Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat Series)

Book Four of The Dragon Heat Series

By Ella J Phoenix

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Ella J Phoenix

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

What others are saying about Ella J Phoenix’s romances.

Dragon Heat (Book 1)

3rd Place Winner, Best Paranormal Romance Novel,

2013 PRG Reviewer's Choice Awards

Magic, Dragons, Vampires, and more! A Paranormal Fan's Delight.

Loved the heat! (It) had some amazing world building and mythology. It was magical and unique.

Sexy and delicious. Awesome book!

An almost Romeo and Juliet story featuring the Draconian (dragons) and Vampires!

Vampire Thirst (Book 2 of the Dragon Heat series)

And the story continues with more Dragons, Vampires, Shifters, and now Werewolves – oh my!

Phoenix does it again!

"Awesome! Any fan of the genre will fully enjoy Vampires Thirst!

An amazing addition to the Dragon Heat series!

Wolf Hunger (Book 3 of the Dragon Heat series)

2nd Place Winner, Best Paranormal Romance Novel - Shifter Category, 2014 PRG Reviewer's Choice Awards

This series is a must read for anyone who loves paranormal romances. Every book leaves you wanting more!

Awesome book three in the series. It just keeps getting better! The battle against evil continues to rage in this intriguing paranormal world that is thrilling and mesmerizing.

This series is my form of crack! Ella J. Phoenix has repeatedly hijacked my attention, emotions, and imagination with her spellbinding creativity.

Raven’s Awakening

A sweet romance built on a mystery based in American Indian folklore with elements of paranormal, Indian magic, and a backstory that pulls in the belief of reincarnation – everything I could desire in a story.

Kudos to Ms. Phoenix for a unique story.

This is a great read. It was full of steamy sex scenes and, I have to say, Phoenix is one of my favourite fighting-scene writers.

Dedication

To my amazing mother, who is always my first and most avid reader. To my patient husband, who never complains when I lock myself for hours at the office on a sunny weekend. To my loving family, who are always there for me no matter how many crazy manuscripts I write. Thank you for your unconditional support.

And to my awesome fans and readers – without you, I would be just another crazy woman with millions of stories in my head.

Love you all,

Ella

Glossary

Apa Dobrý – group of five gods, creators of life on Earth and the Universe

Apa Sâmbetei – the Land of the Souls, the afterlife

Calathor – someone who can cross to the Land of the Souls and return unharmed

Draco or Draconian – a dragon in human form

Hiad – the Underworld

Inmã – the soul

Konec – God of Death, Keeper of the gates of Hiad

Razbians – lizard people known for their lack of intelligence

Soartas – the three witches of Destiny

Sujha – a non-pure being, offspring of the union between two different races

Terhem Viahta – the Land of the Living, the Earth

Ucidhere – God of Death, lord of the Land of the Souls

Zmyzel – Goddess of Life

Previously in the Dragon Heat Series

Zoricah, the draconian demigoddess, has finally given into her heart’s call and accepted Tardieh, the Vampire King, as her husband. Their wedding is attended by the most powerful dignitaries of the supernatural world, the leaders of the Sons of Apa Sambetêi, as they are called. Little did she know that the oldest reason for wedlock had befallen her. She is with child. Well aware that only humans were able to give birth to cross-species offspring, Zoricah turns to one of her best friends for help – Yara. For that, the water witch must return to the very place she vowed never to set foot into again, her home land.

She returns with more than just miracle herbs though. Naiah, her fraternity sister, finds her way into the busy vampire castle’s life, and straight into Dyam’s heart.

In a less-charming side of New York State, Rafe, the lone wolf, tries to carry on with his life but it’s simply impossible. Not only because he’s unable to get his mind off the water witch but because Balaur, the dragon lord, is on his back, pushing him to pay his pack’s debts. He blackmails Rafe into following Yara and reporting back, hoping to get word about the last box of atomic bullets which can vanquish a vampire in seconds. Rafe accepts the mission, but decides to keep it to himself that he is the one who stole the box from under everyone’s nose. He just can’t wait to see the saucy water witch again and have a taste of her sweet juice. Just a taste, no strings attached.

The Soartas had other plans for them though. In an unexpected turn on events, Yara is gravely hurt, igniting Rafe’s protective canine nature. He just needs to figure out a way of telling her that he is not the virtuous hero she thinks he is.

In a mighty battle, that shakes the spirits, Arthur, Tardieh’s long-standing butler, and young Naiah, Yara’s sister and Dyam’s love, find themselves crossing the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei.

Chapter One

New York City, Present day

Tardieh turned the knob and let the door creak open. He had dreaded this moment and had avoided it for as long as he could, but the time had come. The dim light from the corridor washed over the large chamber, giving it an even deeper sense of emptiness. The space was filled by simple yet practical furnishings – a single bed with a matching side table, a tall mirror, a wardrobe, a dresser and a narrow chest. That was all, no lavish fittings, no expensive decor, just the minimum necessary of practical value. Just like its former owner.

Tardieh took a deep breath and stepped inside the room. Arthur’s room.

Arthur had been his loyal chaperone, his valet, his butler, and for a very long time, the only person Tardieh trusted. His old friend had helped him survive the end of the bloody war between his kind and the dragons in the late eighteenth century. His unobtrusive yet sharp guidance kept Tardieh sane and pushed him to go further, to strive as the new king after the assassination of his father. The entire Vampire sovereignty was suddenly in his inexperienced hands and without Arthur, not only Tardieh, but his family’s legacy would have been lost. His most trusted steward had always been there for him.

Until now. Until he was savagely butchered for protecting his king.

Tardieh’s fists clenched at his sides and his jaw popped with the painful memory of Arthur’s head lying on the kitchen floor, severed from his lifeless body, a moment before the divine fire consumed it, turning it to ashes. Tardieh had chased the truth and discovered that a Draconian Lord had bribed Rene, Arthur’s very nephew, to spy on the royal family. Arthur had found the kid out and confronted his nephew, only to lose his head.

It hurt too much to think about how cruel the Soartas were for electing this fate for his old friend. No one deserved to be betrayed that way—by your own family—and yet, apparently history was full of them. Tardieh had hunted the kid down, blinded by his thirst for revenge but Phillip, a Draconian spy, had beaten him to it. Now Tardieh had to take solace in the knowledge that the very hands who paid him to spy on Tardieh had forced Rene to watch his first and last sunrise. He wasn’t one to celebrate death but this time around, he had. Deep inside though, he blamed himself for not having seen it coming. He was an old vampire and a well-versed king with many unraveled plots of betrayals under his belt. He should have suspected someone on the inside was feeding Phillip information, but he hadn’t, and now Arthur had paid the ultimate price.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the sadness settle in his heart. The only thing left for him to do was to honor his friend by doing the inventory of his belongings himself. Zoricah, his beloved wife, had offered to help out but he declined. Yes, he could have asked one of his household staff to do it, but it felt like blasphemy. A few people knew how far back his relationship with Arthur went, but only his closest friends knew that his old chamberlain had been the father Tardieh had never had. He’d had a father alright, but Arthur had been the figure he had looked up to, the one to teach him tolerance, discipline, perseverance, the one to teach him what it really meant to be a king.

He let his gaze roam around the room. It was intact, as if Arthur had just left and would come back at any time now. But he wouldn’t. Just like Tardieh’s father never had.

He exhaled a long breath and opened the wardrobe. Arthur’s distinctive scent of fresh hay invaded his nose. Inside the tall cabinet, he found a selection of perfectly ironed white shirts, black suits, socks, black jocks and formal shoes. All matching, all the same, and all for practical use. A small chuckle reverberated in Tardieh’s chest. How many times had he tried to offer Arthur better clothes, more comfortable furniture, more luxury? Many occasions, and at each attempt, Arthur’s reply had been the same, My old bones won’t know the difference.

He brushed his hand over the impeccably organized shirts and suits hanging in the closet. His chest constricted at every beat of his heart.

His eyes spotted a small trunk hidden on the far end of the dark wardrobe. It carried his family’s royal coat of arms on the top.

Tardieh frowned. He’d seen that old trunk before, a long time ago, in his father’s chambers. How odd. He had been told that all of his family’s belongings had burnt down when his castle in Romania went up in flames after his father’s assassination. Unable to stop himself, Tardieh crouched low and picked up the dusty box. It looked like it hadn’t been touched for a very long time.

Strange. Why would Arthur have kept such an old relic? And more to the point, why hadn’t he mentioned it to Tardieh? He liked to think there were no secrets between them, but now an uncomfortable uneasiness settled in his heart.

With many questions going through his mind, he sat on the bed and opened the trunk. Several pieces of old memorabilia lay inside—a small watercolor canvas of Tardieh as a child, his archery medals from the Open Games, his mother’s famous diamond ring, and many more items. By Apa Dobrý, Arthur had managed to salvage the last remaining memories of Tardieh’s family. He’d also kept them for over two hundred years without a word.

When the war broke out between dragons and vampires in the eighteenth century, his home land, Romania, was squeezed between Draconians and the Daemons from the Dry Lands. Back then, Tardieh had been a full-grown man who refused to grow up. His relationship with his father had been far from heartfelt and when he reached adulthood, it only got worse. His father, the almighty King Stephan Petran, had wanted his son to follow his footsteps but Tardieh had other plans, which didn’t include becoming his father’s shadow. Then, he got imprisoned by the enemy, and his life changed forever. Forced to see the real world, he discovered how blinded he had been by arrogance born from a self-indulged, sheltered life. What a spoilt brat he was.

A sad chuckle tingled at his chest. That was exactly what his father had called him the very last time they spoke to each other. And King Petran had been right. Those horrible months incarcerated finally forced Tardieh to grow into a man. When finally released, by none other than Zoricah, he had only one thing in his mind—to apologize to his father and become a worthy suitor to the throne. The latter happened earlier than he had imagined, while the former would never come to pass. After Zoricah rescued him, he went straight to the royal castle in Wallachia, the southern principality of Romania. He was weak from months of torture, and craving to see his family, only to find blood and carnage. Everyone, the servants, his family members, all massacred, even the children had been murdered. And his father had met the same fate.

Even after so many centuries, those memories still cut him deep—an unbearable pain brought on by the cruel reality when you realize you hadn’t done enough to save your loved ones.

Tardieh took a deep breath and continued rummaging through Arthur’s box then something caught his eye. The diamond ring, which had belonged to his mother, lay on top of a yellowed out envelope. Why in Hiad had Arthur kept this from him?

He took the ring into his hands as a deeper frown wrinkled his brow. His mind was going at many miles per hour, trying to find a simple answer to this mystery when his eyes landed on the envelope. It had only one word written on it—Arthur. Even under those circumstances, Tardieh hesitated before opening it, and he wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for the familiar handwriting.

He slowly lifted the delicate paper flap and pulled out a worn out letter. His breath caught in his throat when his suspicions came true. It was a letter from his father. Unable to stop himself, he skimmed through the first pages.

"My dear Arthur,

If you are reading this letter, it’s because my worst fears had ensued and I have fallen in the hands of our enemy.

I pray to thee not to let grief prevent you from doing what is right. You must protect my son. You must find him and take him away. I have a small chalet in the new world, a land called America. The dragons’ deceit has not yet reached its shores. I beg thee, my dear friend, take my boy and protect him, help him become the king I know he can be.

I apologize in advance for burdening you with such a task, old friend, but I have no one else to turn to. My enemy has ears and eyes that reach far afield. My house has become my very tomb. Nonetheless, I envisage the means to aid you in your quest.

And for that, I must tell you the truth.

I am not known for my fluency in written form, so you must forgive the lack of finesse in my choice of words. I will try to be as clear as possible, giving you all the tools and ammunition to help my son in the future, to be the father I can no longer be. Tardieh has always looked up to you, my friend, more than to me. It pains me to admit that you have become the father I could never have been. I say these words not with jealousy, for I am glad and thankful for having met you and brought you under my protection so many centuries ago. I write these words with regret. If I had known what I know now, if I had known that this would be my end, I would have done it differently. But as a wise druid once said—reality looks much clearer in hindsight than in foresight.

Yes, I endeavor to convey the facts to you, the ones not only owned by my memories but by others who have professed them to me. Time is not on my side, and I find myself unsure of where to start.

I should thus commence not from the very beginning but from where I consider the moment my end truly began, when the Soartas introduced me to my fate. I’ll start this story from the moment I first saw her."

As Tardieh’s eyes studied his father’s last words, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering.

Chapter Two

Wallachia, Romania, 1799

The Border between Vampire and Draconian territories

Halt, the driver shouted as the carriage jolted in place.

For Hiad’s sake, what is it now? Petran heard Arthur, his chamberlain, yell from a few feet ahead. He’d been riding at the front of the line with the other guards.

The wheel got stuck again, the driver answered.

Petran let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. This trip was getting on his nerves. He loathed travelling by…well, he loathed travelling. Vampires didn’t have to depend on slow horses or carriages for transport, they teleported. Petran was a wizard at that skill, having mastered it far better than his counterparts. Diplomatic visits like this one, however, called for a more substantial method of arrival, as protocol dictated. He hated diplomacy but knew the world would be an intolerable chaos if its leaders didn’t follow minimum decorum. And so here he was crossing the Carpathian Mountains by carriage in a never-ending spring drizzle, going at an agonizing four miles per hour and getting stuck in every shallow hole on the road. It was pure torture.

We must move before any outlaw dracos sniff us out here, Arthur added from outside the coach. These roads are full of them.

Nah, dracos ain’t allowed to shift no more in these parts, only with the permission of their lord, one of his personal guards replied in a nonchalant manner.

The very definition of outlaw, you door-knob, is one who doesn’t follow the law, Arthur grunted in reply.

Great, now they were discussing grammar. I do not care what it means or what is stalling us, Petran growled from his cabin, not even bothering to open his coach’s window. Just get on with it before we all turn into ashes with the coming sun. His men were all vampires and could hear a pin dropping, so there was no need for wasting his energy with an elevated voice.

It worked. Arthur and his guards stopped the blabbering at once and got on with getting the task done.

When the carriage finally resumed the drive, Petran shifted uncomfortably on the hard leather seat. Next time he would teleport to the nearest spot then make the final distance by foot. It was better than enduring an overnight trip at turtle-speed surrounded by incompetent morons. He had to admit, however, he too had had his share of utter uselessness when it came to operating human inventions.

After a couple of excruciatingly painful hours of uncomfortable jostling, they crossed a draconian village, and then started their way up the hill toward the Dragon Lord’s castle. At last. Three quarters of an hour later, the carriage came to a halt—a planned one this time around.

Petran didn’t wait for the formal protocols but instead, he promptly stepped out of his cubicle and stretched his legs. The end of their journey was in the middle of a wide stone bridge, which connected two sides of a gorge. Its end landed on an elevated platform that hosted a colossal door, carved into sheer rock.

We have arrived, your majesty.

I can see that, Arthur, Petran replied trying to remind himself that butchering his own servant would be unwise. He took a deep, calming breath and admired the majestic wall before him.

The Dragon’s castle had been literally carved into the mountain. The only entrance was through the impossibly long stone bridge, which was adorned by intricate carvings. The symbols depicted an ancient story of war and victory, of the Golden Age of the Dragons. A colossal door greeted visitors at the other end and a few feet above it two towers stood as if poking out of the mountain itself.

Who comes there? the tower guard above them yelled down.

It is I, Petran, King of Vampires, from the House of Basarab. I come to pay my respects to your lord Somenski the Truthful, Draconian Lord of Moldavia.

I was not informed my lord expected visitors, the impertinent sod replied. I must consult first with—

Suddenly, the stone door creaked alive and an entourage of dracos emerged.

Let him through, a feminine voice uttered. It was soft yet full of confidence.

Petran narrowed his eyes trying to see who had voiced the command, but only managed to distinguish a lithe shadow among the many male bodyguards.

He waited in the drizzle as the tower guard nodded once and disappeared into his cubicle. After a short moment, the heavy door creaked alive again and slowly opened up to its full range to welcome the visitors. The female stepped forward and stopped at the mouth of the grand entrance. A couple of servants rushed after her, holding up some sort of tent in an attempt to protect their lady from the rain. She gently lifted her hand, indicating that there was no need for it. As the servants stepped back, she lifted her chin high and looked straight at Petran.

And his gut clenched.

He had no idea who she was, but this lady was by far the most striking woman he had ever laid his eyes upon. She wore a simple yet elegant dress made of dark blue velvet, which hugged her slender waist and molded her breasts in shape. Dark grey eyes were framed by thick lashes, and fiery red hair was plaited onto a high bun carrying no adornments or precious stones. She didn’t need any, her beauty was arresting enough without any subterfuges.

Welcome to the house of Somenski the Truthful, Draconian Lord of Moldavia, your majesty, she stated, going down on a perfect bow.

Petran nodded in acknowledgment, as decorum dictated. I come to pay my visit to your lord. I trust you received my missive.

Yes, your majesty, we did, she replied. Unfortunately, we misread your message for it predicted your arrival after the rainy season.

No, she hadn’t misread his missive for that was exactly what he had sent. He knew it, she knew it. But she had clearly decided to avoid embarrassing a royal visitor by pointing it out. Wise decision. He was too good a poker player, however, to think of explaining why he had unexpectedly pushed his visit forward. There was no need to ruin a good neighborly relationship with the truth.

Please, let me provide you shelter from this drizzle, she said flicking her hand in the air. At once, her entourage rushed to Petran’s side and lifted the small tent up, successfully shielding them both from the rain.

Please follow me, she requested with a short bow, then without waiting for any response, turned around, and started making her way into the mountain.

Petran narrowed his eyes at the slight sway of her hips. Who was she? In a formal encounter, one would introduce oneself declaring his name and rank in the household. Despite her obviously well trained manners, she hadn’t properly informed him of her lineage and position. It probably had not been on purpose but nonetheless it made him weary, maybe even irritable. He detested not knowing all the players on the table, or not having all the facts at his disposal at all times.

Petran shook his head and chided himself. He was overthinking things again, a habit which Arthur, his trusted Chamberlain, had subtly highlighted more than once. It was best not to assume the worst. This was a simple visit, official but of a kinder nature, from one neighbor to another. There was no point of seeing mischief in the shadows. It was best to simply ask for clarification. One always receives what one commands.

With that in mind, Petran accelerated his pace until he was side by side with the young woman. They had now entered a tall chamber which seemed to have been carved straight into the mountain. Please accept my apologies for not having sent an emissary with the adjusted date of my arrival, Lady…

Oh, please your majesty, there’s no need for apologies. We are your servants, she replied politely, without looking at him, and without stating her name. Again. She had simply ignored decorum all together.

Damn her. Was she Somenski’s new wife? No, occurrence of such magnitude would have quickly made its way to his ears. He hadn’t been advised of any matrimonies of late, either. Unless the old sod had decided to take on a mistress—a much younger one from the looks of it.

Petran ran his eyes over the lady by his side. She was worth taking, for sure. With marble skin, flaming red hair, and delicate features, her beauty was a marvel. Their society widely accepted royal mistresses—some of them were even better treated then the official wives, living a life of glamour and luxury, not having to carry the burden of the continuation of their house name or of having to protect their reputations.

A small smile lifted the corner of his lips as a tinge of jealousy enveloped his groin. If only he had found this red-haired gem before his draconian neighbor, he would have shown her what it was like to bed a true king—over, and over again.

The object of his lustful thoughts paused, then turned to face him, meeting him eye-to-eye. An obvious question was stamped on her face, as if asking for justification for such inappropriate staring.

Well, he too could ignore decorum. My mind must be playing tricks on me for I could swear I have seen you before, milady. Did Somenski officially introduce you as his royal mistress in the last Open Games?

Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw dropped. Your majesty!

At once, Petran realized that maybe he’d been too blunt, but tiredness from the long trip prevented him from finding apologetic words, only ones of perplexity reached his tongue. Well, don’t look at me so bewildered, milady. I too find myself confused.

She opened her mouth again, then turned on her heels, took a couple of steps and stopped facing the other way. Petran watched in amusement as she obviously fought to gain her composure. It was quite entertaining actually.

After a few heartbeats, she turned around again. Apologies, your majesty, for my lack of manners, she said in controlled somber tones. I should have introduced myself.

Yes, you should have, Petran replied curtly, not giving her space to evade him any longer.

A hot blush colored her cheeks but she took his reprimand in silence. Bowing low, she said, I am Lady Natalia Somenski, Duchess of Moldavia.

Now it was Petran’s turn to look astounded. Lady Natalia? As in Little Natalia, Somenski’s daughter who had been sent away to boarding school just a few years ago?

It’s been three decades, your majesty, she replied politely, and Petran realized he had spoken aloud.

Bloody Hiad.

I hadn’t been informed of your return, milady, nor had I realized time had elapsed so fast, he muttered gravely, trying hard to make it sound like an apology. He wasn’t one to make amends or justify his actions, but apologies were definitely in order. One thing was to ogle over Somenski’s mistress, but another one entirely was doing it so to his daughter, even if she was a delight to the eyes.

Yes, time does tend to creep up on all sons of Apa Sâmbetei, no matter who you are—a mere vassal, a king, or even a royal mistress, she replied softly, but her subtle derision was not missed in his ears.

Was she jesting with him? Petran stared at those grey eyes, his tired mind taking longer to find the right come back.

Before he managed to find his voice again, Lady Natalia resumed their walk. Please, let me take you to your chambers. You must be in need of a rest after your long journey.

He was indeed but—I’d rather see your father first, if possible.

She nodded once, acknowledging his request and carried on.

Petran followed the lovely Natalia along the endless corridors taking everything in. Somenski’s castle was a medieval fortress carved within the mountain. Impossibly tall chambers led to other even taller hallways. Maybe it was how enormous everything was, or maybe it was the earliness of the morn, but the castle looked rather empty. After a few minutes, they reached an alcove, which looked like the entrance to the kitchens.

Your entourage may follow my servants to the stables, where they may take care of your horses.

Petran nodded to his men, a silent order for them to comply with the lady’s suggestion. Arthur stared back at him for a flicker of time, as if undecided whether to comply or to rebel against his orders. That bloody chamberlain! Petran would have to teach him some manners. He lifted an eyebrow at Arthur, leaving no doubts as to which the right decision was. After a heartbeat, his servant got the gist of the message and moved along with the others toward the stables. Wise decision.

Petran had known Natalia’s father for centuries and trusted the old sod, even if he were a dragon. But the main reason he denied the safety of his guard’s company was to ensure privacy. There were disturbing rumors travelling around, too disturbing to ignore. That was why Petran had decided to pay his neighbor a visit, with the excuse of collecting the rent the draco owed him.

Now, accompanied by just one servant who lit the way with a single candle torch, his lovely hostess guided Petran along more corridors and chambers. This was no castle, but a maze of towering proportions. Finally, they reached a hollow alcove, which held a colossal waterfall without an end. Crystal chandeliers filled the steep walls surrounding the waterfall, which radiated rays of light in several directions, creating an eerie yet awe-inspiring effect. Several doors filled the ledge along the empty space, framed by verandas, which emerged out of nowhere, as if glued to the stone wall. Petran looked down, and saw only an endless pit into which the waterfall disappeared.

"This is our water view façade," Lady Natalia said, probably sensing his curiosity.

Do you mean that these balconies are the entrance to the royal chambers?

The back entrance, she explained then turned to the opposite direction. The front is through the heart of the mountain.

After a few more minutes tailing Natalia along the labyrinth of soaring chambers, they reached a tall wooden door.

A faint come in reached Petran’s ears after Lady Natalia knocked. She opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

A sudden putrid smell reached his nostrils.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle, but it was enough for him to distinguish his frail neighbor lying under heavy covers on the four post bed. The draco was the source of the foul smell. The smell of death.

Damn the Soartas, Petran cursed silently. The rumors were true. Somenski was dying.

Petran, his neighbor murmured with a straining voice. How glad am I to see you.

Hello, old chap, Petran replied lightly, stepping inside the room.

Natalia pulled a chair close and motioned for him to take a seat by her father’s bedside. Petran obliged, even though he desired nothing but to lift the covers and investigate what in Hiad had taken down a millennia-old dragon.

Apologies for not having met you at the gates, the draco said. But as you see, the Soartas decided to teach me a lesson.

If I didn’t know better, Petran replied. I would think you sent your daughter to greet me on purpose, so I would be too smitten to demand the rent you owe me.

Somenski’s wrinkled face lifted as he cackled without reservation, but the laughter soon turned into an ugly cough. At once, Natalia jumped to his aid, bringing him a glass of something, which smelled like rotting seaweed. As they both struggled to control the attack, Petran noticed in horror that the draco’s skin suddenly shifted from smooth beige to green scales, his eyes turned yellow, his irises thinned into slits, just to pop out again after a moment. It seemed as if Somenski had lost control over his mutation, as if his dragon was trapped inside and was struggling to come out. Merciful Soartas, it was painful even to watch.

Petran had never liked dracos, never trusted them—who could blame him after so much animosity over the centuries? His great-great-grandfather Vlad Dracul, had tried to make amends and even went as far as enduring the trials and became the first vampire member of the Order of the Dragon, but to no avail. He was soon betrayed and assassinated, giving Petran’s great grandfather, Vlad Tepes the perfect excuse to lead one of the bloodiest campaigns in their history. After all that, there was no trust, no peace between Vampires and Dragons. Just between neighbors.

Somenski was different though. His ill-timed sense of humor and love for self-scorn had managed to break through Petran’s prejudices. And when the old lizard had come to Petran asking permission to harvest a section of his territory in exchange for a small fee, he’d had no reason to refuse the request. Over the years, that simple exchange had turned into an unexpected friendship.

After a few moments of struggle, the coughing resided and Somenski managed to take a deep breath.

Still troubled by the disturbing sight, Petran leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. So the rumors are true. You have been afflicted by the strange Curse that is wiping out your serfs.

Somenski didn’t reply straight away. He took a few more sips of the strange water Natalia offered then sunk back on the pillows. I would entertain you with some fairytale as an explanation, but I’m afraid you’d want too many details and I’m not in an inventive mood tonight.

"Good, because I, on the other hand, am in the