"You might be the cruelest person I've ever met," he said in a conversational tone.

"What?" I gasped.

"My first wife killed herself. Took me centuries to get over it and love again, yet you weren't going to mention that you might be compelled to slay yourself in front of me."

His casual tone vanished, replaced by one of pure rage. That was nothing compared to the fury that flooded my emotions, abrupt as a dam bursting and so forceful I took a step backward.

"Vlad, I - "

"Don't. Speak."

Fire erupted from his hands, climbing up his arms to his shoulders before haloing his whole body with an orange glow. I would've thought he was trying to intimidate me, except from the maelstrom of his emotions, he couldn't stop it.

"I've tried to let you do what you feel you must because I respect your bravery, but you push me too far." Another flare of fire. "Attempt one more time to willfully endanger your life, and I swear I will imprison you."

Before I could voice my outrage at that ultimatum, he vanished, leaving nothing behind except the smell of smoke.

"Hey, kid."

I glanced up to see Marty in the doorway of the stone cell. I hadn't even noticed it opening. I'd shut myself in here because I didn't want to hurt anyone if another hunger attack struck, plus it had the plasma bag delivery system. Drowning my frustrations with blood sounded disgusting in theory. In practice, it was as effective as liquor and ice cream combined.

"Maximus was right when he warned me about Vlad," I said glumly. "Did you overhear him threaten to imprison me?"

A pitying look crossed Marty's face, which was my answer.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," I went on, patting the spot next to me in invitation. "I love Vlad, but sometimes he is so archaic. Can you imagine how he'd react if I told him he wasn't allowed to risk his life for his people anymore?"

"He wouldn't listen," Marty said, sitting by me on the bed.

"Right. So how is that different from me assuming some risk in order to hunt down the bitch that nearly killed me three times and succeeded on the fourth attempt?"

"He's a chauvinist?" Marty offered.

"Exactly." Then I glanced over, seeing the wryness stamped on his features. "What?"

"You're the only one surprised by this, kid. You married a borderline psychotic who conquered the brutal circumstances he grew up in by being even more brutal. Add turning into a vampire and centuries of undead power struggles, and you have the crazy cruel bastard you fell in love with."

He patted my knee in a companionable way. "Did you really think someone like that would let his wife fight his enemies for him? They call him Vlad the Impaler, not Vlad the Emasculated."

I let out a scoff. "I'm not trying to fight his enemies for him."

"In his eyes you are, and worse, you're ready to die to do it." Another pat. "Like you already did once, baby vamp."

I leaned against him, angling my head so it rested on his shoulder. "What am I supposed to do? Let him dictate my every move because he's the medieval version of old-fashioned? I didn't sign on for that."

He chuckled dryly. "No, you signed on for something harder. Marriage."

"Smartass," I said, but my voice lacked rancor.

Deep down, I knew he was right. Marrying a dragon meant dealing with the times he breathed fire, but I wasn't giving up. I was in this for the long haul, so it was time to quit brooding over how rough the road was and brace for the bumps while keeping my foot on the gas.

I kissed Marty on the cheek. "Thanks."

He grunted. "For what? I told you not to get involved with him and I haven't changed my mind that it was a bad idea."

"Thanks for being a good friend."

Then I stood, filled with renewed determination. Vlad might be a crazy cruel bastard, but he was my crazy cruel bastard and we were going to work this out.

"Since you were eavesdropping, did you catch where he went? Oh, wait, never mind. I already know."

I descended the narrow staircase, wrinkling my nose as the smell got more pungent. Piss off a modern guy and he'd likely go to a local bar. Piss off a vampire with an impalement habit and an in-house dungeon, and it was a no-brainer where he'd go.

"Hi," I said to the guard who eyed me cautiously as I approached. "Please tell Vlad I'd like to speak with him."

The guard bowed, looking relieved that I didn't try to barge past him, I guessed. Then he pinched something in his collar and spoke into it in Romanian. Ah, the wonders of technology. I'd need a full-body rubber suit to wear a wire without frying it.

My new super senses meant I heard the reply the guard got, but as it was also in Romanian, I didn't understand it.

"Please wait here," he finally said in accented English.

I said nothing, wondering if that meant Vlad was coming, or I was waiting to be escorted out by someone else.

About ten minutes later, Vlad appeared. A fine layer of ash darkened his clothes, skin, and hair, which was cause for comment since it was impossible for him to catch fire. The added swarthiness to his appearance made him look even more dangerous, as if his expression wasn't already foreboding enough.

"What?"

One word meant to send me on my way with its curtness, and he'd done that lockdown thing where I couldn't feel any of his emotions. I straightened my shoulders and planted my feet. If he really didn't want to see me, he wouldn't have come.

"I have a solution that will work for both of us," I said.

A brow arched. I glanced pointedly at the guard.

"You want to do this here?"

Vlad's mouth tightened, but he swept past me and started up the stairs. I followed him to the enclosed hallway that was the main corridor for the basement. There, he stopped and faced me.

"What?"

Still abrupt, but his tone was less curt. I closed the distance between us and started brushing the ash off his clothes. He tensed, yet made no attempt to stop me.

"From your mood, you haven't gotten Cynthiana's location from Shrapnel yet," I noted casually. "He's tough, plus she may have bewitched him so he can't tell you where she is."

His gaze followed every move I made, yet he held himself completely still. "That also occurred to me."

"Of course it did." I ran my fingers through his hair to brush the residue from it. "You've been doing this a lot longer than me."

His smile was so cold it could've turned steam into dry ice. "If flattery is your solution, don't bother. You're not using her knife to link to her. I've already disposed of it."

I continued dusting the gray film from him. "That's fine."

His gaze narrowed at my easy compliance. "You're not touching Shrapnel to link to her, either."

"Don't want to," I said breezily. "I can do without psychically reliving your interrogation techniques, thanks."

At that, he grabbed my hands and pulled me closer. "Stop lying, Leila. You haven't given up and we both know it."

His face was mere inches away, stubble darker from ash and lips thinned into a hard line. I stared up at him, unbowed by the fierceness in his gaze.

"All Shrapnel has to do is hold out a few days until Cynthiana realizes he's been caught and she bolts. He knows it and you know it. But she lived here, so her old room must be filled with essence-laced objects I can't possibly kill myself with. If you really want to go overboard ensuring I stay safe, chain me up before I try using one of those to link to her."

At that, both his brows rose. "Chain you?"

I flashed him an impish smile. "Come on, I'm sure you've fantasized about it."

"More and more each day."

Muttered in a sinister tone, but the wall around him cracked and I felt a flash of his emotions. He was still angry, yes. Frustrated, too. Yet under that was a hint of appreciation. If anyone could understand my single-minded determination to take down an enemy, it was Vlad.

Then he let out a harsh sigh. "That occurred to me as well, but in her room, you might see things I don't want you to see."

Blind rage shot through me at the thought of psychically experiencing Vlad making love to another woman. I'd never known I was the jealous type, but clearly I had some issues. Then I forced those feelings back, replacing them with the coldest, darkest part of me.

"If so, I'll have to get over it by watching you kill her later."

He stared at me in a penetrating way that measured my words against pieces of me only he could see. I stared back. If he thought I didn't mean what I said, he was wrong.

At last, he inclined his head, the barest smile ghosting across his lips. "As it happens, I do have some chain."

Chapter 42

I looked around Cynthiana's old bedroom with cynical curiosity. So this was where the witch used to stay.

Like all of the rooms in Vlad's house, it was opulent. It also had an obvious feminine theme with the lilac and cream decor, lace draperies, dainty crystal fixtures, and a balcony that overlooked the exterior garden. Dried flowers shot through with web-thin gold strands adorned the fireplace mantel, scenting the room with a pleasant, natural fragrance. I was beyond glad I didn't smell Vlad's scent, bless his diligent cleaning staff.

"How long ago did you two break up?"

My voice was casual, belying the inner battle within me. Spiteful Leila was gleeful that Vlad kept Cynthiana two full floors below him on the same wing that all his guests stayed at. Practical Leila was deciding which fixture to touch for a sufficient essence impression.

"A few years ago."

I gave him a jaded look. "Pretending she doesn't matter enough to remember? Then why did you keep her bedroom exactly the way she had it when she lived here?"

He folded his arms, the silver chains he'd draped over his shoulder rattling with the motion.

"If she still mattered to me, I wouldn't have married you. This room remained unused because you were my next lover and you slept with me."

I glanced away, my gaze drawn to the bed. Gossamer material wrapped around the bedposts before pooling at the floor in elegant heaps. What would I see if I touched that bed? Cynthiana had over three hundred years of experience on me. Maybe I'd see Vlad looking happier with her than he did with me.

"Leila."

I glanced back almost guiltily. That's when I became aware that my fangs had come out and I'd been grinding my teeth so hard, I'd ripped open my bottom lip.

"Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me," I muttered, sucking my lip so I didn't drip blood on the thick white carpet.

"Don't apologize."

No censure colored his expression, and the emotions that slid over mine had the soothing caress of satin. "All vampires are overly possessive when it comes to what's ours."

I could blame my seething jealousy on vampirism? Done!

Then Vlad began to bind my wrists with multiple lengths of chain. With how strong he was, I doubted this was necessary even if Cynthiana had managed to add a vampiric form of hara-kiri to her linking booby trap, but if it made him feel better . . .

"Going to save some of that for later?" I joked.

The look he gave me made me forget how unpleasant the silver felt against my wrists.

"When I tie you up, I'll use silk, and I'll leave your hands free because I love to feel them on my skin."

Not if. When. Despite the erotic promise, being chained up while in his ex's bedroom should've cooled my response. Instead, I felt all the desire Vlad usually elicited in me along with a visceral urge to assert my claim on him in the very place that someone else had dared touch him.

Overly possessive? Yeah, I had it bad.

"If you leave my hands free," I asked in a throaty voice, "what's the point of tying me up?"

His wicked smile affected me as much as the heat that swept over my emotions, lashing me with thousands of invisible, sensual whips. Then he leaned in, the soft sandpaper of his jaw grazing my cheek.

"Why tell you when I can show you?"

I closed my eyes, taking in a breath to smell the rich spiciness of his scent. Now I knew how I wanted to spend the rest of the evening, but first things first.

He drew back, continuing to drape chains around me until they went all the way up to my elbows. If I still had circulation, my hands would have been numb. Then he threaded more silver through them to secure my bound arms to my body with more loops of chain. Now all I could do from the waist up was wiggle my fingers and bite.

Satisfied, he dropped the remaining chains onto the floor and went over to the bed. I tensed, but all he retrieved was a lamp from the night table.

"Gently," he warned as he held it out to me.

Did he think I'd never touched something fancy before? I grasped the smooth crystal base with my right fingers - and it shattered like I'd smashed it with a crowbar.

"What the hell?" I exclaimed.

He gave me a sardonic glance as he brushed the shards from my hand. "You're not used to your new strength. Until you are, treat everything as though it's more fragile than eggshells, and whatever you do, don't touch a human."

I looked at the glittering shards with a wince. Now I had another reason for not giving my sister a hug good-bye later.

"Were those dried flowers on the mantel hers?" I asked, seeking something that wouldn't cost a lot if I broke it.

"She picked them, yes," Vlad replied, pulling a chunk out of the arrangement without care for how that spoiled it.

I told myself it wasn't petty to enjoy seeing something of Cynthiana's ruined. She'd killed me, after all.