Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (30 page)

Talia jumped forward, hands opened like claws aiming at Ivan’s throat. She didn’t make it far though. The guards pulled her back, forcing her back down onto the marble floor. She fought back the tears, which threatened to flood from her eyes. They weren’t tears of pain, or even personal heartbreak, they were tears of wrath, of pure outrage. “One day, Ivan, you will find yourself at the edge of a precipice, in dire need of a hand to pull you back, and then you will realize a little too late what a huge mistake you’ve made.”

Ivan blinked at her as his Adam’s apple worked up and down.

Yes, you had better swallow dry, you traitor, because the Soartas will come for you. Sooner, or later, they will.

Kalaur exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s get back to what really matters before you two bore me to death.” He flicked his fingers at Balaur, who promptly handed him a parchment, which carried the official draconian senate’s seal. Kalaur stood up and read the decree aloud. “I, Lord Kalaur of Ukraine, ruler of the eastern borders of all draconian territories, come by this seventh day of December in the year, seventeen hundred and ninety-nine to confirm that which is to be imposed on Natalia Somenski, former daughter of Lord Somenski, who shall die by means of the guillotine at sunrise.”

“What?” Talia bellowed, unable to contain herself. “You cannot do this!”

“Silence,” Balaur barked like the guard dog he was.

Talia held her head high. “You have no authority to proclaim my sentence,” she maintained. “I demand a fair trial in the presence of all of the Draconian Senators!”

“You demand nothing!” Kalaur roared. His hatred toward her was so palpable it felt like a slap to the face. “I do as I please in this country and in any other draconian territory, you foolish whore. You simply refuse to get that through your thick little skull, Natalia, and that is why you find yourself in chains. I gave you the opportunity to join me at my side. I was going to make you my wife but what do you do in return?” he spat, his face getting redder with every word. “You collude with my enemies, you harbor rebels against me, and give your cunt away to vampires!”

Talia was stunned by the vulgar language but deep inside she relished the fact way she had managed to break Kalaur’s mask of superior highness. That foul-mouthed, short-tempered despot was who he truly was. Too bad, she was the only one here to see it. “You are not the mighty ruler of all dragons, Kalaur. My father is still alive.”

“Your father is hiding in shame, Natalia, wishing the Soartas had taken him before his chaste little daughter had disgraced his name. And soon enough, he
will
cross the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei. When that happens, your lands will be mine.”

“Have you forgotten there are three other senators who rule the dragons, Kalaur? Or has your ego become so inflated that it blocked your brain from remembering that detail?”

Kalaur jumped off his throne and darted toward her. His backhand connected to her left cheek, swiping her face around.

It was a vicious blow, which made her eyesight go blurry with pain but her lips still curled into a smile. “You can bark as much as you want,” she replied as the metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. “But your days are numbered. It may not be today, and I may die before seeing it, but the dracos are getting sick and tired of your tyranny. One day, they will find a true leader and they will send you to Hiad, where you belong.”

Kalaur glared at her, his eyes raging, his nostrils flaring. He lifted his hand high once again, ready to strike. But instead of recoiling, Talia stared straight at him, chin up and proud, freezing him in place.

She did not care if he hit her senseless or if he ripped her head off with his bare hands. If this were to be her last day in Terhem Viahta, she would die happy, for he would know he did not break her.

Angry yelling outside the Throne Room reached them, making Kalaur pause. It seemed the guards were arguing, but then the lock was pulled and the door opened in a gush. Kalaur’s famed physician stomped in. His dark clothes and cape were torn in several places, his face held a few bruises and a fat lip.

“What is the reason for such intrusion, Vrajitor?” Balaur asked, descending from his position at the altar.

Vrajitor ignored the lord’s brother and instead, he headed straight to the one who mattered the most. As if Talia was not even in the room, he brushed past her and whispered something in Kalaur’s ear. The lord’s still reddened face from their earlier spat went completely white.

“He did what?” he bellowed.

The physician exchanged more whispered information, and the more they talked, the more enraged Kalaur got.

Something had gone terribly wrong.
Good.
Talia smiled inside.

After a few anxious moments as the entire room waited for Vrajitor to finish his secret report, Kalaur pushed him aside and yelled at the guards. “Take her to the guillotine at once!”

“No!” Talia shouted struggling against the two bullies holding her down, but they were much too strong for her. “You cannot do this, Kalaur! I deserve a fair trial!”

“Hurry, you imbeciles,” Kalaur shouted, already crossing to the back door.

Talia fought, kicked, bit, and shoved, but it was no use. In less than five seconds, they were dragging her out of the room toward her end.

All of a sudden, a massive crash resounded in the walls, shaking the entire castle with it. Everyone stopped in his tracks, staring up at the ceiling.

“What in Hiad was that?” Ivan uttered.

Balaur was about to curse something improper when the second blast hit the west wall, followed by a third one. The ceiling crumbled down as a massive green and blue dragon flew in.

Her father had arrived.

“Release my daughter,” Somenski ordered Kalaur’s guards. “Now!”

His powerful roar seemed to wake up the brainless thugs. At once, they released Talia as if
she
had the Curse, and then ran for their lives.

“Go find Kalaur. Do not let him escape,” Somenski ordered two dragon-warriors who Talia recognized as part of her father’s personal guard. They quickly flapped their wings and dived toward the west side of the castle.

At the sight of her father well and strong again, relief and utter bliss overwhelmed her, making the fat tears she had been holding back for days roll down her cheeks. Throughout her ordeal, all she feared the most was to die without seeing her father again. She couldn’t bear to cross to the spiritual world knowing her father was defenseless and weak.

Smiling broadly, she wiped away the salty droplets with the back of her hands but it seemed her father did not share the same enthusiasm. The great green and blue dragon stood regally, towering over her. His stern look clearly stated what was in his mind.

At once, Kalaur’s accusations came rushing back into Talia’s mind.
“No one wants anything to do with you, not your father, not even your vampire lover
.”

She had no excuse for all the heartache she had caused her father. Even though she hadn’t planned to hurt him, she had betrayed him by conspiring with the rebels and, yes, she had given her virginity away to the Vampire King. It didn’t matter that her intensions had been honorable or that she hadn’t realized the consequences of what she was doing when she lay with Petran. The cruel reality was right there in front of her, stamped in her father’s accusing gaze.

For the first time in many years, Talia found herself at a loss for words, so she uttered the only ones she knew mattered. “I am so sorry, Father.”

Her father exhaled a tired breath and closed his eyes. “You lied to me.”

“I know there are no excuses for the pain I caused you. I was reckless and impetuous, yet I was only trying to do what was right. What I felt was right.” Her tears poured out and her voice stalled in her throat. She did not know if her father would ever forgive her but she could not end this evening before letting him know her heart. She bowed low, showing her heartfelt reverence. “I regret having lied to you, but I do not regret helping the rebel forces.”

“Your leader betrayed you, sold you out to the very man you were fighting against,” her father replied. His harsh words were somewhat smoothed by his sincere tone. “How could you still believe in him?”

“It is not in Milek I believe in but the cause. I believe in the hope that one day the Draconian Lords will realize their lands can only prosper if serfdom and slavery is abolished.”

“Your hope is delusional, Natalia. The draconian aristocracy will never give up their profits just because a handful of youngsters are making a fuss.”

“So help us change that, Father,” Talia replied, daring to stand up and reach out to him. “Please, help us convince the other rulers to embrace the modern world.”

Somenski narrowed his large yellow eyes at her. If he were not her father, Talia would be scared to death of the massive dragon hovering over her. But she knew this was her only chance to make her father see the world from her point of view, so she grabbed the opportunity by the horns and carried on. “All the latest inventions which are helping countries like England thrive have been invented by free men, father. The electric telegraph, the cotton spinner, the gas turbine—”

“The guillotine,” Somenski interjected.

She paused acknowledging the irony in his remark. “Yes, even the guillotine was invented by two common men, not by an aristocrat, nor by a member of the royal family. It was invented by free men from the working class who would have never been able to do so if they were still under a system of serfdom. Father, if we don’t allow our people to do the same, if we clip their wings like Kalaur wants to, literally, we will be sentencing ourselves to eternal poverty because we will be overthrown by the other races who are getting rich off their people’s prosperity, like the English Crown and the free people of the New World.” Talia paused to take a deep breath, realizing she was very close to pushing her father away with her ranting. “There are so many dracos out there who are proud of our lands, and who love their lords but also want to be free to grow, and be able to provide a future for their offspring.” She held her head high. “And I am proud to have been part of a movement which fought for this basic right for our race.”

There, she had said it. Talia had finally come out to her father, who simply stood there staring back at her. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her gut churned with nervousness. He looked so powerful, so intimidating.

After a long moment of silence, the harshness in his glare melted giving way to a low chuckle. “By Apa Dobrý, you sound just like your mother.”

Talia released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Thank you, merciful Soartas.

“Come, rebel daughter of mine, I am hungry and you are in need a bath,” her father said. “You smell like dragon piss.”

Talia’s utter relief burst out with the laughter that shook her shoulders. “I certainly won’t be opposed to that, Father.”

She let heat grow inside her and her dragon take full shape. Her dirty dress ripped apart with the force of her wings sprouting out. Then, her skin turned leathery red, her tail emerged and pointy white scales took shape along her spine. It was good to be free again.

“I thought the Castle of Kings was unbreakable, protected by the ancient spell,” she observed as she flew up high alongside her father.

“It is,” he replied, “Against magic, not against sheer force.” He winked at her and dived left, toward Moldavia.

As the wind blew past Talia’s wide wings, she couldn’t prevent a big smile from spreading on her face. Her horrible ordeal was finally over and her father was healthy and strong once again. But something was still missing.

Her heart was still craving something. Or rather, someone.

Chapter Thirty Four

Petran floated between the trees and crossed the river marking his kingdom’s boarders. His mind reeled at a hundred miles per second, more like a steam engine ready to explode with the night’s events continuing to haunt him.

Even though, despite all the odds, his plan had worked and he had not only cured Somenski but had also convinced the old sod to acknowledge his daughter once again, his heart was far from relieved. Once upon a time, he would have accepted the dragon’s conditions for carrying out his request without flinching. Or he would have told the draco to bugger off reminding him that no one told the Vampire King what to do. But Talia’s life was at stake, he would not dare gamble with it. Even if in the end, the price was far too high to pay.

One condition...
you must never see her again
.

Somenski’s words still haunted him and for that same reason, Petran had chosen to
cloud
back home, not teleport. He needed time to himself. He needed some silence, but that dreadful mind of his refused to give him a break. Talia was all he could think about...her grey eyes, her fiery red locks, and her smooth curves. He would never taste her lips again, smell her delicious scent of honey and sandalwood, and worst of all, he would never again tease her, taunt her, or argue with her about those crazy ideas of freedom for the people.

Never again.

And Petran had to get it through his head before his cock won the battle and changed the course of his travels back toward Somenski’s castle.

He wondered if his neighbor had returned from the Castle of Kings already. Had he found Talia alive and unharmed? Had Kalaur mistreated or tortured her? A brand new wave of utter rage rushed up his spine, making his eyes see red. If the swine had dared touch one lock of her hair, Petran would see that he’d never be able to touch anything else again in his miserable life.

Oh, yes, even though Petran was happy for winning this round, wrath still coursed through his veins. His fangs extended in their own accord, thirsty for Kalaur’s blood. The bastard would suffer for what he had done. There was proof now that the bloody swine had tried to murder his own counterpart and fellow Senator. Petran would not encounter any problem gathering allies across the Eastern Countries against the prick. He would start with the draconian senate, asking for their support to bring Kalaur to justice. He knew the senate would take a long time to come to a decision for those bloody draco’s were renowned for their allergy to confrontation, and love for avoidance. So, Petran would call a special assembly with his own councilors and other vampire kings from the rest of the world. It was time they joined forces and destroyed Kalaur, once, and for all.

Energized by his new plan, Petran floated along the moat, which surrounded the outer walls of his castle.

And paused almost immediately, before crossing the gates.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, goose flesh prickled his skin. Something was amiss. The castle looked quiet, much too quiet.

He let his cells take full shape at the edge of the drawbridge but did not advance. His muscles tightened, the sensation of someone watching grew to unbearable levels, but his eyes could not spot anything hiding in the shadows.

Bloody Hiad, what was going on?

The main gate suddenly creaked in protest and slowly descended. The eerie sound of chains working their way filled the dark night. On the horizon, the first rays of sunshine emerged, reminding Petran that his ultimate enemy was about to wake. Finally, his castle’s keep came into view as the gate touched the ground.

Empty. No servants, no guards, there was no one around.

Something was definitely wrong here and Petran was not going to wait around for whatever it was. If something or someone were expecting him on the other side of the bridge, they would have to catch him first.

He
clouded out
once more and crossed the gates at breakneck speed. At once three arrows flew past, but missed their mark. Looking left, he spotted the bastards who dared attack him on his own turf. There were two archers perched on the walls, three fighters with long ears guarding the castle’s front door and two hidden by the stables. The short horns on their foreheads and the round faces with far-apart eyes left him no doubt, as to what they were.

His attackers were not dracos, they were Desert Daemons.

In his smoke state, Petran could flee but not fight. And by Apa Dobrý, he was tired of fleeing.

Since they were outside the closed walls of the castle, which were built of cement—the only material vampires could not teleport through—the game was on.

He appeared behind the two archers, surprising them, and using their own weapons, he struck them dead. A foul smell of rotten cabbage invaded his nostrils.

Not wasting any more time, he floated toward the two daemons hiding by the stables knocking them out before they even realized what was happening. Now, it was time to get the last two and claim his castle back but before he could reach them, seven more stepped out of the house and many more poked out of the windows and balconies. There was so many Petran lost count. They had him surrounded.

“Give up, Petran,” Yerik’s double-vibrato voice reached his ears from somewhere on the second floor, above the servant’s entrance. “You are surrounded.”

“You bloody traitor,” Petran snarled, then charged forward. He pulled his knife out of the inner pocket of his cape and stabbed the two daemons blocking his path before the third fired a gun at him. The silver bullet lodged itself in Petran’s leg, slowing him down but failing to halt him. The rage running through his veins was so great that Petran barely acknowledged the pain. Two more guards dropped to the ground under Petran’s blade and three others tried to join the battle, but were far from being a match to his skills and speed. In no time, all five attackers were down choking on a pool of their own blood.

Five more ran out, replacing their fallen comrades.

By the gates of Hiad!

Three shots echoed in the keep. This time his luck failed him for the bullets hit Petran straight in the chest. If any found its way to his heart, it would not kill him but it would paralyze him immediately.

“There is no use in fighting, your majesty,” Yerik shouted, still not revealing himself. “I have many more daemons to spare. We can play this game all night long. That is, if you survive the coming sun.”

“You fool,” Petran cursed, brushing the blood from his mouth. “Do you believe the Sultan will grant you the crown if I’m out of the picture? What is preventing him from making you meet the sun once I’m gone?”

“Many gold coins from your family fortune.”

A low roar reverberated in Petran aching chest. “I will find you, Yerik, and I will rip your head off with my bare hands.”

“Oh, no, you won’t your majesty,” Yerik replied. His voice was no longer above the servant’s door. It was coming from somewhere inside the chapel. “And if you try, I will make sure your wife, and son, suffer the same fate.”

“You filthy rat,” Petran thundered and lunged toward the direction of the prick. Bullets flew past, some hitting him in the legs but he ignored the agony, and burst through the stained window of the small chapel.

Yerik squealed in surprise and dashed behind the altar. Petran ran to the opposite side, and leaped into the air, landing only a few feet from the bastard. He had Yerik cornered.

“Think this through, Petran,” Yerik pleaded but his last words were muffled by Petran’s choking grip on his chest.

“Unlike you, Yerik,” he replied. “I tend to keep my promises. Get ready to cross the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei.” He aimed for the swine’s throat, delighting in the prospect of avenging Somenski and Talia in one blow. The rat needed to pay for his betrayal and if it were anyone else, Petran would capture him and ensure he was tried by the high court but right now, he could not give a damn about fairness, only justice would sate his hunger.

“Bring the lad! Bring the lad,” Petran heard someone shout, and then followed by a hustling of feet.

Still holding the weasel Yerik down, he shifted his gaze and found his son, Tardieh, being dragged into the chapel by two daemons twice his size. He was severely beaten and looked barely conscious.

Petran’s gut clutched in fear.

“Surrender now, King Petran, or we will kill your son,” the guard holding a silver sword against Tardieh’s neck growled.

Petran had no doubt the prick would make good on his promise. More stomping echoed in the tall walls as the army of daemons stormed in.

He was surrounded and his hands were tied.

But he also knew Yerik wouldn’t kill Tardieh or Hillia, not today anyway. He needed them as trophies for Kalaur and the Sultan.

Petran still had a chance. He bared his fangs and slowly leaned closer, stopping an inch from his new enemy’s face. “You may think you’re safe under Sultan Osman’s skirts, Yerik, but you’re not. You will never be free of me. I will hunt you down and crush you. I will kill you in a slow death,” he snarled and put pressure on Yerik’s trachea one last time. He wanted the bastard to understand the immensity of his mistake. He wanted him to regret ever contemplating the thought of betraying his king.

The odor of fresh piss reached his nostrils, and a wet stain appeared on the front of Yerik’s trousers.

With one last glance at his battered son, Petran pulled the last ounce of energy from within and
clouded
out of there.

Hang in there, Tardieh, this battle is far from over.