was debating exactly how to manipulate Vlad into giving him what he wanted. Or maybe how to kill him. Attempted murder would definitely be the more familiar path.
D’Ablo’s features tensed. His hands, gloved in their usual shiny black leather, tightened into fists and then loosened again. When he spoke, his words were hushed and crisp. “Is there no way that I can persuade you?”
Vlad felt himself relaxing a bit. It couldn’t be mind control that was easing his muscular tension-Otis had taught him well not only how to detect such attempts, but also how to block them. And it certainly couldn’t be confidence, as he was freaking out on the inside and it was all he could do not to run screaming into the night. Whatever it was, Vlad didn’t trust it. He met D’Ablo’s eyes with a cold gaze. “Why are you trying to
And there it was, in D’Ablo’s cold, steel gray eyes. Vlad didn’t need telepathy to see it or understand it-not that D’Ablo would allow him even a glimpse of his twisted mind, Vlad was certain. But he could see it, the reason that D’Ablo was talking to him instead of attacking him on sight.
He really believed that Vlad was the Pravus.
And part of him, small as it might be, was afraid of that. And it looked like D’Ablo hadn’t yet figured out a way to take Vlad’s life because of that fact. After all, his attempts at both ripping Vlad to shreds and trying to turn him into a walking shish kebab via wooden stake had failed miserably.
Vlad straightened his shoulders, releasing the lungful of breath he’d been holding. “ Tell me why you want it, exactly.”
An impatient light flashed across D’Ablo’s eyes. Poised on his tongue was a blatant lie. “Simply to remember him by.”
Vlad knew better. If D’Ablo wanted the journal, there was a solid reason for it-one that wasn’t merely sentimental. “And if I offered you some pictures or a few of his favorite books?”
D’Ablo shook his head, a wave of low laughter escaping him. He’d grown tired of this game. In a blink he was inches in front of Vlad, squeezing his leather-covered hand tightly around Vlad’s throat, until Vlad could feel his lungs tighten in panic. Vlad tore at D’Ablo’s hands, but his attacker held fast, whispering bluntly into his ear. “ The journal or your life, boy. I’ll give you some time to think it over.”
Then, just as suddenly as he’d attacked, D’Ablo released his grip and turned toward the door. Vlad coughed and gasped as air entered his lungs once again. D’Ablo’s hand was on the knob when he managed to choke out, “That’s not gonna be easy if the Pravus can’t be killed.”
D’Ablo smirked and opened the door. He met Vlad’s eyes and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. But you’ll see soon enough.”
Vlad blinked, utterly confused. He reached out with his mind, calling to Otis for help… but Otis was silent.
As D’Ablo stepped outside, he spoke again, this time without looking back. “Sweet dreams.”
His words were followed by chilling laughter.
6 IN ANTICIPATION OF BLOOD
IGNATIUS SLIPPED THE CURVED BLADE into the leather holster on his leg. It wasn’t the only tool he would need in torturing the Tod boy, but it was by far his favorite. The blade was an extension of himself, and had shed nearly as much blood. They were one. Symbiotic, in a way. The blade hungered for blood, but needed Ignatius’s actions and strength to acquire it. And Ignatius… he hungered for justice, something only the blade could provide for him. Soon they would taste both.
Lying on the table was a stack of papers, all stamped with the official seal of the Stokerton council. The top paper held the signatures of every council member. They had granted him official permission to hunt the boy at last. It was about time.
Now Ignatius’s only concern was how to find the boy alone… and in total darkness.
His allergy to the sun-so severe that he would burn even from the light that reflected off the moon at night, so terrible that it could not be overcome by mere sunblock-was an embarrassment that he had dealt with since the moment he’d been reborn into vampiric society. He had never let it hold him back from completing a task. Never. And it wouldn’t stop him this time.
He would capture Vladimir Tod… and make him bleed until his screams were silenced.
7 HALLOWEEN
VLAD SUCKED THE SWEET CRIMSON LIQUID through a straw, careful not to smudge his now green face. Dressing as Frankenstein (or, technically, Frankenstein’s monster) for Matthew’s annual Halloween party turned out to be a bit more challenging than he’d thought, and he hadn’t even left the house yet. The makeup was a pain to put on, let alone
“I just don’t understand what made you change your mind about going, that’s all. We always go to Matthew’s Halloween party together.” Vlad frowned at Henry, who was leaning up against the kitchen counter sans costume, his arms crossed in front of him. “Is it because Meredith is coming with me? Because it’s not like you’d be a third wheel or anything.”
“It’s not that.” Henry shook his head. “I’m just getting too old for this kinda stuff.”
Vlad gaped openly at his best friend. “Dude, we’re the same age! And anyway, who cares? It’s the funnest night of the year. Why shouldn’t we dress up and goof off?”
Henry shrugged. “I just don’t feel like going, okay?”
But Vlad knew exactly what Henry’s reasons were for not going to Matthew’s party this year. For one, Melissa Hart had already accepted a date with Mike Brennan-and these days, Henry only seemed to have eyes for Melissa. And for two, Melissa and Meredith were practically inseparable, which likely meant that the four of them were going to spend quite a bit of time together at the party… and Henry would feel left out. Vlad got it. He really did. But he also knew that he would do everything in his power not to make Henry feel like a tagalong, and he needed Henry to believe that.
Vlad sighed, dropping the empty blood bag and straw into the biohazard box under the sink. It wasn’t just that Vlad wanted Henry to come. Henry’s presence made it a whole lot easier to share the same air as the popular kids, and to ward off any nasty comments about Vlad. His best friend was an ever-present safety catch.
When he looked at Henry, it pained him. His friend seemed so stressed out lately, and there was little Vlad could do to alleviate it. “Look, I know how much you like Melissa, Henry-”
“ Then help me.”
Vlad blinked. “How?”
Henry uncrossed his arms and placed his hands back on the counter, hunching his shoulders. He held Vlad’s gaze for a moment before answering. “Find out if Melissa likes me.”
