“That’s not what I mean,” she said coldly. “I want to be free of you. Forever.”

Those words tore through him like a hot lance and did twice the damage. Grinding his teeth, he looked out the window, into the black night that had been his only solace all these centuries past. “Then take your freedom and leave. I never want to see your face again.”

Retta didn’t know why his words shredded her heart, but they did. They even succeeded in bringing tears to her eyes as she watched him turn himself into a bat before he flew through her open windows.

In spite of everything, she wanted to call him back, but her pride wouldn’t let her. It was best this way. They would both be free now…

Free for what?

She was still immortal. And no matter how much she hated it, she was still in love with her husband. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she realized the truth. She should never have come back here. Never.

But now it was too late. After all this time, she knew the truth. She loved Velkan. Even with all the lies and the betrayal. He still held her heart captive.

How could she be so stupid?

Closing her eyes, she saw him as he’d been on the day they’d married. It’d been a small monastery in the mountains. For the first time since childhood and in order to honor her, Velkan had laid aside his armor and wore a simple doublet of black velvet. Still unrefined even though he was a prince, he’d left his long hair loose to trail over his shoulders. She’d been dressed in a gown of dark green samite and velvet, trimmed in sable that matched her fur mantle.

It’d been the only time she’d seen him clean-shaven. His dark eyes had scorched her as he stared at her and uttered the words that would bind them together before God.

What she hadn’t known then was that Velkan’s mother had been a sorceress who’d taught her son well. And while he and Retta had taken holy vows, he’d bound her to him with the darkest of arts.

Without telling her.

What he’d done was unforgivable. So why then did a part of her ache to forgive him?

Retta tilted her head as she heard a light scratching at her door.

“Velkan?” she whispered. Her heart leaped at the prospect of it being him again.

Before she could stop herself, she rushed to the door and opened it. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the last person she’d expected to be there.

Tall and blond, he was a far cry from her darkly sinister husband. And for the first time, she realized he was pale in comparison to the man she’d left behind.

“Stephen? What are you doing here?”

His light blue eyes were filled with sympathy. “My name is not Stephen, Retta. It’s Stefan.”

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he blew something into her face.

Retta staggered back as her senses dulled. Everything shifted around her. Reacting on instinct, she kicked her foot out, catching him right between the legs. He doubled over immediately. But as she tried to close her door, her sight went black and she fell to the floor.

4

Velkan landed on the balcony of his mansion that overlooked the quiet valley, and shifted back into human form. Five hundred years ago, this place had been accessible by a dirt road that led up the mountainside to his courtyard. It was a road he’d closed and let be overgrown two hundred years ago when he realized how often he watched it, waiting for Esperetta to return.

Now that road was completely covered by brambles and vines as the forest had reclaimed it. The only way to venture here was by flight or teleportation. Two things that helped to keep away anyone who had no business here.

Velkan paused on the carved-stone balcony to look back toward town. He’d already cleared out the Daimons who’d come to town to prey on the tourists and he still had hours before dawn. His house was completely dark and silent in the night. Viktor had chosen to stay at the hotel with his family – no doubt in fear of Velkan’s mood.

And the man had every right to be afraid. Velkan didn’t like surprises and Esperetta’s arrival had definitely qualified as that. The Weres should have told him to expect her. What they’d done was unforgivable to him.

The gilded French doors to his room opened silently at his approach, then slammed shut behind him. Long ago, his wife had been terrified of his supernatural powers. What he had now made a mockery of the ones he’d borne as a mortal man. Back then, he’d been limited to simple premonitions, curses, potions, and spells that had to be worked with blood and ritual.

Now his powers were truly fierce. Telekinesis, shape-shifting, and pyrokinetics. Over the centuries, he’d become the monster Esperetta had feared. He held his hand out and the bottle of bourbon flew to him. Uncorking it, he drank the bourbon straight from the bottle as he walked past a mirror that didn’t cast his reflection.

He laughed at that. Until he neared the fireplace where Esperetta’s painting hung. The look on her face froze him to the spot. And as always, it took his breath.

He’d commissioned it right before their wedding. He’d hired Gentile Bellini and had practically been forced to abduct the man out of Venice for the work. But Velkan had known that no one other than that artist would have ever been able to capture her youth and innocence.

Bellini hadn’t disappointed. If anything, he’d excelled past all of Velkan’s expectations.

Esperetta had been so nervous that day. With bright summer flowers in her dark auburn hair and dressed in a light gold gown, she’d been an absolute vision. Bellini had placed her in the garden outside of Velkan’s residence – a garden that was now a gnarled, unsightly mess from lack of care. She’d been fidgeting unmercifully until she’d spied Velkan sitting on the wall, watching her.

Their eyes had met and had held, and the shyest, most beautiful smile that ever graced a woman’s face had been captured by the artist. It was a look that could still bring Velkan to his knees.

Snarling at the picture, he forced himself to walk onward, away from it. He should have burned it centuries ago. He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t.

In fact, he could send a blast to it even now and burst it into flames…

His hand heated up in expectation. But he balled it into a fist as he left his room, then descended the stairs to the first floor, where Bram and Stoker waited for his return. Calling out to his Tibetan Mastiffs, he made his way to his study, where his fire had all but gone out.

He shot a blast of fire into it, making it roar to life. It bathed the room in a dull orange light and caused the shadows to dance eerily along the cold stone walls. He petted his dogs as they welcomed him home with joyful barks and licks. Then they bounded off to retake their seats beside his padded chair. Sighing, Velkan took his seat so that he could stare into the fire that did nothing to warm him. The light was painful for his eyes, but honestly he didn’t care.

He glanced over at the dogs on each side of him. “Be glad that you’re both neutered. Would that I had been so fortunate.” Because right then, his body was hard and aching for the one woman who would never again submit to his touch.

His anger mounting, he took another swig only to curse over the fact that the alcohol couldn’t do anything to him. As a Dark-Hunter he could never get drunk. There was no escape from this pain.

Growling, he threw the bottle into the hearth, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. The flames sparked in greedy consumption of the alcohol. The dogs lifted their heads in curiosity while Velkan raked his hand through his hair.

As bad as it had been before, it was so much worse now knowing that she was only a short distance away. Her scent still hung in his nostrils, making him even more feral than he’d been before.

You should go to her and force her to take you back.

That was what the Moldavian warlord Velkan Danesti would have done. He’d have never allowed a slip of a woman to lead him about.

But that man had died the night an innocent young woman had looked up at him with eyes so blue, so trusting, they had instantly stolen his heart. Perhaps this was his punishment for having lived such a brutal human life. To want the one thing he couldn’t have. Esperetta’s peaceful, soft touch.

Restless with his thoughts, he rose to his feet. Bram rose as well until he realized that Velkan was only going to pace the room. The dog settled back down while Velkan did his best to banish his memories.

But unfortunately, there was no way to cleave his heart from his chest and until he did that he knew he would never escape the prison his wife had condemned him to.

Retta came awake to a stinging headache and found herself tied to an iron chair. The room, which was industrial, like an old warehouse or something, was dark and damp, with an awful stench that was similar to that of a pair of old gym socks mixed with the smell of rotten eggs. It was all she could do to breathe past the stench as she tried to wrest her wrists free of the ropes that held her down.

She could hear faint voices from an adjoining room…

She strained to hear them, but all she caught was a faint whisper until a loud roar rang out.

“Death to the Danestis!”

Great chant, especially since she was technically one of them. Granted, she didn’t want to claim kinship, but on paper…

“She’s awake.”

Retta turned her head to see a tall, gaunt man in the doorway. Dressed in black slacks and a turtleneck, he reminded her of a slick city drug dealer, complete with a gold-capped tooth. And he eyed her as if she were the lowest life-form on the planet.

“Thank you, George,” an older man dressed in black slacks and a blue button-down shirt and sweater said as he moved past him. There was something innately evil about the older man. He was definitely the kind of guy who’d like to pull the wings off butterflies as a kid. Just for fun.

And pulling up the rear was her “good” friend Stephen, tall and blond. She’d originally liked him because he was the complete antithesis of her husband. Whereas Velkan’s features were sullen and intense, Stephen’s were wholesome and sweet. He’d reminded her of a very young Robert Redford.

If only she’d known that Stephen wasn’t the boy next door. At least not unless you happened to live next door to the Munsters.