Chapter 1
I can hear her scampering about like a rat as her delicate fingers scrabble at the stone walls of the sepulcher. Her piteous cries and wails are a discordant melody that I find both amusing and infuriating. This is her nightly ritual ever since she was imprisoned here.
“Enough!” I shout at her.
This only elicits more pathetic sobbing.
From where I lay upon my stone platform, I only catch glimpses of her as she scuttles about in the dim light cast by the oil lamps hanging on the walls. I wrap my fingers around the iron rod piercing my body. Vlad plunged the wretched stake through the roof of the mausoleum pinning me to the bier so I cannot escape him. I attempt to pull myself upward so I can crane my neck to gaze upon my husband’s latest vampire Bride. But, alas, I am too weak for such a feat. My hand slackens around the stake and slumps against the underside of my breast, close to where I am impaled. The silver coating sizzles against my flesh, sapping my strength, and keeping me trapped in this cursed place hidden by the darkest magicks. If I could, I would press the silver against my heart and end my suffering, but my beloved was wise enough to cast a spell upon me to hinder any attempt.
He is so very clever in his torment.
Scuttling up the stairs to the iron door, she attempts to break the lock while calling out for help. The words she speaks in German are muddled by a voice hoarse from screaming. When she fails, she bangs her small fists against the unyielding door until she grows discouraged. Afterward, she dashes about the small room, fingers gliding over the stones as she seeks an escape from this terrible place. I lash out and catch the edge of her gown. She shrieks and scrambles up the wall to hide in the corner like an insect.
Tilting my head back, I can see her staring down at me.
“What is your name?” I ask in German.
With eyes green as jade, she stares at me in horror. Tangles of her golden tresses fall over her shoulders. The gossamer gown adorning her delicate frame is tattered about the edges from her constant tantrums. Her pale hands and feet cling to the stone wall, jewels glittering on the gold bangles and rings she wears. I recognize a few of the finer pieces. They once belonged to me. My husband is generous with his new Brides.
“Whatever did you do to anger him?”
I cannot help but add a taunting lilt to my voice. She is delectable with her petite frame and angelic face. Exactly the sort of young woman my dear husband loves to corrupt.
“I did nothing!” she spits out.
“That is a possibility.”
“He is a devil!”
“That he is,” I agree.
“You are a devil, too! Cursed! How can you be alive when impaled with a stake?”
“Oh, my darling little one, you are as cursed as I. And if I should be a devil, so are you. Look at you! Hanging there on the wall like a spider!”
She screams at me, long teeth revealed.
My laughter mocks her. “Little one, I have faced much fiercer enemies than you. Our shared husband for example.”
“I am not his wife! Never!” Huddling in the corner, she weeps. “He lied to me! He promised me a life of wealth and comfort!”
“Of course he lied. All men do, you simpleton.”
I tire of craning my neck to gaze at her and return to staring at the ceiling of the mausoleum. The spots of rust where the iron pole pierces the stone roof are gradually spreading into a dark mosaic. Sometimes, in my delirium, I see the stains transform into images of friends and family. Even now I can almost see the strong nose of my vampire brother, Ignatius, taking shape in one dark splotch.
The iron door creaks open.
Immediately, I tense. My sharp teeth descend as my veins scream for blood. I am weakened from not feeding for so long. If a hapless traveler has wandered into my prison, I will have just enough power to compel him to bare his throat to me.
The Bride drops from her perch and sprints toward the doorway.
I growl with frustration. If she robs me of my meal, I will find a way to tear off her head and reclaim the blood that is rightfully mine.
Instead of the sounds of feeding, I hear her scream in terror and her footfalls as she flees back to her corner. The scrape of a heavy iron coffin being dragged down the stone steps into the sepulcher follows in her wake. The door clangs shut with a thunderous clang. I close my eyes comprehending what shall transpire next. I have witnessed this foul practice more times than I care to recall. And worse yet, was once the victim of it long ago.
The miserable little vampire Bride is more spirited in the face of her doom than I expected. The noise of her scrabbling about the ceiling to escape her fate compels me to open my eyes and observe what shall come next.
A great shadow fills the small stone room. It is as though a great dragon with leathery wings has swooped inside to pluck her from the wall like an eagle catching its prey. Her screams echo about me as she's swallowed by the dark power that consumes all light and renders me blind.
I hear her cry out one last time before the heavy bang of the coffin lid being dropped into place muffles her screams. The clank of a padlock being shut is followed by the scrape of the turn of a key. A heavy stone is drawn from the wall and the coffin is slid into the opening. The little Brides cries finally diminish when the stone is returned.
I am intimately acquainted with each sound. I shiver with the memory of my own entombment.
The darkness recedes in a great wave revealing the tall imposing form of my husband. His keen green eyes regard me from beneath the brim of the top hat. The swoop of his long nose, the high pitch of his cheekbones, the full sensuous lips beneath his mustache, and long thick auburn hair resting heavily on his broad shoulders belong more to the prince he was once than the count he now claims to be. Dressed as a modern gentleman in a waistcoat, long trousers, heavy overcoat and top hat his bearing is still that of a warrior. My husband may clothe himself as a mortal man, but his bearing will always be that of Prince Vlad of Wallachia.
“Erzsébet, my beloved wife,” he says.
The deep resonance of his voice thrums through me, causing my body to crave his touch. Even my blood-starved heart thumps faster in my chest. I despise that even now I yearn for him, but I will never allow him to know that truth. I will not tolerate my desire being wielded as a weapon against me.
“Cursed beast,” I reply. “What other torments do you plan for me? Shall I endure another of your pathetic wives bleating like a lamb disturbing my reverie?”
“Did she not amuse you?” he asks, flashing a smile that reveals his very sharp teeth.
“No more than the last.”
It hurts to speak, but I attempt to hide my pain. I despise showing any weakness before him.
Stepping toward the bier, his eyes rest on the ugly wound beneath my breasts. My fine red and gold dress, my favorite long ago, is torn and frayed where I am impaled. Does it distress him in the least to see what he has done to me? He sets a gloved hand on the stake, the on
e only he can remove, and stares down at me. I have no sense of time in this terrible existence, but I do know it has been a very long time since he last stood at my side to converse with me.
“I have missed you,” he says.
He is in one of his moods and I will suffer.
Not with pain.
No, with something much worse.
His love.