Page 8 of Prince with a Chance of Darkness

Vlad resisted. He had sworn after the incident with Dragos, Van Helsing and the others to never create another like himself. The risk was too great, the price too high. Offering his blood to heal her was one thing. Attempting to convert her was another matter entirely. The conversion process was difficult. It could kill her rather than heal her. And if it worked, there was no telling what she might become. He was not like other vampires. He was far, far more. Darker. Twisted.

She will die if you do not attempt it, his demon pressed.You know this.

“She is already gone,” Vlad said, his voice drowned out by a boom of thunder and a crack of lightning. Never had he felt so defeated, so unsure of himself, of the next course of action.

See with more than your eyes,his demon returned.

It often spoke in riddles. He’d grown accustomed to it. Closing his eyes, Vlad tried to draw upon his supernatural powers but found they, like him, were utterly spent. They always seemed so limitless before now.

Try again, the demon coaxed.

He did.

This time, he caught it. Something else was present with them. The unseen presence fluttered past his face, feeling like a thousand tiny butterflies when, in reality, nothing was there. At least nothing that could be seen with the naked eye. Whatever it was didn’t feel like dark magik. Didn’t feel like the forest witch. It made him think of the young woman in his arms.

It is her essence, said his demon, sounding relieved.Her soul.

The sensation slid over Vlad again. The scent of her blood called to him, but not with hunger. Something else entirely pulled at him—something he hadn't felt in centuries. Pure, unadulterated need.

Do it, his demon whispered. For once, there was no mockery in its tone.Her soul lingers. Bite her before it fades completely.

Lightning split the sky as Vlad bent his head to her throat. The moment his fangs pierced her flesh, power exploded through him. Not the normal surge from a feeding—this was different. Her blood tasted of old-world magik, of power, of something familiar yet forbidden.

Slayer blood.

His demon roared, not with rage, but with triumph, even as Vlad's mind reeled. The girl he'd crossed an ocean to save was born to hunt his kind. To destroy him. By rights, he should want her dead. So should his demon.

Instead, he drank deeper, his demon encouraging the act. Not with the intent to kill her, but with the desperate need tolure her soul back into her body. To convert her and bind her to him through a sire bond.

It would have been all too easy to lose himself in the glorious taste of her blood. To be gluttonous and take it all to hell with saving her. After all, her blood represented pure power. It could fuel him for weeks, hell even months.

No more!shouted his demon.Already her soul barely clings to us.

Vlad wanted to listen to his demon, but he couldn’t seem to stop. It wasn’t out of hunger or the fact he’d depleted his energy reserves. It was something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Mine.

The word floated into his head, bouncing around wildly, before settling on the tip of his tongue. It did what his demon could not. It got him to stop feeding.

Tearing himself away took more willpower than he'd needed in centuries. His fangs remained extended as he bit savagely into his own wrist again, tearing flesh and muscle, pressing the bleeding wound to her lips.

"Drink!" The command held power that would have brought armies to their knees. Yet she remained still, defiant even in death.

Force her to drink, his demon snarled, its hunger for her survival matching his own.

Lightning crackled overhead as Vlad's voice ripped through the air. "Drink! I command it!”

Thunder shook the ground as his power mixed with that of the forest witch’s—the dark magik.

The woman in his arms gasped.

In the next instant, the rains stopped as if someone had flipped a switch.

The woman’s eyes snapped open, bright blue irises darkening to solid black in the space of a heartbeat. Before Vlad could process the change, her hand shot up, fingers wrapping around his throat with supernatural strength. She came off the ground as if yanked by invisible strings, and in one fluid motion, she body-slammed him to the forest floor.

The great Vlad Dracula, Prince of Darkness, Son of the Dragon, the Impaler himself—found himself flat on his back in the mud with Ponytail Girl straddling him, her hand still locked around his throat. Never had he been happier to be one upped in his life.

His demon's laughter echoed through his mind.Any woman worth having does not come without a fight.

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