Page 245 of Dragon Slayer

“Your father,” he said, as they both climbed to their feet, “was an aimless idiot. We were immortals! Stronger, and more capable thananyone. But he didn’t want to rule. He wanted towasteour abilities. To drink, and caper, and fuck women, andgo adventuring.” He stalked toward Vlad as he said this, spitting and hissing like a great cat. “He could have helped me! He could have been with me when I was attacked! And then, all these centuries later,hewants to rule. Not when I needed him, no, but on his own! And not even as himself. AsVlad Dracul.”

Vlad backed away, circling, trying to reconcile what he’d seen. Vampires could heal from seemingly mortal wounds. He himself had survived a fractured skull as a boy; but he’d lain with the wound for days, needing George Castrioti’s blood to give him strength, and to help the bone mend. As long as you left the heart mostly intact, beating inside the chest, a vampire could live. Mother had even told a story of a vampire she’d known once, in another century, who’d been decapitated, and when the neck was pressed back to the shoulders, and wolf blood poured into the wound, and into his mouth, the head had reattached.

But all of it took time. And more often than not, the vampire went into a deep coma, healing while he slept, only waking again when a wolf called to him.

Romulus’s arm had healed in a matter of minutes.

The two wolves had shifted, and circled them now, snarling, hackles raised.

“No,” Vlad told them, staying them with a hand. “No. I have this.”

Romulus laughed, giving a showy twirl with his sword. “Do you?”

“How did you do that?” Vlad kept moving, and motioned toward his arm.

“Ah, nephew. I can do all sorts of things.” He attacked.

Vlad held his ground, and met him.

Their blades crashed together again, again, again. Romulus was no faster, and he felt no stronger. But he’dhealed.

“I am not,” Romulus said, panting, but holding his own, “the same as the others. I’m not just a vampire. I’m the son of agod.”

Vlad had never known if he believed that – that Mars was real, and actually a god, and actually his grandfather.

“I have the same blood,” he said, parrying.

“Diluted. That whore your father–” He cut off with a startled yell, as Fenrir’s fangs sank into the meat of his calf.

Fen was a big wolf, with big teeth, and he tore a huge bloody chunk of meat free.

Romulus turned his head, searching for the source of the pain.

Vlad drove his sword through his throat.

Romulus made an awful gurgling sound, spitting blood, but he didn’t fall this time. He attempted to swing at Vlad with his own blade.

Vlad caught it, yanked it free, and threw it away, all while pushing his own sword deeper, deeper. The hilt butted up against flesh, and his uncle’s head was nearly severed; his windpipe, his spine, no doubt.

But he buckled slowly, still scrabbling with his hands.

Vlad felt the first stirrings of panic. He pushed his uncle down, and knelt on his chest. The wolves rushed in, taking his arms in their teeth, growling, holding him in place.

“What are you?” Vlad demanded, and the panic bled into his voice. How could this be happening? How was it possible?

Blood poured out of Romulus’s mouth, red and thick. He couldn’t speak without a throat, but his eyes sparked, and he mouthed the words clearly.I told you: I’m a god.

Vlad growled. “Gods can die.” He ripped his sword free with a fountain of blood, and brought it down.

It took three swings, impossibly. After, he stood and kicked the head away, so it went rolling halfway across the throne room.

The body continued to spasm, and the wolves stepped on it with their paws, pinning it in place.

Vlad wiped his face with the back of his hand, clearing the blood from his eyes and mouth. His uncle’s blood. It tasted dark, and vile, and so much more volatile than what he’d tasted the day he’d bit Mehmet as a boy. Mehmet had been an infection, but this was the source. The font of the evil.

He spat on the ground, and drove his sword straight down into Romulus’s heart.

Finally, he lay still.

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