Marty leapt over to my father. "Hugh, you need to settle down," he muttered while shooting wary looks at Vlad. "Let's go for a walk, hmm?"
"That's not necessary, I won't kill him," Vlad said in the same tone most people used to talk about the weather.
"This is too twisted," Gretchen muttered. "I'm about to have Dracula for a brother-in-law."
I ignored that, still glaring at my father.
"I didn't expect you to be happy about this. I did expect that you wouldn't get homicidal. I've lived with a vampire for years, remember? They're not so different from us."
"You think I object because he's a vampire?" my father snapped. "If you were marrying Marty, I'd give my blessing because he's a good man. He" - a finger stabbed in Vlad's direction - "is not."
I sighed. "You saw the corpses on the lawn, didn't you?"
My father let out a scoff. "As if I couldn't tell before that. I told you, Leila, I can read people, and without a doubt, Vlad is the most violent person I've ever met."
"You're right."
Vlad hadn't shifted from his relaxed position, nor had his genial smile slipped. He waved a hand at Gretchen and Marty.
"You're both resigned to this wedding, so give us the room."
Gretchen got up, casting a sideways look at my hand. "Still no diamond ring. This is what happens when you don't play hard to get, sis."
I rolled my eyes. "If you want to help me design the dress, meet me in the library in half an hour."
Marty gave me a long look. "I hope you know what you're doing, kid," he said. Then he followed Gretchen out of the room.
I glanced back at Vlad, noting that he and my father were engaged in a staring contest. Vlad's eyes were their normal deep copper color, but even without vampiric enhancement, Hugh Dalton didn't stand a chance.
"Dad, I know you have certain opinions about Vlad, but once you get to know him, I'm sure - " I began, only to have Vlad's chuckle stop me.
"That won't help because he's right. I am a violent man and I always have been. Why, when I was half his age and human, I invited the local nobles to my home for a feast. While they still had food hanging from their lips, I slaughtered them all and counted it an excellent evening."
"TMI," I muttered.
He ignored that, meeting my father's harsh blue stare.
"Here's what you don't know: I am never violent without cause. Those nobles had betrayed my father, resulting in him being blinded and buried alive. Some of them had walled him into his grave themselves, yet they still came to my home without fear because they underestimated me. You don't, which is one of the two reasons I respect you."
Then he leaned forward, his smile fading.
"The other reason is this: loyalty. You've seen the riches I possess and the power I wield, yet you've never thought of using your daughters to garner those things for yourself."
"That's not loyalty. It's being a father," my dad gritted.
"My father bartered me and my younger brother to his worst enemy in exchange for political security," Vlad said flatly. "I've seen far worse in the centuries since. Fatherhood isn't why you value your daughters more than money, power, or even healing your leg, which I can do. It's loyalty, and I expect you honor it more now because of the loss you suffered when you betrayed it before."
I didn't know which shocked me more - Vlad saying he could heal my father's crippled leg, or him throwing up my dad's former adultery. Vlad knew about it because of the guilt I still carried over my mother's death. I'd told her about the incriminating letters I found in my dad's bag because I was angry that she was moving us away from my trainer to join my dad in Germany. At thirteen, I cared more about making the Olympic team than my mother's heartache. Her leaving him put us at my aunt's, where she died trying to help me after I touched that downed power line.
My dad also looked stunned, but then he rose, jabbing the end of his cane at Vlad. "How dare you."
The words trembled with wrath. Vlad didn't even blink.
"I dare because I want no misunderstanding between us. I am everything you think I am, but I love your daughter, and what I love, I protect with all of the violence in me, which, as you've guessed, is considerable."
Silence fell when Vlad finished speaking. Even his staff must have paused in their frenetic preparations because I could've heard a pin drop in the next room. My dad's face remained set in hard lines while I engaged in an inner debate.
He could've left out all the people he'd killed -
Why? A Google search would reveal the same thing.
Fine, but bringing up Dad's affair -
He was impolite while making a point? This is Vlad the Impaler. His points usually come at the end of a long pole.
Yes, but the two of them are going to be family -
Did you hear Vlad describe his family? He didn't even get to the part where his younger brother kept trying to kill him.
And on and on. As I'd feared, I'd morphed into Gollum.
What I finally said after the seconds ticked by was this:
"I don't blame you for being upset, Dad. If my daughter told me she was marrying the undead Prince of Darkness, I'd flip out, too. You don't have to like it or approve, but you can't stop me, and I hope . . ." I swallowed to relieve the lump that suddenly shot into my throat. "I hope you'll be at my wedding."
Then I went over to him and kissed his cheek before leaving the room. Whatever my dad, Gretchen, or Marty decided to do, I had a wedding to get ready for.
Chapter 28
At some point, I felt sure I'd wake up. I wasn't the girl who had an exquisite gown handmade with fairy godmother - like quickness for her wedding. I was the girl who lost her mother before I could really get to know her. Who had her dreams crushed, whose family harbored resentments, who couldn't touch anyone without risking their lives, and who drowned in darkness from all the sins her abilities forced her to relive.
That didn't look like the girl in the mirror. My dress had a creamy bodice overlapping at the bust to increase my modest curves. Under that, a multilayered chiffon skirt was inlaid with lace clusters and tiny seed pearls. The lace bolero jacket left my decollete bare but hugged my neck and shoulders before descending into sleeves as sheer as spiderwebs. They came to my fingers, embroidery clusters concealing my long, zigzagging scar. My hair was up, a diamond-studded clip underneath the bun. That clip held up the back of a sheer cathedral veil with more pearl adornments. The front of the veil was currently thrown back in case I needed any final touch-ups on my makeup.
No, the girl in the mirror didn't look like she'd suffered from loneliness, isolation, or an influx of images from the worst deeds people inflicted upon each other. She looked happy. One might even dare to use the word blessed. Was it any wonder I had a hard time reconciling that she was me?