The Toad Prince

Chapter Seven

Sorin stood back and watched her, furrowing his brow. She appeared to whisper to each piece of bread, and then she would hold it out. The ducks, although wild, would swim right up and take it from her fingers. He knew they could sense her pure heart, just as he could.

“That’s so creepy vampire of you to stand there and not say anything,” she said without looking back at him.

“I was trying to understand why someone would be speaking to bread.”

“I’m enchanting it, so each duck has a good day.”

He thought he might laugh, but bit his lip when he realized she was serious.

“Although,” she continued, “it is difficult because of this stupid anti-magic ward.”

Nadaria stood and wiped her the crumbs on her dress, then turned to him. She didn’t wear makeup, and if he thought she was beautiful before, she was downright enchanting today. He noted a soft dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones that he hadn't been able to see yesterday. She was the first woman that had appealed to him since Crina, and guilt wrapped its hand around his heart at that.

She smiled, and it was brilliant, making the fingers of guilt clench into a fist.

“How are you?” she asked, genuine in her concern for him.

He shrugged. “How did you sleep?”

She toyed with a loose thread on her dress. “Oh, good. It’s a really nice bed. Really soft.” She glanced over her shoulder at the ducks and whispered, “The down comforter is nice.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They stared at each other, and the tension was molasses thick.

“Do you… want to walk with me?” he asked, offering his arm.

“Yeah. Yes.”

Nadaria took his arm, and they walked down the overgrown garden path. The colors of autumn were here, his favorite, and it was beautiful. After a few moments, she said, “I have some questions about last night.”

“Yes, I’m sure. You probably almost croaked when you saw me.” He looked out of the corner of his eye at her and saw her eyebrows lift while she pursed her lips. “You can ask. I wouldn’t want you hopping to the wrong conclusions.”

Sorin watched her, and she snorted a laugh, then giggled. He knew that he was joking about something dark and serious, but sometimes you just needed to laugh, and she liked puns.

Her expression turned serious, quizzical. “Aurelian said you’ve done that every full moon for a hundred and seventy years.”

“Yes.”

She pushed out a sharp breath. “So, Sorin, you’ve done that—"

“Over two thousand times I have transformed into a monster and danced with the rotting corpse of my wife to Love Dream by Lietz.”

She closed her eyes and bit her top lip. “Goddess help you, I’m so sorry. And everyone else turns to toads?”

“Yes. If I don’t do the ceremony, we stay like that until the next full moon, and two lilies perish instead of one.”

“What happens when they all die?”

“I don’t know. I assume we all die, or we stay toads forever.”

“What did you do to earn such ire from the vampire sorceress?”

He could hear trepidation in her tone, as if she didn’t want to ask. They were crossing a bridge, and he turned to her. She didn’t release his arm, and he didn’t want her to, even though he should.

“I loved my wife.”

“And that was a problem?”

“It was.”

She stared up at him, and he knew she wanted more than that.

Sorin sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Aurelia was her name, the vampire. She desired me, although I was already married. I held no lust or even like for her—I loved Crina, my wife—and I could feel the evil of that woman from the first moment I met her. She pursued me endlessly, to the point I locked myself in this house. No one was to allow her in. As long as we didn’t invite her in, we were safe.”

Nadaria nodded, knowing that you had to invite a vampire in for them to gain entry. Sorin’s face pinched, and he looked past her at the soft, trickling stream.

“But Crina, she was so kind. She cared so much for people. We were fine for months… nearly a year. Our guard was down, and I was asleep, so she went to the door. An elderly woman appeared to be dying in a snowstorm and was in dire need of aid. Crina, she just… didn’t know, you know? I didn’t either, that Aurelia could shift forms like that.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Nadaria said, furrowing her brow. “Except… Dracula?”

“Yes. The older vampires, his first children, are so much stronger than what you are used to seeing now.”

“Crina let her in?”

“She did.”

“And she turned you.”

“Yes, and the others. And to spare details, I killed Aurelia, but I wasn’t quick enough.”

“And she cast the curse.”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” she muttered, grimacing at him. “That’s not good. A curse cast by a dying witch...”

“I know. It’s sealed with blood.”

Nadaria nodded and bit her lip, thinking. This was definitely out of her league. A daughter of Dracula? A blood curse? This was big girl stuff. The entire coven she belonged to might not be enough to break such a thing.

“Sorin…” she said, looking up at him. But she faltered, because his gaze was intense enough to make heat rise in her cheeks.

He tilted his head. “You are the first woman I’ve found beautiful since. Is that because of this?”

He held up his arm, where the tattoo was concealed under his sleeve.

“No. It’s not like wolf shifters where the bond influences feelings. At least not to that extent. It’s more of a… strong suggestion.”

“So, I just find you beautiful, then?”

She shrugged, the heat rising from her cheeks to the roots of her hairline. “I suppose so.”

“And how do you find me, bubblegum witch?”

A small smile made a dimple appear on one of her cheeks, and he liked that.

“You’re pretty hot.”

“Pretty hot,” he repeated, lifting his brows twice and smirking. American slang, but he got the jist. He showed the tattoo again. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but will you explain this to me?”

“We have twenty-eight days, the cycle of the moon, to complete the bond. If we do, our souls are intertwined for the rest of forever. If we don’t, the tattoos go away and that’s that.”

“And to complete the bond? How does that happen?”

She giggled and blushed, but held his gaze. “It means we… you know. Have s*x. s*x is a very spiritual thing, an exchanging of not only bodies, but energy. It seals the True One bond.”

Sorin’s eyebrows lifted, and he cleared his throat. “Oh. Right. s*x. Of course.” Images formed in his mind of her naked—with him—and he found it hard to breathe.

With a sly grin, she teased, “Do you remember what that is, old man?”

He wasn’t that much older than she was. She guessed only a little over fifty years, which wasn’t a big gap in supernatural terms. Vampires were the youngest race. Vlad the Impaler, who would become Count Dracula, was a man in the fifteenth century. Witches, dragons, shifters, and fae had been alive much longer than that.

Sorin's mouth fell open, and he sputtered, “Old ma-Old man? That almost—almost—sounds like a challenge to me.” He stepped closer to her, and she put her hands on his chest. The warmth of her touch leaked through the thin material of his shirt, and he had to fight not to close his eyes and lose himself to the feeling.

She giggled, but her expression turned serious. “We should both be sure about it, you understand? There’s no undoing it once it’s done.”

“Well, I do not know what I want. I am sure about nothing.”

He should say no way. No thank you, beautiful woman. But the words were hard to find. His mind was not inclined to say them, and his body was moving to kiss her again. It had been so long since he’d felt anything but numbness or pain or desperation.

“Neither am I,” she whispered, and he liked that she already sounded breathless. “But we have time to decide.”

Sorin cupped her cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. This time, he wasn’t about to walk her to the ballroom to witness that macabre horror. So this time, he could marvel at how soft and plump her lips were. Like luxurious pillows draped in silk cases. Her hands fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him closer while her lips parted to allow the meeting of their tongues.

His hands left her face and grasped her waist, held tight by the bodice of her pink dress. Yes, he certainly remembered s*x, although he expected to never have an opportunity, or desire, to experience it again. But this little witch stirred those feelings to life, and he growled low in his chest, and lifted her to sit on the railing of the bridge.

She surprised him by hooking her legs around his waist, and digging the heels of her pink sneakers into his back to pull him forward. The fluffy tulle of her dress gave and allowed their hips to mold together. He was hard, straining the buttons of his breeches, and she was like velvet. They both moaned into the lock of their lips at the hot friction their grinding hips created.

Sorin broke away from her mouth, and was stunned at how his hands trembled when he clasped the first large white button at the top of her dress. She laced her fingers in the hair at his nape and pulled him to her. His mouth ended up on her neck, like she expected him to kiss her there, and he squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the blood rush through her carotid artery.

He would not—would not—bite her. Sorin would never drink from another living being again, but he wanted to. His fangs burned, lengthening, and he turned his gaze down, putting his forehead to her neck instead, and watching his hands finish the top buttons of the dress. Parting the material, he revealed her breasts.

He muttered, “Oh, Gods,” and gripped the supple flesh in his hands. So warm, and soft, and inviting—like the rest of her. The buds of her n*****s pulled tight, seeking his touch, and a breathless moan left her when he brushed his thumbs over them.

Her hands, still at his nape, pushed his head down, and his hands supported her back while she leaned to give him access. For a moment, he was stunned by her trust in him. If he let go, she could fall off the bridge into the freezing stream.

But thought became little else than his mouth closing on the peak of her breast, and sucking. He was careful not to nick her, as his fangs would not listen to reason and disappear. Thoughts, ones he’d never experienced before, flashed through his mind. He still wanted to bite her. Here, on the perfect, supple flesh of her breast.

She moaned his name, lighting the smouldering tinder of his soul, and one of his hands pushed in desperation up her leg. He gripped her hip, trying not to squeeze too hard in his frenzy.

“Sorin,” she whispered, and lifted her hips to him, asking him to continue. To touch her.

He reached with his thumb, brushing once over the tight material of panties. They both moaned again, and he wanted more than anything to push that fabric, which he imagined was pink, to the side, and feel how tight and wet and ready for him she was.

But he couldn’t do that. Guilt reared its wicked head in his chest, stopping his movements, and he gently stepped away from her, helping her so she didn’t fall.

“I think that’s enough,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What’s wrong?” she breathed, and he saw embarrassment in her sweet brown eyes as she covered herself.

“No. No, it’s not you. Gods, you’re amazing, and that’s why I had to stop.” He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I came out here to tell you something about the curse.”

“Sorin, I think I should go get my coven, my mother, and the other witches. I don’t think—”

“You can’t go.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked hurt. “I promise I won’t abandon you and the others. I would never. I’ll come back.”

“I’m not telling you not to go. I’m saying you can’t.”

“Excuse me?”

He found enough decency to meet her gaze, and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Explain. Now.”

“As soon as we crossed the threshold of the gate, your fate was sealed. You are stuck here with the rest of us.”

“But you left. You found me.”

“I can leave once a year. Why that is, I don’t know. No one else can go past the boundary of the woods and the small village down the mountain.”

“You trapped me here. And you knew it would happen?”

“Yes.”

She blinked several times and put her hands on his shoulders. Sorin was stunned by the reaction until she slammed her knee into his groin. He huffed out a breath of air and fell to his knees.

“Holy s**t,” he gasped, his throat tight. With the force she’d hit him with, he was sure he was choking on his own balls.

He was astonished when she was kneeling next to him with a rambling apology. “Goddess, sorry. I’m so sorry, that was impetuous. I have a friend named River, and I want to be like her… nothing shakes her. But that’s an earth witch for you. So grounded. Water is emotional. We tend to be a little… hmm, unpredictable. Nothing like fire, of course, but still.”

He looked over at her, still trying to catch his breath. “I deserved it.”

“Still,” she said with a wry grin. “It was a… knee jerk reaction.”

His eyes widened, and she giggled like a maniac. More puns? She was joking with him when he’d just told her she was doomed.

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Of course I am. You’re a genuine piece of s**t for taking advantage of my kindness. And this.” She lifted her arm to show him the tattoo. “I’m going to walk away before I find a pointy stick and shove it through your heart.”

His eyebrows lifted, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been more confused by another person. “Okay.”

She turned to leave, and over her shoulder asked, “Sorin, what is viața mi-a dat un basm în tine?”

He chuckled at her horrible pronunciation. “You butchered that.”

She glared at him. “I’ll go find that stick now.”

“No. No sticks,” he mumbled, gripping the edge of the bridge to stand. “Viața mi-a dat un basm în tine. Life has given me a fairytale in you.”

Her back was to him, so he couldn’t read her expression, but she sighed. Sorin watched her march back towards the castle, her pink robe billowing behind her.