“I did not miss you.”
The bitter chuckle that flows from the lips I once kissed with unbridled passion chills me. “All attempts to find another Bride such as you fail.” His voice is sorrowful, yet I know he will not release me.
From his pocket, he withdraws one of the bracelets that had adorned the limb of the Bride he just entombed. In silence, he wraps it around my wrist and gently hooks the clasp. How like him to make sure his treasures are not locked away with his prisoner. With a scowl, I pull my hand away from him. I wish to turn his saccharine emotions into anger that will fuel my own and untether me from this great longing to comfort him.
“I am unique to this world. It is your curse to have lost my love,” I declare. “Certainly, Vlad, you did not believe such an unworldly child could be like me. Are you that daft?”
Leaning over me, he stares into my eyes. His gaze is searching, haunted, and desperate. “No, I created her as an amusement, but soon tired of her. My affections for all others are fleeting when compared to you.”
“I spent far too many years at your side,” I retort. “Far too many.”
“You wish me to be angry,” he says, smirking.
“You are cruel when angry. Why should I desire your anger?”
“So that you can hate me instead of love me.”
I snarl at him, perturbed at how well he can still read my inner thoughts. He brushes my cheek with his knuckles. I snap my teeth at him in return. With a laugh, his hand strays to my black hair, gently coiling a strand about his little finger. This loving gesture is cruel salt on my tattered heart. I wish to not remember the many times in the past that I garnered comfort from his affections. I refuse to relent now.
My eyes flick to the wall where several of his past wives are entombed. I pity them, yet also envy them. After the years have rendered them nothing more than skin over bones, their minds will enter the world of dreams where they will wander until they are finally pulled from their tombs and killed by Vlad or vampire hunters.
“Why did you create this one, Vlad? She was a bit of a simpleton.”
“I was angry,” he answers simply. “Because of another.”
“Ah! Her!”
I foretold the English Bride would destroy all the intricate plans he created. I observed in her lovely aquamarine eyes my own strength and cleverness. She might have been my equal, if not for one simple truth. She does not love him as I do.
“Yes, her,” he says with distaste.
“What did Lady-”
“Do not speak her name!” Snarling, he steps away. “I gave her all she desired and more. But in the end, she revealed that she was weak and unworthy of my attention.”
“You killed her.”
Eyes downcast, he does not answer.
“Or did she kill herself?”
He growls, his fangs threatening behind his lips.
“How blessed she is to find death as her reward. If only I could be bestowed such a blessing.”
“I did not love her as I do you. She was not deserving of your exquisite torture.”
His words are cruel because he is angry.
Angry at her?
Or angry at me?
Perhaps both.
“Your love was always the most exquisite of tortures,” I say.
A smile seeps onto his full lips and I immediately regret my words.