Dance in the Dark Read online

  How much easier his life would be if he did have the fangs, Johnnie thought. "You will explain to me your purpose here. Fangs or not, I am a Desrosiers and you will unhand me and tell me who you are."

  Soft, deep laughter brushed across Johnnie's face, smelling like some sort of sweet, fruity candy. "I saw you and was captivated. I wanted a closer look."

  "There is not much to see in the dark," Johnnie replied.

  "Not for you, perhaps," the man replied, squeezing Johnnie's hand again—then his thumb brushed over Johnnie's bottom lip.

  Johnnie jerked his head back and hissed, "Do not touch me." He attempted to glare at the man he could only feel and hear and smell, but to judge by the soft laughter, he failed completely.

  "You're too beautiful not to touch," the man replied, but abruptly let Johnnie go.

  Johnnie flexed the fingers of his suddenly free hand, wondering why it felt so strange. It tingled, as though it had fallen asleep and was just beginning to wake up. So too his lip, he realized. He frowned and lifted his other hand to touch his lips.

  All the while, he felt the presence of the stranger, but he refused to ask again who the man was. Instead, he asked, "What do you want?"

  "To be with you in hell," came the reply.

  Johnnie jerked in surprise, not having expected that reply at all. He had never encountered anyone besides Rostiya who could quote Russian poetry. Intrigued now, though he knew he should be frightened or at least angry, he gave the next spoken line of the poem. "It would seem your words/Bode neither of us any good."

  A hand cupped his chin, the man's thumb rubbing along his lip again. "Tell me how men kiss you. Tell me how you kiss."

  The words hung there in the air, thick and heavy, and Johnnie could not quite repress an unexpected shiver. He asked again, though he hated to lower himself, "Who are you?"

  "An admirer," the man replied. "I admired you standing beneath the hard shine of the lights. I admired you dancing across the floor. I think I admire you most here in the dark, where I and I alone can see you."

  "How can you see me?" Johnnie asked, before he could bite the question back. "How well can you see me?"

  "Perfectly," the man said. "Dark is as day to mine eyes."

  Johnnie frowned at that. Nearly all supernaturals could see well in the dark, but he knew of nothing which could see that well, except perhaps ghosts. This man was no ghost. He did not know what the man could be, and that annoyed him. He should know. The stranger must be exaggerating, and his magic was simply good enough to overcome the wards. "Why can I not see you, then? Why must I remain in the dark? Afraid that if I know your face, you will be made to suffer the consequences of your actions?"

  The man laughed. "Consequences? No. I've nothing to fear from consequences."

  "Then why—" Johnnie was cut off by soft, warm lips, a mouth that tasted like sticky-sweet fruit candy. He tried to draw back, offended and infuriated, but one hand cradled the back of his head, sank gently into his hair and grasped a firm hold, while the man's other arm wrapped around his waist and held fast. The man took his mouth more firmly, plundering it with a boldness that no one would ever dare display towards a son of a Dracula.

  Johnnie did not mean to react—he did not want to encourage the abominable behavior—and yet he realized after a moment that he was responding. Why, he thought suddenly, could he not be kissed this way by Elam?

  The stranger pulled away the barest amount, drawing a breath. His lips ghosted softly over Johnnie's, then his tongue was lapping where his lips had just been, and then Johnnie was being kissed thoroughly again, and even thoughts of Elam momentarily fled.

  When the second kiss ended, the stranger drew back. Johnnie drew a breath to speak—then realized he was alone. Orange-yellow light slipped through the curtains, a sliver of light peeked from the bottom of the door. Johnnie licked his lips, tasting a stranger on them. No one dared treat him in so crass and familiar a manner. He chose who to kiss, and when, and how. He licked his lips again, tasting fruit candy and a hint of dark beer.

  Annoyed with himself, he resisted an urge to lick his lips a third time and picked up his vodka. Draining the glass, he set it down again and went to retrieve his jacket and tie. He restored his clothing quickly, and checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror. Johnnie scowled at his reflection, and smoothed his mussed hair. Unfortunately, he could do nothing about the fact that it was clear he had just been well and thoroughly kissed. A rush of sudden, unexpected heat washed through him.

  Johnnie turned sharply away from the mirror, furious with himself. He was angry, and only that. Whatever else he was or was not, he was a Desrosiers, the youngest son of a Dracula. He would not tolerate such insults upon his person.

  Leaving the suite, he made his way to the elevators and back downstairs. He thought of the strange encounter, the kiss, the possessive grip in his hair, around his waist. He thought of Elam, tried to imagine Elam holding him in such a way, kissing him that thoroughly. His gut twisted with an old, familiar ache. It was so impossible a situation, he could not imagine it. All he could see was Elam's perfect, beautiful face, the cold eyes that dismissed him as carelessly as a servant. Elam, who would not lower himself even to Jesse's level and use him in a dark corner.

  Johnnie frowned, mind pulled back at last to the real problem at hand. What did he really know about this situation? had called him to help find a pair of Cinderella slippers. The spell cage to contain the slippers had been purposely broken, rigged to fail. He supposed it was possible that someone else had done it, but the chances were slim. That razor thin cut had been as meticulously placed as every rune. That aside, Jesse was no fool. He must have had some suspicion as to the true nature of the slippers. Until they were completely safe, he would not have had anyone not strictly necessary anywhere near them.

  So which of them had sabotaged the shoes and why?

  Johnnie worried his bottom lip in thought, but immediately stopped when he tasted hints of fruit candy and dark beer. Rostislav, he reminded himself, he needed to focus on Rostislav. He would solve his own sudden personal mystery later. What if Rostislav had broken the spell cage? He could have done it before the cage was activated, or after.

  So, going with the idea that Rostislav had been the one to sabotage the spell … Rostiya would know that wearing the shoes would mean that he had cast a love spell on Jesse, the ‘prince' of the ball. Given only he and Jesse had been around the shoes, there was no one else who would have wound up wearing the slippers.

  In breaking the ward and wearing the shoes, he would have gotten Jesse to love him, after a fashion. Jesse would love him, and likely for a very long time, because breaking a love spell was no easy task.

  Love spells were one of the few things universally frowned upon by abnormals. Though not forbidden, except as individual territories dictated, when those casting them were caught they were most often heavily punished. It was complicated, dangerous magic, because it manipulated a person completely—mind, emotion, and body. Forcing the breaking of a love spell almost always broke the victim.

  If Rostislav had chosen to wear the shoes …

  But that did not fit Rostislav. He loved Jesse, but resorting to such a spell would be dishonorable in Rostiya's eyes. Neither would he ever view it as real love, and that he would find unbearable. He would also be punished severely for casting such a spell on so powerful and influential a vampire.

  So that theory could be discarded.

  That left Jesse. So what if Jesse was behind it? That made even less sense. Jesse stood to gain nothing by arranging for his own succumbing to the love spell. He would likely be afflicted the rest of his life—well, the rest of Rostislav's life, which was still too long by vampire standards, and there was no telling how it would affect Jesse when Rostislav died.

  Johnnie laughed. No vampire would ever tolerate such a thing. The only way Jesse would even risk it was if he knew it would have no effect, and the only way to properly block or break a love spell, an
d so cause no harm, was real love and that was impossible. Vampires did not love humans.

  But the back of his mind whispered, unable not to see the logic, what if he did?

  Society would not stand for it. If Jesse ever admitted to loving Rostiya, he would suffer for it—rejection, isolation, loss of standing, possibly even violence. He would be fortunate if the Dracula did not oust him from the territory.

  Unless…

  Unless it was a convenient accident. Hardly the first time a mistake was made, and a dangerous object was not properly warded. Should the whole thing be nothing but a tragic accident, then Jesse would merely become an object of pity, a delectable bit of gossip, shunned by society but not treated as harshly as he would have been otherwise.

  It fit; it explained everything neatly—except that it must be wrong. In all he had ever read, all he had ever heard, not once had he ever come across a case of a vampire who fell in love with a human, never mind one who chose to love a human openly.

  Down below in the ballroom, everything had gone still. The guests formed a circle of gawkers around the center of the dance floor, where three figures stood locked in quiet, but clearly tense, conversation. Johnnie's chest went tight, twisting with longing and pain, as he stared at the third figure, who spoke with obvious anger to Jesse and Rostislav.

  Elam; beautiful, pale, delicate and cold Elam. Tall, slender, with grace in his every movement. The perfect smile, the perfect voice—perfect in every way. Perfectly uncaring whenever he deigned to acknowledge his little brother by adoption in any way. "The love that lasts longest is the love that is never returned," Johnnie murmured softly, sighing.

  Rostislav glanced up and saw him. Seeing his attention distracted, Jesse and Elam followed the direction of his gaze. Johnnie simply stood and stared back. He cocked his head the slightest bit, indicating they should come upstairs and leave behind the silent gawkers surrounding them.

  He waited, still and patient, as they made their way up the stairs and toward him—two beautiful, flawless vampires and a handsome, striking witch. As they reached him, Johnnie looked up at Elam, meeting the pale blue eyes he loved and hated in equal measure. "Good evening, Ellie."

  Elam regarded him coldly, immediately irritated by the despised nickname. "John."

  Brotherly greetings exchanged, Johnnie turned to Rostislav and recited, "What is it that is too much for one, enough for two, and nothing at all for three?" Rostislav smiled faintly and shook his head, acknowledging without words that he knew Johnnie had figured out their ruse—and that he would keep the secret. That settled, Johnnie spared a glance for Jesse, who only stared back and said nothing.

  Elam broke the silence, his voice perfectly modulated to freeze. "Why am I not surprised to see you here? What do you have to do with this mess, John?"

  Johnnie ignored him, and said, "Shall we discuss this matter in private?" He turned away, and led them to one of the many conference rooms on that floor. When they were all inside, and the door closed and locked behind them, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest, then said, "Now, then. Ellie, I assume you are here about the Cinderella slippers, and the unfortunate love spell that is part of them. No doubt it is woven with the demon bound to them, to make it unbreakable." He looked to Rostislav for confirmation of this theory, and received a slight nod. "I was summoned here because Adelardi was caught consorting amorously with the witch. Lo, I do arrive and find he reeks of magic, with a known troublemaker of a witch—and you."

  Elam's mouth twisted with sneering disgust.

  "You know I like a problem to solve," Johnnie said with a smirk. "Are you hoping to burn a witch, brother?"

  "I am hoping that we have not in fact lost one of our most valuable citizens to the machinations of an unreliable witch," Elam replied. "You will forgive me if I doubt anything you might say in defense of your questionable friendship."

  Johnnie ignored the jibe; his brother had never approved of his friendship with Rostislav, but Johnnie would not give it up, not even for a chance to please Elam. "It was an accident," he said. "Rostiya called me here to help him when the shoes went missing. I have been investigating."

  Elam sneered at this, and Johnnie fought against the same hurt, the same bitterness, that he always faced when his brother so coldly dismissed his abilities. It was not much, his store of knowledge and his knack for solving problems, but it was something. But, he was normal, and Elam would never believe that a normal could adequately solve abnormal problems. "What did you supposedly uncover?"

  "I examined the spell cage Rostiya built to contain the shoes, upstairs in Jesse's study. They miscalculated the power of the demon bound in the shoes, and the love spell woven with it. Naturally, once taken out and placed within an inadequate spell cage, the shoes woke from their dormancy and immediately sought out the nearest suitable Cinderella—Rostiya. After that, there was nothing that could be done. The nature of the slippers precludes the wearer knowing he is the victim. The ‘prince' too would know nothing, until too late. I was brought to find the slippers before irreparable damage could be done, but it was done before I even arrived."

  "An accident," Elam repeated with scorn. "You are telling me that Adelardi is a victim of a love spell because of a slight miscalculation?"

  Johnnie laughed, his scorn the equal of Elam's, for it was Elam who had unwittingly taught him scorn. "What do you suggest? That Rostiya would sacrifice his own reputation and standing to attach himself to a vampire? How would he profit, living the rest of his life as a taboo? It would do him more harm than good. Oh, I know. Perhaps Jesse engineered it, bored out of his mind and curious to see if living in what amounts to exile would prove more interesting."

  "Perhaps some enemy is at work," Elam snapped.

  "No," Jesse said. "Those shoes have been in my unwitting possession for years, part of a collection of artifacts I've always meant to go through. I brought Rostislav in to help me sort them and properly ward them. When we realized the nature of the shoes, we immediately sought to properly ward them until we could summon a sorcerer to banish the demon. We underestimated them. I got cocky, and cocky is the same as careless."

  Johnnie nodded, and quoted, "A bad beginning makes a bad ending."

  "Indeed," Jesse said, shooting him a look of dry amusement.

  Turning to Elam, Johnnie asked, "What do you propose to tell father?"

  "That Adelardi is a fool, and the witch a greater fool, but there is little to be done about it, as it would seem that it was an accident. However," he said, turning to Jesse, "you and the witch are under house arrest, until the Dracula says otherwise. In your current state, you cannot be trusted and so shall not be. Play in your casino, but do no more. I will tend your guests downstairs. Until such time as we can find an effective way to break the love spell, I am afraid you are quite useless. Johnnie, say your farewells if you must, then come home. We will no longer be spending our time here."

  As he finished speaking, Elam called up his magic and vanished, as cold and clear a dismissal as Johnnie had ever seen. Silence fell with Elam's departure, before Rostislav finally broke it. "You figured it out."

  Truly annoyed for the first time all night, Johnnie said in his chilliest tones, "Of course I did."

  Rostislav merely smiled. "Of course. How?"

  "Your behavior in the dark corner beyond the columns by the buffet lines. The razor-thin break in the spell circle. The smell of sex and cologne. This," he finished, and tossed Rostislav the ruby bracelet. "Why?"

  "I'm surprised you have to ask," Rostislav said, looking at the bracelet in amusement.

  Jesse cut in, "What in the hell were you doing in my rooms, and how did you get into them?"

  "None of your business," Johnnie replied. "I refused to believe the reason that first presents. Vampires do not love humans, and they certainly never sacrifice their livelihoods—their lives—to be with one. Why drag me into this mess?"

  "To lend the story credence," Rostislav replied. "You made
it true. Everyone will believe now that it's an accident, that we are in this situation because of a mistake. It's not ideal, but it's better than keeping our relationship a secret."

  Johnnie shook his head, and said again, "Vampires do not love humans."

  Jesse laughed. "Vampires don't like to admit it happens, which isn't the same thing. I'd rather love openly, and be reviled, than be accepted and love in secret, however great a fool that makes me."

  "Makes us," Rostislav said, and took Jesse's hand, and the look they shared was one not even Johnnie could sneer at, though he tried. Johnnie could only watched them. He hated that Rostislav had lied to him, had used him. Jealousy was bitter in his mouth, that Rostislav had what he so badly wanted.

  Mostly he was just sick of the entire thing. "Enjoy your house arrest," he finally said, not bothering to keep the curtness from his voice, because on top of everything else, Elam had just forbidden him to see Rostislav again. That would make things extraordinarily difficult, and Rostiya had clearly not considered that point when he had decided upon this scheme, and on using Johnnie to authenticate it. "I am happy that I could be of service to you, Rostislav. Should you require my services again, however," he finished bitterly, "you will have to pay for them." Brushing by them, he stalked toward the door.