Eleventh Grade Burns(47)

For a moment, D’Ablo lowered the blade. But he did not speak.

Vlad’s heart rate settled some, but just barely. “You knew my dad. You were close to him, you said it yourself. In a twisted kind of way, we have something in common. Wouldn’t you say?”

A low chuckle, full of superiority. “Master Pravus, you presume too much.”

“About what? About you?”

D’Ablo sighed impatiently “Yes, about me. About your father, our relationship, your role in this world. It is your presumption that makes you weak. I despise weakness.”

Vlad wasn’t about to bring up the fact that D’Ablo had been weakened by the lack of a hand. He knew he could run out the door and speed his way to the safety of Otis and Vikas, but this wasn’t something they’d understand. Whatever it was between him and D’Ablo was between him and D’Ablo. They had to settle this on their own. Like men. Like vampires. “So set me straight. What am I presuming?”

D’Ablo sighed again. His tone was that of a weary adult explaining something to a young child. “The pieces are in place, Master Pravus, but this game is far from finished.”

Vlad shook his head. “You sound like Dorian. He never makes much sense either.”

D’Ablo shot Vlad a look that said that he very much disliked Dorian. With a raised eyebrow, he frowned. “Perhaps you’re not the only one guilty of making presumptions.”

Vlad kept a keen eye on the dagger, but lightened his tone. He had no doubts that at any second, D’Ablo would attempt to finish his ritual. “Why do you want to be the Pravus, anyway? Believe me, it won’t exactly solve all your problems.”

“To be the Pravus is to be godlike. It is a gift unlike any other. Many have searched for a way to claim that status. All have failed. But for me.” He looked at Vlad then, his expression softening some. “Surely you’ve studied the elements of the prophecy well enough by now to understand that a time will come, Master Pravus, when you will be forced to rule over the very humans you love. This is not something you wish to do. After all, you are just a boy. But I ... I would take great pleasure in this act. Step aside. Allow me to rule.”

Vlad set his jaw. “As tempting as your offer is to give up and die, to let you enslave my family and friends and do who knows what to Elysia ... I’m afraid my answer is no.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then D’Ablo sighed. “Very well then.”

For a while, neither of them moved. Then, just as Vlad was beginning to wonder what D’Ablo was thinking, D’Ablo lunged at him with the dagger raised high, a terrible growl emitting from his throat. Instinctively Vlad ducked to the side, barely escaping the blade. When he looked back at D’Ablo, he couldn’t resist quipping, “It’s nice to know you’re no longer getting your cronies to do your dirty work for you.”

D’Ablo whipped around faster than Vlad anticipated. The blade sunk into Vlad’s shoulder, buried deep into his flesh. He screamed and fell to the floor, Nelly’s presence in the house an afterthought.

D’Ablo pulled the weapon out, sending a spurt of Vlad’s blood to the floor. With a smug smile, he slowly wiped the bloodied blade on his pant leg. “I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure of killing you, boy.”

Vlad cupped his wounded shoulder with his palm. Strangely the burning, the stinging, the pain of it disappeared. Normally it would’ve taken three days for a cut like that to go away, but this time ... it had taken only moments.

He flicked his eyes to D’Ablo, who didn’t seem to have any clue at all that Vlad wasn’t wounded anymore. D’Ablo shook his head and crouched in front of him. “What does it feel like to know that you’ve lost, Master Pravus? What does it feel like to know that you’ve lost to a better vampire?”

Vlad took a deep breath and slanted his eyes. “You tell me.”

Before D’Ablo realized what was happening, Vlad kicked the dagger from his hand, sending it flying to the other side of his bedroom. It clattered against the wall and fell with a thump near the secret door to the attic.

Infuriated, D’Ablo howled and reached for Vlad, but Vlad dove over him, past him, reaching for the dagger. Once he had it, he stood and gripped it tightly in his trembling hand.

D’Ablo stood as well, that air of smug superiority never leaving him. He approached Vlad slowly, but confidently, and chuckled. “What good will it do you? It’s not a stake. My life is intact. Wound me? Yes. But I will always return to claim what is rightfully mine.”