Bound by Flames (Night Prince 3)

“This is . . . unexpected,” the former pharaoh breathed.

“Elaborate,” Vlad said in his most scathing voice.

Mencheres shook his head as though stunned by what he had to admit. “It means that my remedy did not break the spell, which has never happened before. Whoever cast it must have bound it flesh to flesh and blood to blood. Since Leila is a vampire, that is more than magic; it’s necromancy, which is beyond even my capabilities.”

I couldn’t see Vlad’s face, but his tone seethed with enough undercurrents to know that he was barely controlling his anger. Or disbelief.

“You yanked wraiths out of the bones of slain men and you summoned the ferryman of the underworld to do your bidding, yet this is beyond you?”

Mencheres stared at Vlad, though since he was right above me, it also felt as if he was looking at me, too.

“Yes.”

Vlad’s hissing sigh blew my hair back where it landed. He didn’t say anything for several moments. Neither did Mencheres. Now that the agony had faded, I had a question.

“If you can’t break it, can anyone?”

“Only death can break it,” Mencheres said, still sounding like he was having a hard time trying to process everything. “Not just your death,” he added in a comforting way. “The death of the necromancer should also suffice. Since the cure soured within you, turning your body blue, it proves the spell was set with your flesh and blood as well as the necromancer’s, so destruction of either should break it.”

Vlad let out a low, vicious sound. “And we know where the necromancer would’ve gotten her flesh and blood. Explains why Szilagyi didn’t send me all of her skin in his first package.”

I shuddered. As if the memory of my skinning wasn’t bad enough, now I had an image of Vlad piecing my stripped flesh back together enough to know that parts of it had been missing.

“That rules out Cynthiana,” I said, trying to force back emotions I couldn’t deal with yet. She’d managed to kill me with a spell before, but Szilagyi had blown her to bits in his castle attack, so she couldn’t have been responsible for this.

Vlad released me and stood. “Even if she wasn’t dead, I’d know it wasn’t Cynthiana. It’s feat enough to cast a spell that could control a vampire. One that transcends magic into necromancy?” His gaze raked me. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would’ve said it was impossible.”

“So would I,” Mencheres added with a hint of grimness.

Vlad rubbed his chin, the scars on his hands catching my gaze. I no longer had any scars, and oddly enough, seeing his struck me with inspiration.

“The spell started when I linked to Szilagyi through my skin, so burn it off,” I said softly.

Vlad stopped pacing and bent down, laying his palm flat against my lower belly.

“If you’re referring to his essence trail, I already did this morning, while you were unconscious.”

That explained the charred odor I’d smelled in the bedroom, but it wasn’t what I’d meant.

“Not just that.” My voice was hoarse. “All of it. The spell’s set in flesh and blood, so if we remove my flesh and blood, maybe it will . . . blunt the effects? At least, it would erase all my essence trails of him, then you could cover my new skin with your aura. That way, it would add another layer of protection against the spell and I won’t be able to accidentally link to Szilagyi again and make things worse.”

A normal man would’ve sputtered out an indignant refusal. What I was suggesting was as gruesome as what Harold had done to me, and no doubt more painful. Vlad didn’t respond with outraged protestations. He just stared at me with those deep, copper-colored eyes while weighing the pros and cons of my proposal.

I already had. Yes, it would be agonizing, but Vlad was more surgical with fire than Harold had been with his knives, and considering I’d tried to kill him once and might do so again, the pain was a cheap price to pay.

Vlad finally looked away from me and raised a brow at Mencheres. Do you agree with her logic? the silent query asked.

The admiring yet pitying glance Mencheres gave me was answer enough. Vlad’s hand left my stomach and he caressed my face. Then he rose, lifting me to my feet.

“I’ll do it after dawn, when you’re unconscious,” he said, no emotion coloring his tone. “Even still, the pain might wake you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

You mean you’ve done it before, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. It hadn’t occurred to me to wait until I was unconscious, yet I was all for the change in plans. After the horrors of being skinned, having my flesh burned off was a daunting prospect to say the least, but if it was my best chance for beating this spell, then bring on the barbeque.

I forced a smile to show that I wasn’t having second thoughts and tried not to dwell on what was to come.

“Well, we’ve got our plans for the morning. What do you want to do until then?”

Vlad stared at me, splinters of emotions breaching the walls he’d mostly kept up since he rescued me. At last, a hint of a smile curled his lips.

“The same thing many other people do when they come to Vegas. Get married.”

I waited for the punch line. When it didn’t come, I was almost stammering in my confusion.

“But we already are . . . oh, okay, not vampire-style, and I would . . . but we can’t now. Right?”

Vlad flashed a tolerant look at Mencheres. “Pay this no mind. She always argues with me when I propose to her.” o;This is . . . unexpected,” the former pharaoh breathed.

“Elaborate,” Vlad said in his most scathing voice.

Mencheres shook his head as though stunned by what he had to admit. “It means that my remedy did not break the spell, which has never happened before. Whoever cast it must have bound it flesh to flesh and blood to blood. Since Leila is a vampire, that is more than magic; it’s necromancy, which is beyond even my capabilities.”

I couldn’t see Vlad’s face, but his tone seethed with enough undercurrents to know that he was barely controlling his anger. Or disbelief.

“You yanked wraiths out of the bones of slain men and you summoned the ferryman of the underworld to do your bidding, yet this is beyond you?”

Mencheres stared at Vlad, though since he was right above me, it also felt as if he was looking at me, too.

“Yes.”

Vlad’s hissing sigh blew my hair back where it landed. He didn’t say anything for several moments. Neither did Mencheres. Now that the agony had faded, I had a question.

“If you can’t break it, can anyone?”

“Only death can break it,” Mencheres said, still sounding like he was having a hard time trying to process everything. “Not just your death,” he added in a comforting way. “The death of the necromancer should also suffice. Since the cure soured within you, turning your body blue, it proves the spell was set with your flesh and blood as well as the necromancer’s, so destruction of either should break it.”

Vlad let out a low, vicious sound. “And we know where the necromancer would’ve gotten her flesh and blood. Explains why Szilagyi didn’t send me all of her skin in his first package.”

I shuddered. As if the memory of my skinning wasn’t bad enough, now I had an image of Vlad piecing my stripped flesh back together enough to know that parts of it had been missing.

“That rules out Cynthiana,” I said, trying to force back emotions I couldn’t deal with yet. She’d managed to kill me with a spell before, but Szilagyi had blown her to bits in his castle attack, so she couldn’t have been responsible for this.

Vlad released me and stood. “Even if she wasn’t dead, I’d know it wasn’t Cynthiana. It’s feat enough to cast a spell that could control a vampire. One that transcends magic into necromancy?” His gaze raked me. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would’ve said it was impossible.”

“So would I,” Mencheres added with a hint of grimness.

Vlad rubbed his chin, the scars on his hands catching my gaze. I no longer had any scars, and oddly enough, seeing his struck me with inspiration.

“The spell started when I linked to Szilagyi through my skin, so burn it off,” I said softly.

Vlad stopped pacing and bent down, laying his palm flat against my lower belly.

“If you’re referring to his essence trail, I already did this morning, while you were unconscious.”

That explained the charred odor I’d smelled in the bedroom, but it wasn’t what I’d meant.

“Not just that.” My voice was hoarse. “All of it. The spell’s set in flesh and blood, so if we remove my flesh and blood, maybe it will . . . blunt the effects? At least, it would erase all my essence trails of him, then you could cover my new skin with your aura. That way, it would add another layer of protection against the spell and I won’t be able to accidentally link to Szilagyi again and make things worse.”

A normal man would’ve sputtered out an indignant refusal. What I was suggesting was as gruesome as what Harold had done to me, and no doubt more painful. Vlad didn’t respond with outraged protestations. He just stared at me with those deep, copper-colored eyes while weighing the pros and cons of my proposal.

I already had. Yes, it would be agonizing, but Vlad was more surgical with fire than Harold had been with his knives, and considering I’d tried to kill him once and might do so again, the pain was a cheap price to pay.

Vlad finally looked away from me and raised a brow at Mencheres. Do you agree with her logic? the silent query asked.

The admiring yet pitying glance Mencheres gave me was answer enough. Vlad’s hand left my stomach and he caressed my face. Then he rose, lifting me to my feet.

“I’ll do it after dawn, when you’re unconscious,” he said, no emotion coloring his tone. “Even still, the pain might wake you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

You mean you’ve done it before, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. It hadn’t occurred to me to wait until I was unconscious, yet I was all for the change in plans. After the horrors of being skinned, having my flesh burned off was a daunting prospect to say the least, but if it was my best chance for beating this spell, then bring on the barbeque.

I forced a smile to show that I wasn’t having second thoughts and tried not to dwell on what was to come.

“Well, we’ve got our plans for the morning. What do you want to do until then?”

Vlad stared at me, splinters of emotions breaching the walls he’d mostly kept up since he rescued me. At last, a hint of a smile curled his lips.

“The same thing many other people do when they come to Vegas. Get married.”

I waited for the punch line. When it didn’t come, I was almost stammering in my confusion.

“But we already are . . . oh, okay, not vampire-style, and I would . . . but we can’t now. Right?”

Vlad flashed a tolerant look at Mencheres. “Pay this no mind. She always argues with me when I propose to her.”