“By quite a few years. The family’s hold on the throne had never been completely secure, and we had been trained from childhood to be ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Horatiu retrieved my emergency funds, some clothes and a horse, and hid me until nightfall. I was getting ready to go when he rode up, insisting on coming with me as far as the border. I tried to dissuade him, but he was as hardheaded as ever. And fortunately so. I wouldn’t have made it alone, not in those first few months. Even with his help, there were some very close calls.”
I caught his hand, needing to break contact in order to think. “Is there anything you’d do differently?”
Mircea let his hand lie still in mine, although the other kept hold of my leg, those long fingers curled around my ankle. “At the time, I believed that I was doing the only thing I could. I was leaving until they stopped searching for me, until I grew strong enough to defend myself and the political winds changed once again. But I departed too quickly, with too much left undone. Some of my mistakes I rectified later, but others…could not be redeemed.”
That might have been true, but it wasn’t what I needed to hear. “If you were going to give the old you some advice, what would it be?”
Mircea was silent for a long moment. “That when you become something more, you must often give up something to claim it.”
“That doesn’t sound very helpful!”
“Perhaps not, but there are no hard and fast rules in survival. I did what we all do when faced with something we believe beyond our abilities.”
“And what’s that?”
“The best I could.”
“And when that wasn’t good enough?” I whispered, finally admitting what
I’d been trying not to think about. That I wasn’t good enough. That the former Pythia had said it herself, in what I was beginning to think had been a prophecy: that I’d be either the best of us or the very worst. I had no idea what that first part meant, but I could really see the latter as a possibility.
“I found help.”
“Such as?”
“The family,” he said simply. “They stood behind me. Gave me something to fight for besides my own survival. Helped me believe that we would triumph, even when I sometimes doubted it myself.”
“The family,” I repeated dully. The very thing I didn’t have.
“Not the one of my birth. It was shattered, first by Father’s death and later by Vlad’s betrayal. But in time, I built a new one. I had Horatiu, then Radu and, eventually, others.”
Great advice—for another vampire. But I couldn’t just go out and make a family for myself. And every one I’d ever had had disappeared through murder or betrayal or bad luck.
“Well, some of us don’t have a family to fall back on,” I said bitterly.
“You have a family, dulceata?,” he told me, pulling me close. He moved slowly, giving me time to protest, to move away. When I didn’t, one hand circled my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck, his touch careful but sure. “You’ve always had one.”
“The family is loyal to you, not to me.”
“But as I am loyal to you, it amounts to the same thing.”
“Are you?” I searched his face. It was beautiful, flames dancing in those dark eyes, shining on his hair. And as usual it told me exactly nothing. “I’m a seer, not a telepath, Mircea. I’m not even as good as a vamp at telling when someone is lying.”
“What do you feel?” He was breathing softly through his mouth and I felt it on my lips, warm and heavy. For a second, the memory of his mouth was so vivid I wasn’t sure we weren’t kissing right now. It was all too easy to imagine loving Mircea. It was even easier to imagine the problems it could cause.
“The last things I can trust are my feelings!” I told him unsteadily. “Especially for you!”
“Ah, dulceata?,” he murmured. “You will learn as I did: family are the only ones you can trust.”
He took my face in his hands and smiled against my lips, and when I felt it, I couldn’t help smiling, too. I could feel his chuckle where my hand rested against his chest, and the thud of his heart picking up speed. I clung to him, my hands finding warm skin under his shirt, spreading across his back.
When he finally kissed me, it was nothing like Pritkin’s touch. Mircea was certain, but unhurried. Instead of bruising strength and dominance, he used a gentle, sure pressure that caught at my senses just as thoroughly. His hand stroked over my cheek as his tongue teased mine, warm and silky, transforming sweetness languorously into heat. The only word for the way Mircea kissed was “lush.”
“Your skin is cold,” he murmured, settling me against him. His body heat was at my back while the fire warmed me from the front. My dress had ridden up, above my knees, and the dry heat of the flames felt good on my legs.
I knew I couldn’t let this continue, but I was exhausted and my defenses were low. And that familiar voice was back, the one that told me I could put a stop to this, in one more minute. Nothing would happen in just a minute, I’d be so careful…One of Mircea’s hands stayed on my waist, while another found its way underneath my skirts, skimming up my left calf before sliding around to the back of my thigh. He began stroking lightly, rubbing small circles through the silk stocking. Suddenly my pulse was pounding, my vision going blurry, my skin warming all over.
“We can’t,” I told him unsteadily, trying to remember why that was important.