When we were back in our car, pulling away from the prison, I said, “I have another question. Why do you only pick men?”

He almost rolled his eyes before glancing at me. “Perhaps because we’re recruiting soldiers for a supernatural war.”

I wasn’t letting him off that easily. “Don’t think it’s escaped my notice that over eighty percent of the vampires in your line are men, too.”

“In my time, nearly every army was exclusively male.”

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m from the fifteenth century’ defense,” I said with a snort. “Marty told me that all new vampires start out with roughly the same power level, with lineage and character making the difference later as to strength and abilities. Your people come from all cultures, races, and social statuses, yet they’re mostly one big sausage fest.”

“You want me to subject women to the brutal circumstances of war?” His tone was scornful. “You of all people know what would happen if one of them was captured.”

“And you of all people know that being a male doesn’t always shield you from that,” I replied, my voice soft. “My point is, when you’re recruiting, you should give women the same options you’re giving men, and let them decide what they can and can’t handle.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue further. Then he shut it, flashing me a genial smile.

“Very persuasive points. Therefore, feel free to make as many female vampires as you deem necessary for this war.”

“Me?” I exclaimed “No. I mean, I don’t know how—”

“You saw: bite, bleed, replenish,” he said, ticking the items off on his fingers. “Easier than baking a cake.”

I glared at him. “My ass it’s easier, and have you forgotten the tiny issue where I electrocute everyone I touch?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Not to worry, you’ll bleed them out long before you electrocute them to death.”

But I didn’t want to make any new vampires. Transformation issue aside, the responsibilities were weightier than having a child, and I wasn’t ready for that. Plus, I was still struggling with some of the aspects of vampirism myself; how could I be the sire of someone who knew even less about it than I did?

I tried again. “We were talking about your sexism, Vlad. My making female vampires has nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, but it does,” he said, barely controlling the twitch to his lips. “You wanted equality? Here it is. Don’t bother to thank me—your expression is gratifying enough.”

Chapter 30

I was getting used to waking up in different places than I’d fallen asleep in. This time, it was Vlad’s plane, with him next to me and a thermos of warm blood already waiting.

“Where’re we going?” I asked when I finished my breakfast. Or dinner, considering it was dark outside the plane’s windows. Vlad must have brought his new recruits with us. Several people were behind the curtain that separated where we were from the seats closer to the cockpit, and from the multiple heartbeats, at least half of them were human.

“Slovenia,” he replied. “We’re almost there, in fact.”

“Back to Europe, huh?”

“It’s most likely where Szilagyi is. Both his prior lairs were in Europe and he knows I’ll return to my own soil soon. When I do, he’ll want to be close enough to take advantage.”

That’s what I would do, hung unspoken in the air between us. Sometimes, their similarities unnerved me, but where it mattered most, Vlad and Szilagyi were nothing alike. Take, for example, Vlad’s inherent nationalism. My own soil. Romania would always be his home, no matter how many houses he had elsewhere.

Familiar scents behind the curtain had me inhaling with a single, sharp breath. “My dad and Gretchen are on the plane?”

“Yes.” Vlad’s expression darkened. “He wanted to speak with you, if you’re willing to see him.”

He did? As if they’d become sentient, my hands began to fly around my body, smoothing my sleep-tousled hair and brushing imaginary lint from my dress, a soft, long black sheath I hadn’t fallen asleep in.

Vlad watched me, but I couldn’t read anything from his chiseled, striking features.

“No need for that. You’re beautiful, Leila. You always have been, no matter your appearance.”

“Doesn’t appearance make up the majority of beauty?” I said, trying to mask my nervousness with a quip.

“No.” His voice was low, but it vibrated with intensity. “Not in the only way it matters.”

He pulled me to him, kissing me with enough passion to muss my hair back to its former, unruly state. By the time he lifted his head, my mouth and other parts of me were tingling and I could care less what I looked like.

Vlad raised his voice and said something in Romanian. I translated the word “father,” which was icy water on my libido. Moments later, the curtain separating the two sections of the plane pulled back, revealing Samir and Hugh Dalton.

“Voivode,” the handsome, black-haired guard said, bowing before letting the curtain drop. My father stood on this side of it, his gaze flicking from me to Vlad and back again. His features might have been schooled into his usual officer’s mask, but from his scent, he was more nervous about this than I was.

“Hello, Leila,” he said uncomfortably.

“Hugh,” Vlad replied before I could say anything, his mouth curling into a hostile smirk. “You’ve finally summoned the courage to face your daughter. You’ll be relieved to know that she recently fed, so you needn’t fear that she’ll go for your throat if you come any closer.”