But you succeeded, did you not? The world is safe for mankind once again. He chuckles, raising an imaginary glass. To humanity. The vampire’s greatest weakness.
I don’t see the humor. But safe for how long? I want to live a simple life. I want to marry the man I love and raise his child.
Frey will die. Vlad utters the words without emotion, a simple statement of fact.
My own answer is more heated. I know that. I lean toward him. But at some point one has to decide what is important. If we have forty years together, thirty, twenty, they will be good years and worth the pain of loss when the end comes. I suddenly remember a fact of history. Wasn’t your time with your mortal wife Jusztina worth it?
Vlad looks surprised that I would know his wife’s name. I smile ruefully. There is very little about your life that has not been recorded. Including the way she met her death.
He looks away, briefly, as if unsure how to respond. When he meets my eyes again, they are clouded with remorse. I was away when that happened—when she threw herself from the parapet. I’ve wished every day of my life since that I would have turned her before I’d left on that godforsaken mission.
Why didn’t you?
Instead of answering, he searches my face. Your mother is facing death, is she not?
Yes. Bravely. She is the most heroic woman I know.
I assume you considered turning her?
I gave her the choice. She turned it down. She believes in the immortal life her god promises.
Then you understand how it was with Jusztina. Do you hold your mother’s beliefs?
I did when I was young. No longer. I have seen too much. I let a beat go by. Do you still think of Jusztina?
After six hundred years? He smiles, softly, sweetly. Every day.
Would you have preferred she never existed? That you never loved so deeply?
No. My memories of our life together sustain me. Life is too grim otherwise.
Then you understand how it is with Frey.
I realize suddenly that he is asking more questions of me than I of him. This isn’t going quite the way I expected.
Vlad laughs softly, feeling my discomfort, and answers the question swirling around my head. You are intriguing. I wanted to know more about this Chosen One.
Why?
I believe we have a lot in common, you and I.
And what have you learned?
That the rumors about you are true. I saw it myself tonight. Still, I’d like to learn more. Will you meet me tomorrow?
I shake my head. I’m afraid that’s not possible. Frey and I are getting married in two days. After that, well, how long we stay depends on— I can’t bring myself to finish the thought, the words stick in my throat.
Vlad nods sympathetically. Your mother. I understand. But we will meet again. When one has all the time in the world, one develops patience.
All the time in the world. I sigh. What history you have lived.
Vlad shrugs. History is just the present in retrospect. Times change but people do not. After a while you come to realize stepping back from mortals is the only way to survive. Otherwise your soul becomes deadened by the evil humans perpetuate upon themselves.
Yet were you not mortal when you received the name Vlad the Impaler? I ask quietly.
Vlad doesn’t shrink from the question but meets my eyes squarely. Yes. I was a fanatic willing to protect my country against all threats—whether Ottoman Turks or German merchants. As ruler I thought I could eliminate crime by being pitiless against transgressors. I held myself as arbiter of morality and punished anyone whose conduct I deemed morally wrong. I deserve to be called cruel but not capricious. Those in my kingdom knew what I stood for and if they committed a transgression, they understood the consequences.
His words are straightforward but the emotion behind them is great sadness.
Do you think history has judged you too harshly? If so, why don’t you try to set the record straight?
He chuckles. You mean write a book? The Real Untold Story of Vlad Dracul the Third? Who would believe it? My enemies were thorough. The portrait left behind of me is one of a monster who lived only to torture and kill. But I no longer care what history chooses to remember. It very rarely reflects the truth.
Obviously. History says you were killed by the Ottomans, your head put on a stake outside of Constantinople.
Vlad smiles, stretches his arms over his head. Inventing your own death is something you will learn to deal with as time goes by. Though it was far easier to disappear with no Internet or newspapers or even photographs to leave a trail.
Hmm. When the time comes, I hope I don’t have to resort to leaving some innocent person’s head on a stake to make it happen.
Who said he was innocent?
The driver knocks gently on the partition, signaling we are nearing the cafe. Before I rouse Frey, I reach a hand to Vlad. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Vlad Dracul.
He takes my hand, raising it to his lips. And you, Anna Strong.
WHEN WE GET BACK TO THE VILLA, THE SUN IS ALREADY SNAKING THROUGH THE WINDOWS. We tiptoe in without waking the house, stopping only to erase a telephone message from Vlad’s assistant.
“Some romantic road trip, huh?” Frey whispers.
I take his hand and steer him toward the stairs. Suddenly, the events of the evening, how close I came to losing him, have me shaking.
When we’re safe behind closed bedroom doors, I waste no time slipping out of Steffan’s dress. We don’t say another word to each other. There’s no need. Frey reads the urgency in my eyes, in my hands as I help him strip off his clothes. Then we’re on the bed, and he guides my lips to his neck.
“Drink.”
His hands hold me tight, his pulse thunders just under that fragile layer of skin. His breath is hot and ragged against my cheek.
“Drink, Anna,” he says again.
And I do.
* * * 
