Chapter
1
Elena Knightsbridge paused outside the
back door, her gaze drawn to the gray stone castle at the top of
the hill. No one knew exactly how old the castle was, only that it
has been passed down from one generation to another. No one had
lived there for as long as Elena could remember. From time to time,
developers had come, hoping to buy the land, tear down the castle,
and build a Dracula-style theme park, but the land was held in
perpetuity for the heirs of a man no one in town had ever
seen.
There were those who said Wolfram
Castle was haunted, that ghosts wandered the long dark halls. There
were other tales as well, scary stories whispered in the dark of
the night, of witches and warlocks, of demons and
dragons.
There were other stories, too, of young
women who had been lured into the castle in days gone by, never to
be seen or heard from again. Elena’s uncle, Tavian Dinescu,
insisted that stories of devil worship and witchcraft were a bunch
of nonsense, and that the girls who had supposedly disappeared had
been employed at the castle as hired help. Whether any or all of
the old stories were true or not, there was something about the
castle that repelled visitors.
With a shake of her head, Elena bent
over the wicker laundry basket and began hanging the clothes on the
line. A haunted castle was nothing compared to the hell her life
had become since her parents were killed in a car accident seven
years ago, when she was twelve, and she had been sent from Colorado
to this nothing little town in Transylvania to live with her
father’s sister, Catalena, Catalena’s husband, Tavian, and their
daughter, Jenica, who was a few years older than Elena.
Fortunately, communicating with her cousin hadn’t been a problem,
since Elena’s parents had often spoken Romanian at
home.
Life hadn’t been too bad when her aunt
was alive, but Catalena had passed away some years ago, and Jenica
had recently run off with a boy from the next town.
Elena shuddered when she thought of her
uncle, with his cropped brown hair, thick brown mustache, and
close-set gray eyes.
Uncle Tavian was such a skinflint, he
refused to buy a new dryer. Times were hard, he said. They didn’t
have money for silly things like dryers. He had money for whiskey,
though. She supposed, if the washing machine broke, she would find
herself pounding the laundry on the rocks in the river. Her
workload had doubled since her aunt passed away and Jenica had
eloped.
Caring for the house, doing the washing
and the cooking and the mending, as well as the shopping left
little time for anything else. The only bright spot was that her
uncle, who was now the chief of police, was rarely home these days.
Truly a blessing. He had made her uncomfortable for as long as she
could remember. She hated the way he called her “my little
cabbage,” the way he smiled at her, the way he found excuses to
touch her.
He had grown bolder since Jenica ran
off with one of the neighbor boys. Her uncle’s touches had become
more intimate, and more frequent. It was all Elena could do not to
cringe when he caressed her hair or stroked her cheek. His
conversation was laced with double entendres. Lately, Elena wanted
to hide whenever he was in the house. The way he looked at her,
like a hungry wolf contemplating its next meal, made her skin
crawl. One night, during dinner, he had reminded her that he was
her uncle by marriage and not by blood.
Last night, she had awakened to find
him standing by her bed, staring down at her. Though she had no
experience with men, every instinct she possessed had warned her
that she was in danger. She had kept very still, feigning sleep,
until, after what seemed like hours, he tiptoed out of her
bedroom.
Jenica had whispered about abuses by
her father, confiding that, since her mother died, he had come into
her room many times. She claimed that he had done things so vile
she couldn’t repeat them. Elena had been horrified to learn that
her uncle had raped her cousin, not once, but many times. She’d
always thought that kind of thing only happened to people you
didn’t know. But that was only part of it. Jenica had told her
that, before Elena’s arrival, he had often locked her in the cellar
for days at a time.
Both girls were terrified of him. Elena
hadn’t been surprised when her cousin ran away from home. She
herself had considered it on more than one occasion.
Returning to the house, Elena looked
out the window, a shiver of unease snaking down her spine when she
saw her uncle staggering up the street.
She needed to get away from here, but
where could she go? Walking to Brasov was out of the question. It
was many miles away, on the other side of the mountain. She had no
car, no cash, no one she could turn to for help.
Elena was acutely aware of her uncle’s
repeated glances in her direction at dinner that night. His
advances had become more blatant with every passing day. Though the
table was large, he insisted she sit close beside him. She flinched
when his arm brushed against hers, gagged at the smell of his
whiskey-sour breath.
“How old are you now, Elena?” he
asked.
“Almost twenty.”
“Far past the time when a young woman
should be wed. Do none of the young men in town appeal to
you?”
“No, sir.”
He nodded, looking pleased, and then
thoughtful. “Perhaps you would prefer an older man? One with
experience, if you know what I mean?”
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding.
“No, sir.” She recoiled from the look in his eyes as he leaned
closer toward her.
“It’s been five months since Jenica ran
off. It isn’t proper for the two of us to continue living together
without a chaperone.” He laughed, a mean, ugly sound. “People might
get the wrong idea.”
Elena clenched her hands in her lap,
sorely afraid she knew what was coming, and dreading
it.
“I think we should marry.” He nodded,
as though pleased with the idea. “I need an heir, someone to carry
on the family name.”
She stared at him, mute with horror at
the idea of sharing his bed.
Smiling, he took hold of her arm and
drew her closer. “You’d give me a son, wouldn’t you?”
She tried to pull away, but he
tightened his grip on her arm, his pudgy fingers digging into her
skin to hold her fast. And then he leaned forward and kissed
her.
Eyes wide with revulsion, she fought
down the urge to vomit as his tongue plunged deep into her
mouth.
“Perhaps tonight,” he said, “I will
take you down to the cellar.”
The cellar. Sheer terror engulfed her.
Jenica had told her about the cellar.
Tonight, she thought when he released
her. Tonight she would make her escape. The castle on the hill was
a good distance away. Old and run-down, with no electricity or
modern conveniences, it would be the last place anyone would think
to look for her—if she could just find the courage needed to go
inside.
Better to face the ancient ghosts in
Wolfram Castle, Elena thought as she got ready for bed that night,
than to endure another moment in her uncle’s presence.
It was well after midnight when she
tiptoed into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the squeaky board in
the floor. Since she hadn’t been shopping in almost a week, there
was little in the refrigerator, but waiting another day was out of
the question. She dropped a few apples and a doughnut into a sack;
then, holding her breath, she opened the back door as quietly as
possible and slipped outside.
She paused a moment, suddenly unsure.
Was she doing the right thing? How would she survive on her own?
Maybe she should wait. If she was lucky, she might find someone to
take her to Brasov. But she didn’t have the luxury of waiting, not
with Uncle Tavian talking about marriage. The idea of sharing his
bed, of having his hands pawing her, his mouth on hers, lent wings
to her feet and she ran away from the house and into the
darkness.
It seemed as if the night closed in
around her as she hurried up the hill toward Wolfram Castle. She
was halfway there before it occurred to her to wonder if she would
even be able to get inside. For all she knew, the place was locked
up tighter than the bank in town.
A sudden, wayward wind lifted the hair
from her shoulders and sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering
across her path.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, shutting
out both moon and stars.
The wind grew colder, stronger, causing
the trees to moan as they swayed back and forth. The tall grass
bent as if in supplication to the force of the wind as it howled
across the land.
An omen? Elena wondered, shivering. She
lowered her head and drew her coat closer around her shoulders as
thunder rumbled overhead.
Continuing on, she realized the castle
was a lot farther away than it looked. She paused several times to
catch her breath, wondering if she would ever make it to the top of
the hill.
The clouds released their burden just
as she reached the castle door.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for
the latch, blew out a sigh of relief when, with a creak loud enough
to wake the dead, the heavy wooden door swung open.
Hurrying inside, she quickly closed the
door, shutting out the wind and the rain, and then stood there, her
heart pounding with the realization that it was pitch black inside
and that she had forgotten to bring a flashlight. But at least she
was away from her uncle.
With one hand outstretched, she moved
across the floor, a soft cry of pain rising in her throat when she
bumped into something. Exploring with her free hand, she discovered
it was a high-backed sofa.
It was late and she was tired. She
dropped her food sack on the floor, then stretched out on the sofa,
her coat spread over her. No matter what tomorrow held, she was
safe from her uncle’s repulsive advances tonight.
Drake paused when he reached the castle
door, his preternatural senses alerting him to the fact that there
was a human female inside. A human who was either very brave, he
thought with a wry grin, or very foolish. The castle possessed a
dark aura that kept most people at bay. Few dared to come here in
the light of day; no one came here after sunset. There was little
need to lock the door; those who ventured inside never stayed long.
And yet, the fact remained, there was a woman in the
castle.
Materializing inside the great hall,
Drake moved unerringly toward the high-backed damask sofa in front
of the hearth, his nostrils filling with the combined scents of
lavender soap, peppermint toothpaste, and salty perspiration tinged
with fear.
And over all, the intoxicating scent of
woman.
He stared down at the sleeping female.
She was a comely lass, with suntanned skin, delicately arched black
brows, and a mass of long ebony hair that fell in soft waves over
the arm of the sofa and down her slight shoulders.
Pretty, yes, he mused with a frown. But
who the devil was she and what the bloody hell was she doing
here?
He considered tossing her out on her
lovely arse.
He considered leaving her on the
sofa.
In the end, he tossed her plain brown
coat aside, then scooped her into his arms.
She stirred as he started up the
winding stone staircase. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a
pair of velvet brown eyes. Before she could scream, he trapped her
gaze with his. Summoning his preternatural power, he lulled her
back to sleep.
With a shake of his head, Drake
continued up the stairs and into the lord’s chamber. After removing
her T-shirt, khaki shorts, and shoes, he tucked her under the thick
blankets in the big four-poster bed. He glanced at the hearth and a
fire sprang to life. He needed neither the light nor the warmth; he
could see perfectly fine in the dark, was impervious to the cold.
But there was a chance the woman would awaken during the
night.
He gazed down at her for several long
moments, admiring the unblemished smoothness of her skin, the sweep
of long sooty lashes against her cheeks, the pale pink of her lips.
Unable to resist, he lifted a lock of her hair. Thick and silky
soft, it curled around his fingers as though each strand had a life
of its own.
He felt the first stirrings of desire
as he inhaled the fragrance of warm fresh blood flowing sweetly
through her veins.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he
gathered her into his arms, then lowered his head to the curve of
her throat. He tasted her with his tongue and then with his
teeth.
She was incredibly sweet.
Having satisfied his curiosity and his
thirst, he returned to the main hall. After pouring himself a glass
of wine, he stretched out on the sofa and gazed onto the hearth. In
spite of the distance between himself and the girl, he could hear
the steady beat of her heart. What had brought her here? And what
was he going to do with her?
He considered the possibilities until
dawn, then headed for the lair hidden behind one of the tapestries
in the great hall.
He smiled as he drifted into oblivion.
For the first time in centuries, he had something to look forward
to when darkness again covered the land.