Page 267 of Dragon Slayer

“Alright,” she said, and moved to take the seat he’d offered. When she was settled, he scooted her in so she could reach the table, and only when he stepped back and took his own chair did she finally exhale.

She thought that was when everyone exhaled, because then there was a flurry of movement. The staff resumed passing out drinks and wheeling in trays. Dad sat down beside her. Fulk took the chair opposite her, on Vlad’s other side, Annabel next to him.

A waiter put a brimming glass of white wine down in front of Mia and she reached for it immediately, only spilling a few drops over the rim as her hand shook.

“You’ve met the baroness, and His Grace Vlad Tepes. Mia, this is the Baron Strange of Blackmere,” Dad said, because in the midst of this insanity, he thought formal introductions were important. “He owns this lovely house.”

She met the baron’s – Fulk’s – stare over the top of her glass. “Congrats on the giant mansion,” she said, tone flat with…with exhaustion, and disbelief of a kind she didn’t know how to classify. “And on being a werewolf, I guess.” She hoped he could read her gaze:Who’s side are you on in this? Please don’t agree with my psycho dad.

He stared a moment longer, then inclined his head in a polite nod, eyes almost seeming to flash. Maybe it was just a trick of light refracting off crystal, but she didn’t think so. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, and even if she couldn’t read his tone all that well, she could tell that something was there. Something heavy.

Annabel sent the tiniest of smiles across the table, and then dropped her head over her plate.

“We’ve been doing incredible work here,” Dad said, and launched into an over-detailed description of all he hoped to accomplish with vampire research.

A salad landed on the charger before her. Caesar…with tomatoes, for some reason.

Mia took a deep breath that did nothing to soothe her nerves.

“…and the potential applications…” Dad continued.

“Why you?”

Vlad’s voice wasn’t loud, or even especially deep, but it resonated. He had the voice of someone used to getting exactly what he wanted. It cut through the tension, and in a way, it was a relief.

“What?” Mia asked, turning to look at him.

There was nothing human about the way he regarded her, and so she could ascribe no human emotion to his gaze. Not judgement, or disappointment, or disapproval. Just an animal assessment that made her want to squirm in her chair.

“My brother can dream-walk almost anywhere, and talk to almost anyone. Why did he choose you?”

Someone on the other side of the table, Annabel probably, made a quiet noise of shock.

Mia lowered her fork, salad untouched. “I don’t know,” she said, truthfully. “The first time, I don’t think he meant to. He asked where he was, and who I was.” She remembered him peering at her bookshelf, golden and lovely, and her chest ached. “I guess when I told him my name, he knew who I was right off. I don’t know why he kept coming back. You’d have to ask him.”

His expression shifted, lips pressing together. “Hm. You smelled like horses when you came in.”

That was right: vampire, after all. She swallowed. “I work at a training facility in Colorado. I ride every day.”

A hand reached over her shoulder and lifted away her untouched salad, replacing it with a steak and steamed broccoli.

Vlad turned his attention to his own steak, reaching for his utensils. “Val is an excellent horseman.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“You don’t agree with your father’s experiments here.”

“I…” The only sound besides their voices was the scrape of silver on china as he carved off a large bite of steak. She looked at the two werewolves across from her, but they were of no help. Annabel had leaned into her husband, so their shoulders touched. “No,” Mia said, back to Vlad. “I don’t. I get that he’s working toward some breakthroughs, but this is completely unethical in all aspects.”

“Mia,” Dad said, and she whirled on him.

“You’re keeping a man prisoner in the basement.”

Levelly, he said, “He’s not a man, dear. He’s a vampire.”

The words hit her like a slap.

A quiet huff of agitated breath across from her proved that Fulk felt the same way. “That’s how he justifies his ethics problem, you see,” Fulk said, his accent giving the words an extra bite. “He chooses not to see us as humans. As people. And no one cares what you do to an animal, do they?”

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