Chapter 18 Tobias
I had no way to tell how much time had passed since being thrust into this cliché of a cell. It was dark and dreary and damp, just as one would expect. I wanted to laugh at how comically mundane it was. But it was lined with lead, so I couldn’t shift or use my powers. I couldn’t even stave off the stupidly typical cold because the fire within just wouldn’t ignite.
So I couldn’t laugh. I was too weak and too miserable to laugh at our situation—thrown into the dungeon. And what was worse was having Char huddled next to me, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
It was a small blessing the assholes had put us in the same cell, otherwise one or both of us might’ve frozen to death. Our smart clothing was malfunctioning for some reason—probably another result of whatever also suppressed our powers—but dragons without their fire were more susceptible to cold than humans.
It’s probably why we were jailed together. To keep each other alive with only our meager body heat.
But Char shouldn’t have to suffer alongside me. She should’ve gotten out while she could, just like the others. It should’ve been only me, the one who defied orders, and all for nothing. Feeling her trembling frame pressed against me only made me more miserable.
I could barely keep my eyes open. Not because I was exhausted and wanted to fall into a restful sleep, but because the lead that coated my cell drained me like the leeches who built it. It was so effective that I had to be careful not to let even a tiny sliver of skin contact the walls or floor.
Which meant I couldn’t sleep because I’d wake up with burns—on my hands when they fell to the floor or a cheek that rested against the wall. My palms and fingers on my good arm were already an angry red from gripping the bars when we were first thrown in.
I should’ve known.
I should’ve assumed.
I shouldn’t have let my damned emotions get in the way, and I should’ve used my brain to avoid such a stupid injury.
At least the cold took away the biting pain in my broken arm—a different kind of stupid injury. There was the silver lining.
Loud footsteps warned of someone approaching. Several someones. Char stiffened and sat up straighter, using her hold on my good arm instead of the floor to re-adjust herself. I didn’t bother to do the same. Whoever was coming—and it probably wasn’t Arya or Shea—didn’t deserve such respect from us.
The lead bloodsucker himself came into our line of sight, marching toward our cell with all the arrogance of the ruthless dictator he was. There was a bright light shining from behind him, making Hadrian a tall and dark silhouette. But whoever was holding the light angled it away so that it wasn’t blinding us.
I didn’t move. I was certain the vampire leader could have me killed with the snap of his finger, but I also knew if Hadrian had wanted me dead, it would’ve happened already.
“Get to your feet, Dracul prince,” Hadrian spat when he was only a few steps away from the cell. With the light turned away, my eyes slowly adjusted so I could see Hadrian a little clearer.
I moved only my eyes to scowl at my captor. “Lead weakens avians. Dragons, phoenixes, and harpies. But of course, you knew that because you once pumped me full of it with one of those fancy bombs.”
Hadrian looked impatient. “I’ve been around since before even your father was out of diapers. I’m quite aware of what weakens avians.” He whirled his hand as he spoke, and his tone changed at the end.
I hoped that meant I’d annoyed Hadrian and resisted the urge to smile.
“Why do you think I’ve lined your cell with lead?” Hadrian asked.
I shrugged and pretended not to notice how tightly wound Char was. Hadrian’s presence clearly terrified her, and she probably didn’t like the flippant way I was speaking to the vampire king. But I wasn’t afraid of him, and I refused to show the bastard any sign of weakness.
“If you knew, then you would know just how difficult it would be to get to my feet,” I ground out.
Hadrian merely glared, his eyes briefly flashing red. But without saying another word, he motioned for someone unseen to come closer. A tall, slender vampire—whose cheeks were sunken-in, making him look almost malnourished—swiftly walked forward with a small device in his hand aimed at the cell.
Char let out a tiny squeak, then gripped my arm tighter. I inclined my head to hers and whispered one word: video. She instantly relaxed her grip. Maybe she assumed it was a torture device. It hurt like hell, but using my broken arm, I gave her a reassuring tap on the hand that gripped me. It was a good thing I knew Charlotte so well. For being a sergeant in the shifter military, I might’ve expected more from her.
Maybe it was because I was with her, she didn’t feel the need to put on a brave facade.
It was fine. I could be the strong one. I doubted I’d act much different if I were alone. Arthur was my father, after all. I’d long ago stopped cowering in the presence of that brand of power. The difference was that I at least respected Arthur; I had no respect for the leech.
Hadrian motioned to someone else out of sight, and a short, stocky, spiky-white-haired man—who looked as if he had an addiction to hair gel despite a receding hairline—rounded the corner and made quick work of unlocking the cell.
If it weren’t for the weakening lead, I could’ve taken advantage. I’d been trained to defend myself without shifting—and suddenly realized Caesar’s foresight and genius for insisting that we were. But I could barely keep myself upright, and I was fairly certain that without my and Char’s bodies leaning against each other, we’d both be lying prostrate on the poisoned floor.
Mr. Hair Gel tore Char from me and shoved her at the cell’s back wall—slightly less poisonous than the bars on every other side—where she crumpled like a pile of laundry, clearly in pain.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” I snarled, reacting too slowly and swaying at the loss of her support.
He yanked me to my feet by jerking my good arm—thankfully. It was quite the feat, considering I was nearly a foot taller than the man, but the short vampire was supernaturally strong and had no trouble getting me upright.
Hadrian eyed me up and down like he was looking for something.
I remained silent, focusing on staying on my feet. Crashing to the floor with a broken arm was not something on my bucket list.
Without looking at the tall vampire, Hadrian said, “Steadman, begin broadcasting.”
Broadcasting?
Steadman pushed something on top of his recording device. A blue light lit up and pointed at me.
My mouth went dry, but I still managed another quip. “Yes, please, Steadman. We must show the other vampires how to bring down a dragon.”
I waited for the blow or some other show of force from Mr. Hair Gel next to me. A kick, a punch in the gut, or a twist of my broken arm so the other vampires could watch me scream.
But...nothing.
“We’re in,” Steadman finally said in a high-pitched, nasally voice, and I realized Hadrian had been waiting for that cue.
“Not just the vampires,” Hadrian said, his tone calm and even. “Although they are watching.” He brought his hands together, interlocking his fingers and dropping them in front of him. “No, your shifter friends in their no-longer-secret fishbowl can see you too. As well as your father.”
I didn’t have a retort for that. What purpose would Hadrian have to broadcast me in a cell? For our sakes, I hoped my execution wasn’t in the script.
I gulped. “And what are you wanting my father to see?”
“Well, first of all,” Hadrian said, holding his arms wide and entering the shot to stand beside me. “I want to greet our viewers, vampire and shifter alike. I, Hadrian, have captured one of the famed Dracul line. This is Tobias Dracul—the youngest Dracul, if I’m not mistaken.” He turned to wink at me and added in a low tone, “Well... legitimate Dracul, that is.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. What was he playing at? Mention of my younger half-brothers was a jab at my mother more than anyone. But I didn’t think he said it loud enough for the mic to hear, so why mention it?
“Are you aware of your rich history, Tobias?” he asked, speaking loudly again for the camera.
My guts clenched, and my first thought sped to Claudette and the Dracul curse. But the feeling passed quickly. What could Hadrian do in relation to the curse that the curse hadn’t done already?
“Your ancestor, Vlad Dracul specifically?” he prodded like a gameshow host offering hints to a contestant.
Ah, Vlad. I rolled my eyes. “He was a dragon king who killed a lot of vampires,” I replied smugly. “Everyone knows that.”
Hadrian reached out and gripped the fingertips of my injured arm and twisted slightly, causing a twinge to radiate all the way up my shoulder. I felt the muscles in my face flinch but gave no other indication of the intense pain. I’d endured worse. Hadrian immediately released my fingers, then turned to face me, making sure the camera could still see his profile.
“If everyone knows the history of Vlad Dracul , can you guess what I plan to mention next?”
I stared at him without breaking eye-contact. “That you have a lot of angry vampires who want my head?” Somehow, I managed to keep my tone and volume the same as before, despite the agony pulsating through my arm.
Hadrian gave a throaty laugh, acting as if he had thousands of audience members joining in. After a moment, he made a tsk sound directed at me, then pointed a finger at my face. “That princely arrogance. You’ve had it your entire life, no? You’ve waved your title around like you’re the son of a king since you learned to crawl.”
I didn’t so much as bat an eye. I wasn’t sure what reaction Hadrian was expecting, but he didn’t seem to be getting what he was aiming for.
“But the Dracul’s are nobodies, aren’t they? Just haughty dragons who think they’re better than the other shifters.” He aimed a smirk at the blue light.
Was he trying to start some mutiny? Did he have any idea about the Dracul’s at all? Sure, I abhorred the deference I often received for being a Dracul, but we’d been instrumental in the defense of shifters for centuries. Was Hadrian trying to drag the name through the mud?
“ Dracul Royalty is a delusion. You aren’t royalty .” He paused for effect. “You’re all nothing more than a bunch of fire-breathing lizards.”
I arched a bored eyebrow at him. Was I supposed to be offended?
Hadrian stared at me for a handful of seconds but didn’t allow emotion to give away his thoughts.
“Do the other shifters realize that they’ve allowed the Dracul’s to throw their name around as if they’re gods for long enough? Someday I hope they wizen up and realize that they don’t need the likes of Arthur Dracul dictating them.”
I refused to comment on that. I could see what Hadrian was trying to do, and most of it had nothing to do with me other than being a Dracul myself and the son of Arthur. But Hadrian clearly didn’t know I hated being treated like royalty. He was poking at a family pride that wasn’t there.
He stared at me again, as if searching for the right buttons to push. And I couldn’t help but smirk at his frustration over failing.
With clenched teeth, he leaned forward and gripped my good hand. “I will make an example of you, prince, ” he promised menacingly. Then, in one swift motion, he snapped my other arm.
A shriek of pain forced its way up my throat, and I doubled over, causing Char to lurch toward me before realizing what she’d done—reminding Hadrian that she existed at all.
Hadrian gave her one knowing glance before turning back to his blue light. “I assure you my friends, I will make an example of this pretender . Many of you remember the actions of Vlad, and you will finally get your revenge.” Without taking a breath, but shifting his expression to one of malice, he continued. “And to the shifters… I would advise you to surrender now. You have lost.”
The blue light blinked off. And I blacked out.