The Toad Prince

Chapter Twenty-Three

Could you really fall in love after only a week with someone?

Sorin stared down at Nadaria, enjoying the way her body intertwined with his while she slept. It felt so right. So natural.

The word love frightened him. Gods, he’d nearly said last night when she’d been going to meet Aurelian in the garden.

I think I love you.

He hadn’t, of course, because he didn’t know if that was true. Was he in love? Or was his aching heart so desperate that it clung to her kind beauty and tender strength, too selfish to let her go? And how could she love him? A vampire. A person with such a dark past. Sorin wasn’t so much a fool that he couldn’t see his own issues. He knew he was an emotional train wreck.

Even now, as right as it felt to be with Nadaria, the guilt was chewing at him. After a hundred and seventy years of obsessing over Crina, it felt like he was just dropping her and leaving her behind. It still felt like cheating sometimes, even though he knew she was dead.

But scary thoughts flooded him when he looked at Nadaria. Things that involved life after the curse. The future—a happy future. Something he couldn’t fully comprehend. He didn’t feel it was possible, or that he deserved it, but his mind still wandered down that path with her, and that was perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Hope was even more frightening than love.

Sorin pulled her tighter into his arms, careful of her bandaged burns. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep because he hadn’t yet even though daylight leaked through under the door.

Too many questions floated around his head, keeping him up. He was desperate to know what exactly that jar was, and why she thought there were more, and how many, and where they could be, and who put them there.

He shifted with the tension of his curiosity, and she mumbled, “Your anxiety is stifling.”

“I’m sorry. There are many things to be anxious about.”

“Yes. There are.”

“How many jars?”

“Could be ten. Maybe less. Maybe twenty if they used her toes. I don’t know. Do you remember what happened to the arms and legs? Do you remember if, for sure, everyone was there when you burned her?”

“Twenty? How in the names of the gods could you ever do that twenty times?”

“I sense there’s not that many, but it’s a possibility.”

Sorin sighed and thought for a moment, trying to remember. But it was all a blur of violence and horror. “I don’t know if everyone was there for sure. I don’t remember. I do not know what happened to the limbs. And even if someone has a hatred for me, I can’t imagine anyone here helping her, you know?”

“I know. It’s weird. Obviously, I’ve got some interrogations to do. And at least we have a direction to go.”

“You’ve already made it further than either of the other two witches.”

“Yeah. No wonder they burned up. That was strong, wicked power. If they tried to remove it with all these jars holding the line… there’s just no way it would be possible.”

“Do I need to put you out in the sun to recharge?” he asked, chuckling.

She snorted a laugh. “What do you mean?”

“When you took my anguish in the village… the next day you walked in the sun and it was like you were brand new. Like a wilted flower that just needed to be moved closer to a window.”

“Sunshine is lovely, and it helps,” she said, sighing. “I’m curious to see if I have any control over water this close to the house. I had a little out there.”

Sorin’s eyes widened. “A little? You washed out the entire road with a raging river.”

“Yeah. Basic stuff though. I couldn’t manipulate the chemical properties of the water to ice. And that’s kinda my thing. Now that we’re at the house and close to the jars, I bet I can’t do much.”

He shook his head. “Basic stuff she says.”

“Coming from the guy that just rips spines out of people.”

“The undead are… squishy. It’s not that hard.”

“Do they die?”

“I don’t know. We don’t go out and investigate them.” He cleared his throat. “Familiar faces, you know?”

She nodded and cupped his cheek with her hand. “Well. We can’t sleep all day. What do we have… this is day eleven that I’ve been here. Seventeen days to find the jars, destroy them, and, hopefully, in that time discover who the black toad is.”

“So simple,” he deadpanned. “How are your arms?”

“They’re fine. I may not be some super cool vampire that can heal in ten seconds, but I’m still a witch. It’ll heal by tomorrow.”

********************

Nadaria rested her head in her hand, watching her students dance the swing like professionals. Okay, maybe not quite, but they had improved so much since the first night, and they loved it so much. She thought she should teach them the Charleston. There was also the entire disco era.

She studied each person, reaching out to them to sense their emotions. Happiness. Contentment. Joy. All lovely feelings. Nothing indicative of the animosity the black toad felt in her dream.

“Would you dance with me?” Nadaria jumped at the sudden intrusion into her thoughts, and Mihal laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She smiled and took his extended hand. “It’s okay. Don’t mind me… I’m always just daydreaming.”

Swinging wasn’t conducive to having an in-depth conversation with your partner, with all the shifting and moving, but it seemed that’s what Mihal desired, so they settled into more of a waltz.

The first thing out of his mouth was, “I heard you found something in the garden last night.”

Nadaria worked hard to hide her shock and arched a brow at him. She and Sorin hadn’t yet decided how to go about telling everyone, and she didn’t expect him to know.

“And who told you that?”

“It gets around,” he said vaguely. “So and so hears it from so and so… and then everyone knows. There are only a dozen of us here. Secrets are pointless. But I only wish to know because it sounds like you might actually save us after all.”

“I told you all I would do my best.”

“It seems you are an overachiever,” he said, a warm smile lighting his face. He pulled her closer to him, resting his hand on her lower back instead of her waist.

She offered him a close-lipped smile, because she had been alive long enough to know that look in a man’s eye. Mihal was flirting with her. Nadaria was now extremely suspicious of him because of this brief interaction, but didn’t want to let on that she was.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he blurted, “Why do you like that prick Sorin, huh?”

The question caught her off guard, and she worked again to keep her normal cheery demeanor intact. “Do you know what the tattoo on my wrist means?”

“Yes. It was explained to me.”

“By who?”

“Ana.”

“How does she know?”

“I don’t know.”

Nadaria glanced at Ana, who danced with Aurelian, both chatting and laughing.

“So that is the only reason you like him? Because of that?”

“No. I like him for many reasons.”

“He’s an arrogant fuck.”

Mihal was not shy to share his feelings for Sorin with anyone that would listen.

“What makes you say that?”

“We were good friends, you know, before. I told him to find a witch. To find some help. That it wasn’t safe for him or Crina. No, Mihal. I can handle it,” he mocked. “Now look at us. He did this.”

“He made a mistake.”

“He made plenty. How many mistakes does it take before it’s apparent you’re just a fool? So much suffering he has caused.”

Nadaria wanted to defend Sorin. He was a young, maybe some would say over-confident, man when it happened and he had paid a great price for his actions.

“Trust me. He knows.”

“I hope so. I hope the guilt is like broken glass sliding against his skin every single day.”

“It is.”

“You deserve better. He’s a mess, you know, up here.” He tapped his finger against his temple. “And a fool.”

She gave him another tight-lipped smile and said, “And what, you think you're the better I deserve?"

He shrugged and grinned, twirling her in a spin. “I can tell you are not thinking so, and that you don’t like my criticism of him, but I am just saying so because I like you very much. I think you’re bright and kind, and Sorin has a habit of ruining everything he touches. He couldn’t even kill that b***h right, and now we’re all stuck in this hellhole nightmare. I am afraid he will get you killed, too. You’ve already been harmed, I see.”

He indicated the bandages on her arms, and the hairs on her neck rose at the direct implication of her death. “Who would want to hurt me?”

“I don’t know. Those other witches… they just burned up. I don’t want to see that happen to you. I am just worried for you, is all.”

“Well, thank you for your concern, but I am a capable woman.”

“That I do not doubt. But Sorin…”

“He is working hard to fix this,” she said, cutting him off. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Because he trapped you here. I’m sure he was upfront about that before he brought you, right?” She pursed her lips, and he shook his head. “I thought not. What a snake he is.”

He had her a bit flustered, and she almost blurted, Well, I happen to love snakes!, but the song ended, thank the Goddess, and she stepped away from him.

Mihal held onto her hand, and she jumped in surprise when he ran his thumb over her cheek. She saw genuine concern shining in his eyes. “I’m serious, okay? Just be careful.”

“I will.”

She felt a wave of animosity, and turned, searching for it. It wasn’t from inside the room, but outside.

**********************

Sorin sat in the tree just outside the dining room, watching through the grand windows as Mihal danced with Nadaria. He assured himself he wasn’t a creep, just concerned for her safety. Puffing on a cigar, and trying not to be jealous, he attempted not to hate Mihal, even though he could imagine all the awful things that he was saying to her about him right now.

Sorin’s eyebrow arched when Mihal pulled her closer and slid his hand low down on her back. Her face held a smile, but her tense shoulders told him another story.

“This fuckin’ guy,” he muttered, tempted to kick in the window, and politely say, may I cut in?

But Nadaria was no damsel in need of saving. If she didn’t want to be dancing with Mihal, she wouldn’t be. This he knew, and he assumed if he went barreling in there, it would spark more annoyance than gratitude from her. She was probably doing one of her interrogations.

Mihal and Nadaria talked, and by their body language Sorin held no doubts that Mihal had said not very nice things about him. When the song ended, he had the audacity to run his thumb over her cheek, like a lover’s caress, and Sorin shifted in his spot on the tree branch, and shoved the ember of the cigar into the bark with a little too much aggression. If he was in there, that f**k wouldn’t dare.

A splash of anger coursed through him, and he glared at Mihal, watching him walk over and speak to Ana and Aurelian. When he searched for Nadaria again, she was gone, and he sat up, worried.

A side door of the castle opened, and she marched out, glancing around. He smirked and stayed still, curious. After a moment, she walked right up to his tree.

“Are you being a creep or what?”

“Me? Of course not.”

“I can feel your hatred for Mihal from inside, you know.”

Sorin jumped down, landing just in front of her. “Well, I truly didn’t hate him until a couple of minutes ago.”

“Really? And he had such kind things to say about you.”

He chuckled. “That, I do not believe. I bet he said I’m an arrogant prick, and you deserve better, and he is your knight in shining armor, yeah?”

“It’s scary how close you are to the exact conversation.”

“It’s scary how well you know people after a hundred and seventy years locked in a house with them. Well, what do you think, my bubblegum witch? Is he right?”

She giggled. “Why do you call me that?”

Sorin couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He never could when she was around him, and he grabbed her waist. “It was the first thing I thought when I saw you, because you’re so pink and bubbly, yeah? Plus that first day, when you kissed me like a madwoman, so overcome with need for my touch—”

Nadaria rolled her eyes and slapped his chest with both of her bandaged hands. “Oh, shut up.”

He chuckled. “Anyway. You tasted sweet like bubblegum, too. Why? Do you hate the name?”

She tilted her head. “No. It’s… unique, that’s for sure. And to answer your earlier question, no, I don’t believe Mihal is right. Why, do you think he is?”

“You deserve better, that is certain.”

“Were you jealous?” she asked, a sweet, shy smile curling her lips.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Of course. You are my dance partner.”