The Vampire Dimitri

weakness. Not to mention dangerous. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation, Cezar.”

The other man smiled unpleasantly, and a tiny gold fleck glinted in his left fang. “I was certain it had been an oversight. You’ve always been so inclusive of all of us. Which is why I brought a gift for you.” He stepped aside and revealed a cloaked figure behind him.

Dimitri had never met Cezar’s sister before, but there was no mistaking her, for her beauty was legendary among the Dracule. Narcise Moldavi was easily one of the most striking women living—or immortal, as she happened to be. Her skin was smooth and ivory, and she had violet-blue eyes that were disconcertingly empty. Long, shiny black hair fell in lush waves over her shoulders. And her violet gown was made of some material that clung to her as if molded in the wind, revealing taut nipples, the jut of her hip bones, and even the swell of her mons venus. Other than a bracelet encircling her upper arm with a feather dangling from it, she wore no other adornment.

It wasn’t because of Lerina—or even Meg—that Dimitri was unmoved, however. “I have no interest in your leavings, Moldavi,” he said. Despite the lure and lull of the salvi, there were a variety of reasons Narcise’s presence had no impact on him, including the emptiness in her face. Although he’d seen the brief flash of shame and anger in her eyes, Dimitri saw that it was clear she was under her brother’s control. “Especially your sister. Although, she’s not precisely your type, is she? You prefer to let others partake while you sniff out other amusements.” Such as hard cocks and little children.

“You dare to insult my family?” Moldavi’s eyes burned with fury. His companions closed ranks, showing their fangs.

“On the contrary. The insult was directed to you alone,” he replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He made it a statement, not a question, and turned away from the repugnant man. Dimitri didn’t trust himself to stand, but he had no fear of putting his back to Cezar Moldavi.

At that moment, another of Dimitri’s acquaintances, Lord Eddersley, approached, and took Voss’s vacant seat.

“Is all well?” he asked Dimitri, eyeing Moldavi over his host’s shoulder and then meeting his eyes.

Dimitri felt the shift in the air and the change in smell as Cezar Moldavi and his group moved on. He had no illusions that the man was actually going to leave the premises, but Dimitri wasn’t inclined to make a scene. Not tonight.

He didn’t need to prove anything, and Moldavi had obviously wished to make the point to his companions: that he could enter uninvited and disrupt Dimitri’s evening. Engaging with the man would only fuel Moldavi’s fire, and give him more attention than he deserved.

However, once Dimitri found out who’d allowed the bastard in, there would be hell to pay. “Just dealing with a nuisance,” Dimitri replied to Eddersley as Lerina excused herself.

“He’s walked away, but he’s not leaving.”

Dimitri nodded absently at Lerina as she turned to walk off, her hand sliding along his arm. “As I assumed.” He picked up the bottle of brandy Voss had left, then set it back down. Perhaps it might be best if he stayed away from the salvi.

A short time later, Dimitri happened to look over just as two figures emerged from one of the shadowy alcoves that had been built to provide privacy.

His body went cold, then hot with anger, when he recognized them both. Cezar Moldavi and Lerina.

He was still watching when Moldavi looked over and met his eyes boldly, sending a message of smugness.

Dimitri tensed, his jaw setting. Now he understood.

And as the two strolled closer, he saw the marks on Lerina’s left shoulder. The one that had been pristine and smooth earlier tonight. Confirmation of his suspicions.

Fury suffused him and his fingers curled around the arm of his chair. Such blatant disrespect couldn’t go unchallenged—for everyone in the place knew Lerina was marked by him. Dimitri rose to his feet.

The room swayed much more than he’d expected, and he paused to bestow yet another curse on Voss for tampering with his mental faculties tonight. The chest with the ruby-studded goblet had been closed and taken away, but the salvi was quick, deep and strong…and, apparently, very long-lasting.

His knees nearly buckled, but Dimitri allowed no weakness to show. With great effort, he kept himself upright and steady and focused his attention on Moldavi. In another moment, he’d walk over to the man and confront him…

But as it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. Moldavi certainly knew what he was doing, and he released Lerina as he drew near Dimitri. Sparing only a brief, cold glance at his mistress—as of now, former mistress— Dimitri focused on his past business partner. Now, he allowed his fangs to show and his eyes to burn.

Without either man saying a word, the room became hushed and tension stretched. Cards were laid on tables, drinks set down, chatter stopped. This was going to be a battle before witnesses.

“For one who arrived uninvited, you’ve gone even beyond that disregard,” Dimitri said, his voice calm and cold. His fist clenched and the room tilted a bit, but he was steadied by fury. “Your insult is inexcusable.”

Moldavi said nothing. He merely stepped closer, leaving his companions, including Narcise, to cluster behind him, watching. “Perhaps if you had placed more value on the lovely lady, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

Dimitri flickered a glance at Lerina, and saw the combination of horror and shame on her face. What had likely begun as a petulant bid for his attention had turned into a grave mistake on her part, as well as that of Moldavi’s.

He would deal with Lerina later.

“Leave,” Dimitri said to him. “Or I’ll see that you do myself.”

Moldavi flashed his gold-flecked fang. “I should have been invited tonight. This was my investment as well, and your ridiculous sensibilities cost me a great amount of money. It’s you who have made a grave insult. I merely repay you in kind, Dimitri.”

“I’ll not do business with a child-bleeder.” Dimitri stepped toward him, and the next thing he knew, Moldavi was lunging.

With a stake in hand.

Dimitri dodged, still unsteady and fighting the spinning of the room, and then dove at his attacker. They bumped into a chair and table, sending them tumbling, as Dimitri smashed a fist into Moldavi’s face.

The stake arced toward him, and he caught the glimpse of a countenance tight with fury and desperation as a powerful arm brought it down toward Dimitri’s torso.

A shift aside, and the weapon slammed into his rib cage, the point burying deep. Pain shot through him, but at least he was feeling it and not dead—which was what a stake to the heart would do to a Dracule. Instant death.

Enraged, Dimitri grabbed Moldavi’s arm and yanked it, then whipped him across the room. The bone snapped as he released him and the other man tumbled into a heap.

Dimitri turned to see three of Moldavi’s companions aligning themselves toward him, but before he needed to respond, Yfreto and four other footmen stepped in between them.

“Get out,” Dimitri ordered, taking a menacing step toward Moldavi.

Somehow, the room had righted itself…but he saw through burning eyes that everything was coated in red. The scents of fear and smoke filled his nose, and he turned just as someone screamed.

“Fire!”

It was all over after that.

Even now, Dimitri remembered the sudden hot blaze, the smoke, the rage of the flames.

The fire had been started during the altercation with Cezar—someone had knocked over candles or an opium bowl and the rich fabric had shot up in flames.

There was, of course, nothing that could be done except watch the place burn to the ground.

Dimitri and Eddersley discovered Lerina’s body the next day. She was burned so badly it was only a remnant of her gown that identified her.

Shortly after that, Dimitri left Vienna and returned to England. Glad for an excuse to leave, sickened by the loss of life and property, disgusted by the actions of his fellow Dracule, and by his own foolish acceptance of Lucifer’s bargain, he decided he was through with it all.

He wanted out.