Page 104 of Dragon Slayer

So you won’t kill me, Val thought.So you won’t hurt my family. Because I’m your captive, and I don’t want to be starved, or beaten, or stripped naked and thrown in a cell.

“Whatever your reasons,” Mehmet continued, “your brother doesn’t share them.” He laughed. Strained. Unhappy. Though his smile remained, a muscle in his cheek twitched. “He’s bound and determined to be as rebellious as possible, isn’t he? Whether he endangers himself…” His other eye opened, and suddenly, drunk or not, he looked coiled tight as a viper about to strike. “Or his little brother.”

Val edged backward a half step.

“He cares nothing for you, does he? Not until someone pays you a compliment, that is.”

Another half-step. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs.

“He’s jealous, you know. He’s ugly as mud, but then there’s you. Beautiful as a jewel. He hates it.”

Another step. “Vlad’s a warrior,” he said, voice high and wavering. “He doesn’t worry about beauty.”

Another laugh. “Everyone worries about that. Trust me.” Then he pushed off the door and stalked forward, his steps steady now.

Vampires could get drunk, but it didn’t usually last that long.

It was burning off now.

Val backed up again, but the backs of his legs hit the end of the bed.

Mehmet closed the distance between them, his grin wide…manic. He laughed, looming over Val, reddish hair fanning around his handsome face, his eyes sparking. “What are you afraid of, little prince?”

So close – he was so close. Heat, and wine-smell, and a kind of intent Val couldn’t put a name to. Was this sumptuous bedchamber to be the scene of his murder? Would Mehmet strangle him? Bite him and drain him? Or would be pluck the ceremonial sword off the wall behind him and run Val through?

Teeth chattering, he said, “Please don’t kill me.”

“Kill you?” He leaned in even closer, his knees pressing into Val’s thighs. “Now what makes you think I’d want to do that?”

Why wouldn’t he?

Val took a series of choppy breaths through his mouth. “M-my father. And my brother–”

“Oh, they’ll get what’s coming to them. Traitors always pay. But.” He lifted one jeweled hand that wavered; still drunk; he still reeked of wine. He petted at Val’s hair, smoothed it back where the humidity of the close, body-packed room had sent baby-fine pieces twisting up into curls. A bell jangled. “You’re not a traitor though, are you, Radu? You’re obedient and sweet. Yes?”

I can be sweet, he’d told Constantine. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Yes.”

“That’s what all your tutors have said: that you’re a good boy. That you always mind your manners. Always gracious.” The sultan’s touch shifted down, a fingertip trailing along the ridge of his cheekbone, and around the curve of his jaw, feather-light. “Always…lovely. Look at me, Radu.”

He opened his eyes – always obedient, always sweet – and the sultan’s face was right in front of his, close enough to count his lashes; close enough to see the glazed hunger in his eyes and finally know that’s what it was. The sultan was angry, and ashamed, embarrassed by his failures in battle, and he wanted something, desperately.

My blood, Val thought, himself desperate, trying to lean back.

But then Mehmet’s other hand landed on his chest, and smoothed down the front of his body…all the way down, until it cupped around what rested, soft and small, between his legs. He smiled, fangs long. “Undress,” he said, an order, “and then you can tend to me.”

A memory flooded back, fuzzy from early youth. Going in search of Mother, and following her scent to Father’s rooms. No wolves to guard the door – strange. And peeking through the door he’d found his parents, unclothed and intertwined.

When he asked Vlad about it later, his brother had cuffed him across the back of the head. “You idiot, they were fucking.”

That, he realized with dawning horror, was what Mehmet wanted.

Val gasped and tried to twist away, but Mehmet caught his shoulder, his grip tight. He wasn’t much older, but he was much, much stronger; his fingertips dug in hard, and Val could already feel the bruises forming. His other hand tightened between Val’s legs, until pain bloomed, and stars burst behind his eyes. He gagged.

“What’s this?” Mehmet said through his teeth. He smelled of anger now, acrid, burning anger that rolled off his skin. “The little prince wants to get away? I thought we just decided you weren’t a traitor, Radu? I thought you wanted to save your skin?”

Val drew a tremulous breath; what little he’d eaten threatened to come back up. “P-p-please, your grace…”

“Pleasewhat?” A snarl.

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