Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (24 page)

Talia reached out and pulled a small branch stuck in her friend’s dark tresses. “I don’t want to sound rude or ungrateful but what are you doing here?”

“Word of Ivan’s capture reached me in Dubrovnik, so I packed up and rushed over here. Do you really think I would turn my back on the prospect of a good fight?” Z replied with a wink, and then her honey-topaz eyes went wide in concern. “Have you been crying? What has happened?”

Talia looked away, her cheeks burning, suddenly feeling ashamed of her breakdown. Even though they had become good friends, Zoricah was a powerful and independent woman—a true rarity in her society. Talia doubted she would understand her feelings for the Vampire King.

“It’s nothing. This whole situation, father’s health getting worse, and now Dimitri, Grotzki and Ivan have a death sentence hanging over their heads. It all just got a bit under my skin.”

Z pulled Talia into a bear hug. “I know, honey. I feel the same way too, but…” She pulled away and held Talia at arm’s length. “We cannot admit defeat. Our friends need us and we must find a way of getting them out of Kalaur’s hands.”

Talia released a long breath. Yes, that was exactly what she needed, a purpose, and a mission to get her mind off Petran. Should she tell Zoricah about her fall out with Ivan though? No, she decided, for surely, Ivan’s ire must have been just momentary, fuelled by the frustration of being caught. Talia admired him for his dedication, and never wanted to see any of her friends lose their heads. Literally.

“We must find a way of getting them out before tomorrow evening. Kalaur is preparing a decapitation show at the Closing Ball.”

“I’ve heard.” Z rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to show off in front of all royals from the Eastern Territories, especially with those bloody Desert Daemons covering his arse.”

“Z!” Talia yelped at such a rude expression.

“Oh, please,” her friend replied waving her hand in dismissal. “I know you’re not the prude you pretend to be. The world would be a much better place if we were allowed to speak our minds.”

Talia chuckled. “That is true.” Then, she moistened her lips and tried it herself. “You know what, I am absolutely furious at my father for promising my hand in marriage to that filthy…braggart!”

“Well said, milady!” Z applauded, and then her gazed turned sad. “I’ve heard about the announcement. I’m truly sorry, Talia. But you can count on me to get you out of that betrothal, even if it takes me kidnapping you out of Moldavia.”

Talia took a deep breath, trying to block the self-pity from of her heart. There was no use in crying her misery away. If she wanted the Soartas’ wild horses to change course, she had to take the reins and get to work. “Thanks Z, your friendship means a lot to me, but that’s a mission for another day. Right now, we need to find a way of getting past Kalaur’s guards to free Ivan and the others. They are everywhere now, watching the dungeon day and night.”

Z lifted an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you know who you’re talking to, sister?”

Talia smirked at her far-from-humble friend. “You have a plan, I presume.”

“Of course I do,” she replied mischievously. “Come, I need lots of supplies, and you can get them for me.”

Talia allowed Z to lead her back to the kitchens, feeling invigorated. Maybe the Soartas hadn’t forgotten her after all.

**********

From behind the tall hedge fence, Petran watched Talia and her friend walk toward the castle. After crossing paths with her by the gardens, Petran had followed Talia there worried she would do something silly. He would ensure Hillia had an ear full when they got back to Wallachia but for right now, he had to pretend Talia wasn’t his concern, and that meant keeping his distance and his mouth shut, no matter how much it killed him inside. It was best for both of them.

Petran closed his eyes, despising himself. What kind of gentleman takes a lady’s virginity and vanishes?

A vile one, that’s what kind.

That’s what Talia must be thinking of him, and she was right in doing so. He was a despicable person for making her suffer this way. If they had met under different circumstances, if she were vampire, he wouldn’t have thought twice before taking her as his royal mistress. He would have provided for her, given her a castle to care for, and showered her with everything she had ever wanted. Although, he suspected Talia wasn’t fond of lavish gifts, but more interested in those of an altruistic nature, such as a new well for her villagers. That could have happened if they had met under different circumstances. Unfortunately, she wasn’t vampire, and she was marrying his enemy. So yes, he would remain away and out of trouble.

The only challenge it seemed was keeping
her
out of trouble. He had heard of Zoricah, the demigoddess whom the draconian society had dared to shun away, and she looked like someone who seeks danger.

Petran ran his hand long his hair and massaged the nape of his head. He hadn’t been able to feed ever since his last encounter with Talia, a couple of nights ago. The prospect of drinking from another, and cleaning himself of her delicious aroma of honey mixed with sandalwood made his stomach churn. Strangely so, her scent seemed infused in her blood, making drinking from her veins an utterly mind-blowing experience. Topped off by her sensual lips, soft skin, and a body ripe for his touch, it created a combination impossible to resist—or forget.

He exhaled a long breath and shook his head, chiding himself silently. His infatuation for Lady Natalia was making him weak.

And that was the only thing which could make him lose a war against Kalaur.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Talia folded the small parchment three ways then sealed it in wax. “Martha, take this to the priest, and ask him to hand it over to Ivan when he reads him his last rites tonight.”

“What should I tell him if he asks me what it is?” Martha enquired already hiding the small letter under her skirts.

“Tell him it is my prayers for Apa Dobrý to be merciful, or something like that,” Talia replied. “Whatever happens, do not let anyone but Ivan open it, understood?”

“Yes, milady,” her faithful maid replied, and darted out the door.

Talia had written her message in code so if anyone got hold of it he or she would think it was only a simple prayer—the same way Petran had when he caught her reading Ivan’s missive the very first evening he stayed at her father’s castle a couple of months back.

It was hard to believe it had been just a couple of months ago, for it felt so much longer.

Talia shook herself out of that thought. She lifted her chin up and went to her dresser, thinking about all the things still needed done before the end of the evening. After much consideration, she had decided to make amends with Ivan. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced his cruel outburst had been fruit of the terrible circumstances in which he found himself. She wanted him to know she forgave him and was doing everything within her reach to save them all.

In the letter, she explained Zoricah’s plan and had requested him to stay alert. Her friend’s cunningness for clever stratagems had always mesmerized Talia, but this time they were going to push the boundaries. Zoricah had recruited all remaining draconian rebels in the land, and was coordinating them outside the walls. On the inside, Talia had arranged to have horses and weapons at the ready. Once Kalaur brought their three friends out of the confines of the dungeon, Talia’s supporters inside the castle would open the gates letting in the horde of rebels. Havoc would then ensue, creating the perfect diversion for Zoricah to free Ivan, Dimitri, and Grotzki, and fly them away. The other rebels would then flee by horseback, successfully hiding as humans in the forest.

It was a risky and very dangerous plan. If they didn’t perform like clockwork, they could all be caught and then their entire cause would be over. But Talia was ready to risk her life to save the others. Their country needed a new leader. Kalaur’s reign of terror had to end.

If her father hadn’t been so ill, she would have considered fleeing with the others and disappearing from the face of the earth forever.

To Hiad with her wedding to Kalaur!
And may the Soartas strike her twice if she ever thought about Petran again.

After saving her friends from the guillotine, she would take her father to the best doctors in Oxford, find him a cure, and be done with this hated betrothal. Petran had told her that he had found out the source of the disease and was working on finding a cure himself, but she couldn’t trust him. How could she since he had proven to be as vile as Kalaur? Actually, Petran’s blow had struck her harder than Kalaur’s most devious actions. She had expected cruelty from the dragon lord, but not from Petran.

“Damn the Soartas!” There she was again doing exactly what she had vowed not to do—thinking about Petran.

She stood up from her dresser and gazed out of her window. One of Kalaur’s guards struggled to his feet down below and dived under a bush.

Pathetic.

She had spotted him watching her the night before. Her door had been watched and the same draco had spent the day and night stalking her. It was strange even for Kalaur to order a surveillance on her all of sudden. It worried her, and his unexpected overzealousness made it difficult for her to orchestrate the escape plan, but not impossible. Over the course of the years, many servants had joined their cause. They were ready to assist whenever she asked. Martha was one of them. Since servants learned early on to be invisible, they were the perfect agents to complete any number of missions.

“It’s done, milady,” Martha relayed, coming back into the room.

“Oh, you’re still in your undergarments?” she yelped. “Milady, all the guests are already making their way to the ball.”

Talia rolled her eyes. She really didn’t feel like going. “I don’t have to be there until it’s time for the decapitation ceremony.”

“But, if you arrive early, Kalaur won’t have any excuse for being suspicious,” her maid suggested, already lifting the gown over Talia’s head. Earlier that day, a servant had delivered yet another present from Kalaur—a hideous gown in the same fashion as the one Hillia had been wearing on the first evening of the Open Games. It was made of pure silk and decorated with diamonds studs. It was ostentatious, far too extravagant, and utterly tasteless.

Talia looked at herself in the brass mirror. The woman who stared back at her made her stomach churn. It was nothing she had wanted for her life.

“I refuse to wear this,” Talia muttered already ripping the dress off her.

“Milady!” Martha squealed, covering her mouth with her hands while the sound of silk ripping into pieces echoed in the vast chamber. “Lord Kalaur will retaliate. What will your father say?”

“I couldn’t care less, Martha. I refuse to wear anything that despot gives me. Now fetch me my blue gown,” Talia ordered, feeling more like her old self than she had in a very long time. “If Kalaur wants to parade me as his trophy bride, he will have to contend himself with one who is proud to be a free draconian.”

Martha gazed at her with worried eyes but there was a hint of pride in them. Her maid nodded curtly then opened Talia’s travelling chest and retrieved the long dress. It was a celebration of the Draconian Golden Age, a time when dracos lived freely in their lands, and lords were revered for their fairness and integrity. The dress was made of pure velvet in the most beautiful shade of midnight blue highlighting her grey eyes. The sleeves were long and fitted tightly at the elbow before flaring into a trumpet shape, and draping to floor. The outer tunic hugged her breasts and waist sluggishly, and was adorned by a lose belt. Silver embroidery decorated the hems of the full skirt and sleeves. The neckline was square and adorned by a high, stiff collar, which curved around the back, giving the entire outfit an imposing, regal air, minus the flamboyance of the other gown.

Talia looked at her reflection once again, and smiled. Yes, she was a free draco and she was proud of it. No Parisian gown made by famous masters could match this one. This dress was truly draconian. This gown was truly her.

“My lady looks absolutely stunning,” Martha uttered, her voice filled with emotion. “The only thing missing is your hair. If my lady allows, I’ll fix it in the same fashion of the Golden days.”

The corner of her mouth lifted at Martha’s suggestion. “That would bring me much joy, Martha,” she replied to her maid, who promptly started gathering the tools she needed.

“But please ensure a few locks cascade down my neck,” Talia added quickly, staring at the small, but very visible bite marks just below her left earlobe.

Dracos healed fast, but not as fast as vampires did. Another reason she had avoided attending the last nights of the games was that Petran’s love bites were taking longer than usual to heal. Almost three days had passed since they made love, but the tiny bites were still visible.

She took a deep breath as the memories of his touch flooded her mind. He had been so caring, so powerful, and so amazing. The way he had called her
my sweet
, and had taken care of her, ensuring their coming together was as painless as possible, was wondrous. But nothing compared to the way he had lit her up with his tongue and fingers. By Apa Dobrý, wetness pooled between her legs every time she thought about it. He had taken his time, licking her, tasting her, sucking her most private parts. Talia had been shy and somewhat startled at first but then after he stirred the heat inside her, making her moan in desperation, nothing else had mattered. All her blurry mind could focus on was the amazing sensations he had awakened inside her, and then it had happened. She had felt her core explode and waves of pure ecstasy rip her apart.

“Milady?”

Talia jolted in place, startled.

“Is my lady feeling well?”

She realized she had sat down on the chair and was leaning back, as if ready for Petran to come and take her. Oh, dear.

Martha’s had a confused gaze locked on her.

“I am feeling just fine, Martha.” Talia cleared her throat as she straightened herself on the chair. “Just make sure you cover this side of my neck.”

“Yes, milady.”

**********

The Great Glass Hall was unrecognizable. The starry sky above showed through the open coned-shape roof. String of candles cascaded down and across the room, magically suspended in the air by invisible hands. The glass walls were lit up by pillars of torches, which danced up and down, in a spiral movement. Petran suspected the fae people had lent a hand in the decorations.

A number of guests waltzed in front of the chamber symphony strategically placed on an elevated stage at the far end of the hall. Behind it, a bright banner displayed the words “The Bones Orchestra”. A fitting name, Petran thought to himself, for all of the instruments were made of bones. Their music was also quite unique for the traditional Viennese waltz they were playing was blended with urban sounds and folk rhythms, producing a strange yet pleasant tune.

“Lord Hungerford of Lower Asia and Baroness of Notsbrune,” the master of ceremonies announced from the main door.

Petran took a sip of his blood-infused wine and leaned back in his seat, pretending not to give a damn about whose arrival the master of ceremonies was announcing.

“The Duke and Duchess of Chernigov.”

No, not yet. Still no sign of Natalia or her father. Damn the Soartas. That sudden internal curse reminded Petran that Arthur was due for a report sometime soon. His last missive had brought somewhat good news. Doctor Jenner had managed to isolate the strange bacteria and discovered that the micro-parasites reproduced in the victim’s body by freezing the host’s healthy cells. That had been quite a discovery but now it had left them with another conundrum, how in Hiad were they going to find a cure for it?

“To be frank, I was hoping Lord Kalaur would set up the guillotine inside the hall,” Trevor Farquat, Lord of the Mer-people exclaimed. “This way we wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the pit.”

“I am in total agreement with you, Lord Farquat,” Hillia replied. “I do want to see those rebels lose their heads, but the prospect of walking all the way out there is discouraging. Do you not agree, Oberon?”

Oberon nodded in agreement and shoved another handful of seaweed rolls into his already packed mouth.

Petran took a long breath. It was going to be a long night.

“Maybe it’s because of the mess,” one of Hillia’s friends, of whom Petran had no interest in remembering her name, suggested. “I watched a decapitation ceremony once and even though it was amusing, it was certainly gruesome. So much blood splattered around that I had to throw away my brand new dress after it was over.”

“Merciful Soartas,” Hillia screeched flabbergasted as if her friend had just relayed the most horrifying atrocity.

Oh, yes, this was going to be a very long night.

“Lord Somenski the Truthful, Draconian Lord of Moldavia, and Lady Natalia Somenski, Duchess of Moldavia,” the master of ceremonies finally announced.

Petran’s gut clenched and his arms froze in place, mid sip from his glass.

Where was this sudden anxiety coming from?

He forced himself to calm down, slowly putting the glass down on the table and, as if no one of interest had arrived, he turned his gaze toward the entrance.

And then his jaw dropped.

Lady Natalia looked incredibly stunning in a midnight blue dress, which made her grey eyes shine like diamonds. Her red locks were styled loosely in a high bun and decorated with small white flowers, native of her home. She looked like a princess from the Draconian Golden Ages, worthy of a crown. But the best part of her stunning outfit was the cleavage shown to advantage by her square neckline which was high enough not to raise any eyebrows, but allowed enough exposed skin to fuel his hunger. Thick red locks flowed down her neck making him wish the strands were his hands caressing her silky smooth skin.

Their eyes met for a moment, and time stood still. Petran’s cock came alive and the word
mine
roared in his mind.

“Somenski, my friend,” Oberon bellowed. “You’ve made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss seeing you stuff your fat face with food for anything in this world, Oberon,” Somenski replied displaying a little bit of his old self. Although Natalia had her arm delicately interlaced around Somenski’s, Petran knew she was the one supporting him, not the other way around. The Dragon Lord looked paler than ever with rashes and blisters covering his skin. Those symptoms were not a good sign. The poisonous bacteria were winning their battle.

“Milady,” Oberon said, promptly standing up to greet the newcomers. “As always, you are a vision to my eyes,” he added, kissing Natalia’s hand.

A low growl resounded in Petran’s head. Oberon’s attempts at coming on to the young ladies were usually quite entertaining, but tonight he failed to amuse Petran.