I hefted the saw and took a small step forward. Then another. The reverberations of the assault on the windowpane amplified my racing pulse. I came ever closer to the window, hearing the phantom picking and prodding and—cursing.

A gloved hand pounded against the pane. I tossed the saw and moved swiftly, unlatching the window, and grabbed him as if both of our lives depended on it.

TOWER CHAMBERS

CAMERE DIN TURN

BRAN CASTLE

17 DECEMBER 1888

“Have you completely lost your senses?”

Thomas’s long legs wildly kicked for the edge of the roof while I gripped his overcoat with more strength than I knew I possessed. “Stop thrashing about, you’re going to lose your grip and take me with you.”

He huffed a laugh. “What, exactly, do you suggest, Wadsworth?”

“Pull yourself forward while I tug.”

“How… silly… of… me to panic. While dangling… inches away… from certain death.”

It took some maneuvering, but I managed to hook my hands underneath his arms, then used my entire body weight to fall backward, pulling him through the windowsill toward me. We crashed to the floor, causing all sorts of noise as we knocked limbs and heads.

Snow gusted into my chambers, swirling and angry. Thomas rolled off me and lay flat on the ground, staring at the ceiling, hand clutched over his torso, panting. His black overcoat was nearly soaked through. I pushed myself up, arms shaking uncontrollably from both the adrenaline and terror still coursing through my body in wicked torrents, and shut the window.

“What in the name of the queen were you thinking? Climbing a stone roof… during a blizzard. I…” I gripped my hands in fists to keep them from trembling in the cold. “You almost fell off the roof, Thomas.”

“I told you I was getting ready to scale the castle.” A damp lock of hair fell across his brow as he craned his neck up. “Maybe a bit of coddling or congratulations is in order. It was rather heroic of me, setting out against all odds to break into your rooms. I needn’t be chided.”

“‘Heroic’ is not the term I’d use.” I sighed. “And don’t be cross. It’s unbecoming.”

Thomas sat up, that damnable crooked grin set upon his mouth. “Daci and I used to sneak out of our rooms and climb the roof when we were children. It would drive our mother absolutely mad. She’d be hosting some boring dinner in Father’s absence, and we’d spy on the nobles in attendance.” He heaved himself up from the floor, dusting his overcoat off with a few flicks of his gloved fingers. “I don’t recall any of our outings involving a blizzard, though. Minor oversight.”

“Indeed.” I inhaled deeply. Only Thomas could do something so maddening—like practically falling to his death before my eyes—and then offer up a bit of his past to soothe my ire. “Did your mother often host events while your father was away?”

The lightness faded from his expression. “Father hardly ever traveled with us to Bucharest. He did not believe in celebrating our accursed ancestry.” Thomas strode over to my armoire and rifled through my things. He handed me my cloak. “We ought to hurry. The storm is only beginning.”

I was grateful for the thick stockings tucked into my boots as we trudged through the snow. It was heavy and wet, and clung to the bottom of my cloak with everything it had. In the past I had loved wintry nights. The silence that encapsulated the earth, the glittering sparkle of ice glinting in the moon’s glow. But that was while safely tucked inside my London home with a mug of tea and roaring fire, a book nestled in my lap.

“This is where you saw them take the body, correct?”

Thomas pointed toward the break in the woods, the slight trail at the rear of the castle’s grounds where we’d exited. I nodded, teeth clattering as snow mixed with sleet. It was a miserable night for an outdoor adventure, but we no longer had the luxury of waiting for better circumstances. If Daciana or Ileana had been taken, perhaps we’d find a clue out here—a swift check of the morgues had yielded nothing. Though how we’d find anything in the dark, with snow covering it, was seeming like an unachievable task.

We paused near the entrance to the forest, the moonlight throwing the long, thin shadows of the trees in our direction. Talons, claws—the imagery unsettled me.

Thomas inspected the ground on either side of the trail, his body slightly shaking as the wind picked up. “Seems undisturbed. We should be able to go in a little ways—see if we come across anything at all. Maybe look for the food stores Moldoveanu claims are out here. Then we’ll return to the castle and reenter the way we came, through the kitchens.”

Wind whipped strands of hair from my braids, but I was too cold to untuck my hands from beneath my cloak. I was fairly certain this was the coldest night ever known to the world. When I didn’t respond, Thomas turned. He took in the tears slipping down my cheeks, the wind smacking my face with my own hair, and slowly approached. Without any innuendos or flirtation, he tucked the hair behind my ears with trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry it’s so miserable out, Wadsworth. Let’s hurry and get back indoors.”

He made to assist me back toward the castle, but I dug my frozen heels in. “N-no. No. Let’s s-see what’s o-out there.”

“I’m not sure—” He held his hands up in surrender as I flashed a look of determination. “If you’re positive…”

I took in his own shivers and the redness of his nose. “Are you able to stay out here a bit more?”

He nodded, though hesitation was there. I gathered my strength and headed into the woods, Thomas following in my wake. Boughs of snow-covered spruce hung low, doing strange things to the sound around us. It was as if someone was holding their mittens over my ears, though it also seemed as if I could hear for miles in either direction. I focused on the crunch of Thomas’s boots as he sped up to keep pace with me. Bits of snow fell in clumps, hitting the ground with a splat.

No animal noises. Thank goodness for small favors. It was likely too cold for even the wolves to be prowling these grounds. The trail went on for what felt like miles, though it was only a few hundred feet before we came upon a fork. The path to the right appeared wider, as if someone had taken great care in chopping down saplings and brush. I imagined that was where we’d find the food stores.

The pathway to the left, however, was overgrown with prickly-looking shrubbery. Thorns and sharp leaves posed a warning to anyone considering taking it. I choked down the urge to flee in the opposite direction. That familiar feeling of being watched by someone ancient and menacing pierced the area between my shoulder blades.

I knew Dracula wasn’t real, but his ghost certainly felt as if it were haunting these woods. The skin on the back of my neck prickled as images of strigoi, creeping through the forest, waiting to strike, emerged. I took a moment to steady my nerves. I did not have any desire to explore a passage Nature was so intent on keeping to itself. Especially at night, during a blizzard, while a real murderer was nearby. It might be cowardly, but at least we’d live to hunt another day. I motioned toward the more well-worn path, snow falling ever faster.

“We’ll check the other way during daylight. Let’s see if the food stores are down here.” The only response was silence, punctuated by a few drifts of falling snow. I spun around, cloak whirling about me like a ballerina’s skirts. “Thomas?”

Nothing. Everything around me remained eerily silent, save for my ringing ears. I rushed toward the path on the right, noting the single set of footprints leading down it. Blasted Cresswell. Splitting up during a blizzard in the middle of the forest was yet another winning idea of his. I quietly cursed him the entire time it took for me to kick through the snow. After a few more strides I came upon a small stone structure that sat nestled between two larger boulders. It was no more than a hut, really.

Thomas’s footprints disappeared within. I swore I was going to give him a piece of my—

Suddenly, he came crashing out of the building, nearly breaking its door as he slammed it shut. Before I could ask what on earth was happening, a loud snarl ripped through the quiet snowfall. A long, mournful howl followed.

Goosebumps rose across the entire length of me as several other cries tore through the night. “Cresswell!”

Thomas flipped around, hands still clutching the doorknob. Scratches and huffs frantically pawed at the wood, the sound terrifying in the otherwise still night. “Wadsworth—on the count of three, run!”

There was no time to argue. Thomas counted down too quickly for me to protest. Before he called out “Three,” I was off. I had never been more thankful for leaving my skirts behind in favor of breeches as I hurtled over embankments of snow and branches.

Thomas crashed through the woods behind me, yelling at me to not turn back, to keep running. I ignored the answering howls, though I could now hear other creatures bounding through the snow behind us. I didn’t slow. Didn’t think about how the frosted air burned my lungs as I gulped it down. I didn’t focus on the cold sweat coating my skin or the seemingly endless trail back to the castle. I most especially did not imagine wolves the size of elephants crashing through the forest behind us, ready to tear our limbs off and scatter them about.

I wished that Moldoveanu and Dăneşti were monitoring the woods again, but we weren’t that lucky. We broke from the forest, running as fast as the elements and our bodies allowed.

Thomas grabbed my hand, a lifeline in the storm of terror. Barks and snarls crashed from the brush, the wolves now mere feet behind. I thought my heart might seize up any moment. We were going to be attacked. There was no way we’d outrun them. We were—

A gunshot exploded from the wood line.

Thomas threw me to the ground, sheltering me with his body. I lifted my head over his shoulder, watching as two large wolves retreated into the woods. Every bit of me was frozen, but all I could concentrate on was the thrashing of my adrenaline. Someone had shot at the wolves. Were we next?