Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

  Outside, a wolf howled in the mountains. I had never heard a live wolf cry out before, only in movies or on TV, and the sound, carrying across the wilderness, was so mournful that it nearly made me cry. Everything about my trip was summed up by that miserable, beautiful, poignant sound. Lucius was alive—but he might as well have been gone. My heart still ached, perhaps more, because I had entertained such high hopes for our reunion. Lucius had been right. It had not gone as planned. I was devastated to find him so changed.

  And the revelation about the plot to destroy me . . . that had shaken me to the core. Yet I didn’t believe that Lucius had been complicit, as he’d said. The plan was Vasile’s strategy. Perhaps there had been a time when Lucius, twisted and nearly crushed under Vasile’s thumb, would have been capable of entertaining the possibility of such a dark act. But he’d changed in the United States. As he’d said himself, he’d seen a new way. He had told me, “For my children, it could have been different . . .”

  I also recalled his words earlier that very evening. “I saved your life by breaking the pact.”

  By refusing to honor the clans’ agreement, Lucius had actively striven to save me from Vasile’s scheme, willingly risking his own life. He had known that Vasile would try to destroy him for insubordination.

  Lucius would always protect me.

  For all my parents’ warnings about the Vladescus’ ruthlessness, for all Lucius’s own vehement assertions that he was dangerous to me, I knew differently.

  But how could I make Lucius believe that he would never do me harm? That we still belonged—and would always belong—together?

  There were no answers in the blackness outside the window, so I rose from my seat and opened my suitcase to unpack. At the very least, I will not run home, as Lucius desired.

  As I unfolded my clothes, my copy of Growing Up Undead, which I’d tucked in at the last minute, tumbled to the floor. Picking it up, I thought back to the day I’d discovered the manual near my bedroom door, Lucius’s bookmark gleaming in the morning sun. I’d hated the gift, then. But Lucius had been right. In spite of its cloying tone, the book had been a good guide through a confusing time. An accurate resource. Almost like a confidante, when there’d been no one else with whom I could discuss the changes taking place in my body, my life. Sitting on the bed, I opened to the final chapter, which I’d purposely overlooked as my feelings for Lucius had grown stronger and stronger.

  Chapter 13: “Love Among Vampires: Myth or Reality?”

  Of course vampires can love. Dorin believed Lucius was capable of loving me.

  Yet my heart sank as I began to read the guide’s sobering advice.

  “It is best not to harbor unrealistic notions about love among vampires. Vampires are romantic, even affectionate, on occasion. But in the end, we are a ruthless race! Try to accept that vampire relationships are based upon power and, yes, passion—but not the human concept of ‘love.’ To begin trusting in ‘love’—as many young vampires are foolishly wont to do—is to put yourself at risk of serious peril!”

  No.

  I slammed the book shut and tossed it aside, knowing that it had served its purpose. I no longer needed its advice. Because this time, the guide—however well respected, however venerable—was wrong. I knew the truth. Lucius loved me.

  I realized, in a moment of vivid clarity, that I was willing to stake my life on that conviction. That I would stake my life on it, that very night.

  Chapter 64

  UNABLE TO LOCATE more appropriately majestic stationery in the middle of the night, I inked my abdication note on the back of a tourist pamphlet describing our ancestral home’s amenities—SEE A REAL DUNGEON! EXPLORE THREE PARAPETS!—that I found near the front door.

  I wrote,

  Dear family,

  It is futile to wage war against the Vladescus. I have decided that it is in our best interests for me to return to the United States—to step down as your princess. But my final act as your sovereign is to order every Dragomir to submit without struggle to Vladescu rule. I am bringing our clan under Lucius Vladescus power so that we may have peace. Henceforth, you will be his subjects.

  This is my command, issued at midnight, June 9, and effective at 6:30 A.M. this same day, just before my official abdication at 7:00 A.M.

  Antanasia Dragomir

  I placed the note on the long dining room table, still littered with plates and goblets from my aborted feast, where I felt fairly certain Dorin would find it at breakfast. The pamphlet looked ridiculous propped against a tarnished silver candlestick, and I hoped that at least my words sounded official.

  Then again, if anyone ever read my directive, I was dead, anyway. The fate of the clans would no longer be my problem.

  That won’t happen, Jessica. . . .

  I had kept my gown on, wanting to present myself before Lucius as regal and powerful, which made it difficult to shift gears in the cramped Panda. The dress’s train kept getting caught in the clutch, but I managed to maneuver out of the parking lot and onto the skinny, convoluted road that twined like a poisonous vine toward Lucius’s castle.

  I was glad that I had been so acutely aware of Lucius’s home—its proximity to my ancestral estate, its horrible grandeur—when I had ridden with Dorin, because I was able to retrace the route, even though the way was confusing in the pitch-black mountains. Or maybe I got lost a few times, because the trip seemed to take forever. But eventually, I saw the castle’s jutting spires stabbing at the full moon, and I turned up the lane, which was nearly vertical, interrupted by hairpin turns that sprang up in the darkness like jack-in-the-boxes, forcing me to hit the brakes again and again, so as not to fly off the sharp drops that appeared to my left and right at gaps in the thick forest.

  “Come on,” I repeatedly encouraged the Panda, patting its steering wheel, willing its struggling engine onward, certain that it was about to give up.

  The pavement ended, dropping off into dirt, and still we climbed.

  Finally, just as I had begun to believe that the mountain could go on forever, a stone-and-iron gate loomed before me, standing at least eight feet tall. Why didn’t I count on that? I stopped the car and yanked the emergency brake as hard as I could, with visions of the poor Panda disappearing down the vertical road and plunging driverless into the ravine, never to be seen again. Hiking up my dress so my train would not drag on the dirt road, I strode to the gate and ventured to tug on the heavy iron ring that served as a handle, certain that the exercise was futile.

  To my surprise, though, the gate swung back an inch or so. I tugged harder, struggling against its weight, and managed to pry it open just enough to slip inside. So much for Lucius’s much-vaunted security system.

  I ventured a few steps onto Vladescu land, and the gate swung shut behind me with a loud, metallic clang like an ominous gong in the silent forest. I glanced behind myself, immediately feeling vulnerable, closed off from my car—and closed in with what? Vampires, definitely . . . and maybe scarier things? I remembered the howl of the wolf. And dogs. What if Lucius kept guard dogs on patrol?

  Should I push the gate again, try to open it, get back in the car?

  But I had a terrible feeling that I was sealed inside. Besides, I had no real intention of turning back.

  Before me, I could barely discern the footpath, even in the moonlight that filtered through thick trees. I had no choice but to go forward, though, so I squared my shoulders and began walking. With each step, I became more aware of the sounds of the forest. The snap of twigs in the distance, the rustle of leaves as some animal—Please, let it be some Romanian rodent—darted away, startled by my footsteps.

  There were bigger things out there, too. I could hear them near me, and I picked up my pace, at first just walking faster, and then breaking into a trot, which was as fast as I could manage on the uneven dirt-and-stone path. Please, please, let the castle come into sight. My breath started coming so raggedly that the other sounds were shut out, but monsters were so active
in my imagination that I didn’t need to hear them to know that they were there, nipping at my heels. And then I stumbled.

  But before I could fall to my knees, two pairs of hands gripped my arms and yanked me upright, hauling me roughly to my feet.

  I didn’t even have time to scream out loud. As my head snapped up to see who held me, I saw before me, bathed in moonlight, Lucius. Standing a few feet ahead of me, arms crossed, blocking the path. My own arms were still tightly contained, and I glanced to my sides. Two young men—vampires, I presumed—pinioned me. “Let me go,” I cried, trying to shake them off.

  “Eliberaţi-o!” Lucius ordered them in Romanian. “Release her!”

  My arms were freed, and I stood on my own, brushing myself off, as though they’d soiled me with their touch.

  The young vampires waited for Lucius’s instruction, crowding me, clearly ready—eager—to recapture me.

  But they were destined to be disappointed, much to my relief.

  “Mergeţi. Lăsaţi-ne în pace,” Lucius said, apparently dismissing his guards, because they disappeared into the night.

  Hearing him speak in a tongue familiar to him but so strange to my ears—he had almost never used Romanian while at our farm—long past midnight, in a remote and gloomy forest, only emphasized how foreign to me Lucius had become, and some of my resolve wavered.

  We stood facing each other in silence, his body closing off the path to his castle, and his guards, presumably, alert for my retreat. “How long were you following me?” I finally asked him.

  “The headlights on your toy car are dim, but still visible from many miles away. Few people travel this way at night. The road is too perilous—and the destination far too treacherous.”

  “So that’s why the gate was open. You knew I was coming.”

  “Indeed. I wanted to see how far you would take this ill-advised visit.” He paced toward me, hands clasped behind his back. “I must admit, you came much farther than I ever anticipated. You are nearly at my home.”

  “I’m not afraid of the dark,” I lied.

  Lucius advanced closer, looming before me. “There are wolves in these woods,” he advised, leaning in to watch my face. “And they would find it difficult to resist one as tempting as you, I fear. Especially in that magnificent bloodred gown.”

  I glanced down at my dress as Lucius circled around me, surveying me, in a parody of what he’d done months ago in my parents’ barn, the day we’d met. He had changed since then—but I had, too. Gone were my dirty boots, my ragged T-shirt. Red silk glistened in the moonlight.

  “Did you never read ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ Jessica?” Lucius asked, still circling slowly, crowding and confining me. “Do you not know what happens to innocents who wander alone in dark forests?”

  A weird thrill of terror mixed with anticipation shivered through me. Lucius was too close—and not close enough. I couldn’t quite see his black eyes in the darkness. I couldn’t quite gauge his mood. Was he toying with me as prelude to a kiss—or the thrust of a stake?

  You’re betting your life on the former, Jess.

  “I forget the story, Lucius,” I said. “It’s just a tale for little kids.”

  “Oh, it is one of my favorite fables,” he said, pausing behind me. I tensed, feeling vulnerable with him at my back. “The origins are lost in time,” he continued. “And there are many adaptations. In some, the little girl is saved. But I particularly love the ending just the way Perrault related it in the classic version.”

  “How . . . how does that end?” I inquired, not moving.

  “‘Grandmother, what big TEETH you have got!’” Lucius recited, leaning so close over my shoulder that his lips brushed my ear, almost nipping at me. “‘All the better to eat you up with.’ And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood—and ate her all up.’”

  I shivered as he told the story, half from his nearness, half from the clear relish with which he related the awful conclusion.

  “Is that not a simple, satisfying ending, Jessica?” He laughed softly.

  “I like happier endings myself.”

  Lucius laughed harder. “What could be happier—for the wolf? Why do humans always look at these things from the wrong perspective? Predators deserve our sympathy, too.”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about fairy tales,” I said, breaking the sinister spell. He was genuinely starting to unnerve me.

  “Run along home then, Riding Hood,” Lucius said, taking my shoulders and steering me back toward the car. “It is late, and you are in danger of becoming wolf fodder. What would I write to your parents then? That I allowed Jessica to be devoured, torn limb from limb, after they were so hospitable to me?”

  I shuddered again, this time mainly from the cold, and turned around, shaking free of his grasp. “I want to go inside to talk. I came here to strike a bargain with you.”

  Lucius paused, head cocked, bemused. “A bargain? With me? But you have nothing with which to bargain.” I could tell that he was nevertheless intrigued. “Do you?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “And this bargain . . . does it end with you returning to Pennsylvania, where you belong?”

  “It could end with me leaving,” I said. This world. Forever.

  “You capture my interest,” Lucius admitted, touching my shoulder again. “And you tremble with the cold. I am a rude host, to taunt you in the frigid air, when you are unused to a Carpathian Mountain spring. Let us go inside, where I can infuriate and inspire loathing in comfort.”

  We began to walk side-by-side down the path, Lucius’s feet sure on ground familiar to him, me unsteady and ill-dressed for a late-night hike. I wobbled slightly, and Lucius reached out to steady me. After I regained my footing, he kept his hand at my elbow, and I felt that with that simple gesture, I had come one step closer to winning the Vladescu-Dragomir war.

  Or perhaps not. Because when the massive wooden door to his castle swung shut behind us, sealing us in an imposing Gothic stone foyer that disappeared above me into blackness too high to be penetrated by a circle of twenty actual, flaming torches, Lucius noted, “You know that you effectively declared war this evening. And now you are my first prisoner.”

  I spun around just in time to see him slam a long iron dead bolt home, locking us into his monstrous mansion.

  “You’re joking, right, Lucius?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes were flinty when they met mine. “The sad thing is, Jessica, I had almost thought you had finally learned not to trust me tonight.”

  As I watched in horror, Lucius reached behind his back and withdrew something that had apparently been concealed, tucked in his belt, the whole time we’d been together alone in a dark Carpathian forest.

  A stained, sharpened stake.

  Chapter 65

  LUCIUS TAPPED the rudimentary, but nonetheless potentially deadly, instrument against his palm. “I have done all that I could to keep us from this moment, but you refuse to cooperate. I will offer you one last chance, Antanasia. I will slip the bolt, you will slip into the night, and my guards will ensure your safe return to your car. From there, you will fly home and forget this entire episode. That is my offer, on the table.”

  As Lucius spoke, his eyes had become completely black, the irises consuming the whites, as if he were some exotic nocturnal animal. The transformation was just as captivating and terrifying as it had been the first time I’d seen it back in my parents’ dining room, when Lucius had thirsted for the blood that would heal him. It took every ounce of my courage not to beg him to pull back the bolt, allowing me to run for safety. But I couldn’t do that. Our short, intense, confusing relationship would come to its climax, for better or for worse, that night. I would not wait one day longer.

  I mastered my voice with effort. “I’m not interested in your offer of flight,” I said. I pointed at the stake. “That is precisely why I am here. That in your hand is the crux of my bargain, too.


  Lucius watched me carefully, clearly caught off-guard.

  “Did you expect me to be afraid, Lucius?” I asked, hoping my eyes or my voice didn’t betray just how scared I really was.

  “Yes,” he said. “As you should be.”

  “Maybe, for once, you were the one who was naïve. Who underestimated just what I’m capable of.”

  Lucius hesitated, and the silence in the tomblike foyer was deafening, except for the occasional hiss and pop of the torches. “Let us talk,” he said finally.

  Walking ahead of me, not waiting to see if I followed, Lucius led me through a maze of passageways that opened into wider chambers, like a series of tunnels linking caves, sometimes ducking beneath stone lintels built at a time when men were much shorter than Lucius Vladescu, sometimes mounting quick flights of steps that seemed to have no purpose. This was a castle designed not to welcome visitors, but to confound enemies. It wasn’t a home. It was a lair. A stone spiderweb. As we traveled deeper into the edifice, the turns seemed to become tighter, the hallways more narrow, the steps steeper. I realized, with more than a bit of alarm, that I was completely lost. Completely at Lucius’s mercy. If things did not go as I hoped, I would never escape. My body would never even be found.

  He stopped so abruptly that I bumped into his shoulder as he reached to open a portal I hadn’t even noticed in the wall. Twisting the knob and giving the door a push, Lucius stepped back. “After you.”

  I eyed him warily. His eyes were no longer pure black, but they were still cold. I stepped past him. “Thank you.”

  As Lucius pulled the door shut behind him, I gazed around the chamber, then at Lucius. “Lucius . . . this is beautiful.”

  At the heart of the Vladescu labyrinth was a richly appointed study, a truly magnificent version of the stage set that Lucius had cobbled together in our garage. A gargantuan, antique Turkish carpet smothered the stone floor, and the walls were lined with overflowing bookshelves—as I would have expected from Lucius. Deep leather couches were cracked and worn, testament to the hours he’d no doubt spent poring over the works of Brontë and Shakespeare and Melville. Tucked among the books was one red trophy, with a basketball player arcing a ball that tripped off his gilt fingertips. Lucius’s award for winning a free-throw contest back in December. I turned to him, smiling, heartened that he’d retained a bit of his life as an American teenager. “You brought your trophy home.”