Page 3 of Tryst or Treat (Season’s Readings #3)
V lad sat in his car, waiting for the last hints of daylight to surrender to the night. The vehicle’s windows were a custom job, a necessity for all vampires who wished to leave their homes during the day, and they blocked the sunlight from burning him alive while still offering a perfect view of the quaint church tucked away in this middle-of-nowhere garden. The building had no parking level or basement, meaning that all the wedding guests pouring through the front door were witches. The vampires would have to wait for the sun to relinquish her hold on the world, and he’d arrived at this unassuming location hours ago to ensure his son never set foot on those hallowed grounds. Vampires being unable to enter churches along with the myth that they couldn’t consume garlic or be seen in the mirror were lies his ancestors had spread like wildfire during the first age of men. When superstition ruled perception, those three simple assumptions protected most of their kind from being hunted, for if monsters weren’t permitted within the four walls of a church, then surely the worshipper next to you during the midnight mass must be human.
Still, the reality of his son wedding Rowena’s daughter in a cottage church was reason enough for Vlad to stop this disaster. A vampire marrying at the end of the summer in this ruthless heat was a sin in and of itself. It was an insult to his family name, and he couldn’t fathom what had possessed his fool of a child. Had the witch hexed him? Had she forced a potion down his throat? Threatened him with disembowelment? Convinced him he was in love? An icy shiver ran down his spine at that thought. His son in love with a witch? He was unworthy of the title of leader if his own flesh and blood could betray his kind so easily.
The burning sunset fluttered her dying wings, and then the world plunged into darkness. Vlad stepped out of his car, his black suit and dark hair hiding him in the shadows, and he watched with predatory vision as the street surged to life. He wasn’t sure what he was walking into, so he’d enlisted the support of his most trusted vampires. His son was not getting married tonight. The might of hell at his beck and call would ensure it.
“We have the surrounding streets blocked off,” Bartholomew said. Vlad’s second in command was almost as ruthless as his boss, one of his eyes a milky white from a witch attack sixty years ago. “We’ll see Gabriel coming before he realizes we’re waiting for him.”
“What time is the wedding supposed to start?” Vlad asked.
“Half an hour,” Bartholomew said. “He should be here any minute.”
“I would’ve assumed he’d be here already,” Vlad said. “He tried to hide this from me, and he almost got away with it, but he undoubtedly knows someone would oppose this farce. ”
“You would think, but rumor has it, Rowena supports the marriage.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. Our informants say she is in full support of her daughter.”
“Have you seen Belladonna?” Vlad asked. “What is it about this witch that has everyone wrapped around her fingers?”
“I have not,” Bartholomew answered. “Rowena always kept a close watch on the coven’s heir. Very few have seen her, which is one reason this wedding is so small.”
“I’ve met Rowena, but I’ve never so much as caught a whiff of her daughter’s scent,” Vlad said. “How on earth did my son find the girl?”
“That I couldn’t say,” Bartholomew said. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
Vlad grunted and adjusted his midnight black suit. “Stay here. I’m going to check and see if Gabriel’s waiting inside. He should’ve been here by now.”
“Will do, boss,” Bartholomew said as Vlad strode toward the entrance. It might be unwise to enter a church full of coven leaders alone, but Vlad had no intention of being spotted. He was a tall vampire, all muscle and power and death, but after centuries of bloodshed and war, he’d perfected the art of moving through the shadows. No one would see him as he searched, and while Rowena was powerful enough to sense his presence, he was banking on the fact that she’d be too busy fussing over the bride.
Vlad slipped into the building and angled toward the back rooms. Magic hung thick in the air, making his cold skin crawl. It had been decades since he’d been in such close proximity to so many witches, and it made his fangs ache. The scent of magic drove him to hunger, and he longed to carve his teeth into flesh. It would obliterate the peace treaty and plunge them into war, but the hunter in him begged for blood. Perhaps he should locate Rowena and end her life… and that of her witch daughter, too. He hated the coven, but Rowena had an exceptional head on her shoulders. How had she so readily agreed to this wedding? Maybe he should stop looking for his son and find this Belladonna. Maybe then he would understand what kind of spell she had everyone under, and if he was smart, he would sink his fangs into her throat and drink her dry, ending this circus.
Vlad meticulously checked every room, but Gabriel was nowhere to be found. Was this all a trap? Was Gabriel planning to lure the coven heads to this church and burn them at the metaphorical stake? It would certainly destroy the peace treaty, but that sort of brutal declaration of war would not win his son any favors. Hundreds of witches and vampires preferred living in peace, even if they hated each other. Families had finally stopped burying their children in favor of cultivating new lives. It was why Vlad’s authority had gone uncontested for so long. People may shout hate with their tongues, but most enjoyed the absence of war. There would always be blood for Vlad to spill in the name of his reign, but the tenuous peace had ensured the vampires thrived. If Gabriel did something so stupid as to slaughter the coven leaders under the guise of a wedding, war would never occur. The more likely outcome would be his son’s head on a spike as his own kind punished him for his stupidity.
Vlad’s cell vibrated, and he dug it out of his pocket, lifting it to his ear. “What?”
“We have Gabriel,” Bartholomew said. “His entourage just pulled up, and we’re holding him for you.”
“I’ll be out in a second.” Vlad hung up the phone and moved for the exit, but before he escaped the church, movement caught his eye. He lunged around a dark corner to watch the wedding party move into the sanctuary, but it was the woman in white that froze him to the carpeted floor.
Belladonna was pure grace as she practically floated through the hallway, her dress simple yet elegant, and if Vlad had a heart that beat, it would’ve stopped at the sight. She was young, although for witches and vampires, it was impossible to tell their true age by appearance. She looked twenty-five, but she could be fifty. After all, he looked forty despite his centuries. Thick brunette waves framed her seductive yet almost angelic features. Her lips were full. Her eyes were wide, and the shape of her face was exquisite art. Her slender neck was bare, and the barely-there straps of her wedding dress left far too much skin exposed. Her silken shoulders and chest were the perfection men waged war over, and her throat begged him to close the distance. Begged him to sink his fangs into her soft flesh and drink until he stained her white satin gown red. Only Vlad didn’t want to kill her. No, he wanted to feel her pulse as he tasted her, as she moaned his name and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was shorter than his intense height, her athletic form still in possession of dangerous curves, and for a moment, he forgot Belladonna was the enemy. He forgot she was a witch, and all he could think about was pushing her skirt up her thighs so that he could pin her against the wall and make her his while he drank from her.
That thought was so visceral he jerked back as if he’d been slapped, and the gorgeous witch vanished from sight. Vampires consumed blood to survive, but to drink from a lover while your bodies were joined wasn’t to sustain life. It was to create a bond, which was why most never let their fangs touch their partners until they were certain they’d found a mate. Vlad never drank from women he was intimate with, not even Gabriel’s mother, so the sudden desire to claim that witch was a punch to the gut. Who was this Belladonna? And why did he want her with such an intense longing that he was willing to destroy everything?
“What the hell are you doing here?” Gabriel shouted as Vlad strode through the darkness with the authority of a man who owned the night.
“Stopping you from making a mistake.” Vlad turned to Bartholomew. “Get him out of here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait, no!” Gabriel surged against the older vampire’s hold, but he was no match for Vlad’s right-hand enforcer. He was too young, too small even though he towered over mortal men, but Vlad and Bartholomew were vampires born of a different stock, bred for war and terror.
“You don’t understand,” Gabriel hissed. “I have to go through with this. I have to marry her.”
“I understand perfectly.” Vlad folded his arms across his muscular chest so that the tattooed skull stared his son down. The rumors that had reached his ears proclaimed his son loved his future wife, but three sentences were all Vlad needed to know the truth. His boy’s lies might have the world convinced, but he was not so easily fooled. Nor was he blind, and there was no affection in Gabriel’s eyes. “You are incapable of making sound decisions in my absence, so I’ve decided to return for the foreseeable future.”
“What? No. You can’t...”
“That’s the thing about being a god among our kind,” Vlad said. “I can do anything I please. Now go before you cause more damage. As it is, I have a hell of a mess to clean up after your stupidity.”
“Father, you can’t do this!” Gabriel shouted, but Vlad simply nodded at Bartholomew .
“Keep my son out of the church. Under no circumstances are you to let him inside.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And surround the building. I want everyone in plain sight.”
“Why?” Bartholomew asked. “Are you expecting something to go down?”
“Yes,” Vlad said, striding toward the sanctuary. “And I want a show of force. The witches need to understand they’re helpless to stop this.”
“Should we be worried?” Bartholomew asked, but Vlad entered the church without answering.
“Yes,” he whispered to himself. “Yes, you should.”
Belladonna fiddled with her bouquet as she stood alone before the altar. She could feel it in her bones, in the magic coursing through her veins. Something was wrong. Gabriel was late, and while her mind wanted to plunge to the worst-case scenario, the hum of the air warned his absence wasn’t what she was imagining. Gabriel hadn’t left her at the altar. Something else was at play. Something dark.
She glanced at her mother, the alarm in Rowena’s eyes confirming what her magic already sensed. Evil had come to this church.
Rowena threw her husband a distressed glance, a wordless conversation passing between the couple, and then she stood, readying to address the situation when the doors flew open so fast that their hinges warped. The gathered witches yelped in alarm, momentarily stunned by the violent intrusion, but before they could regain their composure and call upon their magic, He stepped into the room.
Belladonna froze, her skin ice, her heart thunder. She’d never seen this vampire before, but he needed no introduction. She knew who strode down the aisle like the devil reincarnated. Vlad. Named for the great Impaler, he put the name to honorable use.
If Belladonna thought Gabriel was handsome, then Vlad was a god. He was the tallest man she’d ever encountered, his broad shoulders and powerful arms filling his tailored black suit with sinful perfection. A chiseled chest led to a waist meant for a woman’s legs. His hips begged to be choked by bare thighs, his own long legs boasting of stamina most only dreamed of, and his face? It was unlike any face she’d laid eyes upon. He was so beautiful that to gaze upon him was painful. His features were severe, wicked, strong. His dark hair and short beard intensified his allure, and she shuddered involuntarily at the sudden and horrifying longing to know what his lips would feel like against hers. She knew his kiss would burn her alive, would torture her soul until she was nothing but ash, and the way his brown eyes studied her told her he was picturing the vile things his mouth could do to her body, imagining the places he would kiss her, own her, devour her. She couldn’t breathe as she watched him approach. Couldn’t breathe as the infamous tattooed hand smoothed his suit over his abs. She’d heard tales of that inked skull, the blackened skin starting at his wrist and traveling to his knuckles in a design that mimicked human bones. When held against a person’s jaw, his tattoo would align perfectly with their features, giving all a glimpse of what awaited them when his violence was complete. Many called it the angel of death, for it was the last thing you saw in this world before Vlad took you out of it.
Rowena lunged from the pews, settling before her daughter as a human shield, and the sudden movement woke Belladonna from her trance. The vampire leader was in this church… at her wedding, and by the vengeance in his eyes, there would be hell to pay for this hidden marriage. Bella scanned the sanctuary, desperate to locate Gabriel, but he was nowhere to be found. An army of ruthless bloodsuckers met her gaze instead, their numbers guarding the exits. They outnumbered the present witches five to one, and unlike the younger vampires Gabriel had introduced her to, these men were born killers, violent and battle-hardened warriors.
Vlad shook his head at Rowena’s defiance, and Belladonna watched her mom falter. The coven leader scanned the room, desperate for an escape, for salvation, but it took her seconds to realize what her daughter already knew. There would be no fighting their way out of this. Rowena was a powerful witch. Belladonna and the coven leaders were equally strong, but their numbers were nothing compared to Vlad’s small army. The witches understood the truth. Resistance would end in bloodshed.
The intimidating vampire settled before Rowena, and for a moment, Belladonna thought her mother would fight back, ending their decades-long peace, but after a tense minute, the witch retreated. Belladonna’s heart thundered with alarm as her mom returned to her father’s side, and as the vampires tightened their ranks, Vlad stepped forward, glancing briefly at her chest as if he heard her erratic heartbeat. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes, and she hated that he smelled of cedarwood and power, of desire and blood and vanilla. His scent wrapped around her, weaving through her magic, and her aura pulsed at his proximity. No one had altered her magic with their presence before, but the sight of this incredible monster had her body singing with vibrance and life. She felt a stranger in her own skin, and she threw her mother a pointed glare, praying the woman had an answer for why this devil affected her like no other creature of power had.
“I see we’re all gathered for a wedding,” Vlad said, and Belladonna fisted her flowers to the point of pain to stop from moaning at the sound. That voice. It was wicked and indulgent, and she instantly craved his words. She wanted him to worship her with that voice, to whisper desire and threats in her ear with that voice.
“I heard this was supposed to bring further peace between our races,” he continued, moving until they stood side by side at the altar, and wariness snapped Belladonna out of her unwelcomed fantasies. Her reaction to this towering man was filled with fear and longing, and the intensity of her opposing emotions set her teeth on edge. Something was happening, and the oppressiveness in the air warned it wouldn’t be pleasant. Only she couldn’t decipher what this god among men wanted with her wedding.
“My son won’t be getting married today.” Vlad captured her hand with his tattooed fist and pulled her before the terrified officiant. “But a union to seal the treaty is a wise proposition. So, we’ll have this wedding. Only Belladonna will be marrying me.”