He can’t waste another minute. A new plan has already started to form in his head, but just as he pushes his way forward through a thicket into a clearing, he bumps into someone.
Lighting strikes, illuminating the soaked figure of the Mistress of Pain. She stares at him out of demonic black eyes, her hair plastered to the sides of her face and her neck. She just stands there in the storm, doing nothing, but The Wicked knows her presence alone is a death sentence.
He sidesteps her, and she does nothing to stop him. He runs heavily, his feet catching in the mud as he turns to look at her. She still stands there, with her back at him, but then he bumps into another obstacle.
Looking up at the person standing in his way, The Wicked screams, stumbling and falling on his back. Above him are the black eyes of the Mistress of Pain.
“Tell me,” she says in the eerie voice that she takes when she’s in this form. “The secret to human immortality. Is it real?”
“Of course it is,” he mutters. “I’ll give it to you if you swear to let me go.”
“Oh, yes. You will give it to me. In exchange for the afterlife.”
An unnatural grin stretches on that impossibly white face with the strikingly back eyes. Her dark dress sticks to her large breasts and wide hips, soaked as it is, and The Wicked can’t help thinking she must also have the power of a sex demon.
A ball of warmth begins coiling in his lower belly, a sensation that worries him. With good reason. The sensation intensifies and spreads, burning to the rest of his body, soon having him screaming and wriggling in the mud as his body burns from the inside out. It’s hell.
“Please, I beg of you, just kill me.”
“Give me the secret, and I’ll end your suffering,” Lady Ruxandra says calmly.
She has grown stronger, much stronger than he remembered. Now, in the last moment of his life, The Wicked sees the flaw in his plan—he never foresaw the kind of weapon that Lady Ruxandra could become. He underestimated her. Back in the cave he told Isolde Jochs that God or the devil would have to personally step in to save her lover. Well, the devil did intervene, in the form of the Mistress of Pain.
Desperate for the relief of death, The Wicked surrenders his best-kept secret. A moment later, the searing heat fades from his body, and all the lights go out.
EPILOGUE – Happily Ever After
Isolde
ALL OF BRAN CHEERS as Tristan and I emerge from the church. Such joy swells in my chest as I look out to the crowd, that I think I’ll burst. A full moon hangs low in the sky over the mountains with thick forests that hide a myriad of mysteries.
So many mysteries, a whole Hidden World waiting for me to explore it, side by side with the man of my life. If everything I lived until a month ago was anticipated payment for this blissful life with Tristan, every second of it was worth it.
The wedding had to take place at night, so that all vampires could take part in it. Some couldn’t step inside the church, because the sins of their pasts are too heavy, and they stayed outside, but they’re still enjoying themselves.
Still, there’s something that has me on edge. This is the night when I will be turned into a vampire myself. Tristan has a hunch that he is my Grail, since we are now mated, and that he can make me immune to silver and sunlight with his own blood. He preferred to wait until the wedding because he thinks it will sanctify our union in a special way.
I look up at my husband as confetti rains over us. The gypsies whistle, vampires cheer, the villagers call benedictions out at us. The witch Magda is close by our side, her eyes full of tears, like a mother’s. I give her a warm smile. None of this would have been possible without her.
Tristan is so incredibly handsome in his dark blue suit that’s fitted to his broad-shouldered, athletic body, that I can’t stop turning my eyes to him every other minute. His assassin face softens with love as he looks down at me. His eyes slip into my white lace cleavage, to my breasts that swell out of the push-up corset.
“Mine,” he growls from his chest, and desire glints dangerously in his eyes.
“Tonight, there will be no holding back,” I remind him. “You want to take my blood, you do it.”
Lord Dracula—Tristan’s best man—turns around with a smile, calling out something about ‘bride and groom’ in Romanian to the crowd, and the crowd roars, confetti bursting higher, white pigeons springing and flapping their white wings in the air. My arm hooked around Tristan’s, we start down the stairs, and toward the castle with the attendees trailing behind us.
The party will be grand. As a girl, I admittedly always dreamt of a big wedding, but this is another level. It’s a wedding worthy of royalty, as big as Juliet’s and Ruxandra’s.
Up at Dracula’s castle chandeliers sparkle, wine flows, people laugh and dance and cheer. But as Tristan invites me to our first dance, I forget all about the world around us.
Music flows, filling my eardrums as I sway and glide in my husband’s strong arms, the fabric of his suit just a flimsy coating over a body hard as granite. I can’t wait to feel him bury himself balls deep inside of me, my wet thighs quivering around his hard hips as he sinks his fangs into my carotid, taking my blood and pouring his seed inside of me at the same time. The thought is enough to make me cream the scrap of white lace between my legs. I’m lost in his eyes, and he in mine, until Dracula interrupts us with a hand on Tristan’s shoulder.
It seems like both of us have just descended from a trance. So taken with each other, we haven’t realized the bride’s and groom’s first dance is long over, the band playing a bouncing round, but a good chunk of the crowd is still staring at us.
I’m still drunk with my happiness until I register the grave look on Lord Dracula’s face.
“Lord Dracula,” Tristan says. “What is it?”
“Vlad,” Lord Dracula says. “Call me Vlad. After all, we’ve known each other for centuries, and for the most part we’ve been as close as brothers. Besides, you’re no longer a simple vampire. You’re mighty now, lord over Mark Serpaint’s cell of serpents. It’s no longer proper that you refer to me as Lord—unless I address you by the same title.”
I guess any other man would jump to hug Dracula, or at least shake his hand as though he’s given them the gift of their lives, but Tristan furrows his brow, only acknowledging the honor with a curt nod.
“I appreciate it.” He clears his throat. “I do care about you as a brother. But your smile doesn’t fool me. So spill it—bro.”
Dracula’s sculpted mouth quirks up in a smile. “No, Tristan. This is your evening, so enjoy it to the fullest, both of you. But I will have to make an early exit.”
Tristan squares his shoulders, taking a step closer to Dracula, invading his personal space. “Why? What is happening?”
“Tristan, Isolde, this is your wedding—”
“And you,” I say, stepping closer, too. “Are our family. You, Ruxandra, Juliet and Radek are our home, our haven and our closest friends.” I look up at Tristan, his electric blue eyes filled with appreciation and love as he looks down at me. “We want to share everything with you, no matter what.”
Dracula ponders, looking from me to Tristan.