Once Burned

"Shrapnel, notify the guards to pick up Leila's family and bring them here," Vlad said, shocking me.

The massive bald vampire nodded and left. I gaped at Vlad. "My family? Why?"

"Szilagyi asked you to betray me. You refused," he stated. "His next attempt to turn you to his side will involve taking the ones you love hostage. Hence, bring them here."

"He can't come after my family, he doesn't even know my real name. He keeps calling me Frankie," I sputtered.

Vlad's look was jaded. "He's already begun researching your identity. Even if your voltage meant you never used a credit card, everyone has a paper trail. That's why I've had guards watching your father and sister since the day you arrived."

"But how? You don't even know my last name, let alone my family's names!"

"Leila." No emotion colored his voice. "Marty gave me your full name, your father's name, your sister's name, and their locations within ten minutes of my speaking to him."

His words were like a punch to the stomach. Nausea rose, leaving a vile taste in my mouth. "You tortured it out of him."

"No, I told him if he didn't tell me what I wanted to know, I'd ask you next," was his implacable reply.

I flashed back to Marty's worried question when I'd first seen him. You really okay, Frankie? Vlad had used Marty's love for me against him, making him believe any reticence on his part would result in me getting the same brutal treatment he had.

I didn't need my psychic abilities to figure out why Vlad wanted to know all my family's details, either. They were his insurance against me changing my mind about helping him. He would've used them against me just as ruthlessly as he'd used me against Marty. Rage mixed with the bile inside me. No wonder Vlad knew what move Szilagyi would make next. The two of them thought exactly alike.

Vlad would've heard every word of my mental accusation, but he said nothing, and his silence was damning confirmation. I got up, walked over to where he sat, and then slapped him across the face as hard as I could. Maximus looked like he was going to have a stroke, but nothing changed in Vlad's expression except a bright red handprint that quickly faded.

I left the room without looking back, fury stiffening my spine, but my heart feeling like it had shattered within me. Marty had been right after all. The thought haunted me as I climbed the curving stone staircase. Once I'd finally reached my bedroom, I made sure to lock the door behind me.

Chapter 30

The sun had slipped halfway behind the mountains when Maximus entered the library. It wasn't quite six, but night fell quickly here-and dragged on interminably when anger and anxiety led to insomnia. I'd spent much of the previous evening staring at my doorknob, waiting to see if Vlad would attempt to come in and apologize. That shouldn't be too much to expect, former infamous medieval ruler or not. But the handle on my door never moved. All day, I'd told myself that was a good thing.

"Shrapnel called. They'll be here soon," Maximus stated.

The words brought no small measure of relief. I was still furious with Vlad over why he'd kept tabs on my family, but they'd be safer here than in Szilagyi's hands. I might not be in the pom-pom-waving mood, but I hadn't changed my Team Vlad status. If not for Szilagyi dragging me into this undead feud by ordering my kidnapping, I'd still be enjoying a balmy winter with Marty in Gibsonton. Not sitting in Romania wondering how my father and sister would react to being dragged halfway around the world-and unable to go home anytime soon.

But when I followed Maximus out of the library and saw a familiar dark-haired figure at the end of the hall, nerves competed with my simmering anger. At once, I began to recite a montage of lyrics to mask my thoughts. I'd slapped him last night and avoided him all day, yet a small, absurd part of me was still disappointed that Vlad hadn't sought me out.

The closer I got, the more my discomfort grew. His back was to me, hands clasped behind him, showing that his cuffs had tiny black stones embroidered in them. Vlad's coat hung to his knees, and the material looked so sleek, it must've been cashmere. His pants were matching ebony, boots peeking out from under the hem. When I drew alongside him, a glance revealed that his collar had the same subtly glittering embroidery as the cuffs, but his charcoal shirt was understated enough to make the outfit elegantly imposing instead of ostentatious. His hair was slicked back, and the severe style made his eyebrows look like curved wings. It also showed off those etched cheekbones, that darkly shadowed jaw, and those mesmerizing, copper-colored eyes.

I suddenly felt very underdressed in my brown slacks and beige turtleneck. Why hadn't I worn the indigo dress instead, and would it have killed me to put on some makeup?

Vlad's lips twitched. It occurred to me that during my admiring evaluation, I'd forgotten to keep blasting a song in my mind. I remedied my mistake, but the lyrics to "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" seemed too close to home at the mo-ment.

"Culture Club?" Now his mouth curled downward. "And you accuse me of practicing cruel and unusual punishment."

"That's not funny," I muttered, letting a swath of black hair fall over the scarred part of my face. It was more habit than self-consciousness, but when his gaze followed the movement, his mocking frown vanished.

"Every part of you is beautiful, Leila. One day, you'll come to believe that."

I looked away, cursing the tightening in my chest at the words and his low, resonant tone. Compliments didn't change what he'd done. That was what I really had to focus on.

Again, I'd stopped masking my thoughts, but Vlad didn't comment. He pulled out a long, flat box from inside his coat.

"For you."

I stared at it without reaching out. It looked like a jewelry box, and from its size, something big was inside. Was he one of those men who thought any awful deed could be overlooked if he forked over something sparkly?

My chin rose. "If I accept this, then it'll feel like I'm saying everything is okay between us, and it isn't. I shouldn't have hit you, so I'm wrong, too, but jewelry won't change . . . oh!"

Vlad had flipped open the box during my speech. What it contained made me wish I could stuff back my words with a pitchfork. Inside was a pair of long black gloves, one slightly thicker than the other. I touched them, blinking in amazement. Specialized rubber from the feel of it, but the outside looked like leather, and they were no bigger than normal gloves.

"The material is thin, but I'm assured that the gloves can repel up to twelve thousand volts," Vlad stated. The faintest hint of wickedness colored his tone as he went on. "They don't, however, sparkle." ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">