The next morning, Dr. Romanov pronounced me well enough to leave the infirmary. I was thrilled. Being stuck in a small, windowless room while on saline-and-vampire-blood IVs might've healed my body to top condition, but it was hell on my overly stimulated mind. Why hadn't Vlad come back? He'd spent three days at my side when I was in a coma, but now that I was better, I didn't even warrant a drive-by wave?
Maybe he was only worried that he would lose his psychic weapon, my inner voice taunted. Now that you're better, he has no reason to be near you until he needs something.
Shut up, I snapped in reply.
Vlad hadn't asked me to pull an impression from a single object since my return. True, I'd spent most of that time unconscious, but that didn't mean he was concerned only because of my abilities. My nasty little inner voice could whisper all the poison it wanted. It didn't take away from the fact that something still burned between Vlad and me. As for why he'd avoided me the past twenty-four hours, I intended to find out.
When I left the infirmary, I went to my bedroom, taking a shower after releasing my pent-up electricity in the lightning rod Vlad had set up outside my window. Then I went to the antique wardrobe, opened the doors - and stared.
Empty. Not even a single hanger remained. I went to the dressers next, opening each one with increasing disbelief.
Every last stitch of clothing was gone. If not for the towels and robe in the bathroom, I'd be naked.
I tightened that robe around me and pulled the long tassel by the door. After a couple minutes, the albino-looking vampire named Oscar appeared.
"How may I help you?" he asked with a bow.
"Do you know what happened to the clothes in this room?"
"Yes."
I waited, but when he said nothing else, I gritted my teeth and tried again.
"And they're not here anymore because?"
A slow blink. "Because you're not staying here any longer."
What?
"I'm not?" I repeated in case I'd briefly coma-d out and misheard him.
"That's correct," he said with another bow.
Vlad was kicking me out? Sure, he was angry I'd overused my powers, but I couldn't believe he'd do something so drastic.
Told you he didn't really care! my inner voice crowed.
Eat me! I roared back at it.
"Where is Vlad now?" I asked, hoping it was my overly sensitive hearing that made the question sound like a screech.
"In his room."
I brushed by Oscar with a muttered "Thanks" before marching to the staircase. Then I went up, holding the bottom of my robe together so I didn't flash anyone.
No one passed me on the staircase. The long slate hallway on the fourth floor was also empty. I took the fork on the left, mentally gearing up for the fight ahead. I was not letting Vlad do this. We had too much unfinished business between us.
I went into his room without knocking. He never locked his door, probably because anyone who entered without permission was tempting death. I'd already died once this week, so that wasn't about to stop me.
"We need to talk," I said.
Thankfully, the lights were on so he must be awake. Though I was determined to have this out, Vlad was not Mr. Sunshine when he first woke up. I shut the door, my gaze skipping around. His room was broken into four sections: the mini-library, as I called the part with couches and wall-to-wall bookshelves; the bedchamber; the bathroom; and his walk-in closet.
Vlad came out of that closet in pants and a jacket the color of storm clouds. His raw silk shirt was a few shades lighter, as was the thicker, long silk scarf that hung with casual elegance around his neck. I must've caught him before he was done dressing because his feet were bare, which made his approach even more soundless than usual.
I held up a hand. "Before you say anything, hear me out."
Not waiting to see if he agreed, I plowed ahead.
"I know you, the real you, and while I don't like everything because you've got a master's degree in medieval torture, not to mention a reluctance to admit to feelings beyond affection or lust, which any shrink would tell you were commitment issues" - deep breath for the next part - "I still love you, Vlad. You, the dragon, not the imaginary knight, and I'm not letting you kick me out because I - I think you love me, too."
I was out of breath from too many words with too little oxygen in between them. Throughout my emphatic if ineloquent speech, Vlad kept coming toward me. The scent of cinnamon, spice, and smoke filled my nose. This must be his natural scent, something I hadn't noticed before my nose received its upgrade.
I stared at him, wishing I had his mind-reading abilities because his expression gave nothing away. All I gleaned from searching his face was that his stubble was back to its eight o'clock shadow length and his molten copper eyes were sprinkled with emerald.
"You're right," he said at last, his tone thick with things I couldn't name.
"About what? The excessive torturing, commitment issues, or the other thing?"
His smile was tantalizing and frightening, like being whipped and finding out you enjoyed the pain. I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me as I looked at the man who still had such a dangerous hold over my heart.
"All of it."
He seized me as he spoke, one hand tangling in my hair while the other splayed across my back. Their heat was nothing compared to his lips when he pressed them to my throat.
"Do you know what happened the last time I loved someone?"
Growled against my skin with such tempered violence that my shiver turned into a shudder. I nodded.
"No you don't." Another lethal growl. "You only know how she died. Let me tell you how she lived - in fear. My actions horrified her, as they horrify you. My enemies exploited her, as they exploit you, so it was more than an advancing army that made her throw herself from our roof. It was me."
He'd made sure to say this while his fangs were at my throat, as if I needed a literal example of how precarious life would be with him. In response, my arms came up, crisscrossing around his neck. One at a time, I pulled my gloves off. Then I plunged my hands into his hair, letting the electricity surge through him as I held him closer to my neck.
"I am not her."
I was glad the words vibrated from my vehemence. I wanted him to be able to feel them as well as hear them.
"You're the scariest man I've ever met, but I am not afraid of you. As for your enemies, let them come. I've survived them before and I will again."
His laughter teased my neck - hot, harsh, and silkier than the rich material covering him. Then he lifted his head, and his stare held mine captive as if he'd mesmerized me.