to bite him and drink his blood. He couldn’t help but wonder if Snow ever felt this way. The thought sent a guilty shiver up his spine. “Why isn’t anyone using telepathy?”
Vikas popped open a bottle of bloodwine and drank deeply, then met Vlad’s eyes with a weary glance. “As I said, Dorian is skilled beyond any of us. If our minds remain open, there is no telling what he might dredge up ... or do. Be on guard. But be polite. Dorian is our guest, and an important figure in Elysia. He deserves both our respect and our fear. But ... do not let his presence taint the celebration for you, Vladimir. Besides, you should be celebrating, yourself. If Elysia has not yet called you to trial, you are likely free of the possibility. Enjoy your freedom.”
He turned and made his way back into the living room with an armful of open bloodwine bottles.
Vlad uncorked a bottle that was sitting on the counter and took a swig. It was as delicious, tangy, and spicy as he recalled it to be. After another swig, he followed Vikas back into the crowded room.
He wasn’t exactly sure what Vikas had meant by it being a celebration, so when he made it across the room to Otis, he said, “Vikas called this a celebration.”
“He’s right.”
“What exactly are we celebrating, Otis?”
Otis blanched, growing silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly. “We are celebrating my life, as it were.”
Vlad frowned, his heart suddenly very heavy. “Otis ... you still have a chance. The Council of Elders might—”
He was going to say “find you innocent,” but Otis shook his head and walked away, the threat of tears in his eyes, before Vlad could utter another word. Vlad stared after him, dumbfounded.
A heavy hand clasped his shoulder, and Vlad turned to see Vikas, who was watching after Otis with a troubled expression. “As I said, he is troubled, your uncle. It would do little good to attempt to cheer a dying man.”
Vlad’s heart felt heavy and shriveled. “But, Vikas, you’re on the Council of Elders. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Something you will soon learn about Elysia, Mahlyenki Dyavol, is that trials are but a formality.” Vikas squeezed his shoulder once, lowering his voice. What he said next broke Vlad’s heart in two. “You should enjoy your time with your uncle, Vladimir. It grows short despite my efforts to lengthen it.”
Another vampire said something in Elysian code to Vikas, and he laughed openly before leading the vampire to the kitchen. When Vlad turned around, Dorian was there, waiting, wearing that same kind, expectant smile on his lips, that same harmless demeanor. “You will offer your blood to me.”
At once, every eye in the room turned to Vlad. After a minuscule pause, several vampires, including Otis and Vikas, began to speak, to argue with Dorian over what he had just said to Vlad, or to plead with him not to do whatever it was that he was about to do. Vikas offered Dorian Tristian’s blood—AB negative, as much as he’d like—in exchange for what he wanted of Vlad. Bemused, but insistent, Dorian whispered, “Hush now.”
At his spoken words, the crowd fell utterly silent.
Vlad looked them over—none could move, none could speak, but by their blinks and the look in Otis’s eyes, they were well aware what was happening. Vlad, however, had no idea what was going on. He only knew that Dorian had stopped their every action, their every sound, with a whisper. It made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up in confused fear. He looked at Dorian but didn’t speak.
Dorian stepped closer, a dark, hungry look in his eye. “You will offer your blood to me now.”
Before Vlad realized what he was doing, he’d reached up with his hand and pulled the collar of his T-shirt back. He bent his head to the side, exposing his neck, and all the while, he had no control over his actions. It wasn’t mind control—this was something else, something worse, something
Vikas popped open a bottle of bloodwine and drank deeply, then met Vlad’s eyes with a weary glance. “As I said, Dorian is skilled beyond any of us. If our minds remain open, there is no telling what he might dredge up ... or do. Be on guard. But be polite. Dorian is our guest, and an important figure in Elysia. He deserves both our respect and our fear. But ... do not let his presence taint the celebration for you, Vladimir. Besides, you should be celebrating, yourself. If Elysia has not yet called you to trial, you are likely free of the possibility. Enjoy your freedom.”
He turned and made his way back into the living room with an armful of open bloodwine bottles.
Vlad uncorked a bottle that was sitting on the counter and took a swig. It was as delicious, tangy, and spicy as he recalled it to be. After another swig, he followed Vikas back into the crowded room.
He wasn’t exactly sure what Vikas had meant by it being a celebration, so when he made it across the room to Otis, he said, “Vikas called this a celebration.”
“He’s right.”
“What exactly are we celebrating, Otis?”
Otis blanched, growing silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly. “We are celebrating my life, as it were.”
Vlad frowned, his heart suddenly very heavy. “Otis ... you still have a chance. The Council of Elders might—”
He was going to say “find you innocent,” but Otis shook his head and walked away, the threat of tears in his eyes, before Vlad could utter another word. Vlad stared after him, dumbfounded.
A heavy hand clasped his shoulder, and Vlad turned to see Vikas, who was watching after Otis with a troubled expression. “As I said, he is troubled, your uncle. It would do little good to attempt to cheer a dying man.”
Vlad’s heart felt heavy and shriveled. “But, Vikas, you’re on the Council of Elders. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Something you will soon learn about Elysia, Mahlyenki Dyavol, is that trials are but a formality.” Vikas squeezed his shoulder once, lowering his voice. What he said next broke Vlad’s heart in two. “You should enjoy your time with your uncle, Vladimir. It grows short despite my efforts to lengthen it.”
Another vampire said something in Elysian code to Vikas, and he laughed openly before leading the vampire to the kitchen. When Vlad turned around, Dorian was there, waiting, wearing that same kind, expectant smile on his lips, that same harmless demeanor. “You will offer your blood to me.”
At once, every eye in the room turned to Vlad. After a minuscule pause, several vampires, including Otis and Vikas, began to speak, to argue with Dorian over what he had just said to Vlad, or to plead with him not to do whatever it was that he was about to do. Vikas offered Dorian Tristian’s blood—AB negative, as much as he’d like—in exchange for what he wanted of Vlad. Bemused, but insistent, Dorian whispered, “Hush now.”
At his spoken words, the crowd fell utterly silent.
Vlad looked them over—none could move, none could speak, but by their blinks and the look in Otis’s eyes, they were well aware what was happening. Vlad, however, had no idea what was going on. He only knew that Dorian had stopped their every action, their every sound, with a whisper. It made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up in confused fear. He looked at Dorian but didn’t speak.
Dorian stepped closer, a dark, hungry look in his eye. “You will offer your blood to me now.”
Before Vlad realized what he was doing, he’d reached up with his hand and pulled the collar of his T-shirt back. He bent his head to the side, exposing his neck, and all the while, he had no control over his actions. It wasn’t mind control—this was something else, something worse, something
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