Page 39 of Dragon Slayer

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Val couldn’t suppress a yawn as Mother tugged his nightshirt down over his head.

She chuckled. “My sleepy little prince tonight, hm? Too much fun today?” She smoothed his shoulder-length hair down with several long, gentle passes of her hand.

“Mama, it was amazing,” he declared, going limp and flopping backward on the bed. “They were so beautiful. And the way theymoved.” He lifted a hand and swept it through the air in demonstration. “Can I be an acrobat?”

“Well.” She lifted his legs and tucked them beneath the covers, pulled the blankets up to his chin. “You’re already a prince, and I think that’s pretty special, don’t you?”

He made a face.

She smiled and perched on the side of the bed. “Think of it this way: a prince can hire acrobats to come entertain him whenever he wants.”

“Hmm.” Small consolation.

“Where is your brother?”

As if summoned, Vlad walked in, already dressed for bed. He went to the washstand in the corner of the room and scrubbed his face with the still-steaming water from the bowl. He came to bed pink-cheeked and heavy-eyed.

“Another sleepy son,” Eira said fondly, gathering him close for a moment, kissing his dark, silky hair.

“No I’m not,” he protested, and then yawned hugely.

“Of course not. Up you get. Go on.”

By the time they were settled, both of them beneath the covers and snuggled up shoulder-to-shoulder, Helga had arrived in the threshold, bearing a wooden tray.

“Ready, mistress?” she called.

“Yes, Helga, thank you,” Mother said, and took the two small gilt cups the female wolf offered her.

Helga tucked the empty tray beneath her arm and gave both boys a warm, motherly smile. “Enjoy, my lords. That’s fresh from my Fenny.”

“Thank you,” they chorused, dutifully, and Helga left, wide hips rolling like a ship at sea.

They sat up against the pillows and Mother handed them each a cup. The hot, salty scent of blood curled up from it, the metal warm in Val’s palms. A thirst he hadn’t felt before quickened; his mouth filled with saliva.

“Drink up,” Mother encouraged, and he buried his nose in the cup, opened his mouth and gulped it down like a savage. In all things he was delicate, nothing but a little bouquet, but the blood…the blood…

It hit his tongue like velvet, his belly like wine. It tasted of every wonderful thing, and also of home, and safety, and pack, their beloved wolf’s blood offered freely to nourish their bodies. It feltright.

Blood was a gift, mother always said. Not something to which they had a right. Being a vampire wasn’t a right. Her name meant merciful, and she was.

When the cup was empty, Val pulled off of it with a deep gasp. His chest pumped as he fought to catch his breath; he licked the last salty traces of blood off his lips and wished for more.

Beside him, he felt Vlad vibrating with the same craving, his shoulder quaking where it pressed against Val’s. “Mother–” His voice came out low, and hoarse, full of wanting.

“No, no,” she murmured, taking the cups from their lax fingers. “That was the perfect amount for two growing boys. Now it’s time to sleep.”

Vlad grumbled, but when Val slipped down to lie flat, he followed suit.

Mother smoothed the blankets over their chests. “Now, are my little princes getting too old for bedtime stories?”

“No,” they chorused immediately, and she smiled.

“Alright, then, have I told you–” She cut off, head tilting, and Val heard the sound of rapid footfalls in the corridor.

Helga burst in a moment later, still carrying the tray, wild-eyed and breathless. Val could smell fear on her.

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