Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (17 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Talia stared out of the tall glass window and wondered if anyone would notice if she went out again. After flying her father to the safety of the Castle of Kings, and ensuring he was properly tucked in and fast as sleep, she dashed down the long corridors looking for Petran. But he wasn’t anywhere to be found. She didn’t know why she needed to talk to him, or where the urge was coming from, but she did.

Well, she knew exactly where the need was coming from—a very specific part of her body located below her belly button.

Mighty Soartas, she felt her cheeks burn just from the memories of what Petran had done to her by the pond. That was rather, what she had allowed him to do, where she begged for him to touch her, kiss her, and loosen her dress to explore her sensitive breasts and so much more. She had never felt those strange sensations before. She had been to a few summer balls in London, and had her share of admirers but never had anyone stirred such wildness, such wantonness in her. As soon as Petran’s fingers had grazed her skin, her core lit up like fire.

In fairness, she had tried to play the game of seduction thinking she could convince Petran into helping them. She truly believed he would be the ally the cause had been waiting for, but little had she known how green she was in that game. Or how easily Petran would not only see through her little scheme, but turn the tables on her with a flick of his hand—well, in a few flicks of his tongue, to be more exact. She knew it was wrong, it was depraved, it was immoral to allow a man, other than her husband, to touch her that way. But she liked it. In fact, she had loved it, and she wanted more.

With an impatient exhale, she tore her eyes from the darkness beyond the castle gardens and glanced around the room in search for some kind of comfort. Wide-eyed royals packed the Grand Hall to the rafters. The conversations surrounded a revolving theme—how had the rebels managed to raid and attack a peaceful gathering? Although the organizers cancelled tonight’s festivities, which was no surprise, no one felt like resting. Maybe like Talia, they were feeling fidgety, worried, confused, and even scared with the prospect of a civil war on draconian grounds.

Talia shook her head. By Apa Dobrý, an attack on the only event which symbolized peace between supernatural races? That had not been a good move from the rebel forces. Ivan had lost his mind and had dragged their cause down with him. Now Kalaur had a very good excuse to retaliate in force and if they thought he had been ruthless before, the world should get ready for a true reign of terror.

She took a deep breath.
Where was Petran?

The tall outer walls of the castle blocked her from seeing anything beyond the front gardens. How long had it been since the attack? Two hours, maybe three? She had lost track of time. At first, the horde of scared dignitaries flooded the gates as they rushed to safety, trying to escape the scorching flames of the three dragons seemingly not very particular about who they targeted. After a while, the influx slowed down, only to leave the most experienced leaders and warriors returning in sparse drips from the chase. Apparently, Ivan and the two others were still at large.
Thank Apa Dobrý.

Talia did not agree with Ivan’s horrible behavior tonight, but her heart still feared for her friends. Dimitri was barely of age, and Grotzki had lost both his parents. Neither needed any more pain in their lives, for they had seen enough hurt to last them another lifetime.

Where in Hiad was Petran?

“He must have been caught up in the aftermath with Oberon.”

Talia spun around, surprised at the sudden statement.

Hillia stood a few feet behind her. She had changed, choosing a maroon
robe à la chemise
instead of the previous gown maimed in the chaos. It was made of fine muslin, with a rich embroidered border. Her long skirt started just below her breasts, the long sleeves were drawn, and trimmed in the middle with broad lace. Her midnight hair was styled in a loose high bob, with perfectly curled locks cascading down her forehead and neckline. Hillia looked as if she had just had the most relaxing evening, but her eyes were cold, and her grin stale.

Nonetheless, it was hard for Talia not to feel conscious about her own appearance. She was still in her previous gown, the same one Hillia had insisted on sharing her disapproval of in front of everyone. Now it was ripped in the back from the effort to let her wings lose in a rush. The skirt hems were heavy with mud and dark patches of soot and burnt fabric was a new addition to the pattern.

Fantastic.

“Apologies, Queen Hillia, I had not heard you approaching,” Talia murmured, trying to smooth the surface of her ruined gown.

“No apologies necessary, my dear,” her neighbor replied. “I noticed you seemed caught up in your thoughts.”

Yes, she had been caught up in her thoughts about the vampire’s husband.

“I was just saying how he will probably return just before dawn,” Hillia added, coming to stand by Talia’s side to gaze out the window. “There’s no use in waiting for him.”

A frown wrinkled Talia’s brow. “I am sorry, your majesty, to whom are you referring?”

Hillia turned and faced Talia. “Oh, you don’t need to hide it from me. I saw the way he gazes at you.”

Could she be possibly talking about…Talia swallowed dry. “I do apologize for my ignorance, Queen Hillia, but I am still unsure to whom you are referring.”

“My dear, do you believe you are his first lover?” Hillia asked in an unnervingly condescending tone. “Furthermore, do you believe you are the only one, or even the last?”

Feeling her checks burn in embarrassment, Talia turned her focus back to the gardens in front of them. Mighty Soartas, Hillia was talking about Petran.

“Oh, please, don’t be embarrassed. I know everything concerning my castle and my family.”

“I—I do not know what to say,” Talia murmured, feeling utterly ashamed.
How had the queen known?

“Well, if it helps, Petran has had many lovers in the past,” Hillia uttered with a shrug.

“What does her majesty mean?”

“Oh, I have lost count how many times I spotted him looking longingly in a direction, just to find a beautiful young bird on the receiving end. He doesn’t even try to change his mojo. He enjoys having young, brainless virgins surround him. You see,” she whispered, taking a step closer. “He likes the chase, the thrill of the hunt for the forbidden fruit.”

“And you don’t mind it?” Talia asked, knowing she was being too forefront but unable to disguise her astonishment with the entire bizarre conversation.

Hillia’s perfect lips curved slightly in a knowing smile. “When the poor girls fall madly in love with him, he loses interest.”

“Loses interest…”

“Of course! He is a centuries-old vampire, my dear, how long do you believe it takes for him to get utterly bored with an unexperienced virgin?”

Talia swallowed dry. The room started spinning, her stomach churned and she felt bile rise up her throat. “I do not feel well.”

“Petran has only two constants in his life,” Hillia carried on, obviously having chosen to ignore Talia’s silent plea. “He churns through lovers like he churns through allies, and he always…” She paused, narrowing her eyes at Talia. “He always comes back to my arms.”

Hillia had uttered those last words slowly, as if she was giving Talia time to digest the weight of her revelation. Little did the vampire queen know that Talia’s understanding was much faster than she imagined. Disturbing images of her maid relaying her day on Petran’s bed engulfed her mind.

He was so virile, so passionate. I am sore between the legs, but Mighty Soartas, let me tell you, he has had plenty of experience because I have never seen so many stars in my life...if you know what I mean.

Suddenly, her corset felt too tight, and it was difficult to breathe. The room had gotten too warm. Black dots blurred her vision. She was going to pass out.

“Excuse me, your majesty,” Talia slurred out. “I must retire now.”

As Talia rushed past the many guests crowding the room, and trying to contain her pounding heart, she wished she were at home far away from this.

Hillia’s voice haunted her from behind. “You do that, my child. You do that.”

Chapter Twenty

The green cloud dissipated as Petran materialized in front of the Castle of Kings. He glanced up to show his face one last time.

“King Petran,” one of the sentries uttered with a nod of acknowledgement, just before the heavy gates creaked opened.

Even though this castle was built in the early medieval era, it wasn’t surrounded by a moat. Its heavy gates and outer walls were the only thing protecting it from invaders. Well, a moat wouldn’t be of any use anyway if the attackers were coming from above, but the magic cast at the castle’s inception always would. The kings who build the political sanctuary participated in a blood-binding ceremony at the very first Open Games, many centuries ago. The only way anyone could penetrate the grounds was by invitation only, not even from above. The magic also blocked teleporting, which Petran knew well and was the reason he had developed his own way of making his body ethereal without actually dematerializing. Although Kalaur officially managed the fortress, the three tower sentries were not dragons. They were blathmac mages, a rare species of extreme power known for their serenity and quest for peace. Their unique appearance—rather a cross between a tree, an elephant and a human—had been the muse of many tall tales and extravagant anecdotes across the ages. One thing all the tales had correct, however, was the fact that the blathmac mages were the chosen keepers of the fortress and carvers of the magical enchantment which unlocked the gates.

And for the first time, Petran was very glad of that fact.

He waited for the gates to open fully then made his way across the ward. There were many guards around, but no one else. With the sun almost rising, and after such an eventful evening, it was no surprise the festivities had been cancelled, and that the guests had chosen to stay inside. He too was exhausted for he had spent many hours teleporting injured guests back and forth, after fighting Ivan and his rebels off. The three bastard rebels had attacked the busiest areas of the Open Games where not only royals but vassals had been enjoying the many competitions. Before Balaur and his lot arrived, Ivan took off with his crew. Since all other warriors, like Petran, were busy trying to contain the damage, Milek managed to escape unscathed. But he would pay for such a carnage, Petran would make sure of that. His heart sank when he thought of how Natalia had been colluding with such scum.

“The big bad dragon is coming to get you,” a male voice echoed in the dead night.

Petran stopped in his tracks.

“Come on out, the big bad dragon will find you!”

What in Hiad? Who was that?

Following where the male voice was coming from, Petran strode across to the manicured gardens covering the east side of the property and pushed one of the fern bushes aside. Two nymph ladies lay behind it. Their goddess-like bodies sheltered only by flimsy undergarments.

They yelped, startled at the sight of Petran’s frowning face, but before he could ask what in Hiad they were doing out here, a tall man with dark brown hair jumped out of the adjacent bush roaring. “Aha! There’s no escape now!”

The pretend attacker then dived between the ladies already stripping off one the girl’s pantaloons.

Petran’s blood boiled in his veins.

“Tardieh,” he growled.

His son, Prince Tardieh, jolted startled, stiffening, and then finally turned around to face his father.

“What in Hiad do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you think, Father?” the brat replied. Instead of pulling himself together, Tardieh just rested in the grass, using the two nymphs as cushions.

“Do you not know there’s a war taking place outside these walls? Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” his son answered with a shrug. “And I’m doing my part. I’m protecting these beautiful ladies from harm... you know, comforting them.” He caressed the women’s bare breasts. “They were awfully frightened. Were you not, my lovelies?”

The ladies didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation because they kept on giggling at Tardieh’s every insolent word.

Petran stared at his son, unable to believe his eyes and ears. So many retorts rushed through his head, like an avalanche of anger but none topped the cruelest realization.

“You will never be a true king,” he muttered, not bothering to mask the disgust in his voice.

Tardieh’s gaze went dark, then he stood up and squared off in front of Petran in a rare show of bravery. “No, Father, I will never be the king
you
want me to be.”

“You are nothing but a spoiled brat,” Petran blurted out. “I should have sent you away when I had the chance, I should have made you work for your living and fight in the trenches. That would have taught you what it means to be a leader.”

“Mighty Soartas, you are so blinded by your crown you cannot see what’s right in front of you!” His son retorted, bitterness coating his words. “The world has changed, Father. We are not in the Dark Ages anymore.”

“You have no idea of your words,” Petran replied. “Yes, times are changing, but nature does not. Greed, lust, envy, vainglory will still be the drivers of our society no matter the age, no matter the generation. No, my son, it is you who are blinded by your arrogance.”

“Well, if being a king means being a heartless autocrat then, my dear father, I will be glad to renounce my right to the crown.”

Petran let out a bitter chortle. “Will you be glad to renounce to the spoils that my crown provides you as well? For instance, the shield which allows you to be out here fucking these girls while the world crumbles outside these very walls?”

Tardieh glowered at Petran and shrugged. “There’s plenty of free land in the world where I can fuck whoever and whenever I want without worrying about you meddling in.”

“Hey!” One of the nymphs protested, but Tardieh had already sunk back down next to her.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” he mumbled. “You and your sister will always be my favorites.”

His son licked one of the nymph’s breasts and fondled the flesh of the other. He glowered back at Petran one last time as if daring his father to stop him, then without waiting for a retort, Tardieh took off with both in tow.

Petran didn’t go after him. There was no use. His son was lost to him, he didn’t know when it happened, but it had. Somewhere along the way his beloved Tardieh, whom he had been so proud of when he was born, had grown apart from him. Maybe it was his fault, maybe he had spent too much time drowned in royal affairs and had taken his son’s attention for granted.

Petran exhaled a tired breath.

Was it always so hard to raise offspring? Had he been this difficult when he was an overindulged prince? No. His father would have never let him get away with even a fraction of the things Tardieh did. Maybe it was his generation for as Tardieh had said, times were changing. But when he thought about it, Natalia was of the same generation as Tardieh, and by Apa Dobrý, the two could not be further apart. She was risking her life to provide a better future for her race while Tardieh played around with nymphs.

She fought battles she believed in, and it was very clear she had neglected her personal wants and needs for the greater good. The more Petran came to know Lady Natalia, the more spellbound he became. Ever since their first encounter at her father’s castle, he hadn’t been able to get his mind off her. He’d had many lovers in his lifetime but none had gotten under his skin the way Natalia had.

Without noticing, he walked past the Vampire Wing’s main entrance in the direction of the opposite side of the castle where the draconian royal families usually stayed.

The hairs on the back of his head lifted and a chill ran up his spine.

He turned back around and looked up. Against one of the windows in the Vampire Royal Quarters, he saw the silhouette of a tall woman watching him.
Hillia.
She had witnessed his entire altercation with their son yet hadn’t come to his aid.

Petran chuckled bitterly. The physical distance between them at that very moment was the perfect illustration of their marriage—two people who had nothing in common, living worlds apart, yet under the same roof. He knew she was very aware of his love affairs, the same way he was of hers. They never bothered him. He had never loved Hillia and in an insane way, his not giving attention to her love affairs was his way of giving her a glimpse of happiness he knew he could not provide. But now since he couldn’t get Natalia out of his head, the emptiness in their marriage had become even more unbearable. He wanted to feel the fires of passion in his gut again. He wanted someone to need him, to love him.

The water witch’s grim warning flooded his mind once again. He knew he should forget about Natalia and go back to the solitude of his royal quarters, far away from her. But he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t. The memory of the way her blood tasted earlier that evening, the softness of her mouth, the plumpness of her breasts, the warmth of her skin, all drew him in, and was driving him wild with need.

He ran his hand through his short beard, unsure of what to do, for the first time in his life.
No
, he thought, it was best to not proceed with his little game with Lady Natalia. There was too much at stake. He no longer needed to disgrace her for he had discovered how Somenski’s lands had been
cursed
, and once they discovered what exactly was causing the disease to spread, it would take just a few moments to develop an antidote. He would see her father cured, and Somenski would no longer need to marry his daughter off. For now anyway.

Natalia would eventually find a husband though and that thought disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

Damn the Soartas.

A worrisome thought suddenly crossed his mind. Was she safe? After she left with her father from the burning field, he had heard no more. He didn’t know if she had actually made it safely back to the castle or not. He could ask the guards for news, but he could not do it without raising suspicions.

It was best if he went to check on her himself.

He would use his ephemeral cloud as an invisibility cloak and just see if she had arrived safely. That was all. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous or risky.

He glanced one last time up at Hillia, then turned back around and clouded out.

**********

The corridors in the Draconian Wing were quiet, but not empty. Heavily armed sentinels stood guard at every corner and every doorstep. The design of the fortress was a clever multi-pointed star shape, in order to accommodate all the dignitaries whilst giving them the required privacy and seclusion. Due to the history of animosity between vampires and dragons, this wing was on the opposite side of the castle from the Vampire quarters. Very clever indeed.

Petran kept a strong hold on his cloud-like state so as not to trigger the castle’s protective spell. By travelling as the wind, around things instead of through them, he had managed to come and go in this castle without being spotted, many times before. But it was quite tiring to do so and his energy levels were running low.

Yet, there was another challenge. There was a plethora of rooms in this wing. How would he know which one was Natalia’s?

Toward the end of the corridor, he noticed a set of doors guarded by not one, but three sentinels. He was sure that must be Somenski’s sleeping quarters. He swept inside and confirmed his suspicions. The old draco was asleep in a large bed with an untouched plate of food resting next to him. Petran hovered above him, just to ensure the old sod was still breathing. He was, so he promptly ducked out through the window’s fissures.

He floated a few feet along the edge of the castle then spotted what he sought. Just a few windows down from Somenski, Natalia lay resting on a large four-post bed. Her covers tossed at her feet as if a restless sleep had pulled them aside. Her maiden was nowhere to be seen. She was alone.

Without giving it too much thought, Petran drifted inside through the half open window pane and materialized by her bedside.

She looked so angelic yet seductive at the same time. Her hair was loose, her wavy mane spread out on the pillow like a red blanket. It was the first time he’d seen her hair unfastened. A thick white strand contrasted with the fieriness of her red blaze. That was the bleached streak on her wings, he mused with a grin.

His eyes drifted lower, delighting themselves in the site before him. Her camisole was made of light cotton, landing him a glimpse of her long legs, milky breasts, flat stomach, and the impious patch of hair between her legs. He swallowed dry trying to contain the need to bend over and kiss her lips. Petran’s cock tingled alive, longing to penetrate her the way his fangs had earlier in the evening.

She suddenly shifted on the bed, turning on her side. A light frown creased her beautiful brow. She wasn’t having a restful sleep yet needed it. 

He bent over and brushed the back of his fingertips across her brow, melting the frown away. Had she worried about him? Had she stayed up late, waiting for him to arrive from the battlefield?

Petran blinked, shocked to have those questions pop into his head. Why was he longing for her to need him? At first, he lusted for her. He had wanted to taste her because she was a beautiful woman, with a fire burning inside yet to be explored, but now, another organ throbbed louder than his aching cock. His heart.