Eleventh Grade Burns by Heather Brewer Page B

Elders?”
    D’Ablo said nothing in reply.
    Dorian clucked his tongue, quieting his voice as if they shared a secret. “I think we both understand why that would be a poor choice.”
    Vlad had been ready to back away and break into a run, but now he furrowed his brow in slight confusion, the thought of running suddenly evaporating in the cool night air. “What about my dad? What are you hinting at?”
    Dorian and D’Ablo looked back at Vlad, looking like they’d only just remembered his presence. Dorian moved his eyes back to D’Ablo and nodded toward Vlad. “Tell him.”
    D’Ablo scowled. He wasn’t about to tell Vlad anything.
    But then Dorian’s expression grew serious. He repeated, “Tell him.”
    Immediately, D’Ablo turned to Vlad and spoke. “If I took your life, everyone who ever loved your father would not stop until I was tortured and killed. A life for a life. I would lose my position as president, my belongings would become the belongings of your loved ones, and my name would be mocked for centuries to come. Your father was a very powerful and influential man. If I were to murder his son, I would regret it.”
    Once the final word passed over his lips, he seemed to regain control of himself. His face reddened in anger and hatred, and if his eyes could have shot lasers, they would have burned a hole right through Dorian.
    Dorian merely smiled, obviously enjoying his control over D’Ablo. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? It’s fun to tell the truth. Is there any other truth you’d like to share with Vlad?”
    A curt reply, one filled with venom. “No.”
    Dorian raised a sharp eyebrow, as if defying D’Ablo to speak. “Nothing about his father? Nothing about your plans?”
    Vlad shot a look between the two older vampires. Plans? How did any of D’Ablo’s plans have anything to do with Vlad’s dad?
    D’Ablo’s scowl deepened, hatred spewing from every pore in his body. “No.”
    “Very well, then.” Dorian turned back to Vlad, then glanced over his shoulder at D’Ablo in an afterthought. “You may go now.”
    D’Ablo stalked off without another word, dismissed, like a household servant.
    Dorian sighed, shaking his head at Vlad like they were old friends. “I have never liked that guy.”
    Now Vlad was alone with Dorian. Immediately, Vlad’s heart picked up its pace. As if listening to a symphony, Dorian closed his eyes, his head swimming with the sound of Vlad’s heartbeat. In an effort to snap him out of his day-dream, Vlad said, “Nobody likes D’Ablo. At least, nobody I know.”
    “You’ll be surprised.”
    Vlad furrowed his brow. You’ll not you’d. As if Dorian knew something he wasn’t telling Vlad.
    “Less people like me than our friend D’Ablo, I’m afraid.”
    “Something tells me you’re never afraid. Of anything.” In an afterthought, Vlad took a step back.
    A strange smile lit up Dorian’s face and he shrugged casually, almost sheepishly.
    Several seconds passed before Vlad said, “So ... what do you want?”
    “I’ve come to proposition you. It is within my power to save your uncle’s life, but he is too stubborn to agree to a trade. So I implore you. Give me your blood and I will help your uncle survive his trial.” He spoke so matter-of-factly that it sounded as if he’d rehearsed his speech all the way here, as if he’d practiced it over and over again, perhaps out loud, until it sounded perfect, until his demand seemed sane and rational, everything that Dorian most certainly was not. His eyes told Vlad that he was completely serious, but his eager nod seemed almost childlike. He waited, and when Vlad failed to give him a thumbs-up on the idea, he sighed, troubled. “If I have to take your blood by force, Otis will die. I’m sorry, Vlad, but I cannot control this urge. I must have your blood, at any cost.”
    Vlad’s heart rammed against his ribs. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Dorian wanted his blood, now he was left to choose between his