Heart of Dracula (Immortal Soul, #1)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

“I would like to propose an accord with you first, King of Vampires. Before we go any farther, I wish to have one thing settled.” “Oh?” He was amused. Deeply amused. If her gift of empathy had not told her that, the devilish grin on his features would have done the deed. “Do tell. Please, do not make it boring. I have such high hopes for you.” Every word that came from him was like a small piece of a puzzle slipping into place. This conversation was painting a portrait of a man, although she could not say she liked what it was showing her. “And what would constitute boring?” “Demanding that I spare this city, or your life, or some such trite and trivial nonsense.” He waved a hand dismissively. She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Human lives are trite and trivial nonsense?” “Yes.” It was said with such finality and cold determination that it brought a shiver over her. She glanced away, unable to hold his gaze. It was too much to withstand. There was so much ice and stone behind it that she felt as though she were looking up at a mountain and asking it for pity. She might stand a better chance with the rock. “Then I shall strive to not be boring.” “You are doing wonderfully so far.”

He did not want a broken thing. He did not want her to crawl to his feet. He wanted her to walk into his arms, to embrace him, then to kneel because she wished to do it.

She sipped her wine and stared into it. “Do you think it’s poisoned?” “No. That would be too easy.” She sipped her own. “But he is dangerous. I’m not sure how or why as of yet. But there is something unnatural about him.” “Ah. And here I thought he was simply a pervert.” Bella smiled. “Good to know he is also a monster. I didn’t need two excuses to feed him his own fist, but now I have them.

“Everything I touch—every bauble, every knickknack, every building, I see all that has ever happened to it or within it. I see every proposal, every kiss, every moment of love. I see every tragedy, every betrayal…and every murder. I have witnessed a thousand deaths as if they were my own.” She looked down at her gloved palm. “I felt their emotions as they died, and because of that…I have died a thousand different ways. I suppose that is why I don’t fear it. That is why some people might even think I embrace it. I have felt the soul of this Count Dracula, and I know what is coming for me. I know I cannot fight a force of nature.”

“If you are right, and I die, then your problems are solved. If I am right…you will belong to me. Either way, I win.”

“What is it you want from me?” “Oh, my darling Maxine.” He purred the words out in a dusky rumble. She felt goosebumps spread over her skin. “From you, I will have all that you are.”

“Where others may turn away from you, I find I am drawn to you like a moth to a flame,” he murmured, echoing her own thoughts. “I shall have you, and I shall not let you go.” “And if I wish to be free?” It was an empty threat. She did not wish for such a thing, and he knew it. The flash of a grin, of too-sharp teeth, were all she could see as the dream around her faded to nothing. With it came the rumble of his voice, dusky and dangerous. “You shall never be rid of me.”

I shall not kill you. It seems we are mutually incapable of destroying the other to save ourselves. Nor shall I release you. You are mine, Maxine.” “You cannot truly mean to keep me here.” “If you wish to walk the streets, you shall. If you wish to picnic in the Common, you shall. If you wish to sail the seas, you shall. If you wish to reside in London, or in Serbia, or travel to Egypt, the path is yours. I lay the world at your feet. Whatever you desire, you shall have it. Money and means are no longer any barrier you will ever know. But you shall do all this with me at your side.”

His expression was still aristocratic and exacting, but something had grown softer in his crimson eyes. “Do not resent me for the games I play. That I toy with you is not meant to demean you. You are not, nor shall you ever be, little in my eyes.”

“Loathe me, love me, fight me, obey me—I will take it all with joy. But you have made your choice, and the moment has passed. You cannot escape me now.”

“All we are, in the end, is a product of our context.” She continued to circle her fingers along the wood grooves thoughtfully. “A series of events that surround us and define us. You are what you are because of the life you have lived. Some of it was your doing, much of it was not. But it is what created you all the same.” “You mean to say that we do not have a soul.” “Oh, no, that is not what I am saying at all. But when we begin, we are a seedling. A tree, or a flower, or a great immortal redwood like yourself. Our soul defines our potential. But our context—bad winters, dry summers, a perfect spring—define the branches we might sprout. The bark we might grow to protect us. Whether we bear fruit, or if we become grizzled and empty.”

“I do not feel real. Sometimes I feel as though I am only a dream.” “When this world burns to dust, and the sun swallows it whole, I will have seen all of humanity come and go before me. I can control the nature of the world around me. I am expert in what is real, my darling. If you are a dream, then it is one from which I do not ever wish to be woken.”