“This is the heart of the labyrinth,” the Old Priest explains.
“You two,” Mark tells the two serpents close to him. “Follow the trail back outside—” Some have shed skin on our way here, and now I understand why. “Wait for Dracula, and bring him to us when he arrives.”
Soraya steps in. “I sent instructions he should come alone, or only with one of his people. It isn’t supposed to be his brother.” She looks at her father as she explains. “The Prince of Midnight is too powerful. Together, they would have a chance to bring us down.”
Hope lights up inside of me, though I struggle to hide it. Lord Dracula isn’t only a powerful warrior, but also a cunning one. He kept his brilliance as a strategist hidden for centuries. It’s not the most famous thing about him, and that’s one hell of a strategy in itself. His secret weapon remains secret.
At Mark’s signal, the serpents form a circle along the cave’s wet walls. The air is humid in here, filling my lungs in a heavy way, making it difficult to breathe. We must be deep inside the mountain, too, because the pressure weighs on my eyeballs.
The Old Priest finds a cozy place nearby to watch. I bend from my waist, looking at him around the serpent to my right.
“Whatever your plan was, you underestimated Lord Dracula,” I tell him. “He will find a way to get Tristan out of this.”
The Old Priest laughs quietly, without looking at me, as if he doesn’t want to miss anything from the preparations for the fight between Tristan and the alligator.
“I know Dracula better than you think. This time, my plan is flawless.”
This time....
“And what part did I play in your wicked plan?” I spew.
The Old Priest turns his ugly face to me, and it’s all I can do to keep from shaking.
“I attracted Mark Serpaint into your life, knowing full well what would happen. I knew he’d want to have you, you’re, how shall I put this.” He narrows his eyes as if he’s looking for the word. “There’s something about you that invites abuse. You’re the perfect victim, Isolde. So soft, so caring, oh-so-saintly. It was only logical that a supernatural with a sadistic core would want to find your breaking point. What’s the point at which you stop caring about others and show the true nature of the human—selfishness? At what point do you begin caring about your own pain more than about anyone else’s, and walk over dead bodies in order to save your own sweet ass?” He inspects my face, looking for the answer.
With my mouth twisted in a combination of disgust and fear, I look to the center of the ring. My eyes find Tristan, and my heart aches.
“Lord Dracula will save him,” I whisper, more as reassurance to myself, but the Old Priest feels compelled to respond.
“No, he won’t. I’ve devised the perfect plan to bring Dracula down, sweet girl. This time, God or the devil himself would have to step in to save him—and your sweetheart.” He’s drunk on his own anticipation, I can hear it in his scraping voice.
The alligator steps to the center of the cave, slowly throwing off his clothes. Soon he’s standing shirtless in the middle of the ring, a huge tattooed beast facing my beautiful vampire prince.
Tristan doesn’t move at all as Darius starts to shift, shedding his human skin like he would the skin of a serpent, a green reptile emerging from underneath his tattoos. He grows bigger out of his own skin, roaring in the pain of the shifting process as deadly fangs pierce his gums, pushing his human teeth apart. He rolls completely out of his human body, now standing as a giant alligator monster, snapping his jaws at his opponent—my Tristan.
I gasp and jolt forward, but the serpents keep me back.
“If you want what’s best for him,” one of them says, “you better keep your mouth shut. You wouldn’t want to distract him.” A glance at the speaker reveals a slimy grin that enjoys my distress as well. Hell, why do serpents enjoy others’ pain so much? Even vampires seem purring cats compared to them.
I lived a good while with a vampire best friend under the same roof, then I lived among a whole army of vampires in Bran for almost a month when my sister Juliet and my niece Rux married the two princes. But none of the vampires was inherently evil. Most of them were soft hearted once you got to know them. Despite popular belief, none of them killed the weak, but rather picked on the strong, the wicked, and the oppressive.
Tristan moves, and my back tenses. My vision tunnels on him. He’s all that matters, now and forever.
He strips of his shirt, revealing his broad-shouldered, athletic body that puts all serpents to shame. He’s so beautiful, my warrior prince, that it seems a sacrilege anything should scar that body. There are scars on his back, but they are too fine for the human eye to see. He was still human when that bastard Mark inflicted those whiplashes on him, and after Lord Dracula turned him into a vampire, they completely sealed. The only reason they are visible to vampire eyes is that those lashes left a mark on Tristan’s soul. And vampires’ bodies reflect their soul.
The Old Priest is a strange case, though. I remember what Juliet told me about him. His soul is so ugly that even vampire beauty wasn’t guaranteed on him—beauty being one of the main reasons why he wanted to become a vampire. But he turned out to be an exception, and his existence as a vampire became a source of frustration.
The air turns thick as Tristan begins showing his vampire self. The bones of his face protrude, making him seem half man half beast. His upper lip curls over his lengthening fangs, his blue eye glinting like metal so sharp they could cut.
His muscles bulge, his knuckles grow like concrete, and claws push out from his fingers. I know he’s done transforming when he balls his fists that seem both claws and hammers.
“He is magnificent, isn’t he?” The Old Priest says, now even closer to me. He smells rotten. “If I’d turned out anything like him, none of this would be happening, sweet Isolde.”
“You have only yourself to blame for having become a monster. What you were on the inside spilled itself on the outside once you became a vampire.” I force myself to look at him as I say, “As a great wise man once said—change your heart and you’ll change your face; change your face and you’ll change your fate.” I hold his gaze. “There’s nothing anyone can do about your looks or weaknesses, Old Priest. Only you can. By the way.” I tilt my head to the side, my interest genuine. “What is your real name?”
He snorts. “That’s funny. You’re the only person who ever asked.”
There’s a whoosh through the air, and my head snaps back to Tristan, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
“It has begun,” the Old Priest says, clearly looking forward to the show.
Tristan leaps out of the way as the alligator attacks him. Being so big and heavy, the shifter is slower than my vampire prince. But it looks like he’s as strong as the Hulk, and one blow would be enough to seriously damage Tristan.
My heart slams harder with each one of the alligator’s attacks. He lunges forward with his jaws, snapping them at Tristan. The sound fills the cave, the serpents hissing as they cheer him on. My skin crawls with all the hissing that echoes against the natural vaulted ceiling of the cave.
Darius is dangerously strong. He forces Tristan against the wall and lurches forward with his open snout at him.