Chapter Seventeen

134 years ago: December 15th, 1877, Transylvania, Romania. Pele? Castle in Sinaia

Elisabeth of Wied, wife toCarol, Prince of Romania, bent over her needlework, a lace cap perched daintily on her crown of rich sable hair. She was seated on a cushioned bench across from Pettrila in the castle's Florentine Room. Both women were cozily placed in front of a huge white marble fireplace decorated with replicas of Michelangelo statuary, a stack of blazing logs warding off the chill.

"Our army finally took the town of Plevna," Elisabeth said, then humphed sadly. "Five months it took the combined forces of Russia and Romania to succeed in that, and so many men lost."

"Aye, Your Highness, war brings such terrible misfortune." Pettrila shifted on her bench, her own handwork in her lap, but couldn't find a comfortable position. Any measure of comfort would no doubt be impossible to find with her long hair knotted into an excruciatingly tight bun at her nape and the gown she was wearing cut along the waist into the fashionable, figure-hugging "princess line." The design had necessitated an extra-tight pull of her corset laces, rendering movement, not to mention the act of breathing, an undue challenge. But when one visited royalty, no matter how favored a companion, one dressed in the latest style.

Elisabeth sat back and reached for her goblet, taking a sip of her Glühwein, German hot mulled wine. Although she was reigning Princess of Romania, Elisabeth was not born of this country, nor was her husband. Both were from Germany, and filled their home with many of their birth country's traditions. A twelve-foot-tall fir Christmas tree, adorned with lit candles, glass balls, straw ornaments, dried fruit, and shiny-wrapped sweetmeats, lorded over one corner of the Florentine Room. Treats of Pl?tzchen, Christmas cookies made simply of butter, flour, sugar, and hazelnuts, the fancier Lebkuchen, richly spiced ginger cookies, along with the customary Christstollen, fruitcake covered with powdered sugar, sat on a sideboard.

The Advent wreath—with a candle to be lit each of the four Sundays before Christmas—was conspicuously absent, for the Adventskranz helped children count the days to Christmas, and Carol and Elisabeth's only offspring, a girl child named Maria, had died three years ago at the age of four. Elisabeth had never fully recovered from the loss, and with so much maternal love still in her heart to give, the princess now lavished her doting regard on Pettrila. Only about five years separated the two women, but the orphaned Pettrila was happy enough to let Elisabeth treat her as an adopted daughter.

Elisabeth took another musing sip of Glühwein. "At least now that the war has turned our way, more attention can be put toward the problem of those vile Varcolac." The princess gave a delicate shudder.

"Aye, my lady," Pettrila murmured, bowing her head over her embroidery.

Elisabeth was deathly afraid of vampires. She'd even tearfully begged her husband to let them spend Christmas at Pele? Castle this year, usually a summer getaway for the royal couple, although with its innovative centralized heating and electricity, the estate was always cozy. Elisabeth believed that she'd be safer from the "monsters" hidden away in the rugged Carpathian Mountains. Which was merely hysterical thinking.

Pettrila fingered the rim of her embroidery hoop. It was a dark time for her people.

Russian General Nikolai Pavlovich Kridener, in his determination to destroy the entire Varcolac race, had instituted a campaign to incite the public against their breed. He'd created sensational stories of undead, soulless creatures who actively hunted people in order to transform unsuspecting innocents into their own fanged, godless kind with their bites. All lies, except the part, perhaps, of Varcolac being godless. Their race believed in a Higher Power, aye, but not in a strictly Christian sense. They respected and revered nature, the pull of the moon, the richness and fertility of the earth, the force of the wind and seas, and the power of the moon and stars, to which they were so closely aligned. Did this make them evil?

Yea or nay, it mattered not. No one was willing to consider Varcolac as people. Kridener's lies had worked too well. In truth, he'd wrought too much hysteria. Open rioting and uncontrolled, widespread killing had begun to tear the country apart. Kridener had been forced to invent additional rumors in order to give the populace a means of protecting themselves from these bloodsucking creatures, lest more innocent citizens be harmed in the bedlam. Or more attention and resources be diverted from his war.

Pettrila peered covertly through her lashes at the garlands of garlic intertwined with the boughs of holly strung along the mantelpiece, then glanced at the large cross necklace which lay against Elisabeth's snowy breast. Pettrila's failure to cower before either had helped to keep the truth of her heritage safely hidden. But garlic and crosses? Lun? ?i stelu??, where did Kridener come up with such tripe? The fantastical stories would have been entertaining had they not proven so dangerous to her people.

Elisabeth set down her goblet and folded her hands in her lap. "Speaking of the Varcolac. How goes your courtship with ?tefan Drago??"

Pettrila snapped her head up. "Goodness, my lady, how are those two subjects akin?"

Elisabeth leaned forward, her eyes bright with a sudden excitement. "Did you not know? ?tefan has taken over as leader of the Varcolac Van?tor."

Pettrila felt her cheeks go numb as the blood drained from her face. She stared open-mouthed at the princess for two hard thumps of her heart before managing to lever her jaw back into place. The Varcolac Van?tor were organized bands of armed men who hunted and slaughtered her breed with frightening efficiency. Vampire hunters. They were fast becoming the heroes of the day.

Elisabeth tilted her chin. "Blitz und donnerwetter, Pettrila, you appear unwell of a sudden." The princess's face fell into a frown. "Does your affection for ?tefan wane? Don't tell me you've taken a fancy for…that Grigore?" Her frown deepened. Elisabeth had put a great deal of matchmaking effort into ?tefan and Pettrila's relationship, and she'd be dreadfully disappointed if wedding bells didn't come of that.

Truth be told, Pettrila secretly harbored the same dream, all the while knowing it was unlikely to come to pass. Any future she and ?tefan could ever hope to have together was contingent upon ?tefan accepting who she was in truth, and if he was a Varcolac Van?tor that made his opinion of vampires painfully clear. A cold feeling caught in her throat as the last pieces of the cherished fantasy blew away like groats of wheat in the wind. Heartsick as she was, she couldn't bring herself to hate ?tefan for it. Oddly, she loved him even more for undertaking this endeavor, as it epitomized the noble, brave character that had captured her very soul.

"Now don't mishear me, Pettrila." Elisabeth picked up her embroidery again, the small hoop in one hand and a needle in her other. "Grigore Nichita is a handsome enough man, to be sure, and he's of the boyar class of nobles. He's just so…intimidating, is he not? Especially those strange eyes of his."

Intimidating, dangerous, uncouth and boorish at times, aye, but of impeccable bloodlines, like Elisabeth said—the Nichitas were some of the purest of the breed. Most important, though, Grigore was one of her own kind. He could understand her on a level that a human like ?tefan never could. Verily, the two men were opposites in every way: appearance, race, personality. Where ?tefan filled a room with a vibrant masculine energy, Grigore ripped the air out of any space he occupied. But then, one man was Varcolac, and the other was not.

"I suppose," Elisabeth exhaled in resignation, "if your interest truly lies with a man other than ?tefan, I can press myself to—"

"What is this I hear? By all that is holy, shall I be called upon to fight a duel?"

Pettrila turned her head in a sharp movement to look at the doorway, the pins in her bun stabbing the back of her neck.

?tefan Drago? lounged against the jamb, one broad shoulder braced against the towering bronze doors and his muscular arms folded across his wide chest. Eyes as blue as a summer sky crackled with a fierce heat, belying his relaxed pose. "Confess, my lady. Who's this gammy toke I must vanquish?"

A shiver curled through Pettrila's belly. The man was not best pleased. "No duels shall be necessary, ?tefan. You're the only man who holds my regard." She swept her lashes low. "Although I daresay the deer has no doubt given away too much to her pursuer."

Elisabeth giggled.

Pettrila peeked at ?tefan, relieved to see his gaze had warmed, smile lines spreading out from the corners of his eyes. In the next breath, she cursed herself. Confessing that she was moon-addled for this man wouldn't help her to free herself of him when the time came. Bother, this very night she must set him aside. Her heart shrank at the thought of never seeing him again. Why did he have to be a blasted Vampire hunter?

"Well, then," ?tefan drawled, "best I take full advantage of my little doe's misstep." Pushing off the doorframe, he came toward her, setting her aching heart aflutter. He cut such a dashing figure in his tschepken, this particular Romanian gentleman's jacket of mauve velvet with intricate gold embroidery at the hem and cuff. The rest of his attire was just as urbane: a dark waistcoat, starched white shirt, and black cravat, where a ruby pin winked at her. Snug black trousers outlined the impressive musculature of his thighs, and shiny black boots encased him snugly from foot to knee. His long blond hair was tied back in a neat queue.

Passing beneath the elegant chandelier of Italian Murano glass, he stopped at her chair, his nearness creating a clamor in her chest and a distinct curling sensation in her toes. Not many gentlemen could claim both towering height and magnificence of form, but ?tefan was one of those few. His face was the embodiment of attractiveness, although for all his beauty, he didn't lack masculinity. His features were cut into hard, sculpted angles, and the hint of ruthlessness tracing the line of his jaw warned that, as pretty as he might be, he was not a man to be trifled with.

Pettrila managed to pull a tight breath in just as he offered her his hand.

"Would you take a turn with me in the garden, my lady?"

"Heiligsblechle!" Elisabeth exclaimed. "'Tis full dark and cold as death's hand out of doors." The princess's tone turned disapproving as she added, "And 'tis not meet for an unwedded woman to go about without a chaperone."

?tefan bestowed a smile of devastating charm on the princess. "By the cross, Highness, how can I steal a kiss from the Lady Pettrila with a chaperone dogging my every footstep?"

Elisabeth's eyes flared for a moment, but then her romantic nature got the better of her and her lips tugged upward. "Wicked, ill-bred man," she scolded in a teasing tone, "dummkopf." She waved them off. "Go, then. But see that 'tis only a kiss you steal and no more, ?tefan Drago?."

He bowed low. "You have my solemn vow."

The soaring turrets and conical towers of Pele? Castle rose majestically into the star-cast sky, the peaks of the Bucegi Mountains creating a serrated backdrop for the fairytale-like residence. A few finely spun clouds curled around the upmost towers of the castle like wispy fingers, and a crescent moon smiled from its bed atop the Carpathians, casting a bluish light over the thick layer of crystalline snow blanketing the landscape and weighting down tree boughs.

Pettrila clutched her fur-lined cloak closer under her chin. She and ?tefan strolled past a fountain lined with marble statues of lounging personages, then made their way between twin crouching lions into the garden of manicured hedgerows, everything shimmering with hoarfrost.

?tefan suddenly side-stepped into her path and turned to face her.

She was forced to stop and peer up at him.

"God's bones," he breathed, "but I mislike it when you wear your hair pulled back like some stuffy matron. It suits you not." He gently tugged a few strands of hair free by her ear, his hand grazing her cheek, then sifted the tresses through his fingers. Moonbeams sparkled off the glossy midnight locks, and his gaze darkened.

Against her will, a giddy anticipation leapt in her belly.

He shifted his fingertips to caress the soft edge of her jaw, his touch moving in a steady path toward her mouth. His eyes deepened to a darker shade of desire.

Pettrila swallowed painfully and pressed her lids closed, unable to bear the look in his eyes when she knew she couldn't allow ?tefan to kiss her. No matter how much she wanted him to, no matter how much a kiss, if permitted to go too far, posed the threat of pain to an unbonded Varcolac. No matter…she wanted his lips on hers.

She stepped away from him, calling on every ounce of discipline she owned to do so. "There'll be no stealing a kiss this night, ?tefan. Nay, nor any other."

"Indeed?" He arched his blond brows at her, an expression of curiosity rather than one of a man grievously cast down. "And pray tell me why not, my lady?"

Because I'm one of the monsters you hunt and kill. Her voice scraped in her dry throat. "Because we must part, dear ?tefan. I am most terribly sorry, but…but I must allow you to return to the war unencumbered by obligations of—"

"You've heard that I'm the leader of the Varcolac Van?tor, haven't you?"

She stilled, a sudden cold seeping into her bones that was entirely more icy than the weather. Unconsciously, she took another step back from him, her nerves prickling. "Why should that matter to me?"

A cloud scudded across the sickle of moon, casting ?tefan's features in shadow. It was only his voice that reached her, a deep, barrel sound from darkness. "I know that you're a vampire, Pettrila."

Her breath spilled out of her on a rush, her heart tolling frantically. "No, I…" Panic shriveled her voice down to no more than a small croak. "I-I—" By all the stars in heaven, how had he discovered it? She'd been so careful to conceal her true self!

He moved to grab her, a black glove stretching out of the shadows.

Primal terror roared up her spine and shut off her breathing. She whirled and ran, knowing only the animal instinct to escape. Before she could accelerate to full Varcolac speed, a hand on her shoulder spun her back around.

She slipped in the snow, lurching into ?tefan's arms. Teeth gritted, she moved to push him off, using her Varcolac strength, but…couldn't. His own strength was beyond human. She gave voice to a strangled cry. "Unhand me, ?tefan! Or I'll…I'll…" What? Scream, and bring the entire estate down on them so that ?tefan could expose her as a bloodsucking monster? Horribly, she began to weep.

"Oh, God, nay." ?tefan pulled her into his embrace. "Don't cry, sweetling. Please."

She didn't resist, just sagged against him, already depleted. She'd spent too many stress-filled months dodging rumors and sensational stories in her own homeland; she didn't have the energy for it anymore, not with ?tefan. "Who are you?" she rasped out. "Truly?" A gusty breeze swirled her cloak around her ankles. Bare branches clacked around them like a dead man's bones.

"No one who is against you, my love. I give you my oath on that." He gently splayed one hand to the side of her cheek to hold her against his chest. "I took on leadership of the Varcolac Van?tor to protect you, Pettrila, don't you see? To steer those unholy bastards onto false chases, if need be."

She inhaled a ragged breath, trying to gather her scattered emotions. ?tefan felt so warm and strong, it was impossible not to calm under the hypnotic effects of his scent. He smelled like a gentleman's club, of cigars and brandy, faro cards and expensive cologne. And him, sweet, seductive blood, the aroma seeping into her flesh like opium smoke and stirring her belly with need. She drew another deep breath and nuzzled the front of his jacket.

He squeezed her tighter, as if he sought to pull her within his body and protect her there. "There's much danger afoot for your people right now, Pettrila, events that even I cannot stop. The hunters are planning a massive, coordinated attack. In the month next, every faction of Varcolac Van?tor in every county will strike at once, annihilating your breed in a single sweep."

Jolting back in his arms, she gaped up at him. The clouds had parted, and moonlight bathed ?tefan's face, revealing a stricken expression.

"You must abandon Romania," he told her. "Every Varcolac must. For all time."

"But…this is our home."

He gave his head a grim shake. "No more."

There was no guile in his expression; he was telling the truth. She pushed the rest of the way out of his embrace and turned away from him, her chin drooping low, tears brimming again. "'Tis so unjust," she said in a small, quiet voice. "We're not monsters."

"I know. I'm so sorry, sweetling."

She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes and drew a bolstering breath. "What are we to do? How shall we escape this massacre?"

"I'm going to help you, my love, don't fret. I've called in favors owed to me by some English privateers, arranging for a fleet of six ships to meet us at the Port of Constan?a in two weeks' time. We'll evacuate you and your people, then."

She sliced a look at him, brows raised. "Privateers owe you?"

A smile worked one corner of his mouth. "My younger years were spent in a somewhat more…adventuresome manner than now." He tilted her chin up on the edge of his hand. "I need your help to see this through, however. I cannot access every Varcolac enclave to pass the word."

"Why would you do this, ?tefan? You risk a great deal by helping my people—your very life." Once again the question rose: who are you?

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his body again. "Because I love you." He bent his head, his breath warm on her ear as he spoke. "'Tis my greatest desire to run off to England with you, little doe, and marry you."

She laughed, the sound thick with emotion. "Marry a vampire? I think not." No one but a man of her own race would ever want to wed her, for any child she bore him would spring from her loins with a blood-need. She stepped out of ?tefan's embrace and turned her face to the sky, gazing at the diamond bright stars. A clump of snow shivered off a sagging pine branch and whispered to the earth. She wouldn't allow herself to succumb to feelings of hope and love.

"Aye." He turned her to face him. "I myself am Dracul."

She drew her brows together. "A Dragon? You're a…Mixed-blood Varcolac?" Impossible. She'd already guessed he wasn't fully human, but that she would've sensed on him.

"A Dragon human," he corrected.

"Stuff! No such creature exists."

He chuckled, his eyes dancing. "One stands before you."

She passed a critical look over him. He did own the ethereal beauty of the Dragon line, eyes of piercing blue, unnatural strength. And the scent of his blood was unusually delectable. Lun? ?i stelu??, perhaps she should've guessed it heretofore, but who the devil knew a Dragon human existed?

"So what say you, my lady? Do you let me play the gallant and rescue you and your kind? Do you agree to be my wife? By God, 'tis ill-bred to keep a man waiting so."

She traced his precious face with her eyes, moonlight bringing into sharp relief the handsome angles and planes. The thought of leaving her beloved Transylvania was a knife in her soul, but beginning a new life with a man she so deeply loved was a powerful solace, indeed. And what choice did she have? Stay behind and be slaughtered? She stepped up to ?tefan.

A roguish smile curved his lips, and her heart melted.

"I say," she murmured, "that I believe 'tis time for you to steal that kiss, ?tefan." She encircled his neck with her arms, letting all the love that warmed her show in her eyes. Thank you, stars above, for gifting me with this man. "'Tis what a future husband should do, is it not?"