Eleventh Grade Burns(19)

Dorian’s eyes brimmed with apologies. “I am sorry, Vlad. But I must have your blood. It calls to me, and I shall heed that call no matter the cost.”

Dorian stepped closer, ready to bite. He was poised over Vlad’s neck when the answer came.

Otis couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, but only because Dorian had stopped him—not because Dorian was controlling him. Quickly, Vlad slipped into Otis’s thoughts and, with an apology, took control over his uncle’s actions. With his control, Otis stepped forward, shoving Dorian from Vlad. Dorian stumbled back, blinking in confusion.

His spell over the crowd broke, and angry voices erupted.

Vlad’s heart raced, and he shot Otis an apologetic glance for having used mind control, but Otis shook it off in gratitude. Then Otis turned to Dorian. “You will leave my home and keep your distance from my nephew.”

Vikas placed a hand on Otis’s shoulder, but something about the way he looked told Vlad he was positioning himself to pull Otis back if a fight erupted.

Dorian’s fangs slowly shrank back into his gums. He kept his eyes on Vlad, a strange blend of curiosity and confusion filling them. After a moment, he nodded and moved through the kitchen and toward the back door.

Otis shook Vikas off and stepped away. He was calmer now that he’d had his say, but Vlad couldn’t help but wonder about the tension that seemed to ebb from his uncle in response to Dorian’s actions. He also couldn’t help but wonder why a vampire as powerful as Dorian would leave without even so much as an argument.

Otis turned back to Vikas. He looked worried, and equally as surprised as Dorian had. “I’ve never seen Dorian back down like that. I can’t help but wonder why.”

Vikas shook his head slowly, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “The answer, my old friend, is simple. Dorian has never backed down before. Perhaps he is ... conflicted.”

As Dorian reached the back door, he called out to Otis, his tone shaken. “When you want my help—and you will, Otis—you know where to find me.”

He opened the door, pausing long enough to meet Vlad’s eyes. With a single nod, he stepped out into the night.




Two hours later, Vlad had tired of the vampire crowd and felt safe enough to be alone, but not quite safe enough to head home. He retired upstairs to his old room, where Tristian stood watch from the hall—but not before Otis stopped him to make certain he wouldn’t leave without an escort. “Just stay here until our guests depart. Then Vikas or I will walk you home, all right?”

Vlad moved into his old room and before he closed the door, he replied, “I don’t need a babysitter, Otis.”

And he didn’t. He was the Pravus, for crying out loud. But ... he was really glad he didn’t have to worry about Dorian, Joss, or anyone else who might be out for his blood on his walk home tonight. He didn’t need a babysitter. But he certainly appreciated the company.

The room was painted in the same soft blue as it had been in his childhood. He wagered Otis had wanted to preserve those younger years for him in some way. As if color could do such a thing.

Vlad lay back on the bed, his eyes quickly fluttering closed. Drifting in that place between wakefulness and sleep, he thought about his mother and how she would sometimes enter his room at night, just to press her lips to his forehead. She’d whisper, “I love you, Vlad.” And Vlad would pretend to sleep, cuddled all warm and snug and safe under his blue blankets, which matched the color of his walls.

Maybe there was something to this color thing after all.

He drifted off and was on the verge of deep sleep when he thought he felt a presence, warm and wonderful, in his room. But when he opened his eyes, his mother was nowhere to be found.

What a stupid thing to hope for. After all, just because he missed her, just because this was the first night he had slept in his house since that horrible day when he’d lost his parents ... that didn’t mean his mom would be here, watching over him from beyond death.

Did it?

Vlad looked around the room, at the shadowed blue walls, at the new carpeting, the new light fixture, at everything that wasn’t his past and was his present.

No. She was gone. Gone forever. To someplace much happier, much brighter, and full of goodness, full of light. She had to be.

He curled up on his side, and as he gave in to the call of sleep he thought of his mother and all the wonderful moments that they had shared. For the first time since her death, he didn’t think of smoke and ash and that horrible moment when he’d lost her forever. He thought only of happy times and the warmth of his mother’s embrace.