is the curse of being an empath. Along with my inability to be touched.”
“Dracula has found the means to do so.”
“He is rather unique in his own gifts.”
“I have my own unique gifts that might allow me to play with you too, you know.”
Suddenly, he was also standing at her back and to her side. There were three of him in the room. Startled, she went to stand, but he pressed her back down. The one across from her took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. He kissed her ungloved fingers slowly, one by one. There was no soul behind it. Only the sensation of it against her skin. The other one was nuzzling into her hair. It happened too fast for her to respond, and when she went to pull away, she found she couldn’t. He had her in his snare once more. His hypnotism had taken hold of her.
“I take good care of my pets,” he purred darkly into her ear. “Spurn our Master and join me in my bed instead. I can be anyone and everyone you desire. I may not touch you with my own body…but you shall never know the difference, I vow it.”
“Zadok.”
A second voice. A sterner, colder one. Walter. At the interruption, Zadok snarled, baring his fangs and hissing at the other creature. But the illusion shattered, and there was only one of him once more, standing across the room, leaning against the counter and sulking. No. He was pouting.
Zadok unloaded on the other man in French. “Damn you to the pits, Walter Northway. You rotten-dicked piece of trash! I could have had her if you hadn’t ruined it.”
“I thought you were all immortal,” she responded to Zadok dryly in his own language. “I doubt it has rotted as you say. I would slap you if I had my gloves.”
Zadok blinked at her, surprised. “You speak French, my dove?”
“I was raised to be a lady, and I traveled with the Roma for many years. I learned several languages. So, I recommend you mark your words. And no, you cannot have me.”
He laughed in enjoyment. “We shall see, my dove. We shall see.”
“I apologize for whatever just transpired.” Walter moved to stand near her, looking down at her with an almost sympathetic air. Almost. She wondered if it brought him pain to show emotions.
“It is quite all right. I do not think he can be helped.”
“No. That is quite true.”
“Such wonderful manners.” The Frenchman was still grinning like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “I am jealous of the Master.”
“You’ve made that quite clear.” She lifted the glass of juice and sipped it. It was very much required. She hadn’t realized how parched her throat was until that moment.
Walter was smiling, if faintly, as he sat at the counter next to her. His expression faded a second later. “Are you well, Miss Parker?”
“As can be expected. I am the prisoner of the King of Vampires. I do not know how I am supposed to react.”
“You are attending the opera with him tonight.”
It was a statement, not a question. “Would you have me reduced to hysterics instead?”
“No. I am merely making an observation.”
“He has made it quite clear that there is nothing I can do to escape my predicament. If he wishes me dead, he can have it. If he wishes me to go insane, it is in his ability. If he wishes me to attend the opera, so be it.” Her only chance of escape was to destroy his soul. But that thought brought her an insurmountable dismay. She did not wish the vampire dead, even for all his impositions upon her.
A hand settled on her shoulder. She looked up to the red eyes of Walter, so very similar to the man who made him. But his, despite the fact he was a fraction of Vlad’s years, felt so much colder, so much harder than those of his sire.
“Do not fret.”
She forgot how obvious her emotions were on her face. She never had much cause to hide them. “How shall I not?”
“It is clear you are attracted to him,” Zadok interjected. “What is the matter with that?”
“I should not feel any such things.” She sipped the juice and continued to eat the fruit and the meat. She knew she would likely need whatever she could get to survive the night. “This is wrong.”
“By whose standards?” Zadok chuckled. “Certainly not ours.”