Magia Posthuma ✓

Seventeen

Castelul Poenari, December 1769

Irina turned suddenly towards the voice, and – as she spun – the heel of her riding boot snagged in the hem of her skirts. The moment between one heartbeat and the next seemed to stretch as she stumbled sideways and felt the air open out beneath her, before she was suddenly pulled back and swirled away from the edge and into Vlad's arms. She held onto a breath as she turned her head and peered nervously over her shoulder – all the way down to the drifts of snow and the jagged rocks of the cliff face and lake icy below – and only when she was satisfied she was safe did she drop her forehead onto Vlad's chest and let it go.

Vlad looked down at her, a stern look in his eyes. "...I would have given you the tour if you'd asked, you know," he told her, raising a dark eyebrow.

Irina looked up, her eyes stumbling over his lips before she met his gaze. Her heart was racing, "You surprised me – again," she replied. She suddenly realised how tightly she was holding onto him; her fingers were clawing into his black coat and the thick, firm muscles of his upper arms.

Vlad chuckled as he waltzed her away from the edge, his hands gripping her bodice. "Ah, but you surprised me first," he countered, his blue eyes dancing across her face. "I wasn't expecting guests."

Irina wrinkled her nose, "...Yes, I can see that," she replied, lifting an eyebrow at the missing walls. The castle was a wreck; even if he had been expecting her, it would have been quite the feat to raise it from the rubble in time.

Vlad smirked. "...I confess, you've rather caught me off guard," he told her, his gaze dropping to her lips and to the smooth slope of her neck.

Irina tilted her head and shared his smirk; her body warmed all the way through to her frostbitten toes when he looked at her like that. "What, I didn't give you a chance to hide the bodies?" she teased, her hands sliding down his arms as she carefully stepped away.

Vlad hesitated. "...In a manner of speaking," he replied with a shrug as he followed her.

"Well, good," she replied, throwing her voice over her shoulder. "I'd hate to think you were holding out on me."

Vlad shadowed her; he traced every step she took as if he were hunting her, his eyes trained on her satin hide and the pale flesh hiding beneath it. "...You do realise that you're the first to breach this castle's defenses in over two hundred years," he told her.

"Am I?" Irina replied. She tested the stability of the wall beside her and then leaned back against it, neatly folding her hands neatly behind her back.

"Mm hm."

She narrowed her brown eyes, "Does that make you my prisoner?" she flirted, tilting her head back to look at him as he stopped in front of her – the crumbling, cold stones brushing the back of her head. "I hope so."

Vlad settled one hand on the wall beside her head, while the other reached out and cupped her face – his thumb brushing over her lips and the smattering of freckles across her cheek before tracing the line of her jaw.

Irina shivered.

"...I'm at your mercy, iubita mea," he whispered as his hand descended into the waterfall of brown curls falling over her shoulder.

She considered swatting his hand away but instead found herself frozen; she felt her whole scalp bristle at his touch. "...Perhaps I'll torture you then," she said, tilting her face upwards like a flower craning its petals towards the sun. "Gut you of your inner most secrets."

Vlad's thumb moved his hand onto her neck, to the spot where her pulse throbbed; he traced the pad of his thumb over it, feeling it vibrate beneath the skin with every beat. He groaned a little, his dark eyes pulling together as he whispered, "Your very presence is torture enough, Irina."