Curse of Dracula (Immortal Soul, #2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

Tears stung her eyes. She leaned down and kissed him. She spoke to him of her love in silence, in her touch, in her embrace, and in her soul. If she had to destroy him to save the lives of others, she knew she would throw herself from a cliff shortly after. She did not wish to live without him. Moisture touched her fingers. When she looked down at him, she expected that her own tears had broken loose. But crimson stained her thumbs. He was the one crying. He smiled up at her, a sad and somewhat embarrassed expression. He stood and swiped his sleeve across his face before she could stroke away the tears. “Forgive me. I can hear your thoughts, do not forget. They are quiet now, for that I have not drunk from you in some time. But that…that was hard to miss.” “If I commit you to the grave, I—” “No. Do not say it.” He stood and gathered her into his arms, pressing her close to him. “I wallow in grief enough. I do not wish to do it more than necessary.” He caught her face in his hands and held her. His crimson gaze was intense. It bored through her and pinned her to the spot. “Say that you love me.”

Maxine woke up slowly. She was so utterly comfortable; she didn’t want to move. She curled into what was lying beneath her. It was cold, smooth, hard yet soft, like stone covered in velvet. When she nuzzled into it, enjoying the sensation of its chill surface against her warm cheek, it chuckled. Right. Yes. That. She yawned and stretched, feeling a hard surface close to her back. She did not need to open her eyes and see the pitch darkness she suspected surrounded her. She knew where they were. Half-awake, she had less of a filter than perhaps she should. “Why do you sleep in a coffin, Vlad?” “Hm?”

“You do not burn in the sunlight. So why sleep in a coffin at all? Certainly, someone of your considerable height would enjoy more room to stretch out.” “You have asked me this once before.” “And you gave me a half-answer. You claimed it was the light that troubled you. I think you are more than capable of purchasing shutters. So why?” He was silent. Fearing she had committed a misstep without realizing it, she placed her palm to his bare chest. “I am sorry. I did not mean to offend.” His hand laced over hers, and he let out a slow breath. “You have done no such thing. I merely am deciding upon how to phrase my response.” His arm was slung across her lower back. The strength and the power that burned in him, even if it did not beat in his heart, was soothing. “I am a dead soul trapped in an immortal body. While I may never be at peace, I am dead all the same. One must have both halves to be truly alive. To be as I am, neither one nor the other, I am as good as a corpse. I sleep in a coffin to remind myself of what I truly am. I have spent eons attempting to pretend that I am a man. I have

Looking around the room curiously, she was shocked to see that she recognized some of it. Most notably, her wardrobe stood against one wall. And there, on a small table, was a music box. She walked up to it quickly, snatching it into her hands. She opened the lid. Sure enough…it was hers. The one her father had made before he had died and before she was born. “You…saved it.” “I had Walter gather your things from your house the night I unleashed Hell upon this city.” Dracula replied nonchalantly. As

if it were a trivial thing. “I thought perhaps you would wish it salvaged.” “Very much so. I would lecture you that collecting my personal items and arranging them in your bedchambers is presumptuous at best, but I find myself incredibly grateful that you saw fit to save this. My cards?” “Your tarot deck is in your wardrobe.” She would have been sad to part with them. “Then I suppose I find myself doubly grateful and only once annoyed. So I shall say thank you, Vlad Dracula, for your kindness in rescuing my things.” “You should say nothing at all, for while you are twice grateful, it is I who upended your life in the first place. Therefore, we are in balance.” She smiled. “I suppose, yes.” When she looked at him, he was dressed, finishing the knot of his cravat. “I will fetch Walter and inform him that you are in need of breakfast. I shall return shortly.” And with that, he seemed to vanish into his own shadow and slip underneath the door. Strange man. Stranger creature. Yet she smiled at the thought of him. He was kind and cruel. Temperate and ruled

by rage. Tender and violent. He was neither half, nor was he truly both. He was one thing...