Chapter Two:
Vlad stood in the shadow of a monstrous wrought iron sculpture. It snarled at the gathered art lovers with jagged, broken teeth and reached toward them with gnarled claws. Crystal drops of berry-red blood dripped from both, not quite reaching the twisted, misshapen figures crushed beneath its cloven feet. Vlad hated it. His companion, Alec, on the other hand, adored it.
"Isn't it exquisite?" the dark-haired man asked as he brushed a hand across the creature's bat-like wings. "These fools couldn't possibly appreciate its beauty," he continued. "Perhaps I should by it myself."
"Do and you can find yourself a new place to live," Vlad snapped. The crowded room made him irritable. The fact that Alec had dragged him to the showing in the first place made Vlad irritable. Alec's enjoyment of the event made him even more irritable.
Hell, everything Alec had ever done or said made Vlad irritable.
Six centuries of enduring Alec's snide comments and endless taunts and yet there Vlad was, suffering through some pointless party because Alec had insisted he attend.
I should have killed him when I had the chance, Vlad thought, not for the first time.
Alec laughed off his companion's threat. "Please," he said, throwing an arm around Vlad's shoulders, "who would feed the guilt you love so much if I weren't around?"
Shrugging off Alec's touch, Vlad scowled. He hated it when Alec started talking about things like guilt and remorse – something the other man took every opportunity to do – because it never failed to remind him of…
"Theresa Jennings."
Vlad's gut tightened at the name, even as he turned toward the speaker. Then he saw the woman in question and the rest of the world dropped away.
Theresa.
Well, of course. That was what the greasy little peacock had introduced her as – but it was his Theresa.
No. No, of course it couldn't be his Theresa. She was dead and gone more than six hundred years past. He'd watched her burn, for Christ's sake. Theresa was dead, yet…
The woman that spoke was the image of his long-lost love. Oh, her hair was shorter and she held herself with the ease of a twenty-first century woman, but in every other way she was his Theresa. Her voice, as she spoke about art being a form of release, about how she used it to face her nightmares, was the same.
The sound took Vlad back to long, sticky summer days spent making love on the banks of a still lake. To running his fingers through her long curls as they shared their hopes and dreams. To nights of slipping out of the monastery to meet her behind her father's barn. To-
To-
To the charred stump of a wooden post, the cry of an angry mob, and the smell of burning flesh.
Vlad grabbed at the first thing his hand touched, trying desperately to hold on to some sense of reality. It took a long moment for him to realize that it was Alec he clung to. Alec – who laughed as Vlad turned, expression stricken, to stare in horror at him.
"I knew you would be surprised!" Alec said jovially, a little of his native accent leaking into the words. "I thought you would have spotted her earlier but I'm glad I didn't miss it. Oh, Vlad!" he laughed, "You should see your face!"
"You?" Vlad said, stunned. "You did this?"
"Don't be foolish," his companion mocked. "I'm not God," he said, laughing at his own private joke. "But when I saw her photo online, I knew the two of you just had to be reunited so I…"
Vlad had stopped listening. His entire focus was on the woman who, for all intents and purposes, was the only woman he'd ever loved. A roaring filled his mind, drowning out all other thoughts and sounds. He watched helplessly as the woman spoke to the crowd, occasionally gesturing to a painting behind her. Then she glanced in Vlad's direction. Their eyes met.
Nothing else existed. There was no party, no gallery – nothing but the two of them. Her expression turned to shock as recognition filled her eyes. Confusion followed.
The man who had introduced her, all ponytail and tuxedo, cleared his throat loudly, making Theresa turn her attention back to the crowd. She blinked rapidly, as though she'd forgotten about their existence, and thanked them woodenly, abruptly ending her speech. A murmur ran through the crowd as she turned her attention back to Vlad.
"Well," Alec said, prying his arm free of Vlad's grip, "go to her, already."
And he did.