Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

  “This is between me and my family,” Lucius said. He sat up a little. He still hadn’t looked at me. “I shall go home and deal with it.”

  We all knew what that meant. More pain. More scars.

  “This is your home now,” Dad said, voice firm. “You’ll stay here.”

  As Dad extended that invitation, and as I watched my mother tend to Lucius’s wounds, I saw, finally, the people who had stolen a child away from Romania, saving her life. It occurred to me, suddenly, that they had no doubt risked their own lives for me. It seemed odd and selfish that I’d never realized that before. Of course, they’d always downplayed their own risks.

  “Home.” Lucius spat the word with contempt.

  “Yes. Home,” Mom said.

  “In fact,” Dad added, placing his hand on Lucius’s arm. “You’ve been out here in this garage for too long. I never realized how cold it is out here. Tonight you’ll move back into the house. Permanently. We’ll make room.”

  “I could not impose more than I have.” Lucius addressed Dad. “And you need not fear for me. The Elders do not plan to stay. Trust me. They are confident that their message has been delivered. That I will obey.”

  “Still, I want you to move inside,” Dad said, overriding Lucius. “Can you get up?”

  Lucius seemed too battered, too exhausted to protest further. He swung his legs around, slowly, and paused on the edge of the bed. “Damn,” he said, clutching his ribs. “They memorize every place that has been broken in me—the better to break me again, more efficiently.”

  Mom put her arm around Lucius’s bare shoulders, comforting him, and I wished it could have been me in her place. Lucius leaned into her, again allowing to some weakness, and she held him for a moment, looking at my dad over Lucius’s bowed head. There was a deep, deep sadness in her eyes.

  “Try to stand,” Dad said, taking Lucius by the arm.

  “Thank you,” Lucius replied. Even badly beaten, he retained a regal air once on his feet. “Thank you for everything. I’m sorry to be such trouble.”

  “It’s not a problem, son,” Dad promised, helping to steady Lucius with an arm around the waist. “No trouble at all.”

  Lucius flinched again as Mom slipped her arm around his waist, too. They began to walk, slowly, but Lucius stopped after a few steps. “Dr. Packwood . . . Mr. Packwood . . . in the past, I have not always been kind. I fear that I may have called you . . . weak. You are so different from my family, you know.”

  “It’s okay, Lucius,” Mom promised, urging him along. “You don’t have to say more.”

  “No,” he objected. “No, I do. I was wrong to insult you, and not only because you are my hosts. I am afraid that I mistook kindness for weakness. My apologies. I stand—only with your aid—profoundly corrected.”

  “Come on, Lucius.” Dad patted Lucius’s back. “Apology accepted. Now let’s get you to bed.”

  We made a pathetic, slow, shuffling little parade through the frozen yard, Mom, Dad, and Lucius trudging together through the snow with me trailing behind. My mom made up a bed for Lucius in her office, a little cubby of a room between our two bedrooms, and pretended to go to bed herself. But I knew my parents would be alert all night. I knew they wouldn’t trust Lucius’s assertion that his brutal relatives were headed home. And they would worry that he would disappear into the darkness. I was worried, too. Soon, though, I heard Lucius’s deep, steady breathing from next door. He had to be sleeping. Certainly he was exhausted. As I pulled up the covers, back in my warm bed, I recalled that it was New Year’s Eve, and realized that the new year had already begun. I would be eighteen soon. Technically old enough to marry.

  In the room next to mine, the man I’d been engaged to practically since birth, right up until just a few days ago, turned over and gave a muffled grunt of pain. How many times, I wondered, had he been “efficiently” broken and cried out like that, suffering even in his sleep? And did he carry other injuries deep inside? Pain even worse than broken bones and cuts and bruises?

  Chapter 44

  I APPROACHED THE GAZEBO in the park at “tenish,” as the note had advised, and the vampire waiting there waved, clutching his coat around his throat with his other hand. It was a bitterly cold day, with the threat of snow.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said, smiling.

  In spite of the smile, I approached warily. “Lucius said you’d all gone home.”

  “Indeed,” he confirmed. “The rest have already returned to Romania. I linger behind in hopes of helping the situation.”

  I relaxed a little, glad to hear that most of Lucius’s uncles had departed. The farther away, the better.

  “I’m Dorin,” he added, holding out a gloved hand. Actually, it was a mittened hand. He must have seen me staring at the bright wool. Yellow and orange stripes. “Nifty, huh?” he said, flipping his hands back and forth. “I got them at the mall.”

  I shook his hand. “You shopped at the mall?”

  “Oh, sure. American culture. It’s all about the fun here. I was so jealous when Lucius was dispatched here for several months’ stay. Of course, it was good to get him away from old Vasile for a while.” He sucked in his cheeks, making them cadaverous, in imitation. “Seemed a healthy move.”

  I studied Dorin’s face. His cheeks were rosy in the cold, and his eyes were black, like I’d come to expect from vampires, but they had a merry little crinkle around the edges. “Sit, sit,” he said, gesturing to a bench, brushing off a dusting of snow.

  The seat still didn’t look very inviting. “Do you think we could go to a coffee shop or something?” I suggested, blowing on my hands. I cast a longing glance at his mittens.

  Dorin mused on this, head waggling back and forth. “Sure. Why not? I suppose I got a little cloak-and-dagger with the whole empty park. I’m a fan of the spy novel, you know.”

  “Me, too,” I said, smiling.

  “Well, I’m not surprised,” he said, ushering me out of the gazebo. “Being related and all. We probably have lots in common.”

  “We’re related?”

  “Yes, yes. I should have put that in the note. Less scary for you then, maybe.”

  “How?”

  “I’m your uncle,” he informed me. “Your mother’s brother.”

  I stopped short and stared at him, searching for anything familiar in his face. Any resemblance to my birth mother or me. “You don’t look quite like her . . . or me.”

  Dorin’s rosy cheeks blanched a little. “Well, I’m more of a half brother, really. Your grandfather had a dalliance out of wedlock . . .” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m the product!”

  “But you can tell me about my birth parents, right?”

  “Of course, of course,” he promised. “But first, let’s get you inside. You’re shivering.”

  Yes, I was. From the cold and from anticipation. The vampire at my side was my uncle. He had known my birth parents. . . . Finally, after nearly eighteen years, I was about to learn who they really were. Finally I was ready.

  Dorin offered me his arm, and I tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow. “Come along then, Antanasia. We have much to discuss.”

  Together we strolled across the frozen park toward The Bean Counter, the closest coffee shop. Dorin paused before entering, reading the sign. A smile broke across his face. “I get it. I really do. Funny stuff. Americans and their puns. In Bucharest, it would be called ‘Coffee Shop.’ The communists messed up everything.”

  We ordered—decaf for me and a double latte with whipped cream and sprinkles for Dorin—and took our drinks to a corner table. Dorin sucked off the cream like it was blood from a steak.

  “Before we get on to family stories,” he began, “that was bad stuff back there last night, eh?” He dabbed at his foam mustache with a napkin. “But that’s Vasile for you. Loves drama more than a common villager. Everything’s about staging.”

  My initial warm feelings for my uncle frosted over. “So what happened to Lucius, that w
as just for some sort of effect? Because his broken nose looked awfully real.”

  Dorin paused in midsip, lowering his mug. “No? Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, goodness. I thought they were beyond all that. Not good. Not good, indeed. I never thought they’d really lay a hand on him again. Never thought they’d have the nerve to fight that one. Wouldn’t risk it, myself.”

  “It was four against one,” I reminded him.

  “Still.” Dorin appeared to be weighing the odds. “I wouldn’t risk it. How is the boy? How did he fare?”

  How could I put it into words?

  “That bad, eh?” Dorin looked honestly pained. “Vasile never had much interest in children. But Lucius turned out well, in spite, didn’t he? He’s a fine young man. Outstanding vampire. The whole Vladescu clan is justifiably proud. Of course, it’s not surprising that Lucius would rebel, given the tight rein Vasile kept on him growing up.”

  I traced the rim of my mug with my finger. “What’s going to happen to Lucius?”

  “Well, that letter surprised all the Elders. We thought you’d be the one who might be difficult to draw in, in spite of the pact. Americans: not so much on blood pacts. More of a European thing. I tried to point that out. No one listens to me, though. They were fairly certain you’d come around.”

  “That I’d ‘come around’?”

  “Well, look at Lucius. We just assumed he’d make any teenage girl swoon. He’s very popular in Bucharest among certain debutantes who enjoy the dark side . . .”

  I didn’t want to hear about Lucius’s old conquests. “So you figured eventually I’d fall for him, and he’d put up with whatever he got.”

  Dorin cocked his head, considering. “Yes. I guess that’s about it. And you did fall, didn’t you? You do love him, right?”

  I flushed. “I don’t know about love . . .”

  “We all saw how you looked at Lucius. And Vasile, for all his faults, is very adept at reading other vampires’ thoughts. Better than most. He’s so damn old. What skill hasn’t he perfected?”

  “I’m not a vampire yet,” I corrected.

  “But you do thirst, no?” Dorin asked, hopeful. “By now, you must . . .”

  I glanced around the coffee shop, making sure it was empty. “Yes,” I confessed, whispering so the barista behind the counter wouldn’t hear. “Sometimes.”

  Dorin nodded approval. “You have much to look forward to, Antanasia. Your first taste of Siberian Red—especially Type O, vintage 1972 . . .” His gaze drifted off, and he smacked his lips. “Oh, it’s something else. Indeed it is.”

  “Not if I never become a full vampire. Not if I’m never bitten.”

  Dorin came back around. “Oh, yes, the pact. And our wayward boy, Lucius. We—meaning you—must be the one to bring him around and ensure that the pact is fulfilled.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “You love him. You can bring him back to his senses. It’s fairly simple, really.”

  “It’s not simple at all. Lucius is done with the pact. And he’s got this girlfriend . . .”

  “Lucius is rebelling. He’s being a teenager. He’ll come back. He’ll come back to you.”

  I finished my coffee. “You are so wrong.” Dorin hadn’t seen how Lucius was with me now. At breakfast, he’d been completely aloof. Entirely shut off. Something had happened with him when they’d beaten him. The laugh, the sarcasm, the lightness . . . they were all gone. Snuffed. Lucius was different now. Intense. Frightening.

  “We need to try,” Dorin said. I wondered if he could read my mind, like Vasile. “You can do it. You are Mihaela Dragomir’s daughter. And damn, that woman could do anything she put her mind to.”

  Across the table, my uncle squinted at me.

  “What?”

  “Certain ways I look at you, you look exactly like her. Spitting image, to use the disgusting English colloquialism.” He shook his head, sighing. “Beautiful, beautiful woman. Such a waste.”

  “Dorin, why can’t you take over as leader of our clan?” I suggested. “You’re an Elder. Can’t you fix this mess for us? Change the pact somehow?”

  “I told you. My blood isn’t pure. You are the last pure Dragomir heir to the throne. It has to be you. We are all counting on you. Counting on the blood that runs in your veins. Your mother, Mihaela—she was leadership material. Same with your father. Very kingly, that one. You are pure stock. Pure stock, indeed.”

  “If the pact isn’t fulfilled, would there really be war?”

  “The Dragomirs and the Vladescus already grow impatient. There are rumblings of distrust on both sides. Your marriage is intended to provide stability—to make sure power is equally shared between clans that have battled for generations, fighting for supremacy. But as rumors that the pact may not be fulfilled begin to spread, the old instability reasserts itself stronger than ever. Already, the situation grows volatile.”

  “Could vampires actually die?”

  “Vampires don’t die,” Dorin pointed out. “But they can be destroyed—and that is much worse than death. To answer your question, though. Yes. Vampires would be destroyed. The old war, which halted with your betrothal to Lucius, would resume.”

  An actual war. Over me.

  “Your parents achieved the first peace,” Dorin pointed out. “You will achieve the lasting one.”

  “Tell me about them,” I urged Dorin. “I want to hear everything.”

  He smiled broadly, warmly, and signaled to the barista at the counter. “I think we’ll need a whole pot over here.” He turned back to me. “There is so, so much to tell, my future princess.”

  Chapter 45

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Jake asked, looking unhappy to see me waiting by his locker.

  I stepped aside so he could spin the combination. It seemed like ages ago that I’d seen him struggling with the lock on the first day of school. So much had happened since then.

  “I wanted to see you,” I said. “To talk about what happened at the formal.”

  “You made me look like an idiot.” Jake snapped open the door, banging it against the other lockers.

  “I was the one who looked awful,” I said. “I was the one who—”

  “You don’t have to describe it,” Jake said, shoving his books into the locker. “I saw you and Luc. I was there—in case you forgot like you did that night.”

  “I deserved that,” I admitted. “And I just want to say I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you even want to go with me?” Jake asked. “Was I a consolation prize, since Luc asked Faith? Because he might have had his hands all over you at the formal, but it seems to me like he has a girlfriend.”

  Jake wanted to hurt me, and he had. Then again, I’d hurt him. “Jake, you’re nobody’s consolation prize,” I promised. “You’re one of the nicest guys I know, and I wish I hadn’t treated you like I did.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Jake said, slamming the locker shut. “But don’t feel sorry for me, Jess. I’m the one who feels sorry for you, because that guy might be a hotshot from Europe, but he’ll never treat you as nice as I would have.”

  The sad thing was, I knew Jake was right. “Nice” was not in Lucius Vladescu’s vocabulary. Intense. Chivalrous. Funny. Arrogant. Dangerous. Honorable. Passionate. Those were the words that Lucius lived by. But nice? Never.

  “I see how you look at him,” Jake added. “Hell, I knew we were going to break up that day you came to wrestling practice. You weren’t watching me. You were watching him.”

  I had nothing to say. No way to defend myself.

  “He’s gonna break your heart, Jessica. That guy is gonna destroy you.”

  And with that, my first boyfriend turned and walked out of my life—with a very un-peasantlike dignity.

  I stood there, watching Jake leave and thinking how curious it was that he’d used that very vampire-centric word for what Lucius would do to me.

  Destroy.

  How odd that of all the express
ions Jake could have selected—crush, hurt, wreck, screw you over—he would choose that particular term. It shook me a little, almost like a premonition.

  But why?

  You know, Jess. . . . In the back of your mind you know you have good reason to fear Lucius. . . .

  I was the pure-blooded heir to leadership of a clan that had warred with Lucius’s for generations. I was set to inherit power that his family had always wanted to seize. If I was out of the way . . . I recalled Lucius’s strange comment right after the Christmas formal.

  “Please believe that in the end, I would not—could not—have hurt you. Perhaps there was a time before I knew you, if you had stood in my path to power. But now . . . God, I hope not . . .”

  No. Lucius would never hurt me, even in the interest of smoothing a path to power. I clung to the first part of his curious declaration. “In the end, I would not—could not—have hurt you.”

  Then I thought of the changed Lucius. The distant, angry, bruised young man who wouldn’t even meet my eyes. Could he do me harm?

  I wouldn’t believe it. If there was one certainty I had to hold tight to in my new topsy-turvy life, it was Lucius’s promise to protect me, even at the cost of his own existence.

  And yet I couldn’t stop feeling uneasy—almost queasy—about Jake’s uncharacteristic, and very dire, warning.

  Chapter 46

  “LUCIUS, I BROUGHT you some hot chocolate.” I poked my head into his new room, carrying a tray. “It’s the vegan kind, but not too bad.”

  He was lying flat on his back on his makeshift bed, which was an air mattress on the floor, his eyes closed, listening to headphones. The desk lamp provided the only light in the room, casting shadows all around him. I took a second to study him before he realized I was there and turned away, like he always did now. His bruises had healed some, and the swelling around his eye had gone down. I set down the tray and tapped his shoulder.

  He started, tearing off the headphones and bolting upright. “Don’t startle me like that. Don’t you know that’s unwise? Don’t you know by now?”