Page 580 of Flirting with Darkness

His father held up the sharpened blade, admiring it in the firelight.

“Fine workmanship, my son,” he said approvingly. “I assume you can make good use of it?”

Ghost didn’t answer.

“Do not drink too much at the party,” his father cautioned, re-sheathing the sword just as skillfully. “Not until you have eaten enough. It will not do to have you lose consciousness again. Not on this night. Not with the rituals that will take place after midnight.”

Ghost couldn’t help himself that time.

Losing all attempt at composure, he stared up at the dark-haired Russian in disbelief.

“Lose consciousness?” he asked. “Is that what you call it, Count Aslanov?”

“My people found you down in my crypt. On the stone. Alone.”

“Sure.” Ghost scowled. “After one of them… or you… hit me in the head with something really bloody big and heavy.”

His father gave him another of those infuriatingly condescending smiles.

Looking over Ghost’s cane a last time, he tossed it casually towards the bed, but with a deceptive amount of speed and aggression. Ghost caught it midair, without looking away from the older man’s face.

That time, Count Yaroslav Aslanov smiled at his son for real.

Realizing he’d done it on purpose, that he was testing and assessing his abilities even now, Ghost couldn’t help but feel he had shown too much already.

Even so, he kept that knowledge out of his eyes.

And his voice.

“Have you really kept me drugged in here for over two days?” he asked coldly.

The Count’s smile faded.

For the first time, his coy, deceptively light demeanor vanished. His voice turned brusque, borderline academic.

Ghost heard the harder note in that, too.

“No, my boy,” he said dismissively. “I have not. You attempted to toy with things for which you have no knowledge or understanding… and you paid the price. You broke a magical seal. You walked headlong into a protective circle my spells delineated, one I had reinforced over many years with powerful charms and defensive wardings. And given you did so with no comprehension whatsoever, you received the full brunt of those spells. You’re damned lucky it didn’t kill you, Lazarus.”

Those blue eyes darkened.

His grating voice deepened.

“If you were not my son, with my magick in your veins, it most certainlywouldhave killed you. As it is, I hope you learned something down there. I hope you learned, if nothing else, how badly you are in need of a teacher… and just how helpless you are here, even with your very clever weapon.”

He motioned dismissively towards the cane Ghost now held in his lap.

“I also hope you will rethink your original plan in coming here,” Aslanov added. “Perhaps it will occur to you just how easily I could have killed you while you slept. Or the fact that not a person in this world would have missed you, since your name and identity are both entirely fabricated, and absolutely no one, even your friends Magdalena and Augustine, have any idea who you really are. Nor do you, when it comes to it.”

Ghost stared at him, not moving.

“So get these silly thoughts of murder out of your head, boy,” the old man warned. “I had the same ideas about my own father… and then he showed me the way. I can show you the way too, but if you push me too far, child, I’ll happily spill your blood on the rocks of which this castle is built. Magicked blood is the most powerful of all… particularly blood so magicked as yours… so believe me, I would find a use for you, either way.”

Ghost didn’t flinch at those words.

He most certainly felt them, however.

He felt them all the way down to his bones.

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