Bound by Flames

  “Leila.” His harsh tone snapped my eyes open. I must have closed them in disgust. “I know you’d never harm me of your own volition. It was the spell, so cease your useless guilt. As I told you before, we don’t have time for it.”

  The brusque directive shouldn’t have comforted me, but it did. So did his hand on my stomach, his warmth seeping through the thick blanket covering me. I nodded, blinking past the tears that had sprung to my eyes. Then I took some deliberate, deep breaths while I forced my gut to quit its repeated clenching.

  “I must have linked to him in my sleep,” I said, trying to make sense of what I didn’t remember. “I’ve never done that with anyone but you, but Szilagyi’s essence is still on me, and I went to sleep without wearing my gloves.”

  “That also occurred to me,” he said, fingering my chains. “Another reason for these.”

  I looked at the chains and then the deep gashes in the wall that could only have come from an electrical whip. My right hand wasn’t even sparking now, but that lethal power must still be in me. And one lucky strike with that whip could take off Vlad’s head. After all, he’d be fighting to restrain me, not kill me, even if I wasn’t showing him the same courtesy.

  “Don’t let me out of these,” I said hoarsely. After my captivity, being restrained filled me with panic, but I’d rather freak the hell out than risk trying to harm him again.

  “You won’t be in them long,” Vlad said, his nearness easing my guilt as well as my fear. “Mencheres will break the spell.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d tensed everywhere until his statement caused me to relax with the suddenness of a balloon popping. “Did he get what he needed?”

  He glanced toward the door. “Yes, and from the footsteps headed our way, he’s awake and ready to begin.”

  Chapter 23

  I didn’t want to know what Mencheres put into the pot boiling on the stove. Images of rat’s tails and bat’s wings danced in my mind, but that was probably because I’d seen too many movies. Besides, I don’t think those were the supplies that had taken Mencheres hours to acquire, and the scent coming from the pot was more reminiscent of herbs than rodent stew.

  I was glad to be out of my chains, although I still felt that I deserved worse. In addition to wresting the guilt that gnawed at me, I was also fighting to keep my captivity memories at bay. Unlike the other times I’d been in enemies’ hands, I wasn’t able to shake the post-traumatic stress, and being trussed up had made it worse. Vlad must have sensed that, because he told me he’d only chained me to allow Mencheres a few hours’ sleep. Before that, the Egyptian’s power had kept me from harming myself, saving Vlad from resorting to violence to accomplish the same thing.

  As we waited for Mencheres to finish cooking up his magical brew, Vlad held my right hand in a light grip. I knew it would turn viselike if the spell reared its head again, and that comforted me, but it hadn’t escaped my notice that we were the only three people in the villa. It couldn’t be concern over my going on another rampage: Vlad alone would be enough to contain me. With Mencheres here, too, I was laughably outgunned. They must not want the guards or anyone else to know what Mencheres was doing, which begged another question.

  “If magic is so illegal in the vampire world that this would get all of us in trouble if we were caught, why don’t we just tell on Szilagyi for using a spell?”

  Mencheres gave me a sidelong glance before resuming his attention to the pot. “The same reason why some humans choose not to call the authorities: the repercussions aren’t worth the potential assistance.”

  Vlad, as usual, was more blunt. “The Law Guardians wouldn’t believe your actions were the result of a spell unless they saw you kill yourself as proof.”

  “But that defeats the purpose!” I said, aghast.

  Vlad snorted. “Exactly.”

  Great. The Law Guardians were useless when it came to helping us, but they’d do Szilagyi’s job for him if they found out that we were dabbling in magic. No wonder Vlad and Mencheres weren’t rushing to call the vampire version of 911.

  “Szilagyi knows that, doesn’t he?” I guessed, letting out a short laugh. “That’s why he hasn’t hesitated to use spells against us. He knows we can’t do anything about it.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Vlad replied, his copper gaze turning green. “But before we get to that, we’re going to reverse the one he put on you.”

  “Ready at last,” Mencheres said with a final stir of his spoon. Then he poured the brownish mixture into a tall plastic glass. “Drink.”

  I took the glass with my left hand. Vlad still hadn’t released my right one, and from his expression, he wasn’t going to. The mixture looked like pureed mud and it smelled earthy and fragrant, as if Mencheres had blended together a forest and a flower garden. Mencheres watched me with the expectant air of a chef as I blew on it to cool it, then took a small sip.

  I began to choke after my first swallow, my stomach seizing with more ferocity than when I found out I’d tried to kill Vlad in my sleep. I would have spewed the mixture out, but my lips sealed shut as if they’d been welded by invisible tools.

  “Swallow,” Mencheres said, his tone suddenly hard. “You must drink all of it in order to break the spell.”

  My stomach still felt like it was shoving my other organs through an internal wood chipper, but I’d be damned if I let one glass of foul-tasting stuff stand between me and freedom. I nodded, and Mencheres released his invisible hold on my mouth and I tipped the glass high, chugging its contents. My insides burned as if I drank liquid silver and I had to swallow back my own vomit several times, but finally, the glass was empty.

  “That wasn’t . . . so bad,” I gasped, my sides still heaving from nausea so intense that it was crushing. “Do you think—”

  I didn’t get the rest out. Agony slammed into every cell at once, blinding me to everything except the pitiless, searing pain. I was still screaming when I came to my senses to find that I’d collapsed onto the kitchen floor. Mencheres was crouched in front of me and Vlad gripped me from behind.

  “ . . . the hell is she turning blue?” I heard Vlad snarl beneath the last, shrill sound of my scream.

  It took a moment for his words to penetrate and for my eyes to refocus enough to note that my arms were indeed turning a brilliant indigo shade. So were my legs, which scissored out from my long dress as if I had been trying to run away from the pain. The shiny, reflective steel surface of the dishwasher confirmed that my face was blue, too. It was as though I’d morphed into a raven-haired version of Mystique, and from Mencheres’s expression, that wasn’t supposed to have happened.

  “This is . . . unexpected,” the former pharaoh breathed.

  “Elaborate,” Vlad said in his most scathing voice.

  Mencheres shook his head as though stunned by what he had to admit. “It means that my remedy did not break the spell, which has never happened before. Whoever cast it must have bound it flesh to flesh and blood to blood. Since Leila is a vampire, that is more than magic; it’s necromancy, which is beyond even my capabilities.”

  I couldn’t see Vlad’s face, but his tone seethed with enough undercurrents to know that he was barely controlling his anger. Or disbelief.

  “You yanked wraiths out of the bones of slain men and you summoned the ferryman of the underworld to do your bidding, yet this is beyond you?”

  Mencheres stared at Vlad, though since he was right above me, it also felt as if he was looking at me, too.

  “Yes.”

  Vlad’s hissing sigh blew my hair back where it landed. He didn’t say anything for several moments. Neither did Mencheres. Now that the agony had faded, I had a question.

  “If you can’t break it, can anyone?”

  “Only death can break it,” Mencheres said, still sounding like he was having a hard time trying to process everything. “Not just your death,” he added in a comforting way. “The death of the necromancer should also suffice. Since the cure soured within you,
turning your body blue, it proves the spell was set with your flesh and blood as well as the necromancer’s, so destruction of either should break it.”

  Vlad let out a low, vicious sound. “And we know where the necromancer would’ve gotten her flesh and blood. Explains why Szilagyi didn’t send me all of her skin in his first package.”

  I shuddered. As if the memory of my skinning wasn’t bad enough, now I had an image of Vlad piecing my stripped flesh back together enough to know that parts of it had been missing.

  “That rules out Cynthiana,” I said, trying to force back emotions I couldn’t deal with yet. She’d managed to kill me with a spell before, but Szilagyi had blown her to bits in his castle attack, so she couldn’t have been responsible for this.

  Vlad released me and stood. “Even if she wasn’t dead, I’d know it wasn’t Cynthiana. It’s feat enough to cast a spell that could control a vampire. One that transcends magic into necromancy?” His gaze raked me. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would’ve said it was impossible.”

  “So would I,” Mencheres added with a hint of grimness.

  Vlad rubbed his chin, the scars on his hands catching my gaze. I no longer had any scars, and oddly enough, seeing his struck me with inspiration.

  “The spell started when I linked to Szilagyi through my skin, so burn it off,” I said softly.

  Vlad stopped pacing and bent down, laying his palm flat against my lower belly.

  “If you’re referring to his essence trail, I already did this morning, while you were unconscious.”

  That explained the charred odor I’d smelled in the bedroom, but it wasn’t what I’d meant.

  “Not just that.” My voice was hoarse. “All of it. The spell’s set in flesh and blood, so if we remove my flesh and blood, maybe it will . . . blunt the effects? At least, it would erase all my essence trails of him, then you could cover my new skin with your aura. That way, it would add another layer of protection against the spell and I won’t be able to accidentally link to Szilagyi again and make things worse.”

  A normal man would’ve sputtered out an indignant refusal. What I was suggesting was as gruesome as what Harold had done to me, and no doubt more painful. Vlad didn’t respond with outraged protestations. He just stared at me with those deep, copper-colored eyes while weighing the pros and cons of my proposal.

  I already had. Yes, it would be agonizing, but Vlad was more surgical with fire than Harold had been with his knives, and considering I’d tried to kill him once and might do so again, the pain was a cheap price to pay.

  Vlad finally looked away from me and raised a brow at Mencheres. Do you agree with her logic? the silent query asked.

  The admiring yet pitying glance Mencheres gave me was answer enough. Vlad’s hand left my stomach and he caressed my face. Then he rose, lifting me to my feet.

  “I’ll do it after dawn, when you’re unconscious,” he said, no emotion coloring his tone. “Even still, the pain might wake you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  You mean you’ve done it before, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. It hadn’t occurred to me to wait until I was unconscious, yet I was all for the change in plans. After the horrors of being skinned, having my flesh burned off was a daunting prospect to say the least, but if it was my best chance for beating this spell, then bring on the barbeque.

  I forced a smile to show that I wasn’t having second thoughts and tried not to dwell on what was to come.

  “Well, we’ve got our plans for the morning. What do you want to do until then?”

  Vlad stared at me, splinters of emotions breaching the walls he’d mostly kept up since he rescued me. At last, a hint of a smile curled his lips.

  “The same thing many other people do when they come to Vegas. Get married.”

  I waited for the punch line. When it didn’t come, I was almost stammering in my confusion.

  “But we already are . . . oh, okay, not vampire-style, and I would . . . but we can’t now. Right?”

  Vlad flashed a tolerant look at Mencheres. “Pay this no mind. She always argues with me when I propose to her.”

  “You’re serious?” I got out without sputtering this time.

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Leila, I’m serious. Need for me to get on my knees again?”

  “But I’m blue,” I said, stunned into more nonsensicalness.

  “The color should fade within the hour,” Mencheres offered, backing out of the room to let us handle this ourselves. “Not that any of Vlad’s people would dare comment if it didn’t.”

  I stared at Vlad, seeing the raw, steely determination in his gaze.

  “You know that I consider you my wife, as do my people, but our previous ceremony was legal by human standards only. In the vampire world, it counted as nothing more than an engagement because you were human and thus unable to swear the required blood oath. You’re a vampire now, and I don’t want to wait any longer to have everyone know that you have been, and will always be, my wife.”

  He took my hand, sliding a thick, heavy gold ring onto my finger that I hadn’t seen since Szilagyi had captured me.

  “Mihaly returned this with your skin to taunt me, but I swore that if you lived, I would see it on your finger again,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. “Months ago, you made me ask you if you would marry me. This time, I’m not asking. I’m telling you to say yes, so say it, and be mine for eternity.”

  I looked at the ring, so moved to be wearing it again that I almost didn’t notice the startlingly blue color of my skin. Then I looked at Vlad. His expression was darker with intensity and the grip he had on my hand was both warm and unbreakable.

  In some ways, he intimidated me more now than he had the day I’d met him. Vlad loved the same way that he lived—untamable, dangerous, and full throttle, just as he’d warned me. I’d felt the repercussions of that love more than once and I’d feel it again if I said yes, yet like before, I only had one answer.

  “Yes. Yesterday, today, forever . . . yes.”

  Chapter 24

  Our first marriage took place in the ballroom of his castle with over two thousand witnesses cheering us on. The air had been thick with the scent of flowers and beeswax candles, and I’d worn an exquisite white dress while Vlad had been decked out in scarlet and black like a medieval king.

  This time, we were in a villa in Vegas and I wore a simple blue dress that thankfully no longer matched my skin tone. As Mencheres promised, my blueberry shade had vanished within an hour. Vlad was dressed in black pants and a black jacket, his white shirt the only contrast to the dark ensemble. Our witnesses consisted of my sister, Marty, Mencheres, Kira, and about two dozen of Vlad’s guards. Either Vlad hadn’t invited my father or my dad had refused to come, because he wasn’t here. Instead of cheering like our witnesses had last time, everyone was almost eerily quiet.

  Vlad drew out a knife, the blade cut down until less than a quarter inch remained. I saw a few raised brows but only I, Vlad, and Mencheres knew why it was so short. I couldn’t kill myself with that if I had a solid hour alone with it to try. Even with my hand in his, Vlad still wasn’t taking any chances.

  The blade might be only the size of a thumbnail, but it was sharp. With his fingers still curled around mine, he scored a line from one side of his palm to the other, then pressed the cut to the inside of my hand.

  “By my blood,” he said in a strong, steady voice, “I declare that you, Leila Dalton Dracul, are my wife.”

  His part was now done, no clergy member, justice of the peace, or notary necessary. What a vampire marriage ceremony lacked in formalities, it made up for in significance. Much like the spell in my skin, only death could break the vow I was about to make.

  Even so, I wasn’t the slightest bit nervous as I took the knife and scored a line into my own palm. “By my blood, Vladislav Basarab Dracul, I declare that you are my husband,” I said in a clear voice before handing the knife back and pressing my bloodied palm to his.

  His lip
s curled with a familiar arrogance, as if he’d never doubted that I would bind myself to him this way. Maybe he hadn’t. I wasn’t a big believer in fate, but as his mouth sealed over mine in a kiss that rocked me back on my heels, I felt more sure of this than I had of any other decision before it. Call it fate, inevitability, whatever; right now, I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and my soul felt like it took in a deep breath to remember the moment.

  My body wasn’t in a meditative mood. As Vlad kissed me, it flared with need so strong, even I could smell the lust that started pouring off me. I’d almost died more times than I cared to count in the past few weeks and our future was still uncertain. Claim what’s yours, don’t wait, something inside me seemed to insist, stamping out embarrassment beneath an ancient, inhuman urge that was raw, powerful—and undeniable. Wasting even a moment seemed almost criminally ungrateful.

  From the tightening of his grip and the new, rough carnality in his kiss, Vlad felt the same way. Our guests scattered as he tore away long enough to mutter, “Get out,” before backing me against the nearest sturdy object.

  I crushed my mouth to his, needing each stroke of his tongue and the hot, bruising pressure of his lips. His clothes were obstacles that I took no pity on. They fell in a ripped heap at our feet in my desperation to feel his skin on mine.

  He didn’t bother ripping off my dress, just my underwear. Then he shoved the dress up, a dark sound of satisfaction escaping him as his fingers found my wet depths. I moved against his hand, my moans turning harsh as those fingers penetrated deep. His mouth ravaged mine as he began to rub with strong, fast strokes that had inner muscles clenching with an urgency that turned need into unbearable demand.

  “You’re mine,” he breathed against my neck when his lips left mine to travel lower. “Forever. Say it.”

  “I’m yours,” I swore, the words ragged from passion. “Forever. Now, take me and prove it.”