Page 74 of Dragon Slayer

George studied him a moment, gaze narrowing. He offered a less friendly smile, one that was calculating. “I’m playing the long game here, Vlad. You might want to consider doing the same.” He stood, and his expression smoothed. “I’ll let you pray in peace, then. See you at supper.”

“See you…” Vlad murmured. He twisted around in his pew and watched him walk away, noting the breadth of his shoulders, the way even the loose sleeves of his kaftan couldn’t hide the muscle development in his arms. A warrior worthy of the title Iskander?

Maybe.

Vlad wasn’t at all sure what had just happened.

~*~

Val was ashamed. No, he was worse than that, but he didn’t think there was a proper label for the knot of shame that sat heavy in his belly, weighing every breath and darkening every thought. The majority of his energy went to keeping himself from crying; checking tears with rapid blinks and biting his tongue until it bled.

Vlad hated him. And he didn’t knowwhy. And heneededhim.

He never called him by his real name anymore. Their captors had known him as Radu from the start, but not Vlad, never Vlad. And now Vlad wouldn’t touch him, or look at him, or assure him that everything would be alright. That they would get fee, and run home.

They weren’t friends anymore. Weren’tbrothers.

Val had always been told that vampires weren’t like wolves – they weren’t pack animals, and tended toward solitary existences. More like cats. But he felt like a wolf now, deprived of his pack, without the chance for closeness, and skin contact and the familiar scents of home. Maybe he wasn’t a wolf, but he wasn’t a human, either, and he wanted, needed, to be in close contact with someone he loved. To be held, and soothed, and allowed to smell the faint copper traces of his own kind.

Now, curled up on his side, he looked at his brother’s shape, a dark lump limned in silver moonlight. They were separated by only a meter, but it felt like a chasm.

“Vlad?” he whispered, and even that felt like an obscene amount of sound.

Vlad didn’t respond. He wasn’t asleep – Val was too aware of his heartbeat and knew that it was only resting, not dreaming – but he refused to acknowledge Val in any way.

Only a meter away, and unreachable.

“Vlad?” One more time, though it was pitiful. He was soalone…

A thought struck, then. How had it not struck already?

In the chaos of being captured, and hauled across the mountains on horseback, amidst the emotional tumult of all that had occurred, he hadn’t ever thought to try dream-walking. He hadn’t been calm enough to settle down and reach for the astral plane, and when he slept, it was with total exhaustion.

Now, though, with a full belly, his anxiety settled by the routine of this new terrifying reality, he thought he might be able to manage.

The more he thought of it, the more he realized that he needed to. That he had to reach out to Father, and ask when they could return, and see Mother, hear her sweet voice singing.

He wasn’t wearing cuffs. In the dark, he could just make out the faint lines where the silver had chafed his wrists.

He took a deep breath and resettled on his pillow. Thought about releasing the tension from his body, one muscle at a time. Shut his eyes and cleared his mind. Wiped it clean and then searched for the stars…

It was dizzying; he was out of practice. But when he opened his eyes it was to the familiar view of his mother’s bedchamber.

She’d always preferred soft, feminine colors – flower colors. Her four-poster bed was draped with lavender Turkish silk, soft minks, a sable lap rug from Russia. The tapestries on the walls wove gentle golds, and sky blues, and petal pinks: garden scenes, horses, birds on fruit tree branches.

Eira sat in a straight-backed chair by the fire, though it was a warm evening, staring unseeing into the flames, hair molten in its glow.

Val’s heart squeezed. “Mama,” he breathed, tremulous and tear-choked.

She leapt up from her chair with a little cry of alarm, whirling to face him. Wide eyes, and open mouth, and another cry, this one anguished and choked and elated all at once. “Valerian,” she whispered, and nearly tripped over her long skirt in her haste to get to him.

She went to her knees in front of him, reaching. And he reached for her, and then–

Smoke. His arms turned to smoke when they touched, swirling. Because he wasn’t really here.

Eira lowered her hands slowly to her lap, and Val’s eyes filled with tears. He’d known he was dream-walking, that it wasn’t possible to make real contact, but he ached for it. For her arms, and her warmth, and her scent, and her pulse beating beneath his ear.

“Mama,” he said again, and his projection solidified again as the tears spilled over and poured down his face.

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