“The iron.” Mac whispered the word without thinking, staring as the stranger tucked it into some hidden pocket beneath his cloak. “I’d forgotten…”
Like a drunk waking the morning after taking on a bottle too big for him, he felt both better and worse without the iron resting against his chest. Better because he could think without the warm fog in his head, the buzzing he’d ceased to notice. Worse because without the semi-madness the piece of metal had sent him into, he had nothing to distract him from the headache that threatened to spill him onto the floor in an undignified heap. His hands rose to press against his temples, trying to ease the throbbing that pounded with unforgiving violence against his skull.#p#分页标题#e#
“If it would help, I could pour you a drink?” the stranger offered.
“I don’t drink,” Mac mumbled. He took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly before meeting the stranger’s eyes. “Who are you?”
“I am Kirill of Dacia.” He inclined his head slightly in a shadow of a formal greeting.
Mac stiffened, then winced as the headache punished him with a brain-numbing throb. “The vampire prince?”
One white-blond eyebrow rose. “If you prefer. Yes.”
The poker next to the fireplace was the closest weapon. Mac lowered his hands from his head, rubbed them together as if suddenly cold. He took a few slow, but steady steps toward the fireplace, palms facing the warm glow. His heart pounded harder, but this time it had nothing to do with his body’s attempts to recover from the iron exposure. “And what brings Your Highness to my humble abode?”
His voice came out blessedly calm, and the vampire showed no sign that he’d picked up on his intentions concerning the poker.
The vampire stepped back, yielding the fireplace to Mac. “I’ve come to make you an offer. I’m an admirer of your work, and I believe that together we could accomplish great things.”
Mac mentally mapped out the vampire’s position as he shifted closer to the poker leaning against the left side of the stone hearth. He tried to remember everything he knew about vampires, but his thoughts were still sluggish and he had no personal experience with the undead to draw on. “What kind of offer?”
“It has come to my attention that you may be interested in relocating. What with the woods around this charming home being infested with a certain sidhe, and now your own populace having somewhat lukewarm feelings about you—”
Mac snatched up the poker, swinging it around then thrusting toward the vampire's chest with all his strength. It met empty air. Growling as he tried to recover his balance, Mac pivoted in mid-motion searching the room for his target. He had to get his back to the wall, close off possible—
A hand closed around the poker, tore it from his clammy grip. His heart leapt into his throat as he clenched his empty hand into a fist, feeling the absence of the poker like a physical loss. Metal clattered against the floor as the weapon was hurled across the room, and it took Mac a few seconds of frantic searching to spot the vampire leaning against his work table.
At the sudden clamor, the silver wolf lifted an ear, one eye cracking open before rolling back. The ear relaxed as sleep dragged the wolf out of the fight before it could even commit to entering it.
Mac parted his lips to scream at the animals to wake and come to his defense, but before he could form the words, red eyes filled his vision. He sucked in a breath and stumbled a step back. They stood barely an arm’s length apart, Kirill’s eyes glowing softly as if they’d been carved from the fire’s embers, and try as he might he couldn't seem to look away.
“Listen to me, Mac Tyre,” Kirill said softly. “Look at me, and listen very carefully.”
The chaos writhing like a swarm of insects in Mac’s mind quieted. Soothing calm rolled over him like warm rays from the summer sun. It soaked into his muscles, loosening the knots there. His shoulders sagged, releasing the tension that had twisted his nerves into so many knots.
“You have a cunning mind, and the courage to go against forces that would seem insurmountable to lesser men,” Kirill said quietly, his voice soothing, but firm. “You have the potential within you to do great things, to be a force to be reckoned with.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you are losing that. This pathetic crusade you’ve waged against Robin Hood is beneath you, a petty squabble that grew beyond your control. You’ve let him make a fool of you, let him take away the very mind that allowed you to become a threat to him in the first place.” He took a step back, shook his head. “Wearing iron without respite. It is a wonder you can hold two thoughts together anymore.”#p#分页标题#e#