Page 181 of Dragon Slayer

He blew out a breath. “Mehmet has my brother, still. If you’re suggested an alliance between us, then I’m listening.”

A slow smile broke across the governor’s face. “I spent months as a prisoner alongside your old friend Skanderbeg. He spoke highly of–”

Vlad waved a hand to silence him. Swallowed the lump in his throat.Be patient, he heard George’s voice in his head.You have to learn to be patient. “It’s not possible to flatter me. Tell me your proposition.”

Hunyadi sat forward, eager. “I’ve already got men lined up to help you dispatch Vladislav. I want you to be prince in Wallachia, Vlad. And in exchange, I want free access to the Danube. I can also guarantee that together we’ll win back Moldavia for your cousin,” he said with a nod toward Stephen. “And together, a unified Hungary and Romania will have one last proper crusade. If the pope won’t help us, then to hell with him. But we will finally have the manpower, and the cooperation, to drive the Ottomans out of our lands for good. The Ottomans march even now on Constantinople, and Mehmet means to try and sack the city. Now is no time for old feuds and grudges. We have to stand together, Vlad, or fall one-by-one beneath the enemy.”

Put that like, Vlad didn’t suppose he really had a choice to make after all.

~*~

Hours later, when the deal had been hammered out and parchments had been signed, sealed, and sent, after Vlad had forced himself to shake the hand of the man who’d seen his father killed, he sat in his temporary bedchamber, the sword across his knees, staring at the blinding flare of moonlight down its length.

“I don’t understand how you aren’t furious with me,” he murmured.

Eira finished lighting the tall tapers on the mantlepiece and blew out the tinder she’d used to do so. She came to sit beside him, her split skirts rustling. Her hands twitched before settling together in her lap, like she’d wanted to touch him, but couldn’t, because of the sword.

“Nothing we do will bring your father back,” she said quietly. “We have to look after ourselves. And your brother.”

“And what of Wallachia?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Her expression hardened. “Wallachia is yours by birthright. It always has been. You’ll be doing right to defend it.”

“And John Hunyadi?”

“We’ll use him. For now,” she said, tone ominous. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, and whispered, “But we will have our revenge, darling. Don’t worry.” She pulled back with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Get some sleep. We ride tomorrow.”

Back home, to a palace that would be his for a second time.

He nodded and she left the room, murmuring something low to Cicero, who stood at the door.

When she was gone, and the door was shut, Cicero went to the sideboard and poured a cup of wine; Vlad could smell its sweetness. The wolf brought it to him, and held it before his face, close enough to be tempting.

“Here,” he said, voice gentle. He’d been so, so gentle with Vlad all afternoon and evening, a hand on him at almost all times, face drawn with lines of sympathy. “Drink this, and then you need to feed.” He tilted the cup a fraction, so moonlight silvered the inside of his wrist, the veins there dark and inviting.

Vlad took the cup without much interest. “My mother left the room, you know, and yet I’m still being mothered.”

Cicero snorted. “Because you’re twice as difficult to mother as anyone I’ve ever met. Drink your wine.”

Vlad did, grudgingly, admitting to himself that its taste and tartness and warmth was immediately soothing. Cicero took the empty cup after, and offered his wrist.

Vlad stared at it a moment, the sinuous tracks of the veins, breathing over them. His fangs descended in automatic anticipation, but he didn’t bite. Not yet. “Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything,” came the immediate response.

Vlad sighed.

“Vlad,” his wolf urged.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into Cicero’s open hand. “I hate myself,” he whispered. “I should have killed him. But I’m weak. I want revenge on Mehmet…even if it means consorting with the enemy.Anotherenemy.”

Cicero stroked his hair with his free hand. “Friends are few,” Cicero said, and his voice become reflective; the words sounded like old wisdom, something he’d heard elsewhere and was repeating now. “Pack is family, and family is love. Family is trust. You can help others, and let them help you, without trusting.”

“Hmm,” Vlad hummed. “Not exactly helpful.”

The wolf chuckled, and his voice was his own again, rough and familiar, a touch uncertain, but warm. “Allying ourselves with Hunyadi in order to defeat the Ottomans and rescue Prince Val…that’s not weak.”

“It feels like it is.”

“Sometimes things aren’t the way they feel.” Another pass of his callused hand across Vlad’s head, down his unbound hair, to his shoulder. A squeeze. “Drink now, come on.”

He took the wolf’s wrist in his hand and bared his fangs, and bit. As the blood filled his mouth, his thoughts shifted to his brother. He wondered where he was now, if he had access to blood. If he was strong, and healthy.

He suspected that, even if Val had been able to dream-walk, Vlad was the last person he would want to come and visit.

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