Eleventh Grade Burns(48)

D’Ablo spun around with vampire speed, but it was just what Vlad had been hoping for. He spun too and plunged the dagger deep into D’Ablo’s shoulder. Through muscle, tendon, bone. The point of the blade stuck out of D’Ablo’s back. D’Ablo hissed, but didn’t scream.

Vlad gripped the hilt tightly and growled, then pulled the dagger upward in one clean jerk. His hand was covered in D’Ablo’s blood and still gripping the handle ... but the blade had broken off and was buried in D’Ablo’s flesh and bone.

D’Ablo cried out and fell to his knees. When he looked up at Vlad’s hand and realized that his ritual dagger—the one thing that might steal Vlad’s status as the Pravus for him—had been destroyed, his eyes filled with a venomous evil that Vlad had never witnessed before. Slowly, he stood again, and, digging into his wound before it could begin the healing process, he gripped the blade with his fingers and ripped it from the sinewy tissues of his shoulder.

The sound it made sent a shiver up Vlad’s spine. But Vlad managed to keep his voice both even and strong. “Get out. Now.”

To his utter shock, D’Ablo left without another word.

It took Vlad an hour to clean up all the blood. And Nelly didn’t make as much as a peep the entire time.





20





GIVING THANKS


THE CAR WAS COMPLETELY SILENT on the drive over to Henry’s house. The only one who seemed remotely relaxed was Nelly, but even she wasn’t talking. Maybe she knew if she did, Otis and Vlad would snap at her for agreeing to drag her vampire boyfriend and half-vampire ward to a Thanksgiving feast with the one person in town who they knew wanted blood more than they did. Otis was usually incredibly giving when it came to Nelly, but even he looked irritated beyond belief. Vlad folded his arms in front of him, slumping as far down in the backseat as he could. He had no idea what Nelly had been thinking when she told Henry’s mom, Matilda, that they’d love to come. Granted, this was all Matilda’s idea. But still.

Maybe Matilda thought that if she could get Joss and Vlad together over the holidays, they’d get along just dandy once again. For some reason, Matilda was just crazy enough to think that some pumpkin pie and cranberries were enough to heal a rift as big as the one between them. But she was wrong. There was no way Vlad was forgiving anything that Joss had done—not after he’d invaded Vlad’s sanctuary and stole the most precious thing Vlad owned. Maybe once that would have been possible, but after the attack on Vikas, and the conniving thievery, Vlad had come to realize that there could never be a peace between them. And by the look on Otis’s face, Vlad would have bet he felt the same way.

Vlad sighed and decided he’d be the first to break the silence. “What am I supposed to eat for nourishment while we’re there, Nelly?”

“I told Matilda you were fighting a stomach bug, so you wouldn’t feel much like eating. She’s just happy you’re feeling up to joining us.”

“I think I’m coming down with a bug too.” The corner of Otis’s mouth rose in a smirk as Nelly shot him a glance. “It’s a vampire bug. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“Would you two stop whining? It’s not going to kill you to sit through dinner with Joss.” She grew quiet for a moment, as if contemplating the possibility that her sentence might contain at least a smidgeon of irony. Then she shook her head. “Really. It’s not.”

Vlad shook his head, amazed by her innocence of the severity of the situation, her unfailing belief that good really lurked inside the hearts of everyone. “She really doesn’t get it, does she?”

“What human does?” Otis smiled. By the look on Nelly’s face, she knew a conversation was going on that she couldn’t be a part of. He reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “She just wants everyone to get along. No matter how impossible that might seem.”

Vlad folded his arms in front of him and sank down in his seat. “I’m not sitting by Joss. She can’t make me forgive him for all he’s done. Why would she even want that?”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s trying to accomplish, Vladimir. I believe she’s merely looking for a sense of family around the holiday season. And we . . . not to mention the McMillans . . . are her family. No matter how dysfunctional that idea might be to you, Joss, or me. Blood doesn’t make a family, Vladimir. Love does.”