Ivona Knight, Vampyress

"IVONA KNIGHT VAMPYRESS is a truly captivating story. Shannon Leigh pulls us in from the very beginning when she sets the mood with the dark storming night. I loved being able to read the man‚s reactions to Ivona as she told her story and he began to realize he had a part in her life. Even though the story is short, it manages to pack quite a wallop during the reading. This is a highly imaginative telling of the old “Dracula” legend which definitely bears reading!" --Chere Gruver Sensual Romance Reviews Paranormal Romance Reviews

IVONA KNIGHT, VAMPYRESS by Shannon Leigh

IVONA KNIGHT, VAMPYRESS A Chippewa Publishing Publication, April 2005 Chippewa Publishing, LLC. 678 Dutchman Drive, Suite 3 Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin 54729 Adobe Acrobat (PDF) ISBN 1-933400-13-7 Other available Formats: Palm Doc (PDB), Rocket/REB1100 (RB), PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB), hiebook (KML), iSilo (PDB), Mobipocket (PRC), OEBFF Format (IMP)

Ivona Knight, Vampyress Copyright © 2005 Shannon Leigh Edited by Kimberly Burton Cover Art by Beckie Pack Proofed by Kristine Esterly ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole, or in part, by any means, without the written consent of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are fictitiously used. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. WARNING: The contents of this book are intended for mature audiences only. Language, violence, and sexual situations may apply.

CHAPTER ONE As the others darted about the dimly lit bar, Ivona leaned back in her burgundy leather armchair. She gracefully slipped one long, lithe leg over the other, crossing them at the knees. She folded her hands on her lap in a pose of tranquility, casually watching the handful of men and women as they fussed about the old rustic room. Completely at ease within the midst of darkness, she reveled in its comfort as it lurked around the borders of the limited candlelight and gently kissed her cheeks with glacial lips. Smelling fear permeate the air, Ivona couldn’t help but smile. The hammering storm cut off the electricity and continued to blast the tavern’s walls outside with torrential waves of rain, wind, and hair-raising thunder, obviously unnerving her skittish cohabitants. The long, drawn out bawls crackled and snapped like the splintering of a massive plank of wood. Each spark of lightning sent eerie shadows crawling along the pub’s walls and floor, their sinister fingers seemingly groping for the room’s terrified inhabitants, fervently reaching with sharp, black claws in hopes of ensnaring fresh victims. Undaunted by the

menacing weather or baleful gloom, Ivona merely relaxed in her chair and smiled pleasantly at the others. Unlike his wary patrons, the gray-haired bartender seemed unaffected by the threatening squall. As though he were completely sure of the aged tavern’s ability to ward off the pummeling blows of the raging tempest outside, he merely continued to dry several tankards with a faded white towel, then gingerly placed them upon their designated resting spots on a shelf behind the bar. After completing his task, he slowly sauntered his meaty frame to the front door, glanced out the tattered brown curtains, then turned to address the room’s anxious inhabitants. “The bridge is washed out,” he yelled above the growing roar of nervous chatter. “I’m afraid no one will be leavin’ tonight.” A petite blonde in the back of the room jumped up from her seat. “But I have to get back home before my husband discovers—” “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no other way out of here,” he cut in, holding up his hands apologetically. “Unless you’re willin’ to brave the forest out back. Wouldn’t advise it though, nearest town is two miles away. An’ the woods are not safe to travel at night. All kinds of nasty critters in there.” Ivona chuckled to herself. What of the ‘critters’ in here? Truly, they are equally wicked. “How long is this storm gonna last?”

The question came from the man seated next to the woman. With his graying temples and smart, navy suit, his age likely doubled hers. It was your typical affair—older man with a younger woman. Ivona snorted in disgust. The bartender glared at him, disbelief hardening his features. “An’ how the bloody Hell am I supposed to know?” he roared back. “From the looks of things, it’s gonna be a while.” “What do you suppose we do for the next several hours?” The deep voice had a strong southern drawl, the rich baritone suddenly filling the cold room with all the warmth of vibrant sunshine on a lazy summer day. Ivona barely remembered the sun. It had been so long since she’d felt its welcoming rays upon her skin. Just the sound of this man’s voice was enough to bring forth some of those ancient and precious memories. Although posed to the bartender, Ivona had the distinct feeling the question held a silent proposition for her as well. She casually glanced toward the bar. Sure enough, her inquisitive gaze met a pair of striking blue eyes, overshadowed with thick, but neat, black brows. The man’s firm, sensual mouth pulled into an appealing grin, his straight white teeth were a stark contrast in the dim light. He lifted his shot glass in mock salute, then downed the amber colored contents in one gulp. But before either one could acknowledge the other’s attraction, another question drew their attention.

“What about food?” an elderly man called. “I don’t know about the rest of ya, but I’m starvin’!” Several others nodded their heads in mute agreement. The bartender stroked his stubbled chin between a thick thumb and forefinger. “Well, I’ve got a sandwich an’ chips in the back, but it’s hardly enough to feed all of ya.” Then, as though forgetting the roaring wind and thunderous blasts outside, the paltry meal became the center of everyone’s attention—everyone, excluding Ivona and the blue jean-clad man lounging at the bar. Voices once again rose in excitement as the patrons argued over how to divide the bartender’s offering. Several moments passed and the chaos only seemed to grow as opposite sexes formed sides against the other. The guys favored purchasing a share, but the women disagreed, claiming the men should be chivalrous and donate their portion to them. Some poor soul even suggested drawing straws, and they nearly tossed him outside to the tempest. No matter how much they fussed and argued, no one could agree on how to partition the food. “I have an idea,” a slight feminine voice butted into the midst of the maelstrom. At first, no one paid her any heed. “I said, I have an idea,” she repeated louder, seemingly determined for them to listen. Everyone suddenly stopped their bickering and turned all eyes toward the middle-aged woman seated in the far, left-hand corner.

“I propose we play a game. The winner will get the entire sandwich and the chips. Everyone has an equal opportunity of winning, and since we’re obviously stuck here a while, it will also pass the time.” Seemingly intrigued by the suggestion, the others began settling back into their seats. A look of triumph pasted on her otherwise plain features, the woman stood up next to her chair. Then she explained the rules of the game. Each participant would have a chance to tell a story without interruption by any of the others. It could be real or fictional. When all anecdotes were finished, the bartender would judge which was best, with the winner taking the spoils. Surprisingly, everyone liked the idea. The men quickly moved tables out of the way and rearranged the chairs into a big circle in the middle of the room. Once accomplished, the next task was deciding who should go first. “Now what?” the young blonde asked with obvious excitement, apparently forgetting her waiting husband at home. “I’d like to hear from the lady in red, if there’s no objection.” The smooth baritone sung through Ivona’s veins like a bow across a well-tuned cello. A strange shudder worked its way up her legs and centered at the juncture of her thighs, followed by a flash of moisture, a rush of heat. She glanced back at the bar, taking in his attractive physique from the

top of his dark head to the rounded toes of his black Harley boots. This man was straightforward. She liked that. No beating around the bush. He was tall, lean, and well proportioned. His shoulders were broad, seemingly filling his black T-shirt to just the point of full without pressing the seams unnecessarily. His worn jeans hung well on his trim waist and long legs, molding along his muscled thighs, and outlining the form at his groin with expertise. Ivona’s gaze lingered on his crotch precariously, boldly assessing his potential with little concern for her bawdy behavior. Nice. Then she moved her inspection upward. His rugged features were pleasantly appealing—face beardless and sharp, profile strong and rigid. She could tell he came from good stock. There was a lot of history within his genes. And perhaps, quite a bit within his jeans as well. Seemingly amused by her careful scrutiny, he winked, then shifted to lean back against the bar, one elbow propping up his pleasing form. The movement drew her gaze to his muscled chest and flat abs. All this man needed was a leather coat and he’d be the perfect bad boy. She wondered if a motorcycle waited out back. Ivona shrugged with feigned indifference. “Fine with me,” she replied, and then swiveled in her seat, quickly turning away lest he think himself too tempting to pass by. When no one else disputed his request, Ivona resolved herself to going first and silently waited for everyone to find

a seat. It didn’t surprise her when Mr. Bad Boy chose the chair directly across from her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she did her best to ignore him. When several of the others continued to shift from one spot to another or talk to their partners, her patience quickly grew thin. With strained annoyance, she loudly cleared her throat, announcing that she was ready to start whenever they were. As if on command, the room suddenly grew quiet, and all eyes became focused on her. Dipping her head slightly, “My name is Ivona Valeriu Knight,” she began. “I was born in Targoviste, Romania, in the year fourteen hundred and forty-six.” Ivona sat motionless for a long moment, quietly studying the reactions of the others. Some wore expressions of disbelief, their brows furrowing together above their noses in frowns of skepticism, while others became instantly attentive to what she had to say, little sparks of curiosity glistening in their shocked stares. She could see the calculations taking place across the features of her more intelligent listeners, counting, configuring, subtracting. These were the accomplished folk; they had acquired elite status and engineered success through their resourcefulness. The others—the ones who followed their intellectual leaders like faithful puppies, eagerly lapping at their heels for any scraps of coveted acknowledgment—merely stared back at her in dumbfounded silence, their simple minds seemingly hesitant and torn by conflicting thoughts and uncertain emotions.

*** Romania…my homeland as well. Lucian carefully hid his shock as he settled back into his chair and studied the intriguing woman across from him. Her figure was curving and regal, seemingly perfect in form. She had delicately carved facial features, with high cheekbones, an exquisitely dainty nose, and a full, sensual mouth the color of the deepest ruby. Shrouded in a thick cloak of long, dark lashes, her eyes were startling, but there was an oddness about them; one which he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As he stared into their mesmerizing depths, he could have sworn he saw something…move. Perhaps it was a shift in the pupils, or the dance of candlelight, or perhaps, one too many shots of whiskey. The black velvet of her oriental robe heightened the translucence of her skin, making her look flawless—almost porcelain in nature—like the finest of hand-painted china. Her sheer, red gown seemingly clung to her shape as though one with her flesh, skillfully outlining her full breasts and narrow waist with startling clarity. Lucian drew in a steady breath as his gaze lingered on her generous cleavage, cleverly displayed by the parted material of her coat. One word came to mind as he summed up his examination—dangerous.

For some strange reason, he sensed she was telling the truth. While the others might chalk off her forward declaration as nothing more than an elaborate fairy-tale, something within warned there was more to this sinister beauty than what was outwardly apparent. His eyes strayed to the borders of the limited candlelight. An eerie darkness hung in the air, clinging to her aura like a demonic parasite. Even the shadows seemed to worship her presence, undulating toward her as though paying homage to an ancient queen. Inherently, he sensed an evasive evil lurking deep within her soul. Yet, he felt no fear. Somehow, their destinies were bound—their meeting more than chance. Something had drawn them here, something unearthly. Perhaps her tale would lend some insight. His gaze returned to hers, catching her studying him with an unnerving expression of secrecy. Then she dropped her chin toward her chest. Her black hair slid forward around her cheeks, skillfully shrouding the guarded expression in her cold, emotionless stare. It was sleek and shiny, like two black panels of the purest silk. With her strange, malachite-green eyes and alabaster skin, she looked ethereal in the flickering candlelight. More likely than not, to some of the nerve-frazzled patrons about the room, she probably seemed unreal. As though reading his thoughts, her ruby lips curled into a temptingly sensual smile. “Humans…”

It was a low throaty growl, nearly inaudible within the spacious room. Lucian’s eyes narrowed as he watched her flick an imaginary speck of lint from her gown. He sensed she was toying with him, purposely trying to frighten or intimidate him. Although he sat the farthest away, he was sure none of the others had heard the unnatural rumble coming from her chest. Then her piercing gaze snapped up, locking with his. “Their reactions are so predictable. After all, it’s the denial of mortals and their refusal to believe that has allowed The Evil to survive for so long.” Lucian’s breath caught in his throat. He knew she’d just spoken to him, yet her mouth never moved. For the first time since laying eyes on her, he felt a chill of forewarning. This was no game she played. The room was full of life, mortals, humans—Ivona Knight was not one of them. Part of him wanted to get up from his leather armchair and walk out, swim across the river, take his chances in the forest—whatever it took to get away. But the other part stayed rooted in place, refusing to budge. It was almost as though he had to hear her tale, had to know what she was, had to know why she inexplicably drew him to her like the proverbial moth to a flame. Against his better judgment, he pasted on a false smile and forced himself to remain.

CHAPTER TWO Ivona pushed the stray locks away from her cheeks and tucked them behind her ears. She cared not if these imbeciles considered her mad. She was merely playing their game to pass the time. If it weren’t for the raging thunderstorm, she would be outside, doing what she did every evening during the darkest hours of night—hunting. She chuckled to herself. What a silly competition it was. She cared nothing of the prize. The others acted as if they were to win the lottery. Of course, what could you expect from a room full of drunkards and whores? Their thoughts went little beyond the basics of survival—food, drink, and fornication. Yet, this one intrigued her. What was it about him that seemingly called to her essence? With his shoulder length, raven black hair, and piercing blue eyes, it was as though she knew him, or at least, a part of him. He reminded her of… but no, that was ridiculous. It simply couldn’t be. She let her gaze wander about the room. She had no time for indulgence. No, her objective was much more important than a tasteless sandwich and a bag of fried potatoes. Even though it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself the luxury of a man’s touch, her primal cravings would have to wait. Her prey was close, perhaps, even sitting within her sights.

She only hoped that by suffering through each of their boring tales, she might gain insight as to who might be her long, sought-after target. One of these humans was a descendent of her nemesis—she could feel it. Until she picked out which one it was, she would endure their silly competition. Her gaze strayed back to the tempting morsel across from her. His clean hair gleamed in the flickering light like a polished black pearl, making Ivona wonder if it was as soft to the touch as it appeared. Strangely, she yearned to find out. There’s always later… “My home is on the banks of the Dimbovita River, and is shadowed by the Carpathian Mountains,” she continued, describing the location as though teaching history to a class of high-school students. “During the fifteenth century, my Targoviste served as the capital of Walachia, which comprised the southern part of modern-day Romania, between the Carpathians and the Danube River. This also included Bucharest.” Ivona brushed her fingertips across the mandarin collar of her satin robe. She gently touched one of the embroidered gold dragons decorating it from neck to hem, lovingly stroking its beautiful design, memorizing each tiny stitch. Momentarily lost in deliberation, her gaze grew vacant and unseeing as she remembered the striking landscape of her home—vast valleys of lush, green vegetation, massive purple mountains with snow-capped peaks stretching to the

heavens above, and gorgeous meadows festooned with an infinite hodgepodge of vivid wildflowers. To see such lands again… “During this time, turmoil plagued our countryside,” she declared suddenly, breaking the long silence. Once again folding her hands, she neatly placed them back on her lap. “Walachia lay directly between the two powerful forces of Hungary and the Ottoman Empire, both of which constantly struggled to obtain control. My father was a boyar of Targoviste—similar to a politician or wealthy landowner. He was a nobleman, as was his father before him, and his father before…well, you get the picture here.” She lazily waved her hand through the air in front of her as though chasing off an invisible pest. “My mother, of course, was a faithful and dutiful wife. She tended the home and saw to the education of the children. We were her livelihood.” Ivona studied the stout goblet seated on the table next to her chair. It was made of the finest gold and bejeweled with an assortment of priceless gems—she never drank from anything else. Gingerly lifting it to her mouth, she sipped noiselessly from its gleaming rim. As she rolled the intoxicating liquid around on her tongue, letting the heady flavor saturate her taste buds a long moment before

swallowing it down, she continued to examine the patrons around her in silence. She’d already picked out the most acceptable male candidate, that is, if she were to give in to the carnal lust pooling in her veins, and allow herself the luxury of a late nigh rendezvous later on. Like any other female, her attentions mainly focused on the women, sizing up her competition. Although there was quite a broad assortment of temperaments, it took little more than a fleeting sweep of the room to assure herself of her superiority. Not even the young blonde could compare to her…splendor. First, you had your seeming godliest of souls. The woman sat so stiffly in her chair; it appeared as though she teetered on the craterous edge of Hell itself. This statuesque Prima Donna pretentiously stared down her holier-than-thou snout with an air of condescension, clearly considering the others unworthy cohabitants of her divine presence. Strangely, this one’s gaze never met hers, and Ivona couldn’t help but wonder what it was that brought this haughty Christian vicar into a bar in the first place. Next, you had a couple of tainted flowers, who sported name-brand clothing, sculpted salon hair, perfectly manicured nails, and Victoria’s Secret makeup. These middle-class fashion models were not quite as prim and proper as their older, sanctimonious cohort, yet they still lacked any real wicked deviancy to be worthy of the term heathens.

Her gaze shifted to the young blonde and her aged beau. This one fit here. Ivona sensed this girl’s apparent participation in infidelity had explainable circumstances—an abusive husband perhaps, or maybe the motive of revenge came into play. Whatever the reasoning, it belied this woman’s normal character. Finally, you had your surgical Frankensteins. These latest models came equipped with putty knife thick makeup, boasted vulgar, obnoxious language, and dressed copiously in gaudy, revealing clothing; but they were nevertheless still just common whores, fully stocked with silicon breasts, Botox brows, and collagen lips. There was no disputing their motive for being there. These women were looking for a free ride on the candy wagon, and a bar seemed as likely a place as any to pick up the next sugar daddy. Ivona found the variance especially amusing. She was sure the quietness of the room was merely a provisional truce. Tempers were certain to flare before night’s end, and she was thoroughly looking forward to the fireworks. A content simper curling the corners of her lips, she gently set the cup back on the table and continued with her tale. “Born to my parents in their elder years, I had five older brothers: Alexadru, Dumitru, Marius, Gregore, and Ladislau. Although my father loved us all very much, I dare say, I was his favorite. ‘Al meu cadou din Dumnezeu’ he would call me—his gift from God.”

Her eyes were momentarily saddened with the fond memory of her beloved sire. He had been a good man, and his death had been nothing less than cruel and unjustified. “By the age of ten, I could speak three languages. I have since learned English, though I’m afraid it is not as good as the others. I am also quite proficient in art, science, and mathematics. Even though my mother strongly protested—claiming it was improper for young ladies to be knowledgeable of such things—my father allowed me to study the basics of warfare and jousting.” Ivona clasped her hands together beneath her chin in childlike glee, allowing herself a brief moment of self-pride. “I could calculate the distance between villages, read, write, even defend myself with a sword far better than any of my brothers. I know this must sound trivial to men and women of…” Her gaze swept the bar as she tried to settle on a descriptive word that would adequately encompass them all without causing offense. “…variant backgrounds, but in my time, these were accomplishments to be proud of.” A deep chuckle instantly drew her attention to the man sitting across from her. Realizing she’d forgotten herself, her demeanor suddenly shifted back to the cold, emotionless calm composing her before. Her proficiency was unimportant. Keeping her gaze locked with his, “But my birth into nobility made me naïve to the true horrors capable of men

possessed by The Evil,” she explained in a small voice. “Malice made me what I am; vengeance made me who I am. I have witnessed cruelty so appalling; it would bring a strong man to his knees and make a rational man question his sanity.” *** Lucian found Ivona’s description of their cohabitants quite amusing. Variant was a decidedly benign way to describe them, but he hadn’t meant to interrupt her rumination with his humor. With a slight nod, he indicated for her to continue. She relaxed further back into her chair, her eyes clouding with recollections of the past. Her perfectly shaped brows drew together in an affronted frown and her jaw tensed beneath her flawless skin. A small tremor touched her smooth, marble-like lips before they thinned into a tight line of despondency. Her dark lashes swept downward, moving as if in slow motion to veil her obvious despair. When they rose, revealing her stunning eyes, her stare was blank—empty—as though no human emotion dared dwell within the deep recesses of her dark soul. Catching a glimpse of the creature dwelling just beneath Ivona’s appealing exterior, Lucian recoiled back against his seat. What he saw was enough to make his heart rate

quicken and his blood run cold. Unable to meet her penetrating stare, he glanced away.

CHAPTER THREE Ivona drew in a long, controlled breath. “It is here I shall describe to you my descent into darkness,” she stated evenly, once again becoming the uncaring, unfeeling, untouchable monster that had survived off the blood of humanity for nearly five centuries. “In the year fourteen hundred and fifty-six, the Voivode Vlad Tepes Dracula III claimed the throne of Walachia for his second, longest, and bloodiest reign of all. Many of the boyars and merchants of Targoviste—including my father—were terrified of the new Prince, because they had participated in the assassination of his older brother, Mircea, when I was but a mere infant, and Vlad was rumored to be a harsh and unforgiving ruler. To convince the Prince of his loyalty, my father sent me to him as a gift.” Ivona smiled in acknowledgement when a startled gasp from one of her spectators swept across the quiet room like a chilling breeze. Pity was one of mortal man’s weakest flaws. “You’re probably thinking this sounds cruel, but you have to understand, my father’s objective was preserving the life of the family as a whole. Being the only young female in the household, it was my duty to bear this burden. True, my

brothers argued against his decision, and mama begged him to reconsider, but papa really had no choice.” Raising her chin with an air of dignity, “I went to Castle Bran with the hopes of serving my Prince well, and when I came of age, perhaps gaining his favors, or in the very least, the partiality of one of his noble knights,” she exclaimed proudly. “I wanted to honor my father by marrying into aristocracy. This was a common goal of all proper young ladies. I was no different.” Her shoulders suddenly sagged and she sank down in her chair, feeling more like a deflating balloon than an immortal goddess. “But my view on the Prince would soon change, once I saw the monster he really was,” she said softly. The corners of her mouth drooped with repulsion and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “My naïve goals of future recognition quickly turned to desperate measures of evading notice as I slowly melted into the castle’s mainstream and tried to avoid detection. For the next six years, I witnessed unspeakable acts of cruelty and unimaginable horrors that make your modern-day picture films seem like children’s fairy tales.” Ivona paused, gathering her thoughts and readying herself to explain the ruin which brought forth her fall into iniquity. The bitter cold of despair stabbed at her stony heart. She had witnessed so much pain, seen so much death. Guilt and ignominy were her only companions. Terrible regrets assailed her as she thought of her own impiety, and she couldn’t help but wonder about her current

state of judgment. She had always been very cautious about who she told of her true nature. Yet, she’d just revealed her immortal existence to a group of complete strangers. Of course, she had no fear for her safety; she could take care of herself. Rather, she almost felt an overwhelming need for acceptance. For the first time in a long while, she wanted approval, and she wasn’t quite sure why. “When I was around the age of thirteen, Prince Vlad decided it was time to punish the boyars who had participated in the death of his brother. On Easter Sunday, whilst my family, friends, neighbors, and fellow Walachians were feasting and dancing in Targoviste, he had his army surround and arrest them.” She drew in a shaky breath as the painful event fogged her brain, bringing tears of sadness to her eyes for the first time in a very long while. “The older boyars and their families—which probably included my father and mother—were impaled on the spot, while the others watched in horror and fear. Men, women, even children were included in the massacre. No one was spared.” Ivona’s voice faded into a hushed silence, the horrible deaths of so many innocents whose lives had barely begun plaguing her soul. Her body vibrated with pent-up rage and unshed misery. She’d never imagined this story-telling game would reach down deep within her and reopen old wounds that still ached even after all these years. An involuntary shudder shook her lithe frame as if a cold chill had caressed her spine with its icy fingers. She cradled

her head in her trembling hands, unable to stop the sudden onslaught of tears. Too many years had passed since she’d allowed herself to grieve the anguish plaguing her dark heart. She hadn’t thought of the babies for a very long time. Those memories were almost too much to bear. Willing the terrible images to go away, Ivona hardened herself to the repulsive mortal weakness and wiped the tears from her cheeks with shaking fingertips. Confused and alarmed by her abhorrent display of emotion, she kept her gaze on the marred hardwood floor. This was not the strong, tenacious woman who’d gotten her through many dark and lonely years—her behavior was irrational. Someone or something within this room had shaken her to the core and left her senses reeling with uncertainty. The Evil inside her lurched with growing excitement, almost as if it sensed impending freedom, but she refused to allow it to corrupt her sanity entirely. For years, she’d kept it imprisoned deep within the fabric of her soul, and there it would stay until her death released it once again. An unsettling black silence enveloped the room and a thrill of frightened anticipation crawled across her satiny skin. Anxiety spurted through her like a brutal volcano on the verge of erupting. Her control began to slip as The Evil clawed its way to the surface, fervently trying to surmount her poise and make itself known to the unsuspecting patrons gathered around her.

Ivona felt impaled by the steady gaze of one of her audience. She gasped, realizing a shiver of panic. As she searched their faces, she found no clue to her nervousness. Not even the man across from her, whose persistent stare touched some inexplicable emotion deep within, seemed to notice her distress or loss of control. Perhaps her fears were premature. Unease gnawed at her confidence. Willing herself to remain calm, she clenched her hand until her nails entered her palm and punctured the smooth flesh. Feeling her blood seep from the wounds, she concentrated on the pain—that had always been her guidance. She focused on her plan, drew in a long, even breath, and then slowly exhaled, reining in the rampant currents of panic rioting through her insides as icy fear twisted around her tainted heart. “There was no limit to Prince Vlad’s terror and wickedness,” she whispered softly, her voice floating about the room like a ghostly murmur. She sniffed noisily, finally squelching her worries with determined composure. “Those that weren’t killed in Targoviste were forced on a grueling, fifty-mile march to northern Walachia, near the Poenari Village. There, Vlad instructed the ones who had survived the treacherous journey to build him a fortress, which would later be known as Castle Dracula.” Ivona closed her eyes when a renegade tear slipped from her lashes and slid down her cheek, leaving a wet trail in its

wake. “I will never know for certain, but I believe my brothers died there. From that moment on, I was completely alone, abandoned to the wiles of a merciless executioner. I had come to realize Prince Vlad was no man at all, but rather a pawn of Satan, or perhaps, even the Devil himself.” *** Lucian couldn’t help but feel sorry for Ivona; Romanian history was brutal. If she had indeed survived the reign of Vlad Dracula, as she declared, then she had truly been through Hell. His family had an unpleasant past with the proclaimed Prince as well, and the stories passed down through the generations were nothing short of appalling. The room grew uncomfortably quiet as Ivona allowed a moment of silence to honor the deaths of not only her family, but of all slain by Prince Vlad’s cruel hand. Head bowed, she remained in an attitude of frozen stillness for a long while. Finally, she lifted her chin, wiped the lingering moisture from her cheeks, and raised her head with an air of defiance. Then she smiled, her expression strangely pleased as though she were privy to some secret she was about to bestow upon all of them. Her eyes sparkled like a neon bar sign. They seemed to leap from her head, piercing him with their strange, effervescent glow.

“So you see, your famous writer, your Bram Stoker, falsely claimed the Castle is in Transylvania. Although it is not far from the border, Castle Dracula’s morbid remains are in fact located in Walachia.” Her expression once again melted into blankness. A deceptively composed air of indifference replaced all traces of her momentary pleasure. Her face became the marble effigy of coldness. Feeling a cool breeze sweep the room, Lucian shuddered. “After the death of my family, I avoided Prince Vlad as much as possible. I dare say; he probably didn’t even know I existed amongst all the other young maidens who were actively vying for his attentions.” The corners of her mouth dipped into a deep scowl. “I remember one girl who wanted so desperately to be Vlad’s favorite, she tried betraying him into marriage. She told him she was with child, and although he warned her not to lie to him, she remained adamant. Prince Vlad—concerned his reputation would be ruined if he sired a bastard child—immediately began making wedding plans.” Ivona sadly shook her head. “Unfortunately, he also had the girl examined by his own physician to validate her claim. When the doctor reported she wasn’t pregnant, Vlad became enraged. You see; the Prince believed a woman should be without wrongdoing, pure, and honest; but once she sinned, she deserved no dignity. Whilst his guards held

her down, he stripped her of her clothes and cut her open from here to here, and then across.” She demonstrated the mutilation by running a perfectly groomed, red fingernail from her pubic area to just between her breasts, and then across her chest from one peak to the other. As though responding to her own touch, her nipples grew erect, pressing against the flimsy material of her gossamer gown like two hardened beads. Her eyes flashed brilliantly—the color of polished jade—then a deep sigh rumbled in her throat, like the purr of a content feline. Lucian drew in a shaky breath. Her look was so galvanizing; it sent a tremor through his insides and down to his groin. He felt himself harden in response as she boldly raked him from head to foot, the desire in her assessment blatant for all to see. He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the discomfort as his erection pressed against the zipper of his jeans. Sweat beaded his brow, the temperature in the room seemingly having risen a few degrees. Something intense flared through her entrancement when her pink tongue darted out to slide suggestively along her full bottom lip. There was no doubting her capabilities. Feeling like an inexperienced schoolboy, Lucian thought he’d surely cream his pants if she persisted with her silent seduction. At that moment, if she were to suggest he take her right there, in the middle of the crowded room, he wasn’t sure he’d have the power to resist.

There was a maddening hint of arrogance about her, as though she knew her magnetism was undeniable. Her silent invitation was a passionate challenge—one hard to resist—but he sensed their joining would be perilous, for she would likely take more than he wanted to give.

CHAPTER FOUR Carried away by her own bawdy magnetism, Ivona nearly forgot her waiting audience. She quickly picked up the cup beside her and sipped it lightly. Her face deceptively serene, she struggled to suppress the animalistic urges racing through her veins as the dark, sweet liquid tickled her tongue. She peered over the rim, staring intently at the man seated across from her. Her gaze, bold and seductive, dropped from the line of his smooth jaw to his throat, where she paused only briefly to take in the thick expanse of his neck before moving on to his wide chest, and then finally settling on his crotch. Noticing his obvious arousal, her tongue darted out to lick some renegade moisture from her lips. Then her mouth curled into a satisfied grin. Ivona took no bother in veiling the open invitation of her heated assessment. A movement from one of the others instantly drew her attention, breaking her seductive spell. She shifted slightly, and the slit in her dress opened wider, offering the man a better view of her perfect thighs. When his dark brows shot up in surprise, she couldn’t help but feel a measure of gratification.

She was tempted to spread her knees apart, give him an even bigger glimpse of her goods, but now was not the time for pleasure—there were more important matters to contend with. Trying to determine which of these mortals had drawn her to this remote tavern in the first place was one, the others waiting for her to finish the tale was another. With an irritated sigh, she smoothed the edges of her gown closed and continued with her story. “He then ordered her ravaged body to be exhibited for all to see as a warning to women against using their wiles to trap men,” she declared matter-of-factly. “Did you know, Prince Vlad abhorred a wife who had an affair outside of marriage? If caught, he’d have her sexual organs cut out, then she’d be skinned alive and left for the public to see, her skin hanging separately from a nearby pole.” Ivona snorted with disgust. “He applied the same punishment to maidens who didn’t keep their virginity, and also widows, since they were, of course, unchaste.” Her eyes narrowed with loathing and a low, guttural growl rumbled in the back of her throat. “And yet, Prince Vlad himself kept a large harem of women for his own personal use. He was quite a hypocrite really, reserving his punishments for those he saw as sinners and traitors, yet never turning that judgment upon himself for his own transgressions. He based his punishments on what he saw as justice and how people were supposed to behave, but viewed his own detestable deeds as acceptable.”

The muscles in her face grew taut when The Evil disputed her condemnation. She felt her features shifting as her anger mounted, exposing the thing she kept imprisoned beneath her seemingly human exterior. Realizing she was losing control, Ivona took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. She smiled then, a deceivingly even smile betraying nothing of her inner turmoil. “Vlad expected people to be honest,” she explained smoothly. “He even kept a golden chalice in Targoviste’s central square. Anyone was welcome to drink from it, but forbidden to remove it. The Walachian citizens were so terrified of him; it remained in that spot for his entire reign.” Her right brow arched with amusement as her gaze rose above her attentive peers and she stared off at some distant object only she could see. “Or, at least, until the end of it,” she announced coolly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Then it mysteriously disappeared,” she added as an afterthought. Mischief coursed through her insides. She chuckled, the gratifying memory of revenge ambushing her thoughts. “If you could only have seen his…” Realizing she’d lapsed into rambling, Ivona cleared her throat and guided her attention back to the others. “I suppose I was somewhere around the age of sixteen when I met my first and only true love. I had managed to evade the advances of several men, not only out of fear of punishment

by the vindictive Prince, but also because I had no desire to become someone else’s pawn. My concern at that time was solely of self-preservation. I had relinquished the idea of marriage.” Ivona sighed with longing. It has been so long, my love… “But then I saw him,” she said in a husky draw. “He was a strong, proud man, with broad shoulders and long, sturdy legs. He carried himself well, completely sure of his manhood and virile ability. His thick black hair and piercing blue eyes were a woman’s downfall. I dare say; he could make a virgin’s knees go weak with brazen desire.” She closed her eyes, savoring the precious vision of her lover. A warm glow touched her cold heart as a sliver of the old mortal emotions lying dormant beneath the hardened shell of her soul slowly came to life. Even after hundreds of years of darkness, death, and destruction, the thought of him could still call upon that tiny bit of pleasure she kept secret, secluded, and protected deep within herself. “Dragomir…” she whispered softly, her voice a silken purr. Slowly, she opened her eyes, only to meet a curiously familiar blue gaze. She couldn’t get past how comparable their features were. Nevertheless, the man seated across from her was not Dragomir. No, her lover had died a long time ago, and no one could replace him. It simply wasn’t…acceptable. With a sniff of contrived indifference, she shifted her gaze to one of the others and continued with her tale. “He was a true knight, born into nobility and raised to be

chivalrous. His father had been a part of the Tour de Force of Partisanship. The Order of the Dragon inducted him in the year fourteen hundred and thirty-one, along with Prince Vlad’s father, Vlad Tepes, who would soon after become the duke of Walachia. The Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund, who was then the king of Hungary, created the Order of the Dragon, modeling it after other chivalric orders such as the Order of St. George, the Knights of the Hospital of St. John, and the Teutonic Order of Knights. This Order required that its members fight for the interests of Catholicism and crusade against its enemies, namely the Ottoman Turks.” Ivona shrugged. “Although the Order of the Dragon lost much of its prominence after the death of Sigismund, many of the noble families retained the dragon emblem on their coat-of-arms. Dragomir himself proudly displayed it on his escutcheon and surcoat.” She absent-mindedly fingered the golden medallion hanging around her neck. “It is the Order of the Dragon which brought the name Dracula to the Tepes family,” she explained, scarcely aware of her own voice. “After the Order inducted the elder Vlad Tepes, he used the dragon symbol on his coins and went by the last name Dracul, which means dragon or devil in Romanian. When his second son was born, the diminutive –a was added to it, meaning, “son of.” In years to come, Vlad Tepes III would become known as Vlad Dracula, for he would indeed be the son of the devil, not only in name, but also in deed.”

As though awakening from a dream-like trance, “Did you know that Tepes means “impaler” in Romanian?” she asked, directing her question to the man seated across from her. “Just the man’s name alone bespoke of the fiend he was. The Turks called him “Kaziglu Bey,” which meant “The Impaler Prince.”” *** Lucian struggled to contain his growing shock. It appeared as though this woman’s past entwined with his. Was this why he felt such an inexplicable draw? If so, had she sought him out? Lured him there? Or had he, on some unknowing level, found his way to her? Of course, it was possible she was merely baiting him. Somehow, she knew his family’s history and chose to taunt him with some fabricated lie, but why? What did she want from him? His gaze strayed to the dragon pendant nestled between her breasts. Even from the distance between them, he could see every detail with startling clarity. It was identical to the one he wore as well. As though seconding his assessment, the gold began to glow even brighter, seemingly coming to life of its own volition. Lucian gasped as his own pendant—safely nestled beneath his shirt—grew warm. Were he not afraid of giving away his secret, he would have reached up and ripped the

necklace free. Feeling the metal burning an imprint on his skin, he shifted his weight forward, resting his elbows on his knees in an attempt to separate the searing object from his tender flesh. Sweat trickled down his forehead and along his jaw. Lucian grew more uncomfortable by the minute. Offering her a distracted nod, he returned her inquisitive expression with a smooth smile, betraying nothing of his anxiousness. A voice of warning whispered in his head. His thoughts turned to the tavern door behind him. Get up and walk out. Don’t look back. Just get up and go. Now! No matter how much sense that made, Lucian found he couldn’t move. Pieces of a long unanswered puzzle were suddenly falling into place, and this woman was somehow the final element. He swallowed hard, trying not to reveal his distress as his gaze locked with hers. Ivona’s eyes had darkened to an almost black hue. If she hadn’t yet figured out his identity, it was only a matter of time before she did. There was no going back now.

CHAPTER FIVE Ivona wondered about the man’s sudden behavior. Her gaze fastened on his sweat-beaded brow. At that moment, it wasn’t attraction she read in his expression, but fear. Perhaps he was merely trying to mask his reaction to her story—she knew the details were repulsive—or perhaps he was bored. Whatever was wrong with him, he seemed ready to come unglued at the seams. Trying to sooth his nerves, she shifted her stare to one of the others and lowered her voice to a soft whisper, nearly inaudible in the quiet room. “Impalement was by no means Prince Vlad’s only method of torture. He frequently indulged in other horrific acts of brutality such as nailing hats to people’s skulls, cutting off limbs, noses and ears, blinding, strangulation, mutilation of sex organs, scalping, skinning alive, exposure to weather or wild animals, burning—the list is endless. No one was exempt from his cruelty. Men, women, children, peasants, and boyars alike all succumbed to his punishments.” No longer eased back against the pliable cushion of the leather armchair, Ivona sat perched on the edge of her seat, poised and ready to leap to her feet in one fluid motion. The hairs on her arms bristled with anger. Her jaw had

begun to widen and thicken as her teeth elongated in anticipation of attack. Ivona panted as she struggled for self-control. She was divulging unimportant tidbits of information and allowing The Evil to override her discipline once again. Forcing herself to relax back into her seat, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the air escape her lips in a long, drawn out hiss. Then she smoothed her brow with both hands and gingerly massaged her aching temples. “Enough with the unpleasantries of the past,” she began with a smile. “Back to my beloved Dragomir.” Ivona took a long swig from the cup on the table beside her, downing the entire contents in one final gulp. When a drop of the coveted elixir escaped the corner of her mouth, she adroitly swiped the insolent bead from her cheek. Instinctively, she placed her finger between her lips and noiselessly sucked the small drip from the end. Then she calmly sat the empty chalice on the table. She felt alive and vibrant, her mood suddenly light and energetic as the fresh blood pulsated through her veins, reanimating her dead flesh with a fresh charge of life. Now she was ready to speak of her lover. *** Lucian watched, mesmerized as a pale red flush moved across Ivona’s face, not on top of, but rather under the surface, as though a wave of liquid rushed below her skin

like a fervent crimson tide. The eerie blush illuminated her porcelain skin with a soft pink hue, making her cold, translucent flesh appear radiant, full of life and vitality. Lime sparks of light flashed in her eyes, making them glow with the supernatural intensity of two blazing orbs. Her pupils became thin and elongated, like those of a cat, appearing as long black slits in the middle of her illuminated gaze. The gloom around her seemed to grow more sinister, as though even the dim light of the room shrank back in fear from this unearthly creature that was completely at ease amongst the ominous shadows dancing along the walls. She appeared not to sit, but rather hover above her chair like a luminous apparition. Lucian had to wonder if her elegantly clad frame might not just simply lift into the air with the graceful manner of a weightless spirit and glide about the space above his head. The candles about the room flickered indecisively, seemingly as if they might all go out in one big poof, leaving its occupants in a pitch-black fissure of darkness. The intensity of her mystical stare culminated into a ferocious vortex, appearing to leap from the sockets in her skull while she studied each of the others around her as though contemplating a difficult choice. Then, just as quickly as it began, all paranormal activity suddenly waned, like the fading light of a dying flame. Lucian tentatively glanced at the others, wondering if they’d just witnessed this bizarre phenomenon as well. His attention moved to the goblet in her had. What was in that

cup? Some deep part of him suspected the answer, but the other refused to believe. The Chalice in the square... It appeared as though Ivona was not only some strange creature of the night, but a thief as well. Then her melodious voice shattered his thoughts and his gaze moved to her sensual mouth. “From the moment I laid eyes on you.” She paused, obviously catching her slip. “On…him, I knew I was lost. He was so handsome, so strong, and he was by no means a novice in the ways of seduction.” She stared off across the room for a lengthy moment, her ruby lips curling into a warm, buttery smile as she became lost in the romantic memories of her lover’s courtship. Her eyes danced with tender dreaminess. Then she laughed, startling Lucian and the others with her sudden outburst of mirth. “At first, I tried to resist his charms,” she declared, her voice full of merriment. “But my Dragomir was very persistent.” She wagged a long, shapely finger as though scolding her audience. “He refused to give up. Alas, I could not deny his advances for long. My heart was captured.” With a sentimental sigh, she placed her hand over her chest. Her dark lashes fluttered downward, veiling the pain that suddenly filled her loving gaze. “Al meu amator…” she whispered quietly, “…my love.” When she opened her eyes, they were cold and unreadable, all prior traces of grief and sorrow carefully concealed behind a guarded stare. “We began to meet in the

sally port beneath Bran Castle. Due to the infrequent use of the passage by others, our affair continued for months without discovery. It was there my Dragomir confessed his love and begged me to marry him. He wanted a family.” Lucian first felt a stab of jealousy, then one of sorrow. Those were things never to come for Ivona and Dragomir. He knew the tragic ending to her story; he knew what would happen to her beloved. Grandfather… *** Ivona glanced down at her hands, which lay motionless in her lap. A family with children was something she could never have now. Her heart had died the day she let The Evil take residence within her aching soul, and all joys afforded to mortals were lost—that was the price of immortality. “We both knew it was too dangerous to continue seeing each other, even in secrecy. If Prince Vlad found out, I would have met the same fate as many other unchaste maidens. We also came to realize that we could not start a family under his rule. The man’s wickedness had become uncontrollable.” Bitterness clouding her vision, Ivona’s lids fluttered closed. “No one was safe as long as he was in power.” Her insides had grown as cold as an artic wind. Then, after a long pause, “Not even his knights,” she declared in a weak and tremulous whisper.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, once more meeting the familiar and now strangely comforting gaze of the man across from her. “At that time, Matthias Corvinus was King of Hungary. He resided at Hunedoara Castle located at the end of the Zlasti River. It was there we decided to make our sanctuary. We could only pray King Corvinus would allow us take refuge within the safety of his rule.” Ivona stared at the flickering flame of a nearby candle, lost in the melancholic sadness of her painful memoirs. She fingered the golden medallion dangling between her breasts once again, lovingly stroking its meticulously engraved surface as though it were a faithful pet. “Not long after we had composed a plan of escape, Prince Vlad decided to employ his army to provide him with another entertaining show of merciless impalings. On St. Bartholomew’s Day, during an outdoor festival at Sibiu, Vlad had thousands of citizens arrested and impaled, claiming they were either treacherous bourgeoisie, or supporters of such. He had them—men, women, and infants—impaled on the fringes of a nearby forest like human banners, waiting to greet any newcomers entering the town.” Ivona’s mouth curled downward into a sour frown. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head with abhorrence. “As had become custom, he had his dining table and lunch placed at close range, so he could enjoy his meal while watching the tortures firsthand. The blood of his victims was honey for his bread. He savored the taste of

their escaping life, capturing their essence as though their dying souls were rightfully his to hoard.” An electrifying shudder reverberated through her insides, sobering her thoughts. She envisioned the horrific scene with startling clarity. Five centuries had passed since that dreadful day, and yet, she remembered it as if it had occurred only yesterday. Her bottom lip quivered as she struggled to contain her anguish. So much death. So many innocents. I will never forget you, my love, or forgive your murderer. As though feeling her misery, the candles’ flames swayed in a sorrowful rhythm. Cascading rain on a nearby window refracted the ethereal glow, casting eerie ripples around the dim room like the reflection of water within a submerged ship. Only the occasional flash of lightning and crack of thunder interrupted the ghostly undulation. “My beloved Dragomir,” she sighed. “We had nearly escaped The Evil, but it had finally become more than he could bear. The merciless killing of innocent men, the senseless murders of women and children, he could not hold his tongue any more. I knew his heart was heavy with guilt, even before he was forced to participate in this final horrific spectacle of wickedness.” *** Lucian clasped his hands together to still their shaking. His breaths had quickened, bordering on hyperventilation.

This version of Dragomir’s role as a knight of Prince Vlad Dracul was starting to veer sharply from what he’d always been told—what he’d always been taught. Had his ancestors been wrong? Since childhood, he’d spent every day cursing his tainted blood, begging God’s forgiveness for the iniquity in his lineage. He’d kept himself separated from others, avoided emotional contact, all out of fear that some deep dark evil lingered within his soul and would ultimately destroy anything good he touched. Anger clouded his mind. Had his whole history been a lie? What of those before him? How many men of his line had carried this burden? How many had gone to their graves after a lifetime of loneliness and self-loathing? He thought of the pendant dangling beneath his shirt. Passed down through the generations, it wasn’t an heirloom, but rather a curse. A male always carried it, kept it safe, kept it secret, but from what or whom? Then his gaze met and locked with Ivona’s, and he suddenly understood. From her. She lifted the gold medallion to her lips and kissed it. “I forgive you, al meu amator,” she whispered. “I forgive you.” A tiny shudder wracked her frame as she stroked her amulet once more before releasing it. The charm fell to her chest with an audible snap. Her mood seemingly veering sharply to anger, she glowered at the others about the room. “The repugnant smell of death and cries for mercy must have permeated the air around him, saturating his every

pore until he lost his senses. It wasn’t until later, I overheard rumors that my strong, proud knight had fallen to his knees and vomited at the feet of one of the unfortunates who had been pitilessly skewered by his own hand. Upon witnessing Dragomir’s weakness at the sight of death, Prince Vlad became angry and instructed his guards to impale him also.” Her curt voice seethed with growing rancor, stare blazed with fury as her features began to shift. Her brow thickened, drawing deep furrows along the bridge of her widening nose. Her mouth drew open into a hideous snarl, her strikingly white teeth suddenly looking more like deadly razorblades. And her eyes…no longer a mesmerizing mixture of copper and jade, had darkened until they became the blackest of night, two onyx spheres bulging from their sockets. Lucian sat straight up in his chair, the muscles in his back stiffening in shock, the hairs on his neck standing in a salute of warning. Unable to tear his eyes away, he watched Ivona’s transformation with horror. In a matter of seconds, her beautiful face had changed into that of a terrifying beast with elongated fangs, fiery eyes, and a ferocious temper. “Because he’d been so faithful up until then,” she ground out, her voice deep and unnatural, seemingly coming from the bowels of the tavern itself. “He was placed on a stake higher than the rest, so he wouldn’t have to smell the refuse of his lowly, dying company.” Her fingernails dug into the innocent material of the leather armchair, puncturing its smooth surface in multiple

spots. Her breaths were heavy and labored, almost like the panting of a feral dog. And her body seemed to be vibrating with barely controlled rage, bordering on the edge of a maniacal outburst. Almost as quickly as it began, her temper suddenly vanished and her features shifted back to normal, leaving Lucian to wonder if he’d actually just witnessed the change, or if the dim candlelight had played a trick on his tired vision. Not wanting to make any sudden moves, he glanced at the others through lowered lashes. Many continued to stare in wide-eyed wonder, their mouths hanging open like gaping holes. Others had risen from their chairs and backed away in revulsion, their features contorted into masks of terror. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated,” the bartender commanded. He quickly crossed the room and ushered the wandering flock back to their waiting chairs. “’Tis the trickery of light which taunts our senses.” Glancing towards Ivona, “I assure you, there are no monsters among us,” he added with a nervous chuckle. Ivona beamed in return. It was a calming smile, laced with the hypnotic magic of an immortal, which Lucian had heard could put even a dying man at ease. “Yes,” she began with a slow, seductive slur. “Weather such as this can be a bit…unnerving.”

CHAPTER SIX The patrons reluctantly filed back to their seats, their expressions riddled with uncertainty. “But I saw—” one brave soul began, sure it had been more than an unplanned parlor trick. Leaning forward in her chair, Ivona clicked her tongue with disapproval as she trained her gaze on the young blonde who was inching toward the exit. “Imaginations can make for such wonderful adventures, and sometimes, dreadfully chilling excitement. But for now, I should like to continue my story, unless anyone else has an objection.” She mentally caressed the woman’s mind into a state of near catatonia, smiling with approval when the girl started back toward her chair without further hesitation. “Yes, please continue, Ms. Knight,” the bartender hurriedly cut in before anyone else could protest. Ivona nodded approval as the previously rebellious woman took her seat and stared back at her in silent compliance. Mortals are so easy to train, she concluded with a haughty sense of superiority. “When I learned of my lover’s fate, I had to see for myself. I could not accept that my Dragomir was gone, murdered at the hands of the monster we hailed as our

Prince. Under the shroud of darkness, I set out for Sibiu. I rode like a wild banshee, nearly driving my horse to its grave in a frenzy to reach my beloved.” Suffocating with the agony of the memory, Ivona gulped in large breaths of air. “It was true. He was…” She exhaled soundly, pausing a moment to rein in her rampant thoughts. “Sometimes, it took days for someone to die, and death was by no means gentle or merciful. Many suffered beyond the boundaries of your meager comprehensions before they were accepted into the cold embrace of oblivion.” She indicated the others around her with a wrinkle of her nose and disgusted swish of her hand. “My Dragomir was a strong man. For three dawns, his pain endured without relent, and I was there with him upon his death.” Ivona drew an invisible pattern on the mutilated chair arm. “It was at that moment when I began my own descent into darkness. Prince Vlad claimed that blood was the life, and drinking the essence of your victim allowed you to absorb their strength. I intended to find out.” She scowled at the group, daring anyone to speak out against her proclaimed indiscretion—it was only the first of many to tell. “The hours passed painstakingly slowly as my beloved’s life force gradually slipped through my grasp, but I couldn’t let him fade away, his presence to be forgotten like a distant memory. No, I had to preserve his essence and avenge his death. At the moment of his demise, I lifted his lifeless wrist to my lips and drank deeply from his spirit.”

Excitement coursed through her veins as the memory of his taste resurfaced. Ivona closed her eyes, savoring her beloved’s flavor. He was her first forbidden drink, and his essence would forever remain in her tainted soul. Tucking the precious memory away, she opened her eyes and leaned forward in her chair. “Sparked by the power within his blood, and driven by my own rampant need for revenge, I became an assassin of Hell. Unknowingly, I entered into a contract with the same beast that drove my Dragomir’s slayer. The demon that reigned through Vlad now tainted my own body. I became a princess of terror, a queen of death and destruction, a knight of vengeance. It was on that dreadful morning, I began my transformation into what you see now.” Her mouth tasted the bitter flavor of loathing. “Vampyre…” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Vlad was indeed correct in his warped line of reasoning, but it’s more than desire for power that drives one to consume the essence of another. Before the birth of Christ, a traitor to God released a vaporous black leech, composed of the vilest elements imaginable, from the fiery realm of Hell itself. Named by a cleric many centuries before even Vlad’s time, The Evil is an abomination that inhabits a mortal as a parasite does a lowly beast. It demands its host drink the life force from its peers, for human blood is its sustenance, its life.” Ivona paused, searching each face in her attentive crowd for a response to her startling confession. Either too

shocked by her declaration to question, or too limited in their thinking to believe, every member of the group merely stared back at her in mute silence, their eyes blank with uneventful expressions. She snorted with disgust. Fools. “But once it occupies a carrier, it’s trapped, until either death of the vessel or an intentional passing is completed. Once I saw the fiend for what it was, I vowed never to let it escape. Never to let it take over another as it had Vlad and use its carrier to wreak havoc and destruction upon the flesh of innocence. I swore on the grave of my beloved to keep this creature bound within me for eternity, and for nearly five centuries, I have succeeded.” *** Her eyes flashed, much like the sparks of lightning crackling outside, illuminating her face in an unnatural, iridescent glow. Then her features slowly melted back into an emotionless mask—an undead porcelain doll with flawless, alabaster skin and stunning, ruby lips. Her gaze casually swept the room, pausing briefly upon each face before moving to the next listener. It was almost as if she’d visited each of their minds, secretly instilling some silent message into their thoughts. Then she returned her attention to Lucian. Tucking her hands in her lap, she cleared all emotion from her expression, and merely…watched.

A vaguely sensuous light passed between them. She seemed to be waiting for something, some indication from him. He held his breath as her piercing stare penetrated his very soul, searching, probing for his most sacred of secrets. Although every fiber of his being warned against her, he couldn’t help but feel drawn by her entrancement. The hidden chain around his neck shifted. Lucian felt it pull outward, seemingly trying to guide him across the room. Did he dare give in and rejoin the two talismans? What would it cost him if he did? Ivona’s gaze dropped to his chest, ostensibly sensing something there. A pensive shimmer flickered briefly in the shadow of her eyes. The pendant grew warm once again, burning his skin. Lifting a clenched fist to his mouth, he awkwardly cleared his throat. His arm passed over the shrouded amulet; the motion cut into her line of vision. Ivona blinked and lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes narrowed, seemingly knowing he hid something. A silent stare down ensued as she explored his thoughts. Careful not to give too much of himself away, Lucian waited for her silent interrogation to end. After several long moments, she shrugged her shoulders in mock resignation then lapsed back into her tale. “But my transformation was not yet complete. No, Dragomir merely formed a pact between The Evil and me. It would take Vlad’s death to finish my crossing.”

An eerie glow sparkled in the depths of her eyes. “I was trapped between two worlds, part mortal, and part…something else. Driven by the unrelenting need for blood, I began preying upon my fellow Walachians. Using the darkness as a shroud, I slipped, undetected, through the nooks and crannies of the castle and neighboring towns, hunting at will and steadily moving in for my ultimate kill.” Her subtle mouth curled into a sinister smile, making her appearance seem almost ominous. Then, Ivona’s shoulders suddenly slumped, as though she carried an invisible burden. “But my beloved’s retribution was not to be quick in coming. Soon after his death, the Turks attacked Walachia, forcing Prince Vlad to flee through the same secret tunnels Dragomir and I had used as our haven. Helped by a few remaining loyal Walachians, he made it safely to my hometown, then headed for Hunedoara and, he hoped, the sanctuary of King Corvinus, leaving Targoviste devastated in his wake.” Sadness swept across her face and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Along the way, he burned villages and poisoned wells, making sure the pursuing Sultan Mehmed II and his men would have nothing to eat or drink. When the stouthearted Sultan reached the outskirts of Walachia’s capital city, thousands of impaled Turkish captives confronted him. History books later termed it “The Forest of the Impaled.” Even the otherwise impervious Sultan was sickened and turned back, leaving the hunt to be taken up by Vlad’s own younger brother Radu.”

As though issuing a command, Ivona lifted her arm from the chair’s rest and snapped her fingers. Almost instantly, a small silhouette separated from the darkness behind her. A young woman suddenly appeared at her side, materializing from the shadows as if by magic. She was small and fragile, with delicate features, and innocent grace, seemingly in her late teens or perhaps early twenties. She wore her long, honey-colored hair parted on the side and pulled back at the nape of her neck in a lone ponytail. As though knowing her place, she kept her soft violet eyes appropriately averted from the shocked stares of her spectators. With wordless heed, she quickly refilled the empty goblet sitting on the table beside her Master from a large, ornate bottle, and then melted back into the darkness like an ethereal shadow, leaving Lucian and the others to stare after her in amazement. Evidently noticing the looks of bafflement and wonder upon the faces of her listeners, “She is my…protégé,” Ivona hurriedly explained, her expression expertly concealing any traces of emotion. Then as an afterthought, “She travels with me everywhere I go,” she added. Lucian could scarcely do anything else but gape in bewilderment. Where had that girl come from? Where did she go just now? Was she human? A slave? So many questions assailed him. Despite his better judgment—which screamed at him to get the hell out of

there—he knew there was only one way to get all of the answers he sought, and only one being that could give them.

CHAPTER SEVEN Lifting the goblet to her lips, Ivona gingerly sipped a small amount of the coveted serum with strained grace. Unbeknownst to the others, the composed incubus before them secretly wrestled the beast within her, struggling to keep it at bay even as its black tentacles stretched throughout her body until it coiled itself around each vessel in eager anticipation of the feed. Its malevolent nature insisted she down the entire contents like the ravenous beast she really was, and appease the voracious hunger racing through her insides like liquid fire, leaving a searing path of agony in its wake—an agony only blood could pacify. When the warm fluid touched her tongue, it was all she could do to keep from allowing it total reign. She knew the contents of the chalice would hardly suffice, for The Evil’s hunger was fierce. A room full of unsuspecting victims whose bodies surged with the desired life-giving nectar hovered just beyond its grasp. Only through her could this parasite from Hell attain its need. Years of experience had afforded Ivona the craft of controlling the demon within her. She was its master. Like a helpless convict isolated within a room of one-way glass, it

could do no more than glower at the unsuspecting patrons from behind Ivona’s cloaked stare. Her appetite temporarily sated, she gently set the cup back on the table and returned her attentions back to the others. “Prince Vlad managed to evade his pursuers and made his way through Transylvania to Hunedoara Castle, but if he had hoped for a warm welcome from King Corvinus, he was sorely surprised. Upon arrival, he was arrested and imprisoned in one of the royal towers.” Ivona sighed. “My revenge was to be delayed yet again.” Then she smiled at the man across from her. “Time, they say, heals all wounds and erases ill memories. Perhaps this is true, for within a few years, Vlad was able to win his way back into the graces of the King and soon married a member of the royal family. From that point on, he became almost untouchable, heavily guarded, and always seemingly just beyond my grasp.” Her head dipped forward as a smirk touched her lips. “So I patiently waited, studying him with relentless perseverance until, I dare say, I knew him better than even he did himself. I memorized his every mood and mannerism, meticulously tucking away the information for future use. It was only a matter of time before I would taste victory.” Unable to resist, Ivona reached for her goblet. She held the chalice beneath her nose, inhaling the content’s intoxicating scent. Blood tasted so much better when it was still warm.

Once again, she gingerly sipped the coveted elixir with forced control, carefully concealing the raging bloodlust soaring through her veins as the sweet serum touched her lips. Only a faint sparkle in the depths of her eyes betrayed the truth, and to anyone else, it was merely a flicker of a nearby candle flame. “During Vlad’s detainment at Hunedoara, Radu became the successor to the Walachian throne,” she announced with a note of mockery. “But Radu had instituted a proTurkish policy, if you will, which didn’t bode well with the King of Hungary. Even though Radu’s reign was cut short by succession of a member of the Danesti clan, Basarab the Old, his predecessor continued in his footsteps and welcomed Turkish influence into the Walachian territory.” With strained tolerance, she gently set the cup back down in its place. “In the year fourteen hundred and seventy-six, Vlad tasted freedom once again. The King released him with the hope that he would regain control of Walachia and reinstate Catholicism to the Walachian people. With the help of Prince Stephen Bathory of Moldavia, Vlad invaded Walachia and quickly secured a victory, becoming the Walachian Prince for the third time. But this was to be a limited triumph, for my moment of reckoning was soon to be coming. Shortly after retaking the throne, Prince Bathory and most of Vlad’s Moldavian forces returned to Transylvania, leaving him vulnerable to attack.” Losing control of her animalistic urges, Ivona scooped up her goblet and quickly gulped down the rest of its

contents. She swallowed hard, her body visibly trembling as she reveled in the memory of her revenge and once again tasted the sugary flavor of triumph. Slamming the chalice back down, “It wasn’t long before the Turks made their move on the defenseless Prince of Walachia,” she declared in a rush. “In nary a month’s time, Vlad engaged in a battle with the Turks near Bucharest. From the safety of the nearby Vlasia Forest, I watched the mêlée unfold, patiently waiting for a moment to attack. My revenge was at hand.” *** Ivona’s breaths became pants of anticipation. Her eyes danced about the room like the shifty stare of a lunatic. As though trying to contain her escalating excitement, she gripped the arms of the leather chair so tightly her knuckles nearly burst through the pale flesh of her hands. Lucian felt his own breaths quicken in comparison. After learning the true reasoning of why his forefather was slain, he found himself eager to know the manner of his murderer’s death. Forgetting the others about them, he leaned forward in his chair, his stare unwavering as he waited for Ivona to deliver the anticipated satisfaction. If she thought his behavior odd, she gave no indication. Rather, she seemed pleased by his intense interest. Her eyes sparkled like two Forth of July firecrackers and her chin lifted a notch with pride.

“There are many rumors as to how Prince Vlad died that day. Some believe one of his own men accidentally struck him down at the precise moment of victory because he was dressed in Turkish garb in order to confuse his enemy. Others think he was killed by a Turkish arrow that managed to pierce through the protective borders of his Moldavian bodyguards.” The corners of Ivona’s mouth curled up into a wicked smile. She looked like a pleased cat having just eaten its latest kill. “Both are wrong. Broken and beaten, his life force slowly seeping from multiple wounds, Prince Vlad stumbled away from the smoke and confusion of the battling men and made his way to a nearby swamp where I was waiting,” she boasted. *** Feeling her features begin to shift as The Evil clawed at her self-control, Ivona willed herself to calm down and attempted a smile, but she knew it probably looked more like the snarl of a ferocious beast on the verge of attack. Her gaze darted about the room, taking in the expressions of fear and disbelief of the others. Only the man across from her seemed completely at ease, and Ivona couldn’t help but wonder why. Was he her nemesis? Was he the one she’d come here for? She sensed he hid something, seemingly beneath his

clothing, or perhaps beneath his flesh. He kept his soul carefully guarded against her probing. Few mortals had the power to resist her inquisition. There was certainly something different about this one, and she had the uncanny notion she’d discover it before night’s end. Ivona closed her eyes and murmured a chant of control. Several moments passed before she felt in charge once again. “Please forgive me,” she began, training her gaze on one of the terrified faces before her. “I tend to get…excited when I reminisce.” As all traces of her former animosity dissipated, Ivona’s mouth curled into an irresistibly devastating grin that instantly placed everyone at ease. “Shall I continue?” “Yes, please,” the bartender chimed without hesitance. Ivona smiled. “As Vlad’s footsteps began to falter and his gait became unsteady, I realized the moment I had anticipated for nearly seventeen years was now at hand. Finally, the mighty Prince fell to his knees in the stinking slime of the bog. It took nary a swift kick to fall him to his face in the gelatinous goop that was to become his grave.” “So that he may see his slayer, I rolled the helpless Prince onto his back, taking little care to protect his painful wounds,” she sneered, finding intense pleasure in the memory of his suffering. “His eyes began to glaze as I leaned over his dying body. His expression clouded with confusion, as though he couldn’t believe The Evil had forsaken him, leaving him

defenseless and frail on the brink of death. He almost seemed afraid, so I spoke to him softly, as though soothing a small child, explaining to him that it was time to pay for the atrocities he’d committed against my friends and family, against mankind itself.” Ivona ran a shapely finger along the rim of the empty goblet beside her, lovingly stroking its smooth contour. “His eyes widened with shock as I produced the chalice that had remained untouched in the Targoviste Square during his entire reign.” She laughed then, the sound cruel and harsh. “Even in his weakened state, he was instantly outraged, aghast that I had broken one of his ridiculous rules and dared flaunt it before him. I could see the condemnation forming in his glassy stare, the verdict he formulated, and the punishment he so desired to enact. However, his time for penalty was over. He would no longer pass judgment on anyone else, or derive pleasure from torturing the innocent. Sentencing was at hand, and I was the new executioner.” *** A slow, satanic smile spread across her sensual lips. It looked as though the devil himself now filled her chair instead of the beautiful and mysterious woman of before. Maintained only by the will of those in power, life is held in a delicate balance by the sentinels of good and evil. Ivona

was one such guardian, and all Hell was about to break loose. Lucian understood the barely restrained power coiled within her. He knew what she was, what she had become through circumstance. What startled him even more was his own undeniable attraction. It was an awakening realization that left him reeling with confusion, and strangely wondering to which side he belonged. “These were the final words heard by the mighty Prince Vlad Dracula,” she said, in an unearthly tone that rumbled from deep inside her immortal frame. “You have murdered my people, preyed on the weak, and tormented the innocent. Your deeds have condemned you and your children to death, and I shall be the slayer. I will hunt your descendants until the end of eternity, and I shall stamp out all traces of your lineage. Your family shall be my prey, your loved ones my victims. Your blood shall taint no souls but mine. The Evil that worked through you shall be imprisoned within me. I curse you and all those to come. I am your deliverance” Ivona’s gaze became an unfocused stare as she recited her message. Her eyes flashed with anger and her nostrils flared with growing fury. A vaporous whine echoed each word like the sound of violin music spilling from the funnel of an antique phonograph. She appeared mystified and dazed, as though she were once again speaking directly to Prince Vlad himself.

“Using the blade belonging to my dearly beloved Dragomir,” she explained, “I slowly drained the lingering life force from the dying Prince, filling his golden goblet to the rim with his poisonous nectar.” Her eyes were still intent and distracted on an imaginary object viewable only by her. Then her vision suddenly snapped back into focus, coming to rest on Lucian. Undaunted, he returned her stare, willing her to finish her tale. The prolonged anticipation was almost unbearable. It took everything he had to remain in his seat. “As I drank his essence, willingly accepting The Evil from his soul into mine, Prince Vlad’s spirit slowly faded away into nonexistence. He became naught but a mortal man. The monster that had destroyed my life, the fiend who had taken away all I loved, was naught but a drained-out vessel. In conclusion to my ritualistic curse, I decapitated him and mutilated his lifeless body. I scarcely remember much else.” Ivona became somber. “His reign was finished.” Her voice dropped to a low murmur, forcing Lucian and the others to strain to hear the ending of her amazing tale. “But mine…mine was just beginning. Bound by my promise to rid the earth of his kin, I’m cursed to walk through the miasma of eternity and fulfill my pledge. I assure you, it’s no easy task. I dare not develop friendships or fall in love. My engagements are nothing more than temporary indulgence,

for whosoever lingers by my side eventually falls to the lure of The Evil that resides within my tainted soul.” Her expression grew sad. “My existence is little more than a vacuum of lonely isolation, interrupted only by the occasional lure of limited companionship from a temporary beau and the call of duty. I am a vestibule of The Evil, a knight of immortality. I am vampyre.” Ivona tossed her head and gave an irritable tug at her sleeve. “That is my story.” Clapping instantly erupted throughout the tavern. “Bravo!” one man called. “Wonderful tale!” another chimed. Even the women seemed equally impressed. Lucian could see why Ivona had survived as long as she had. She had just revealed her true identity to a room full of people, and yet, none of them seemed to have really noticed. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, perhaps the alcohol. Whatever the cause, it was apparent how ignorant humans could be. However, Lucian was not like the others. He did notice, and now, he understood why he’d come to the tavern that night—he had sought her, or maybe, they’d sought each other. It made no difference. When the bartender called for the next storyteller, Lucian raised his hand. When no one objected, he settled back into his chair, stretched his feet out before him, and crossed his ankles. Then he stared directly at Ivona, pleased to see that she continued to watch him just as intently. Now he wanted

her to see what he hid deep inside of himself. There was no denying their destiny. Ivona...our paths have crossed yet again. Seemingly hearing his thoughts, her eyes grew round with surprise. Then one shapely brow arched with intrigue. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him with an expression of challenge. Lucian smiled and pulled the pendant free from beneath his shirt. With a newfound sense of purpose, “My name is Van Dragos,” he announced. “Lucian Van Dragos. I am Dragomir’s heir.”

About the Author Shannon Leigh Shannon Leigh is a practicing registered nurse who graduated with a B.S.N. R.N. from the Indiana University School of nursing in May of 1996. She lives in Indiana with her husband, four sons, two cats, and new chow-chow named Aysia. When she's not chasing after her four rambunctious boys, Shannon enjoys tole painting, drawing, reading, writing paranormal fiction, and watching vampire flicks. Coincidentally, one of her favorite movies, Dracula 2000, which stars Gerard Butler, was released on her birthday, December 22. Shannon loves to hear from her fans! You can write to her at:

Shannon Leigh c/o Chippewa Publishing, LLC.

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