Saber raised his arms and grasped his hair; he clenched his fists into two tight knots and dropped his head, inadvertently pulling a handful of his mane free. “You’ve done your worst. You’ve cast your spell. And my heart bleeds.”
It was a statement of such pure vulnerability, Vanya could hardly believe he had uttered it. “I’ve done no such thing,” she insisted. She stared at his chest, half expecting to see blood ooze from a wound, and then she took a careful step backward. She was just about to argue her case when she felt the origin of his words. She felt his absolute despair, and she understood the illogical nature of his reasoning. “Oh…gods…” she mumbled, more to herself than him. Gentling her voice, she slowly shook her head. “No, Saber. This is not a spell. No one has cast anything upon you.” She blinked several times as her eyes began to moisten. “The pain is called grief, and you are experiencing it…feeling it…perhaps for the first time.”
His head snapped up in immediate dissension; his glare was stark with defiance. “No! It is not!” He sounded furious. “You are a sorceress, a celestial being; you know the ancient magic; and you are doing this on purpose.” His lips curled back from his fangs, and the visage was terrifying. “And one way or another, you can make it stop.”
Vanya swallowed hard, reaching for the right words: What did one say to a wounded animal, a wolf caught in a trap, snarling in desperation to break free from the pain? “Saber, I swear to you”—she glanced briefly toward the heavens—“what you are feeling isn’t vengeance, and it isn’t magic. It is sorrow, and I cannot take it from you. But I would if I could.”
His reaction unsettled her even further as he slowly licked his lips and eyed her with suspicion. “Ah, I see,” he murmured, “you are too pure to seek vengeance. And I am too broken to understand. So, what is it, then, dear Princess, that brings you to my cage this night? Is it compassion?” His voice rose in proportion to his torment. “Did you come to offer solace?” His eyes grew dark with mockery. “Or is your visit one of charity and goodness, that which is beyond my grasp?” He cocked his head to the side and held her gaze in an unblinking stare. “So now…you are my friend?”
Vanya didn’t know whether to strike him or to try and soothe him; and honestly, what was the point of either? “No,” she answered matter-of-factly, “I am not your friend.” Turning her nose up in defiance, she added, “But I am human.”
He smiled then. “Don’t you mean celestial?”
She sighed. “Celestial and human. And I do know what it is to suffer.”
He shook his head as if dismissing the remark offhand. “So you know what it’s like to live for eight hundred years in a familiar world, to strictly adhere to your society’s rules, only to see all the rules changed…and to watch the earth shift on its axis?”
Vanya’s mouth felt suddenly dry, and she swallowed, trying to gather moisture. “I know what it is to live twenty-one years in a familiar world, to be forced to play by the rules of a cruel and untenable game, only to lose everything in the end. I know what it is to wake up twenty-eight hundred and ten years later to find my entire civilization gone.”
Although he listened to her words, he didn’t seem to hear them. It was almost as if something got lost in the translation. “So you know this bitter sting of betrayal?” He stared right through her. “You know what it feels like to look into the eyes of someone you have served faithfully, since the time of the Aztec Empire and beyond, only to see abject hatred staring back at you?”
She wondered who he was referring to now: his brother? His father? Salvatore? It really didn’t matter. Whoever it was, she understood better than he knew. “Yes, Dragon. I understand more than you know.”
His eyelids grew heavy and dense, like he was lost somewhere in the quagmire of his mind, mired in the unrelenting muck of treachery. “Salvatore Nistor is a maggot,” he said sharply. “He always has been. Did you know that?” His eyes met hers, and they were unusually focused, considering the fact that the soul beneath them was absent and his stare was ironically vacant.
Vanya hesitated to answer. Of course she knew Salvatore was a bastardly worm. Everyone in the house of Jadon knew this, but how much could she say? Safely? “He is…despicable.”
Saber shrugged, taking no obvious offense to her words. He was still so far away, so lost, so absorbed in his pain. “He was never a friend, never a trusted brother, like Diablo and”—his voice faltered, however slightly, as he forced himself to speak his murdered brother’s name—“and Dane.” He cleared his throat and pushed through it. “But I have been loyal to that son of a bitch—and to the house of Jaegar—all my life. A long life, I might add. And now Salvatore wants me dead.” The words rolled off his tongue in a derisive manner, and he repeated the sentiment for effect: “Dead, Princess. And all because I was born in a place and time—and in a way—I don’t even remember. And had nothing to do with.”
He was rambling now, and Vanya sighed. “For whatever it is worth, Saber, Prince Jaegar was not some revered councilman or sorcerer, at least not to me, nor was he some elusive paragon of history. He was my brother, my own flesh and blood, and he tried to have me killed simply because I was born female. So, believe it or not, I do know how it feels to be bitterly betrayed.”
Saber winced at the sound of her words, almost as if he had heard them this time—was that even possible? And then his chest tightened, as if he suddenly experienced a sharp stab of pain. “My father is gone.”
Vanya let out a slow, deep breath. “So is mine.”
“Dane was loyal to me. He wanted to save me. And now he’s dead.”
“Jadon was loyal to me. Ultimately, he did save me. And he is gone as well.”
Saber shook his head in resignation. “I can never go back, Princess.”
“Neither can I, Dragon.”
“I have no home. No people. No life worth living.”
She didn’t respond this time. How could she possibly make him understand that she also understood that feeling? She was a vestige from the past, living in a new land, a new culture, and a new century, wholly unprepared for any of it.
He lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially, almost as if he were sharing a shameful secret, “I don’t belong in this world.” He relaxed his fists and his hands began to tremble before him. “I don’t understand this world; and I sure as hell didn’t ask for it.”
Vanya didn’t downplay his words or try to argue with his assessment. She simply nodded with understanding. “Neither did I.”
Their eyes met once again, only this time, his pupils were no longer vacant. There was…something…there.
A connection?
He stared at her so long it made her uneasy. It was as if he were really seeing her for the first time, not just some idea of an ancient princess or an uncovered relic from a time gone by, and if ever they were going to share a real moment, this was probably it.
Vanya held her breath, unsure of what to do. In her bones, she was too afraid to deepen the connection; yet in her heart, she was equally afraid to break it.
When at last he spoke, his grief was palpable. “Vanya…” He spoke her name humbly. “I can’t breathe.”
Vanya’s heart sank in her chest. The anguish in those three simple words…the honesty. “I know, but it gets easier.”
He reached up for her hands once again, but he didn’t clasp them in his. Rather, he ran the palms of his own trembling fingers lightly over her forearms in a darkly dangerous caress. “Then even if you did not cast a spell on me, you can. You do know magic—use it.”
She wrinkled up her brow. “How, Saber? I—”
“Make it stop.” He shut his eyes and held his breath; he clenched his teeth so tightly it looked like his jaw might crack; and then, struggling to maintain his composure, he slowly reopened his eyes and tried once again. “By all the dark lords—or those that are light—just make it stop.” His voice was thick with desperation.
“Make what stop, Dragon?” she asked, feelin
g helpless. Surely, he didn’t think she could save him from himself. Stop the pain.
“This,” he insisted, sweeping his arm around the cell. “It,” he added, placing the palm of his hand over his heart. “Everything,” he said, gazing at her with such raw emotion that it stunned her.
Vanya took a calculated step back, feeling too confused to think. For the first time since she had met the wayward vampire, Saber Alexiares’s expression was no longer blatantly evil. It was no longer a cauldron of pure, unadulterated hatred, and his heart was no longer a paragon of darkness.
He was neither good nor bad, a creature to be explicitly feared or implicitly trusted.
The moonlight shone hauntingly through the window in a conical spotlight, highlighting his distressed features, and it revealed him for exactly what he was: a wounded, desperate animal, begging for relief. “The pain—the madness—just make it all stop.”
“I’m so sorry,” Vanya whispered.
“Then help me.”
“It just doesn’t work that way, Saber.”
He nodded, as if accepting her words reluctantly, and then he turned his attention back to the craggy dirt floor and began to claw at the ground, once again, seeming to slip further away into madness.
“Look at me,” Vanya insisted. When he didn’t look up, she chose to take a great risk: She knelt before him, gently cupped his face in her hands, and tentatively tilted his head to force his gaze. “Look at me, Dragon.”
His eyes met hers, and he was so incredibly…lost.
“It doesn’t work that way, Saber. You just have to try and live…to try and breathe…one day, one breath, at a time.”
“I don’t want to breathe,” he whispered.
“But you must.”
He placed his hands over the backs of hers, the mildness of his touch far more frightening than his cruelty ever could have been, and he stared at her mouth as if memorizing every fine detail. He watched her inhale and exhale in rapt fascination; and then, finally, he issued a new plea: “Breathe for me.”
“Oh, Saber…”
“Breathe for me, Princess.” His eyes grew cloudy, the pupils narrowed, and the crimson centers faded once again to black; only this time, they were filled with a vivid, unyielding clarity.
“I cannot.”
He leaned toward her, stopped just short of covering her mouth with his, and inhaled deeply, as if trying to steal her very breath. “Breathe for me!”
Saber stared at the rose-colored lips in front of him, watching as they gently parted to take in air. The face of the princess seemed divine, otherworldly, cloaked in some kind of radiance that he couldn’t name—he had no point of reference. Just the same, her spirit called to his, offering him sanctuary, promising to make the unbearable pain stop.
If only for a moment.
Vanya Demir had the power to vanquish the fire that burned inside of him, like lava flowing through his veins, gathering at his heart. It was scorching him from the inside out, and she could make it stop.
Saber needed.
Like he had never needed before.
Something.
Anything.
Respite.
Just one silent moment in a lifetime of noise—and she could give him that.
“Breathe for me,” he pleaded once again, his eyes wandering from her mouth to the golden cascade of hair that blanketed her shoulder. It was velvety soft yet brilliant, like silk spun from flames, and it fell far beyond her shoulders to the bend of her waist, where it rested in thick waves of enchantment. The baby-fine texture of her skin was almost candescent. If he could just…crawl inside…whatever that was…
Wherever she was.
The fire would stop burning.
“Saber, it isn’t possible. I—”
“Have you ever been free?” he whispered.
She drew back. “’Tis a strange question.”
He shook his head and held her gaze, unblinking. “Have you ever been free?”
“Dragon, you ask too personal of a question. I…I am not comfortable with this conversation.”
He watched her body language carefully—he might be a heartless bastard, born to a house of darkness, but he wasn’t without intelligence. He had lived for eight centuries, and in that time, he had learned to read subtle nuances, what the house of Jadon might call emotions; and Vanya was holding onto her self-possession, as well as her royal, celestial dignity, by a thread. She was being everything she was trained to be, and nothing she desired to be.
No, this wouldn’t do. She couldn’t pull away. Not now.
She must not go away.
In this tragic moment, Vanya Demir was all that was anchoring him to this world, however contemptible his life had become, and he couldn’t let her hide behind her safe façade of duty, poise, and purpose—so he pressed her: “In Romania, when Jaegar and Jadon still lived, were you free then?”
Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly, and she unwittingly wrung her hands together. “What does it matter, Dragon? That was so long ago—”
“Don’t hide from me, Princess. Answer. Growing up…in Romania…were you free?”
She shook her head slowly, at last giving in. “No, of course not. I belonged to my people.”
He nodded. “Here. In Dark Moon Vale—are you free now?”
She frowned. “Saber, I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“Yes, you do.” He rushed the words. “I see it in your eyes, Princess. I hear it in your voice. I sense it in your…blood.” He reached out to take her hand in his, turned her arm over to expose her wrist, and slowly inhaled her scent. “The way it rushes through your veins with so much force, so much certainty.” He stared at her chest, just above her left breast. “The very rhythm of your heart speeds up whenever you’re in my presence, and your breaths, they grow so…shallow.”
Vanya snatched her arm away and paled, looking suddenly distressed. “That’s because I’m afraid.”
“Of me?” he asked.
“Of course!” she exclaimed.
“You should be.” He spoke honestly. “But I think it’s more than that. You are alive.”
She averted her gaze, and he gave her a moment to let his words sink in, not fully understanding where this new tact was coming from. Was he playing her like he had done with Kristina? After all, he was evil—not incompetent—and he could manipulate with the best of them, or was there something else driving him?
Something so much more urgent and elemental.
He was just…hurting…so badly.
Needing…so much.
He could no longer bear his own existence, and somehow, he knew this female held the panacea to his anguish, if only for a moment. “You come alive in my presence, Princess,” he said. He steeled himself against her expected reaction and reached up to place the palm of his hand brazenly on her heart: It was thundering in her chest. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. Not here. Not now. Not to me. Like sees like.”
Vanya nearly recoiled at the words, but he didn’t care. He was beyond caring. He simply wanted to disappear into the nothingness that had to exist at the center of her being. “Don’t lie to me,” he repeated. “The truth is, I make you feel alive.”
“’Tis not true, Dragon,” she argued, sounding almost desperate.
Her words snapped him out of his reverie. “It is true,” he insisted.
“Gods forgive you for your arrogance,” she retorted. “You are a—” She stopped short, either unwilling or unable to complete the thought.
“Monster,” he supplied, never missing a beat.
“Evil,” she said, averting her misty, rose-colored eyes.
“Yes.” He ran the back of his fingers along her gently sloped, angular cheek. The ridges were so high, so pronounced, this enigmatic Romanian female. “I am darkness personified…everything you are not.”
“Yes.” The word was a whisper, and she trembled. “And you are proud of it.”
“No.” He shook his head. He was proud—alway
s proud—but not in this moment. Not today. Today, he was only broken. “Breathe for me,” he repeated.
Vanya rose to her feet, swallowed convulsively, and tried to step away, but Saber caught her by the hem of her skirt. She brushed his hand away forcefully. “I cannot,” she insisted.
He stood, too, then, all at once rising to his full height and unintentionally towering over her dainty frame. He did not mean to intimidate her, only to…to be near her. He hooked his arm around her waist and drew her close, sighing in her ear. “I can’t breathe.”
“It is not my doing…’tis not my fault.” She sounded cornered. Frantic.
“But you can fix it,” he said.
“I can’t!”
He lowered his mouth to hers and made a seal over her lips—it was so gentle it was nearly undetectable—and then he slowly inhaled, praying for relief. When at last he drew back, he growled the words: “Fire and ice.”
She trembled uncontrollably, her eyes misting with very real tears. “What?” She was breathless with fright yet heady with anticipation.
“The life I have lived until now is an inferno, and my soul is on fire. It’s killing me. But the life you have lived until now is like ice, frozen in time, barren and cold.” He bent his head to her neck and lightly grazed his fangs against her jugular. As far as he knew, it might be blood that he needed, her essence intertwined with his, whatever it was that made her unique. “Give me your ice.” He sank his fangs into her neck and drew a quick taste of blood before quickly extracting his canines and sealing the wound. “Take my fire. Use me. I don’t care if you consume me or destroy me—just breathe for me.”
Vanya pushed against his chest with both hands, although the gesture was weak with uncertainty and failing resolve: Saber knew she was capable of sending him flying across the room, yet there he stood, upright and before her, still in one piece. “Breathe for me, Princess, and feel the life course through your veins, perhaps for the first time in your long existence. Take all that I have, without thought for anyone but yourself. Just once, live for the moment, and we will both be free.”