Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (16 page)

The faint footsteps were getting louder, which meant their uninvited visitor was getting closer.

“Quick,” she hissed softly.

Petran fastened the last clip then rushed away from Natalia only a second before Ivan Milek appeared by the pond.

“Talia,” he exclaimed, a frown creasing his thick brow. His suspicious gaze darted between Natalia and Petran. “What are you two doing here?”

“Cleaning up,” she replied a bit too breathless for normal. “His majesty had kindly offered to help me.” She took a deep breath. “What are
you
doing here? You should be in bed.”

“No time for that,” he replied curtly. “We need to go.”

“Ivan, you must rest,” she complained, touching his shoulder in a too intimate manner for Petran’s liking. Why did she insist in calling him Ivan? Why not Milek, or better yet, Mister Milek? 

“No,” he retorted. “We are still continuing with the plan.”

That little piece of information made Petran pause. “What plan?”

“None of your business, Vampire King,” Milek replied between clenched teeth.

“Ivan,” Natalia cried out, chiding him. “King Petran helped us heal you.  Without him, you wouldn’t be speaking right now.”

“Why did you bring him, Talia?”

Argh! There he went again, calling her by that indecent manner of name. “Her name is Natalia. And it should be Lady Natalia for you, vassal,” Petran growled.

“I call her in any manner I want, vampire,” Ivan replied. “Go back to your country. You have no business being here.”

“Stop! Both of you,” Natalia shouted, but they were both beyond that point now. Petran did not know why the swine got under his skin but he had, and that was that. “Ivan, go back to bed. You need rest.”

“No, what I need is revenge,” he bellowed. “Balaur killed my friends, Talia, he ambushed us in the mines and killed them all, rebels and serfs! Dimitri, Grotski, and I are the last ones left from the massacre.” His eyes blazed with fury. “I won’t rest until he, and that monster Vrajitor pay for every single inmã they killed tonight.”

“And how are you planning on doing that, draco?” Petran asked calmly. “He’s protected by an army of trained dragons, and he’s at the Open Games, where the best royal fighters are also present.”

“Not only royal fighters are there,” he replied coldly. “I reckon they will be quite busy trying to save that highborn scum from our rage.”

“What?” Natalia yelped. “You cannot attack the games! There are innocent women and children there, Ivan. They had nothing to do with Balaur’s cruelty.”

“Neither did the mining workers who were hacked into pieces by Vrajitor’s centipedes,” Milek retorted. “No, Kalaur and his brother will know the suffering I know. They will feel the pain of seeing their people die and be able to do nothing about it.” Milek shrugged off from Natalia’s pleading grip and started walking back toward the hut, probably where his other two rebel comrades awaited him.

Petran didn’t want anything to do with this fight. The impertinent rebel was right, he had no business meddling in their civil war. But if that bootlicker attacked the Open Games, it would become Petran's affair. The idiot didn’t realize that by doing that, all the present dignitaries would have no choice but to defend themselves and their loved ones, thus giving Kalaur the perfect excuse to seal the support from all other monarchs in the Eastern World. And he could not allow that to happen.

Petran materialized in front of Milek, blocking his path. “I’m afraid I cannot let you do that.”

“Get out of my way, vampire.”

“No, Milek, you get out of mine.”

Petran launched himself at Milek, taking him down by the waist. They crashed onto the dirt floor with a grunt. Petran didn’t waste any time. He threw a series of cross punches connecting to the idiot’s jaw. Milek took the first blows but the bloody swine knew how to fight. He blocked Petran’s attacks with his forearm, then lifted his hips in a way which made Petran lose balance. But Petran was also a seasoned fighter and was expecting the move. He leaped into the air at the same time the draco lunged up with his claws out aiming at Petran’s throat. Petran ducked out of the way and used Milek’s own momentum to twist his arm, forcing him forward and down. It worked. Milek dropped heavily to his knees. But it wasn’t enough for Petran. He crouched beside his target and locked his arm around Milek’s neck, while still twisting his hand.

“Give up, Milek,” Petran growled against the draco’s ear. “You’re done.”

“Petran stop,” he heard Natalia cry out, but it was too late for that now. He’d apologize for his rudeness later, once he got rid of this thorn called rebel leader.

His opponent choked as Petran put more pressure on his hold. He wasn’t going to kill him, at least not in front of Natalia. No, he just wanted to turn the bastard purple and make him go to sleep for a while.

But his plans were cut short when the bastard in question decided to throw a low blow. Out of nowhere, leathery wings sprung from Milek’s back, which successfully tossed Petran off him and send him up into the air. As soon as he landed back on solid ground, Petran went after his target again, but it was too late. Milek had already shifted and in his place stood a massive brown dragon. Petran jumped out of the way just before the scorching ball of fire whooshed passed him.

Then the dragon screeched one last time and flew away.

“Stay here,” Petran told Natalia, who looked frozen in shock. “And far away from the Games!”

“But what about my father?” Natalia shouted back, but the green cloud of teleportation had already engulfed him, blocking his answer from reaching her.
Don’t worry, Natalia. I’ll make sure no harm comes to your father.

**********

There was simply no way Talia would remain there while her father and other innocent people were in danger. She couldn’t believe what Ivan had planned. What had gotten into him to rush off that way, to seek revenge by killing innocent people? She realized she no longer recognized him. The Milek she saw tonight was not the same leader who had inspired her to fight for her people’s rights.

She ran across the clearing as fast as she could. As if on cue, two immense dragons soared above her—Dimitri and Grotski. They were following their leader and would soon reach the games. Oh Merciful Soartas!

Talia fretted over what she should do. It had taken them a quarter of an hour to come this way so she didn’t have the luxury of taking that long to go back. By that time, the battle would be over and everyone else would be already dead. So, she had no other choice.

Screw the rules, she thought, in a very un-lady like manner.

Talia focused her mind and let the dragon heat fill her heart. It bubbled in her gut, spreading through her core, her arms, her legs, until all she knew was the ancient power of dragons. She would ruin her gown but now wasn’t the time for superfluous thoughts. Lives were at stake, and she had to help Petran get all the guests to cover before her friends attacked.

Massive red wings sprang out of her back ripping the heavy fabric apart. She reached behind and tore away the gown’s tail. The last thing she needed was a cape, which could get stuck somewhere.

Oh, it felt so good to let her wings lose! She felt free and powerful.

Batting her wings with all her might, she soared into the air and let the wind lift her up into the sky. As she raced across the open sky toward the Games’ compound, she prayed to Apa Dobrý to protect her father and Petran from any harm.

Chapter Eighteen

He was too late, Petran thought as he materialized back at the Open Games. On the dark horizon, he saw three dragons approaching fast but the noble guests were completely oblivious of what was coming. Forgetting about protocol, which condemned teleportation within the sports grounds, Petran
clouded out
to the royal podium where Kalaur and the other dignitaries still sat and took shape again in the middle of the royal box.

“Argh, Petran,” Hillia screeched in surprise. “How rude of you to teleport right into the middle of our conversation!”

Petran ignored her tantrum and dashed straight to Somenski’s side. “We must leave at once,” he ordered, already lifting the weak draco off his chair. “You must go back to the Castle of Kings at once!” he repeated louder, to the other dignitaries.

They just stared at him blankly, as if he had sprung horns. Damned fools!

“Yerik,” he bellowed to his councilor. “Take the women and the children, now!”

“Yes, your majesty,” Yerik replied dutifully, but took his time getting off the chair.

“King Petran?” Kalaur slurred out, not moving from his spot. His blood shot eyes were at half-mast and his words emerged barely audible. He obviously had had his fill of wine tonight. “Why the commotion?”

“Because of them,” Petran barked, pointing at the sky.

They all turned in unison, as if he’d just said, “Look! A flying horse!”

“Those are rebel dracos,” Petran explained. “Believe me, they have only one thing in mind.”

“What?” one of the female guests asked, panic stamped across her face.

“Revenge.”

That did it. The women started screaming, children started crying, and the men barked orders around like blind kings. Petran realized he could have done a better job of containing the panic, but there was no time. The rebel dragons were coming and they wanted blood.

“To the castle, quick,” Oberon bellowed a bit too late since the area was already clearing.

Kalaur stumbled out screaming for his brother. Petran just hoped Balaur hadn’t had as much to drink as him. Otherwise, there would be very little protection given from the only ones who could stop their draconian rebels in the air.

“Come on, old fellow, I promised a pretty lady I’d get your sorry arse out of here,” Petran said wrapping Somenski’s arm around his shoulders.

The old draco flinched in pain but his eyes were filled with resolve. He was an older inmã than Petran and had survived many battles in his lifetime. Petran was determined to not let this to be his last.

As they rushed down the steps, Petran’s acute ears picked up a whooshing sound coming in his direction. He didn’t think twice. He quickly held Somenski tight and leaped in the air just as the fire ball hit the royal box, obliterating everything in it.

Damn the gates of Hiad!

Even though he had managed to escape the main blast, he felt the heat, and dragon fire was one of the only elements, which could melt vampires within seconds. Petran wasn’t going to risk any more than he had to. While still in midair, he dematerialized with Somenski in tow, narrowly escaping the residual effects of the blast. He took shape a few feet away, and crashed on the ground.

“Are you all right?” he asked his neighbor, who grunted but nodded in the affirmative. “Right then, we must get to the castle.”

“Petran,” Hillia screamed as she materialized next to them. “What about me?”

For a moment he thought his wife was offering to help but gods, was he wrong.

“I need to get to the castle,” she added, as if saying “where’s my cavalry?”

“Hillia, you know how to teleport,” Petran stated, while lifting the heavy Somenski off the ground.

“You mean teleport by myself?” she demanded with a screech. “It’s not proper!”

Petran counted to three to tame the rage bubbling inside. Damned was the day the Soartas put Hillia in his life.

He did not have time for her shallow whims right now, so he just stared at her blankly, and waited. The way she glared back at him was evidence enough confirming she had understood his message.

Bloody royals. 

“My daughter?” Somenski mumbled beside him.

“She’s safe, you don’t have to worry—”

“No,” the draco said interrupting him. “My daughter. There! Look!”

Petran turned toward the direction where Somenski was pointing at. No, the old draco wasn’t hallucinating. Out of the thick cloud of smoke Natalia emerged, full wings spread wide, and flapping elegantly in the air. She hovered over one of the adjacent buildings where a trapped group of centaurs huddled. Petran watched in awe as she opened her mouth wide and inhaled, drawing the enemy fire into her own body. Her wings suddenly lit up revealing thin white stripes along their edge. She looked powerful and mesmerizing, like a true warrior who wasn’t afraid of risking her life to save others. She managed to hold off the blaze long enough giving the centaurs enough time to break free and run to safety.

Even though Petran’s heart filled with pride, his mind roared in outrage, for no matter how noble her actions had been, she shouldn’t have been risking her life at all. 

“Father,” she called out as she landed next to where they were. “Are you all right?”

Somenski nodded.

“Natalia, what are you doing here?” Petran chided. “I told you to stay away.”

She simply lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yes, you seemed to have said that.” Then without any further explanation, she took her father’s arm off him, and added, “I can fly Father to the castle. Go and help the others. There are still a number of people trapped in the outer buildings.”

She didn’t wait for his reply or consent, for that matter, she simply hugged her father and flew away.

Had she not only ignored his order but gave
him
an order? By the gates of Hiad, that woman had a nerve.

Petran growled low. He was fuming but at the same time, his heart refused to stop pounding in admiration. The Traitor.

Deciding to deal with his treasonous organ later, Petran turned on his heels to do just what Natalia had asked him to, but halted abruptly as he came face to face with Hillia.

She was still standing there, regal and imposing. Her Parisian-couture dress was burned on the edges, her fancy hairdo was covered in soot, and nonetheless, she looked as dangerous as a viper before the attack.

“Hillia, are you still here?” he asked with unconcealed annoyance.

She narrowed her eyes at him, cold derision radiated from them. “Yes, husband, I am still here indeed.” But then despite her words, she dematerialized without another syllable of protest.

Petran exhaled a long breath. He knew his wife. She had seen his exchange of words with Lady Natalia. That cool façade was just a mask. He was the king, but she would make him pay dearly for not abiding to her whims.