Vampire Origins: The Strigoi Book 1 - Project Ichorous

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

1918 - 1925

Alex spent a long time preparing for this moment.

Seven years working up the courage. Two weeks crafting the proposal. Four days agonizing over the perfect ring. An hour in the garden, cutting Kristiina’s favorite flowers.

Everything had to be perfect, because that’s what she was to him.

But now that he was down on one knee, holding the diamond ring to her delicate finger, the words he’d put so much thought into evaporated from his tongue.

The horrors trapped inside his brain operated to their own rhythm, popping up when they were least expected, triggered by the most banal of memories.

The red sun sinking below the mountains was the exact shade of the blood that seeped from his father’s head; the lavender stalks he’d cut for Kristiina triggered a scent memory of his mother’s perfume the last time she hugged him.

Even the ring held poignant memories; the diamond one of the jewels entrusted to Alex moments before his family was slaughtered.

A color, a scent, a family heirloom.

Alone they were harmless, but combined they were dragging him back to the cataclysmic violence.

Alex managed to blurt out a hurried Marry me.

He saw Kristiina’s mouth open in reply, but he could no longer hear her voice.

He was already back there.

Package for you, Anna said, handing Alex a small, rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper. And Mama, there’s a letter here for you, too. It’s from Rasputin.

The name made Alex cringe. His mother might think Rasputin the most talented physician in Russia, but to Alex, who had to endure the vile man’s hemophilia treatments, his name was synonymous with pain.

Treatments that included leeches, tourniquets, nasty potions, transfusions and even, on occasion, the drinking of blood. They were supposed to cure Alex, to stop the pain of bleeding into muscles and joints. More often than not, it was the treatments that confined Alex to bed for days on end.

"You’ll die if I don’t do this," Rasputin would say, as Alex’s parents held him down.

Some days, he would have preferred death.

Is everything okay? Anna asked, watching Mama’s eyes fly across the page, and her face blanch milk-white.

But Alex had already lost interest, caring only about the package clutched in his hands. He tore the paper, his heart galloping when he spied the treasure within.

Gold lettering spelled out the title Peter and Wendy. A smiling boy sat on top of a dragon playing the flute, while two mermaids climbed up the dragon’s side, reaching for Peter. Along the spine of the book was a nefarious pirate with a hook for a hand.

Take Alexei and go play, Mama said.

Alex let out a wild whoop, glad he could get started on the book right away.

Anna didn’t share his glee. At seventeen, she thought she was too mature to entertain her little brother.

Later that afternoon, Alex overheard his mother ordering the servants to knock holes in the basement walls. He didn’t give it much thought. She often devoted to renovation projects, especially since they’d been forced to move out of the palace into such an austere villa.

Yet, a few days later, when Alex ran down to the basement to hide from Anna, he found his mother stashing food and water inside the walls – and most puzzling of all, great piles of jewels and family heirlooms.

Mama, what are you doing?

Hush, Alexei. Go back upstairs. Promise me you won’t come back down here, she said, and don’t tell anyone what you saw.

Alex thought it an odd thing to ask, but nodded his head. What did he know of adult affairs? I promise.

A week later, on July 17, Alex was laying on the rug in the nursery, two chapters away from finishing his book.

It was quite late – almost midnight. He was surprised that his mother had allowed him to stay awake so long after his normal bedtime. Perhaps it was because Father had just returned to the house after a prolonged absence that nobody wanted to talk about.

Alex didn’t really care why he was up late. He only cared that he was able to read some more.

Anna lay beside him, filling the pages of her journal with her tight cursive script. She’d be horrified to know he read her diary whenever he got a chance.

If only she’d write about something interesting, like Peter and Wendy.

Like most children who read J.M Barrie’s magical words, Alex was fascinated by the concept of never growing old, but what he really craved were Peter’s adventures. Wielding a sword, fighting pirates, flying through the air.

Alex couldn’t kick a ball or run like other children. Hemophilia plagued his every step and kept him from enjoying the rough and tumble life of normal boys.

So he made up his own adventures.

When he stole a peek at Anna’s diary, he pretended he was an important detective like Sherlock Holmes, finding clues to a great mystery. He knew if she found out, she’d kill him, but that just made the adrenaline pump harder through his thin body.

Alas, the only mystery Alex discovered was that Anna was in love with Josef, the gardener. As if he cared about such trivial things.

The door opened.

Mama hurried in, her arms overflowing with more jewels: diamond tiaras, pearls, lockets, gold medallions, enormous rings with diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires glinting in the electric lights, and two tunics sewn with hundreds more priceless gems.

What’s she up to now?

Alexei. Anastasia. Come here, Mama said, dumping the treasure hoard on the end of Anna’s bed.

Anna’s expression turned dreamy. I think we should have breakfast in the garden tomorrow.

Alex knew what she really meant was ‘I hope I see Josef.’

I’m not tired yet, Alex said.

My darlings, please come here. I have something very important for you to do.

Anna got to her feet right away – always more obedient than he, but Alex protested.

But I'm at the best part. He hated the whiny tone in his voice, but he was so close to the end; he couldn’t bear to be dragged away now. Peter is fighting Captain Hook—

Come here this instant.

Mama never shouted, at least not at him. Her harsh tone sent trepidation hurtling towards the pit of his stomach. He staggered to his feet, marking his place with a reluctant, overly dramatic sigh, joining Anna at the end of the bed.

His mother ignored his scowl of displeasure. Here, put these on, she said, slipping the heavy tunic over his nightdress, cramming the fat, shiny rings one after another onto his fingers.

Dress-ups? Aren’t we a little old for children’s games?

Hush, Alexei. Do as you’re told. His mother cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, circling Alex’s neck with dozens of heavy necklaces – platinum, silver, gold, pearls. Some with gems, some without – before repeating the process with Anna. Her actions were manic, her hands quivering as she pinned lines of cameos and brooches onto the sleeves of Alex’s nightdress, struggling not to pierce his delicate skin.

Alex felt like a knight in armor, which put a brief smile on his face, but then Mama took his hand.

Come with me.

Her skin was so icy; Alex couldn’t help his recoil, trying to pull away, but it was no use. Her grip was too tight.

She led them downstairs, bypassing the salon where Father enjoyed an evening brandy, heading even further down the cool, stone steps into the basement.

The weight of the treasure and the jeweled tunic encumbered Alex’s shoulders, making his back ache and his body sweat.

Alex had not been down to the basement since he'd made his promise. He was stunned by the transformation.

The holes were gone, and the walls coated with thick, flowery wallpaper. More surprising was the change his mother made to the lighting. The electric lighting she was so proud of had been removed, and in its place flickered dozens of old-fashioned torches stuck into wall sconces, turning the modern room into a medieval dungeon.

Mama, why are we down here?

She lifted a warning finger to her lips, shushing him with a quiet hiss. You must keep your voices down, she whispered, feeling along the wall with outstretched fingers. The fleeting looks over her shoulder became more desperate, as if she expected to be intercepted at any moment.

Finally, her fingers found a tiny hole in the plasterwork, disguised by the stamen of one of the flowers in the wallpaper. It was only big enough for the tip of her little finger. She pulled hard, a small section of the wall coming away, like a trapdoor opening into a secret tunnel.

Alex’s pulse pounded behind his temples making his head feel like it was about to explode.

Did Rasputin put her up to this? Is this another one of his magic remedies?

But Alex hadn’t had a fall in weeks.

Maybe she’s lost her mind.

It was common knowledge that the Romanov royal males were susceptible to the bleeding disease, but nobody liked to talk about the mental illness that ran through their family tree like a spring flood.

It shamed Alex to admit it – now that he knew the truth – but, at the time, he believed insanity had claimed another victim.

Quick, get inside, Mama said.

Anna’s hazel eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Mama, what is going on? You’re scaring us.

I don’t have time to explain. You have to trust me. Climb into the hole. I’m going to close the wall back over. It might seem scary, but you have to promise me that you won’t come out until I come and get you.

But I don’t want to hide in the wall. I want to read my book.

Alexei, do as you’re told. I am trying to save your life.

Alex’s heart tried to escape his thin chest. What do you mean save our lives?

Is it the Bolsheviks? The blood drained from Anna’s face as her question echoed against the wall.

Mama nodded, her eyes haunted and afraid; the tears gripping her long lashes.

Alex wanted to become a great Tsar like his father, but at thirteen, he knew nothing of revolutions and wars or the struggles of his people. He didn’t even know his father was no longer Tsar or that the soldiers standing guard outside were really keeping them prisoner.

All he knew was that it was dark inside the hole.

He wondered whether Bolsheviks were monsters that preyed on children in the dark.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

His heart beat so loudly, he was sure it would fly right out of his body.

I’m scared of the dark, he said, hating to admit such weakness, but his mother wasn’t leaving him much choice.

Be strong for me, my darling, she said, wrapping her arms around Alex and squeezing him tighter than she’d ever dared before.

He could smell the sweetness of her lavender perfume.

You need to be quick. I have to go back for your sisters. Get them safe before—

Boom. Boom. Boom.

This time, it wasn’t Alex’s heart. Someone was banging on the front doors.

God have mercy. I’m too late.

She picked up Alex, pushing him into the hole. He started to sob, frightened not only of the dark, but by the fear that emanated from his mother like a beast.

Anastasia, get in, and please keep your brother quiet. You can’t make a sound. Be quiet as mice. Promise me.

We promise, Anna said, answering for both.

I love you. Always remember that.

She slid the segment back into place, sealing them inside the tightest crawl space imaginable, plunging the siblings into inky blackness.

Alex pressed his face against the hole. It was the only source of light.

Mama, please come back. I’m frightened.

But she disappeared up the stairs, closing the basement doors behind her.

Anna stroked his cheek, whispering into his ear. Shh. Pretend we are playing hide and seek. If we’re really quiet, we will win.

Alex wanted to believe her promise, but moments later, the doors exploded inwards and a mass of frightened people rushed down the steps.

Through the hole, Alex could just make out his father, Nikolai, and his older sisters – Tatiana, Olga and Marie – standing by Father’s side.

His sisters also wore jewels and jeweled tunics.

Mama came next, her face a mask of stoic resistance. She clutched two hands in hers.

Who is that?

It was impossible to move in the confined cutout, but Alex shifted as much as the tiny space would allow, trying to get a better look.

Boris.

He recognized the cook’s twelve-year-old son immediately. The boy often substituted as a playmate for Alex when nobody else could be found.

Not anymore. He’s wearing my clothes. How dare he go through my things! As soon as Mama lets me out, I’m going to teach him a damned good lesson.

And there’s stupid Faina, his sister. God, I hate her. She’s such a know-it-all. Why is she wearing Anna’s new dress? And she’s got a tiara on her head. I bet she thinks that wearing a tiara makes her a princess.

Hang on. They’re both wearing Mama’s silly jeweled tunics. Did they steal them? Is that why Mama looks so upset?

The servants filed into the basement, their crying and keening sending a tingle shooting through Alex’s spine. He could just make out Cook, Boris and Faina’s mother, among the servants.

What are they crying about? What is happening? Who or what are the Bolsheviks?

Then Alex saw them.

Dozens of men, rifles clutched in work-hardened fists, swarming down the stairs, pushing the small crowd into the center of the basement.

Father drew himself up to full height, his hands on his hips, his lip curled into its infamous sneer. I already did what you asked. I abdicated the throne. How dare you come in—

The rebuke was cut short by a slap so hard, it forced Father backwards.

Quiet! You are no longer in charge.

Then who is? Everything about Father’s tone and posture illustrated twenty-three years as Tsar.

I am, said a tattooed behemoth, stepping forward as the others parted before him like the Red Sea before the Israelites.

I demand to know who holds my family hostage, Father said.

I am Yakov Yurovsky, Commandant of the House of Special Purposes. Your days of tyranny are over. The Bolsheviks rule Russia now, he said, poking Father in the chest. Is this all your family?

Yes, Mama said, answering for him.

Yakov was unconvinced.

He walked up and down the line of Romanovs (and unbeknownst to him, the two imposters), inspecting each member like a scientist looking through a microscope.

I recognize this one, he said, triumphant as he lifted Tatiana’s chin, tracing a dirty finger down the front of her blouse.

Tatiana’s body convulsed, and she looked about to faint. Please stop.

Please stop, Yakov mimicked.

He pushed Tatiana away, not caring that she fell to the ground as he grabbed another sister.

Which one are you?

Olga. She held her head high, staring at Yakov with undisguised contempt.

You think you are better than me?

Olga met his gray eyes. I know I am better than you. Her lip curled into a sneer Father would be proud of.

Yakov pulled back his clenched fist, slamming it into Olga’s nose. The fragile cartilage shattered, spraying blood like an arterial fountain. Not so proud now, hey princess?

Maria crouched by her sister’s side, helping Olga to her feet. Why are you doing this? What did we ever do to you?

Ah yes, Maria. I’ve heard all about you, said Yakov. You toy with soldiers’ hearts while they lay dying in their beds. Your very existence is pestilence upon this land.

Yakov grabbed Boris next, shaking him until the poor boy’s eyes rolled back in his head. Thought you were going to rule the land, didn’t you?

Boris looked up at Mama, tears streaking his pudgy face as he waited for instructions. Mama nodded, and Boris followed suit.

Then you will be the first to die, Yakov said, a previously unseen dagger materializing into his hand.

Before anyone could stop him, he drew the blade across the boy’s throat, deriving too much pleasure from the act.

Faina screamed, as did Cook, who would have rushed to her son’s side if Mama had not blocked her path.

Alex no longer registered anything but his playmate. Blood bubbled from Boris’s lips, soaking the front of his tunic. He gasped for air, but his severed windpipe allowed him none. He fell to his knees, his hands pushing the folds of slick, red skin back together in vain. His frightened eyes flickered like fluorescent lights trying to start, somehow locking onto the tiny hole from which Alex peered.

As the last spark of life extinguished, those eyes screamed accusations at Alex. They screamed ‘This should have been you’.

And Alex knew he was right.

Yakov pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants, holding it to Father’s forehead. He read from a small slip of paper clutched in his fist.

Nikolai Aleksandrovich Romanov, in view of the fact that your relatives are continuing their attack on Soviet Russia, the Ural Executive Committee has decided to execute you, he said, pulling the trigger.

A gray cloud discharged into the air. As the smoke cleared, Alex saw a stream of cardinal red flowing from a gaping wound in the front of Father’s head. He saw Mama rush forward…

No.

Air sucked through his clenched teeth, his lungs constricting against his ribs. He wanted to cry out, but the words welded to his tongue like molten metal.

Stop the bitch, Yakov shouted, and a dozen rifles fired.

Rolling thunder filled the room, overriding the panicked screams and shouts, reaching into the tiny hole to grip Alex’s heart.

Mama’s body pirouetted in the air and then slumped like a puppet after its strings had been cut.

Blood pooled across the stone floor, joining with Father’s, uniting them even in death.

Alex opened his mouth, ready to scream, but Anna forced her clenched fist inside, the sharp rings cutting into soft flesh.

The tiny space contracted around him. Even something as simple as breathing became impossible. He tasted blood on his tongue, coppery and hot, causing him to gag. He knew it wouldn’t clot; knew it would continue to bleed until he died.

As Anna pulled him away from the hole, he moaned, stars bursting like fireworks in front of his eyes.

She pressed her lips to his ear. Do you promise you won’t scream?

Alex nodded, and she removed her fist.

He spat, trying to be as quiet as he could, even as his stomach protested against the sharp taste.

People continued screaming, but their cries were cut off by gunfire, until all that remained were the triumphant cries of their murderers.

Suddenly, everything went black as his vision failed him. Alex’s last conscious thought as he slipped into a coma was that he’d never get to finish his book.

Chapter two

1925

Kristiina crouched beside Alex, her fingers cool on his burning cheeks. Try not to think about it, she said, knowing where his mind had taken him.

The air in his lungs was foreign; his voice little more than choked whispers. I’m trying not to, he said, but he was trapped between the present and the past, the pain of his memories winning out.

His mother had made them promise to stay hidden until she came for them. But Mama had died. Nobody was coming.

Alex had no idea how long they stayed shut up in the wall. It might have been hours, days, weeks or even months. As luck would have it, he was delirious for most of the time.

But Anna told him what had happened.

The food ran out first and then the water, replaced by the stench of urine and feces, which clung to her skin, driving her to the point of madness.

Alex was so weak, so close to death, that Anna gave him most of the rations.

Looters searched the house, looking for remaining treasure, unaware a Tsar’s hoard lay just behind the wall.

When Ivan found them, he thought they were dead. Alex had no idea how he managed to smuggle two sick children out of Russia and into Romania.

It was an ordeal Ivan never spoke about.

Alex’s first memory of his new life was Kristiina, Ivan’s twelve-year-old daughter, who tended his illness. She wiped Alex’s fevered brow with a cool, damp cloth, spooning lukewarm gruel into his mouth and covering him in extra blankets when the chills set in.

He fell in love the minute he was able to recognize her presence.

He was still a child, but he knew he would marry her, even if it did take him seven years to work up the courage to ask.

You know I love you, Kristiina's said, her voice cutting through the memories, through the lingering tremors they had triggered. I have always loved you.

Well, you sure took your time letting on, Alex said, returning fully to the present. So will you marry me?

Of course. I could never imagine my life without you.

Alex whooped as he swung her into the air, not caring if he woke the whole village. He then pulled Kristiina to his chest, kissing her with an urgency that made his head spin.

He didn’t even care that he was crying. He had no reason to be embarrassed. Not with her.

Let’s get married tonight. After seven years of waiting, he didn’t want to wait another minute to make her his wife.

Kristiina laughed. I can’t get married without my father. Who will give me away?

I love your father like he was my own. Without him, both Anna and I would be dead. I owe him my life, Alex said, meaning every word. But Ivan won’t be back for days. He knows how crazy I am about you. If we’re married when he gets back, I’m sure he’ll forgive us.

Just then the bedroom door burst open and the two of them jumped away, as guilty as naughty children caught in an illicit act.

Oh, it’s just you, Alex said, pulling Kristiina back into his arms as Anna barged into the room.

She emanated a sense of urgency, which only served to irritate Alex.

Do you mind? This is personal.

Anna ignored the scolding. We must leave at once. I’ve had a vision. Something terrible is about to happen.

The visions had begun within days of Ivan bringing them to Romania. Nobody understood why or how, but Anna could see a short distance into the future. It wasn't much, a few minutes at most. Sometimes only seconds.

Maybe her mind overcompensated for the tragedy they had suffered, honing her senses until they were razor sharp.

The only terrible thing here is your timing, Alex said.

I believe her. Kristiina had always been convinced that Anna could predict the future. You know she’s right. Look at her eyes.

They had changed from their usual light brown into molten lumps of gold, a signal that she was, indeed, in the grips of a vision. But her predictions were wrong just as often as they were right, and Alex wasn’t about to rely on them to live his life.

Kristiina gripped Anna’s hands, the two of them as close as sisters. What have you seen?

I’m not sure. It’s more a feeling than a clear image.

See? Alex said, wanting to get his proposal back on track. This is ridiculous—

His protest was cut short by a scream that pierced his soul, causing his scalp to prickle like it was being overrun by lice.

Kristiina’s hand flew to her mouth. I must warn my mother.

Anna nodded. Be quick. I don’t know how much time…

There was more screaming, the sound echoing through the small village, as if every house was under attack.

You girls go. I will protect you, Alex said.

He had spent months with Ivan, learning how to fight, sometimes only just surviving the injuries, determined that he would never hide again while his loved ones were in danger.

No, Anna said, pushing him up against the wall, surprising him with her strength. You can’t fight this.

Of course I can.

Her fingers pinched his arm so hard, blood gushed under his unbroken skin.

I have never felt this kind of presence before.

It can’t be worse than Bolsheviks, Alex said, certain he could handle anything.

You’re wrong. This is far worse than unschooled rebels. It is… pure evil.

Please, Alexei, Kristiina said, her face wet with tears as her eyes locked onto his. There is no shame in running.

Of course there was shame, but Alex was torn between a desire to protect his love and a need to grant her every wish.

Please, she repeated, gripping his hand in hers.

He was powerless to refuse. Okay. Go get your mother. We will meet in the kitchen.

Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?

He kissed her lips, not realizing it would be the last time he’d feel their warmth.

I promise. Now go.

He dropped to his knees, prying off a loose floorboard from below the rug, feeling around the gap until he found the box containing the last remnants of their old life.

Take these. He thrust the jewel box into Anna’s hands, but her eyes were already closed, another vision jolting her body.

We’re too late! She gasped as her eyes sprung open like twin jacks-in-the-box.

Kristiina screamed, the sound piercing Alex’s heart, freezing the blood in his veins.

He dropped to the floor, delving inside the hole with both hands, pulling out a filthy bundle. Alex unwrapped the frayed cloth, his frantic fingers revealing two weapons.

Where did you get those?

Alex ignored his sister, tucking the long dagger into the back of his trousers, clutching the cold, metallic barrel of a Luger P08 pistol in his palm.

He ran towards the kitchen, racing time itself to get to Kristiina.

A black mass hovered over his love, dark blood spreading across the floorboards. Alex growled, squeezing the trigger again and again until he heard the barren click of an empty chamber.

The creature looked up at him, unharmed by the bullets shot at point-blank range.

How can it still be alive?

It was too dark to see clearly, but in the warm glow of the fire’s embers, Alex could have sworn its eyes were red.

Kristiina! He fell to his knees, lifting her head into his lap. Oh God, please no.

Lifeless eyes stared straight ahead. The front of her dress was stained black with blood, her throat torn open like she’d been attacked by a pack of wolves. Worst of all, her beautiful, angelic face was twisted into a grotesque horror mask, as if she had glimpsed the abyss before she died.

Behind you.

Rage boiled inside Alex; a red, hot lava scream rocketed out of his throat. You bastard! You killed her.

He threw the now useless pistol, raising the dagger above his head. He charged at the creature, not caring if he lived or died.

The room went black as he careened into it, knocking it to the floor.

He heard air escape the creature’s lungs, but when he felt for it, there was nothing. The only sign it was still there the shallow breathing coming from the shadows where the creature had retreated.

Show yourself. He was enraged by its continued existence, despite his best efforts.

A clumsy weight leapt onto his back, gripping his shoulders, dragging him to the ground with the strength of a lion immobilizing its prey.

Fire shot through Alex's ribs and stomach as blood hemorrhaged into his body. Death was imminent now, but Alex was determined to go down fighting.

He spun onto his back, fully intending to kill the monster that had stolen his love.

Focusing all his fury on his losses – Kristiina, his mother, his family – Alex plunged the dagger deep into the creature’s chest.

The fire sparked, and in the dim light he recognized his sister, the tip of the dagger embedded in her chest. Sticky blood seeped through her tunic, and her hands fumbled for the knife.

What have I done?

An acid river battered his teeth, making the room swirl.

I’ve killed her. I did this. I’m no better than that monster. I deserve to die.

Alex gripped the knife, tugging it out of her chest. In an act of pure despair, he then turned it on himself, ready to join those he loved in the afterlife.

Anna grimaced as she clutched his arm. Go, she said. Get out of here.

No. I won’t leave you—

A hand seized his leg, lifting him upside down into the air. Alex cried out as the creature’s talons cut into his skin.

His sister grabbed for him, her frantic fingers closing around air. A primal scream erupted from her throat as she launched herself at the beast, fighting with superhuman strength born of desperation.

Somehow, in spite of her terrible injuries, she succeeded in freeing Alex.

He stood up, coming face to face with the creature.

Its engorged lips parted into a cynical smile, and for the first time in his life, the blood ran thick in Alex’s veins.

It’s not a creature. It’s a man.

A man with hair as red as the fires of hell. A man in the frenzy of blood lust. A man whose unnatural beauty was both cruel and diabolical.

Alex stared into hypnotic eyes as blue as the Aegean Sea, unable to look away as two needle-sharp teeth sank into his throat.

Chapter three

Present day

Rose had spent three days in New York searching for her quarry, but was no closer to success than when she first arrived.

All she had to go by was a patchy description, one that, in a city of more than eight million people, applied to thousands.

Blue eyes and red hair.

It wasn’t the first time Rose had been given a difficult brief, but usually she knew something more of the intended victim. The gender, for instance. Sometimes, if she was lucky, even a first name or place of birth.

Thankfully her job was made easier by her ability to read people.

Not through psychology or body language. No. Rose could literally read them – their history, their memories, even their thoughts – like a book, and all with a simple touch.

A damn good thing, too, because Vlad’s given me nothing to go on.

He had sent her to the largest, most cosmopolitan city in the western world with one order: search for Strigoi descendants.

There was just one problem. The history she was searching for, the green light that told her she had found The One, required more than a brief, indiscriminate touch – something that was easy enough to come by in New York.

The Strigoi history could only be read through prolonged skin-on-skin contact.

It had taken some creativity to track down every redhead in New York City and manufacture excuses to get physical.

First, she put a classified ad in the paper.

Successful woman seeking a fellow auburn-haired lover. Will consider men and women.

She was inundated with over five thousand applicants, more than half offering to dye their hair to ‘win her heart’.

Next she pretended to be casting a Hollywood agent looking for the next big star, utilizing the casting couch in her quest for physical contact.

When that failed, she posed as a grief counselor at a community shelter, getting hugs for her miracle advice.

And when that still didn’t produce her prey, she stole the booking portfolios from dozens of modeling agencies, pouring through headshots and personal information to find the natural redheads.

She hadn’t slept in days and had spent too many hours in the draining sun.

The hunger was excruciating, driving her to eat five, even six times a day, but with an endless stream of failed redheads, she didn’t have far to look for her next meal.

The night before, she had channeled her inner teen, surfing Facebook and the Internet, trawling malls and hanging out at fun parks.

I’m running out of excuses to accost strangers.

Now, in a last ditched effort, Rose had come to New York’s office district.

She wished she could fail, but failure wasn’t an option. If Rose didn’t succeed, she suffered the consequences. It was as simple as that.

Rose longed to tell Vlad to go to hell, but his word was her gospel. Her servitude did not spring from respect, but from the unbreakable bond of master and servant.

In the end, serendipity delivered Allan Weltz into her hands, and Rose careened into his life with all the power of a hurricane.

Twenty minutes ‘til touchdown, Mr. Roman, Kelly said, clearing the empty crystal decanter and glass away.

Thanks.

Alex was the sole passenger on board the Gulfstream jet; the staff out-numbered him four-to-one: two pilots, a snoring engineer sleeping off the effects of too much vodka and an over-attentive flight attendant, determined to drag more than monosyllables from him.

He had been gone a long time. What started out as a three-month sojourn in the southern hemisphere had become a twelve-year hiatus, an escape from the vicious infighting that plagued his family.

If I had my way, I’d never return.

But Alex didn’t have his way. As usual, Vlad did.

So now he was the prodigal son returning home. There was no elation in his homecoming, just a deadness in his chest that ached for everything that he had lost.

He ran his fingers through his hair, unaccustomed to the short, tailored style. He preferred to wear it longer, but he had a part to play now.

Alex clenched his jaw, biting back an exasperated scream. He had no desire to rule an empire. Once maybe, but those days were long gone.

He reread the email that had brought such a swift end to his freedom; granting him leadership of Roman Enterprises in Vlad’s absence and outlining his new responsibilities: managing investments and company interests, supervising staff, overseeing renovations, and most important of all, protecting Vlad’s new project.

Anna had mentioned Project Ichorous during one of their weekly video chats – the ones where she would invariably beg him to come home and he would turn her down – but he had not seen the infamous venture for himself. He didn’t even know what it was, as Anna was too freaked out to talk about it.

No doubt that’s on my ‘to do’ list when I get back. Along with everything else Vlad has dumped in my lap.

Alex wondered what had prompted Vlad’s latest leave of absence. The last one he took was five years ago, when he disappeared for months with one of his new creations, returning only when Veronika threatened to leave.

He didn’t really care why Vlad was gone. Alex just cared that his absence affected him.

Vlad could have put Lachlan in charge, or even his wife or sister. They were all perfectly capable of running things while Vlad was out of town.

But Lachlan’s relationship with Vlad was hostile, even when they were trying to get along, which only happened on a blue moon when hell was frozen and pigs were flying backwards.

And despite it being a new millennium; one in which women were supposed to be equal, Vlad had not changed anywhere near as much as the times. He was still as old-fashioned as ever, stuck in his antiquated ways that had held him in good stead for over a thousand years.

Even laying that aside, Vlad was too suspicious of anyone he didn’t have full control over.

Alex clicked on one of the attachments, opening the background information on the new staff Vlad had hired to turn his ancestral home into a hotel for some unknown reason. It wasn’t as if the old man was hard up for cash.

Mind you, with Vlad, there was always some underlying madness to his brilliant ideas.

Alex skimmed through Simon Fraser’s portfolio, noting that the Australian architect was bringing five children with him.

Great. More kids. As if I don’t have enough problems on my plate.

Alex knew he was grumbling like an old man, but today, he felt every one of his years.

At least he’s found a use for Gabriel and Ryder. Head of Security and Head of Construction, respectively. About time he put some of that brawn to good use.

The jet passed over the top of Castle Bran, dipping its wing in salute to Alex’s home before heading towards the flat farmland that housed the private runway.

Alex lifted a heavy brown book from the briefcase, his fingers tracing the familiar gold lettering. He smiled at the boy sitting atop the dragon, feeling as though he were looking at a long lost friend.

The flight attendant, Kelly, handed him a hot, lemon-scented towel, informing him they would be landing in two minutes. Her eyes caught the book in Alex’s hand.

Nice book. Is that Peter Pan? I saw the movie when I was a kid.

Alex frowned. "Not Peter Pan. Peter and Wendy."

Same thing, right?

He shrugged, not in the mood to discuss semantics.

That must be really old.

He contemplated telling her he was older, but knew she’d never believe him.

I bet it cost a fortune.

Another shrug. Money meant nothing to Alex.

You collect rare books?

Just the ones by J.M. Barrie, he said, though it was more an obsession than a hobby.

Alex had spent much of his self-imposed exile tracking down everything ever written by Barrie, but it was the first edition of Peter and Wendy he valued the most.

Kelly clipped herself into the seat next to him a split second before the wheels touched down on the tarmac.

I’m sorry. She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. I’m okay with flying. It’s the landing that is a bitch.

Alex didn’t expect the physical contact. He had no time to prepare himself for the painful surge of memories that broadcast from her mind to his, or to guard against the white-hot rage he felt when he saw into her soul.

Everything she had thought and done in the last thirty hours played in his mind like a television screen: the sleeping tablets she’d mixed in the engineer’s drink, the money and valuables she’d stolen from the bags in cargo, the plans she’d made with the pilot to kidnap Alex and hold him ransom. Even the drugs she’d slipped into his glass to accomplish her goal.

Foolish woman. She has no idea who she is messing with.

He was out of his seat in an instant, his teeth sinking into her neck before she’d even registered movement.

Alex knew just the spot that would make her death quick and painless, but she didn’t deserve such kindness. She deserved the agonizing decent into hell.

Are we there yet, Daddy?

Soon, Ruby, Dad said, shouting to be heard over the stereo.

In the last few hours, there’d been an unending rotation of musical choices: Ruby’s Wiggles; Seth’s piano concertos; Nate’s Country and Western ballads, Dad’s golden oldies. Now it was Max’s turn, and he had cranked up the volume and tempo with his favorite AC/DC album.

No wonder Scarlett had the world’s biggest headache coming on.

Her father kept the gray, Toyota LandCruiser pointed southwest, passing first through Brasov, then Rasnov and back out into countryside on the way to the tiny village of Bran.

To the side of them, a sleek jet skidded to a halt