time we spoke to each other?” he asked, not bothering to stand up. “Do you remember what we said to each other?”

“I remember spending the last two fucking centuries feeling guilty for not believing in you, for not having been strong enough to save you,” Tardieh growled back.

Petran took a deep breath. He always knew that if this day ever came, it would not be easy. “You told me you’d never be the king I wanted you to be.”

“And then you accused me of being a fucking brat.”

“Spoilt.”

“Excuse me?” Tardieh bellowed, as if Petran was a schoolboy, and not his father.

“I accused you of being a spoilt brat,” he added, finally standing up to face his son eye to eye. “Tardieh, after you were taken, after I found out that Hillia was the one who had sold me out to Kalaur, and after putting Natalia’s life in danger, I realized you were right. I shouldn’t have wanted you to become the king I was. I needed you to be better. And better can only come without any strings attached. Too much blood had been spilled, and there was too much grievance for me to amend. My people needed a new leader who could wipe this whole history out, press the reset button and start afresh. And that’s exactly what you’ve done. I couldn’t have done it myself, Tardieh. You have indeed become a much better leader than I ever was.”

Silence. Petran waited for retaliation but Tardieh just looked away, his jaw clenching in anger.

“How did you get away?” Zoricah asked. It was good to hear curiosity instead of accusation in her tone. “The letter finishes when you were being both taken by Yerik to the dungeons. How did you get out?”

Petran glanced at Talia as the long forgotten memories of that terrible night raced through his mind.

“My father,” Talia replied. “The dragons behind the barricaded door were not Kalaur’s guards, it was my father. He had finally decided to join us in battle, supporting Petran. He stormed into the room and killed the daemons, freeing us.”

“Unfortunately, Yerik escaped before I could catch him,” Petran added. “But I’ve heard you amended that mistake a couple of years ago.”

Tardieh finally glanced at him, a fleeting moment of pride filled his eyes but as fast as it came, it disappeared back into anger. And he once again turned away. Apparently, Talia’s flower beds were much more interesting.

“What about Ivan?” Zoricah asked.

“He died from his wounds,” Petran replied. His gaze still fixed on his son. “Even though I didn’t decapitate him per se, his head was pretty much hanging by strings.”

“Like literally,” Talia added. “He died alone, begging for a hand to help him.”

“Just like you had predicted,” Z observed. “Well, I’m not one who celebrates death, but in his case, Yippee.”

Talia chuckled then took Z’s hand in hers. “We’re sorry we had to lie to you, but after so much betrayal by the ones closest to us we thought we couldn’t trust anyone. We thought that if we tried to contact you, all your lives would be in danger.”

“What about the head I found on the mantel?” Tardieh barked. “I saw it with my own eyes, it was you.”

“No, you saw the head and body of a draco who
looked
like me, wearing my clothes. Had you never wondered how you could have found my decapitated head, since the divine fire consumes our bodies once the inmã crosses the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei?”

Tardieh stared at him, a deep frown of uncertainty wrinkled his brow. “I had just been rescued, it was dark…I was—”

“Confused,” Petran added. “I was counting on that, but I didn’t mean for you to be the one to find me, Tardieh, but Balaur. For that I am truly sorry.”

“How did you know about Yerik’s death?” his son asked, ignoring his apologies. His tone was still harsh but had lost the
utter
from the rage it carried moments before. “No, don’t tell me,” he added. “Arthur.”

Petran nodded.

His son ran his hand through his hair. “I assume that on the last page of the letter you revealed where you were and how to contact you.”

Petran nodded again. “And I specifically asked him to burn
all
the pages, not only the last one. But as usual, he disobeyed my orders.”

“So you wanted me to never find you?” Tardieh demanded, the resentment returning to his tone. “By Apa Dobrý, you really wanted nothing more to do with me, didn’t you?”

“Tardieh, that’s not true.”

“Of course it is, why else would you have gone through so much trouble to hide yourself from me?”

“I did want to see you, Tardieh,” Petran replied as heatedly. “But things were not that simple. You are a grown man now, and you should know that. We had managed to drive the Daemons back to their land, but the dragon lords were still divided, and Balaur wanted revenge. He was accusing me of having plotted the entire thing, for starting the war and killing his brother. If I had returned, the blood bath would start again. I could not allow that to happen. You would never have been given the opportunity to start over.” He took a few steps closer to Tardieh wishing he could reach his heart, but instead he reached out and touched his shoulder. “Son, believe me, leaving you was the hardest decision of my life. You have a daughter now, you must know it’s true.”

Tardieh stared at him for the first time, with something other than accusation in his green eyes. “I would die before having to leave my daughter behind.” And then his warm glance turn cold. “And that is why I know I can never forgive you,” he added, shrugging Petran’s hand off his shoulder. “Let’s go, Zoricah, I’m done here.”

“Tardieh,” Petran started saying, but was startled by a
wooshing
sound coming his way. A silver bullet hit the wall a few inches from his left ear. If he hadn’t moved to go to his son, it would have hit him right between the eyes.

“Get down,” he shouted, lunging forward to protect Talia. By the gates of Hiad, who was attacking them?

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tardieh run for cover, shielding his wife’s body with his own but she had not a mind for it because she snaked out of his protective embrace and went for the shotgun forgotten earlier on the grass. With expert movements, she dodged the attackers aim and fired two bullets, which hit their mark spot on.

A grunt resounded from the direction of the fence, followed by a horned male who dropped lifelessly on the ground.

Daemons. Bloody Hiad.

Tardieh wasted no time and climbed up the other side quickly stopping the second assailant who was firing at Zoricah.

“How did they find us?” Talia bellowed from her cover.

Petran didn’t have time to answer her. He was busy tracking the third attacker who was trying to break in through the back wall. He shifted into his green cloud and reappeared right next to the bastard, knocking him and the gun he held to the ground. Then holding onto the prick’s horns, he flipped into the air, twisting and dragging his target with him. The deamon’s neck broke in two like a twig.

“Father!” Tardieh’s warning caught his attention, but a moment too late. A series of bullets hit him squarely in the chest. He plummeted to the ground, feeling the hit and the pain.

At once, Talia’s warm arms enveloped his torso, dragging him to safety. It was hard to breathe. Blood filled his throat as well as his lungs.

“Sorry my love, but this is going to hurt.” With no more notice than that, Talia ripped his shirt open and stuck her finger into the wound where one of the bullets had lodged itself. Petran ground his teeth trying not to curse at the love of his life, or scream like a little girl.

Bloody Hiad, that hurt!

In the back of his mind, he registered hearing Tardieh’s war cry then two dismembered arms and a leg flew past followed by the remains of the last attacker.

“How is he?” His son’s concerned voice sounded distant.

“Just two more.”

“How in Hiad did they find us?” Zoricah asked, probably having finished her target off.

“Osman…he’s been tracking us down...”

“Shh, don’t speak, my sweet,” Talia chided him kindly. “I was at the food market a few months ago when I spotted someone watching me. It was a vampire kid with a rockabilly hairdo. You know the kind like Elvis wore.”

“Remi,” Tardieh and Z replied at the same time.

“Yes, Arthur’s nephew,” she replied, pulling out one more bullet from his chest.

Petran saw stars. “Could you please hurry up?”

“Don’t talk, let me concentrate,” she replied. Petran squeezed his eyes shut even as he chuckled internally thinking that apparently her talking was not distracting. “After that, we’ve begun to notice Desert Daemons around. Sydney is very multicultural for humans and for supernatural sons of Apa Sâmbetei, like us. But a Desert Deamon always stands out, no matter where he is. Remi must have followed Arthur over somehow.”

“We found out Remi was selling intel to Balaur,” Z explained.

“Who was probably in bed with the daemons and probably sold your location to them,” Tardieh added, finishing his wife’s train of thought.

Petran exhaled a relieved breath, despite the physical and spiritual pain he was in, despite his son having had told him he’d never forgive him, he was glad of one thing. He had done one truly right thing in this life—he had brought his son and Zoricah together. 

“They have never found where we lived until now,” Talia replied, poking around the cavity in his chest.

Bloody Soartas, finish it up, woman!

Tardieh ran his hands through his silky black mane. He did that a lot, Petran noticed. “They must have seen us walking over here. Damn, I—I should have been more careful.”

A fierce pain shot along Petran’s rib cage just before his love shouted, “A-Ha! Gotcha, you little sucker!” She proudly lifted her hand up displaying the last silver bullet.

“Argh! I swear if you weren’t pulling the bullets out, I would say you wanted to kill me.”

“Oh, isn’t he the grumpiest patient ever?” Talia joked, covering him in kisses. Petran couldn’t help but smile at his wife’s public display of affection. So much had happened between them since they first met. Despite his stubbornness, she had changed him so much—not that he’d had any chance of winning that battle—but at least, he knew that because of her, he had become a better man. 

As soon as the last silver bullet left his body, Petran could breathe again, and felt his wounds starting to heal almost immediately. Kissing Talia’s hand in gratitude, he pushed off the ground to face Tardieh. He needed to clear the air with the other stubborn vampire in the house.

“There was no way you could have known the daemons were on to us, son,” he said, closing what remained of his shirt’s buttons. “The Sultan has many spies. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one bribing Remi, not Balaur.”

“It doesn’t matter, I should have been more careful,” Tardieh replied.

Petran didn’t retort. Not because he agreed with Tardieh, but because he knew had he been in his son’s shoes, he would be feeling exactly the same way.

A heavy silence descended between them. Zoricah and Talia were clearly giving the two of them time to get their loose ends tied back together. Would they ever be able to accomplish that task though? Now that Tardieh had found him, Petran felt like his life was finally complete. He didn’t want to lose his son yet again. 

“Tardieh,” he said, then when his son opened his mouth clearly intending to interject, he added, “Please, just hear me out.” Tardieh’s jaw popped once again but he nodded in agreement, so Petran carried on. “I understand your resentment and confusion. I have never been perfect and my decisions have been far from sound, most of the time. I understand if you feel that you may never want to see me again, but, I can’t let you leave without telling you that…well, I regret nothing.”