Page 99 of Of Flame and Fate
“Then don’t let me. Explain yourself. Why her? What’s so special about this girl?”
“Her lineage,” he answers simply.
“Her lineage?” I look back to the house, trying to pick up on something other than vampire. “Don’t tell me she’s a witch.”
“No, not a witch,” he replies, appearing amused.
“Then what is she?” Although I ask, I’m no longer sure I want to know.
Misha leans back in his seat and brushes a strand of his loose hair behind his ear, only for the soft breeze to sweep it back against his cheek. A small smile forms around his perfect lips. “She is a direct descendant of Vlad Dracula.”
“The Impaler,” I clarify. “The original master of all the masters?”
“Yes.”
I glance up as if I can somehow see her from where I stand. I can’t. That might be a good thing because holy shit, I think Misha has lost his damn mind.
“She’s not a vampire,” I say.
“No.”
“So then why . . . What’s the point?”
“Breasha is of royal blood.”
“So?”
“She has been educated in the best schools.”
“And?”
“Her family history is impeccable.”
“I still don’t get it.”
Misha stares back at me as if questioning my intelligence. Typically, only his vampires look at me that way. I scowl at him. “She’s the most suitable choice,” he explains as if I’m missing the obvious.
“Because of who her great-great-great-great granddaddy was?” I ask.
“No, because of her blood. Any child I bear with her will be unstoppable.”
He abruptly stops speaking, clutching his heart and curling in agony.
I hurry to him, cupping his shoulder. “Misha, what is it—”
I leap back when his fangs elongate and his savage gaze meet mine. The earth shifts, not shakes, not rumbles, it shifts. First left, then right, knocking me on my ass.
“Taran!”
Johnny stands a few feet away, his tattoos swirling and travelling across his arms and around his body, the tailspin of movement and energy punching through the air like angry fists. But it’s Misha, roaring in pain that lures my focus back to him. His shirt falls away in pieces from the surge of vampiric magic coursing through him.
At once the world erupts in gold, blue, and white and I’m thrown across the garden.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rows of skulls erupt from ground, their mouths opening and closing as if crying out in pain. Alternating flames of blue and gold burn their faces, the heat singeing and cracking through the dense bone.
“Taran!” Johnny is yelling from afar. I can’t hear what he’s saying. I only know he’s scared and in trouble.