Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (40 page)

“What?” Tardieh’s surprised glare was a dead giveaway that Petran was treading on thin ice…very thin ice.

“I don’t regret anything I have done because you have risen to be an amazing king. Together with Zoricah, you have managed to do what no one has ever accomplished before. You united the sons of Apa Sâmbetei as one nation. You have proven that a ruler can be fair and caring, without losing the respect of his subjects. You have proven that there are no barriers between races, as long as we are willing to be tolerant and forgive our differences.” Petran’s chest filled with emotion and he tried hard not to let the lump in his throat choke what he had wanted say for over a century. “I could not be more proud of you, son.”

Tardieh stared at him, blinking fast. It was good to see he wasn’t the only one choking up with emotion.

His son exhaled a long breath. “I…” He paused, his chin trembling. “Damn it, Father, I am pissed off at you, but I am so glad you are alive.”

For the first time in his long life, Petran felt close enough to his son to pull him into a bear hug. It didn’t matter that Tardieh was still mad at him. He needed to hold him, to feel he was there, alive and healthy.

Fat tears rolled down his own cheeks when he felt his son’s arms hug him back.

**********

They waved Tardieh and Zoricah goodbye and closed the door behind them. They had promised to find a way of staying in touch. Petran knew his quest to gain his son’s trust was far from over, but at least this was a beginning…a very good beginning.

“Do you regret it?” Talia asked, as she swathed her arms around his waist.

“What are you talking about, my sweet?”

“I know you told Tardieh you don’t regret it but if it wasn’t for me, nothing would have happened. If you hadn’t met me, Hillia wouldn’t have felt the need to retaliate against you, Tardieh would have never been kidnapped…”

“No,” he replied softly, pulling her closer. “If I hadn’t met you, Hillia would have still betrayed me, Yerik would have still sold me out, and Kalaur would have kept on trying to take over my kingdom. You just sped up the process. I thank the Soartas every day, Talia, for putting you in my path to open my eyes.” He rested his forehead against hers, loving the way she felt in his arms, like she belonged there. “I would be lost without you, my sweet. And I have a feeling Tardieh would be lost without Zoricah as well.”

“I think that too,” she replied with a wide smile. “They make such a cute couple, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do,” he replied and captured her lips in a kiss. She replied in kind, inviting his tongue for a delicious dance, which fired him up from head to toe.

As Petran lifted the love of his life, the former draconian duchess of Moldavia, into his arms and climbed the steps to their bedroom, a recurring pray echoed in his mind.

“Thank you, Apa Dobrý, for allowing me to find this amazing woman, because my life without her would be like a beach without the ocean...empty and meaningless.”

Epilogue

Vrajitor slapped his arm for the tenth time, once again missing the bloody mosquito sucking him alive. Correction—mosquitoes. The place seemed infested with them. He hated this part of the world with a vengeance. It was stuffy, humid, and hot as Hiad itself.

Slap! “Die, motherfucker.”

“Will you stop it?” his associate chided. “It’s bad enough we’ve been left waiting in this fucking swamp for an hour, but I don’t have to put up with your shit as well.”

“You have truly embraced the new ways, Sultan,” Vrajitor smirked. “Who would have thought that a centuries-old deamon, former lord of all Dry Lands, would be cursing like a teenage kid in a movie?”

“Shut up, draco,” Osman sneered. “You do well to remember that I am still a powerful deamon.”

“Just a former sultan then.”

Osman growled at him, wanting to retaliate with more than just words but not daring. Vrajitor laughed, or rather his lips curled up and twitched. That was good enough. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Osman replied with a long exhale.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You called me, remember? You reached out for me to come to this godforsaken place. You should have planned this better—”

All of a sudden, the air around them changed. The humidity vanished and in its place desiccation ensued. A blast of cold wind hissed past them, freezing everything around as if the Romanian winter had descended in the middle of the Amazon forest. Crystalized raindrops crackled on the treetops, rabbits, monkeys, and all other animals scurried away in fear.
Smart fuckers.

Vrajitor rubbed his hands to stay warm as he waited. Osman seemed to have also noticed for he stiffened beside him, staring at a particular spot in the woods.

Then the ground started shaking and a flash of bright light ascended from the depths of the earth. The wind turned more violent, whistling through the trees as if searching for victims. An overwhelming feeling of utter terror engulfed his mind.
Fuck!
In his heyday, Vrajitor had once been referred to as
the magician
, but never in his life had he experienced anything like this before. 

“And you never will again, dragon,” a sudden thunderous voice echoed in his head.

“Argh,” he shouted startled.

A tall figure appeared in front of him out of nowhere. The being had platinum white hair and eerily matching eyes. Intense, bright with no irises, they seemed to suck you in, pull you into a well of despair.

At once, Osman dropped to his knees bowing low. Vrajitor was no fool, and followed suit.

Konec, God of Death, Keeper of the gates of Hiad, chuckled. “You looked much more opulent when you summoned me, Osman, son of Osman, former Sultan of my Desert sons.”

Vrajitor looked up, confused. Konec’s booming voice penetrated his mind yet no mouth could be seen on the deity’s contorted face.

“I bow to thee, my only true god, thine mercy shall be my salvation, I kiss the earth where thou hath passed,” Osman chanted.

Konec looked bored, but didn’t stop the deamon’s parade of compliments. After a few more
thines
, and
thous
, the deity finally lifted his hand up, which was much longer than normal. “State what you desire, or I shall take your tongue as my trophy.”

Osman glanced at Vrajitor, as if expecting him to address the matter with the god. Yeah, right. Vrajitor lowered his head even further toward the ground and kept quiet.

“We are here to make an offering, almighty God of Death, Keeper of the—”

“What offering?” Thunder struck, but not in the star-filled sky above. Instead, it came from underneath their feet. “Speak up and stop wasting my time, vassal.”

“We will bring you the vampire baby in exchange for a small favor, if the almighty wishes.”

Konec narrowed his eyes at Osman, who shook from head to toe as if the thunder had struck him. “You will bring me the offspring of the Vampire King with the draconian demigoddess, the one engraved in the Soarta Scrolls.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, all-powerful Keeper of the gates of Hiad.”

The deity floated around circling them both, and sending shudders down Vrajitor’s spine. Suddenly, a clear realization crossed his mind, of just how insignificant his life really was. His powers, his experience, his dragon fire was nothing compared to the one in front of him. Konec could turn him, and Osman, into powder with a flick of a wrist, just like that.

“And do not forget that, dragon,” a chilling whisper echoed in his mind, making him squeal like a girl.

“What is it that you require in return?” Konec asked them aloud–at least that was how it sounded in Vrajitor’s head.

“The girl. The water witch,” the former sultan replied.

Unexpectedly, and faster than light, Konec floated forward stopping nose to nose with Osman. “Are you certain she will bow at your behest, deamon?”

“Yes, almighty god of all gods. She is the only one who can deliver what we need.”

Silence.

No one moved, no one breathed. Konec stared at Osman, Osman froze in his place, Vrajitor pissed his pants.

Then as fast as the deity came, he was gone.

“What the fuck?” Vrajitor cried out. “What happened?”

“Shush, you moron, just shut the fuck up,” Osman whisper-shouted at him. “And keep low.”

Out of nowhere, the bright green waters of the Emerald Lake churned, boiled, and swirled. The massive water lilies, which had covered the entire surface, were sucked in, like flies in the face of a black hole—all except for one. A beautiful lotus flower, as red as the northern sun, remained untouched, totally undisturbed.

An inverted tornado of fire emerged right below it, lifting the large blossom into the air. The faster the blazing cyclone churned, the larger the flower became, as if it was gaining strength from the flames. Higher and higher it went, consuming the entire lake. Emerald green waters turned into a bright red inferno. Vrajitor had to cock his head back to keep up. It was an incredible sight.

Suddenly the entire world stopped, and the blazing vortex pulsed one last time before collapsing down like a vertical squall. In the middle, the lotus was no more. In its place, stood a beautiful young woman with brown eyes and long dark hair. Her slender waist and high breasts were bare making Vrajitor salivate for a taste.

“Rise, water witch,” Konec’s voice reverberated in the night. “Rise from the depths of your mortal sleep, and submit to the deamon’s bidding, for you no longer belong to your tribe. You are the young Naiah no more, you are now the Phoenix.”

**********

Dyam jumped awake, startled by the terrible dream. The book he had been reading lay forgotten on his lap. He must have fallen asleep. How odd though, he never fell asleep in the middle of the night. He was a vampire. Vampires slept during the day, not at night, even if it was his night off from his duty as the king’s personal guard.

He reached out for his glass of whiskey infused with blood, and took a long sip.

Nope, it didn’t help. His chest still felt constricted, aching and burning as if an invisible hand had pulled his heart out of his birdcage. He couldn’t breathe, swallow, or barely move. The images of the horrid nightmare haunted his mind—Naiah born-again as the Phoenix.

No, for sure it had been no dream. It was an omen—a very bad omen.

Acknowledgements

This book would have never been written without the help and constructive feedback from my fantastic mother who promptly drops everything to help me with my manuscripts. I know it’s a terrible cliché but I would’ve never become a writer if it wasn’t for my family and the unconditional support from my amazing husband.

I’d also like to give thanks to Amy Valentini from Romancing Editorially for the great support over the years and awesome editing job she’s done in this novel.

And last but not least, I’m grateful to all my friends and fans—without them to read my crazy stories, I would’ve probably been locked up in a mental institution by now. 

*****

Copyright © 2015 by Ella J Phoenix

Cover art by Liz Drysdale

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.