“You’ve discovered my secret. I think about it constantly.” I didn’t so much as crack a smile, enjoying the confusion playing over his features as he silently puzzled out my sincerity. “You were supposedly saying something worthy of note.” He blinked at me as if I’d spoken a language he couldn’t identify. “Hard to believe, I know.”

“I, noble specimen that I am, was going to tell you about the strigoi. But I enjoy unearthing your secrets much better. Let’s hear more about your thoughts.”

He allowed himself a full scan of my person, seeming to pluck up a thousand details. A smile slowly curved his lips.

“Judging from the way you’ve straightened up and the slight intake of breath, I’d say you’re at least considering kissing me this moment. Naughty, naughty, Wadsworth. What would your pious aunt have to say?”

I kept my focus fixed on his face, avoiding the desire to glance at his full mouth. “Tell me more about the stri-guy. What are they?”

“Strigoi, like ‘boy,’” Thomas said, his Romanian accent perfect, “are undead that take the form of those you trust. Those you’d be only too happy to invite into your home. Then they attack. Usually, it’s a relative who’s passed on. It’s hard for us to turn away those we love,” he added quietly, as if he knew how deeply those words might cut.

I tried—and failed—not to recall the way my mother’s limbs had twitched when the electricity snaked through her body. Would I have welcomed her back from Death’s Dominion, no matter how frightened I was? The answer disturbed me. I did not believe there was any line one wouldn’t cross when it came to those one loved. Morals crumpled when faced with heartache. Some fissures within us would forever remain irreparable.

“There must be some explanation for this,” I said. “I highly doubt Vlad Dracula has risen from the grave. Undead are simply gothic stories told to frighten and entertain.”

Thomas turned his gaze to mine and held it. We both knew that sometimes stories and reality collided, with devastating effects. “I agree. Unfortunately, some villagers do not. When strigoi are spotted, the entire family—or anyone who’s been affected—travels to the grave of the offender, digs them up, rips their rotting heart out, and burns them on the spot. Oh,” he added, leaning forward. “I almost forgot. Once they’ve burned the undead ‘monster,’ they drink the ashes. It’s the only way to be sure the strigoi can’t come back or inhabit another host.”

“Sounds a bit… much,” I said, scrunching my nose.

A grin slowly spread across Thomas’s face. “Romanians never do anything halfheartedly, Wadsworth. Whether it’s going to war, or fighting for love.”

I blinked at the sincerity in his tone. Before I could comment, the driver whistled to the horses and drew back on the reins, halting the carriage. I sat forward, heart pounding as thoughts of roving bands of thieves and murderers swept through my mind. “What’s happening? Why are we stopped?”

“I may have forgotten to mention”—Thomas paused and calmly donned the overcoat he’d been using as an extra blanket before adjusting the foot brick for me—“we’re switching to a more appropriate carriage.”

“What do you—” Neighing horses and tinkling bells interrupted my next question. Thomas peered out the window with me, our breath creating opaque swirls. He wiped it clean with the sleeve of his overcoat and watched my reaction, a tentative grin upon his face.

“Surprise, Audrey Rose. Or at least I hope it’s a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t sure…”

A magnificent horse-drawn sleigh slid to a halt beside us, its muted reds, ochres, and pale blues an homage to Romanian painted eggs. Two large pure-white horses snuffed the air, their breath puffing out in little clouds in front of them while they toed the snow. They wore crowns of white ostrich-feather plumes—only slightly wilted from the unpleasant weather.

“You… you did this?”

Thomas glanced from me to the sleigh, biting his lip. “I hoped you might enjoy it.”

I raised a brow. Enjoy it? It was a scene straight out of a fairy tale. I was utterly enchanted.

“I adore it.”

Without another thought, I unlatched the door and accepted the coachman’s outstretched hand, slipping over the slick metal rung before righting myself. Wind gusted with ferocity, but I hardly noticed as the coachman turned back to the carriage. I held fast to my hat and stared in wonder at the spectacular sight before me. The sleigh driver smiled as I moved away from the protective side of the Growler and stepped fully into the storm.

At least I believed he smiled. There was no way of telling for sure, with most of his ruddy face and body covered to keep the harsh elements away. He waved as Thomas made his way to my side, inspecting both sleigh and driver in that calculating way of his.

“Seems a reasonable mode of transport as any. Especially since this storm doesn’t appear to be giving up anytime soon. We should make excellent time. And your expression was well worth it.” I turned to him, eyes watering with gratitude, and watched panic seize him as I smiled unabashedly. He poked his head back into the carriage and clapped. “Mrs. Harvey. Time to wake up. Allow me to assist you down.”

A chilly breeze chose that moment to knife its way through the woods, causing the branches to whistle. I buried my face in the fur lining of my winter cloak. We were in the thick of the forest, sandwiched between warring mountain peaks. While there were still a few hours of daylight remaining, darkness wove its way around us. This elevation was as temperamental as my friend.

Thomas motioned toward our steamers as he helped our chaperone down from the carriage. She scowled at the falling snow and took a sip from her tonic.

Thomas followed my gaze as it traveled from one creaking tree to the next. There was something odd about these woods. They felt alive with a spirit of something neither good nor evil. There was an ancient aura, though, one that spoke in whispers of wars and bloodshed.

We were deep in the heart of Vlad the Impaler’s land, and it was as if the earth wanted us to be warned: Respect this ground or suffer the consequences.

It was likely a trick of the light, but the few remaining leaves seemed to be the color of dried wounds. I wondered if the foliage had grown accustomed to the taste of blood after tens of thousands of lives had been lost here. A bird screeched above us, and I sucked in a cool breath.

“Easy now, Wadsworth. The forest doesn’t have fangs.”

“Thank you for that reminder, Cresswell,” I said sweetly. “What would I do without you?”

He turned to me, expression as serious as I’d ever witnessed it. “You would miss me terribly and know it. Just as I would miss you in ways I cannot fathom, should we ever part.”

Thomas took Mrs. Harvey by the arm, guiding her forward, as the sleigh driver motioned for us to take a seat. I stood there a moment, heart racing. His confessions were delivered so matter of factly, it stunned me each time.

Allowing myself a moment to steady my heart, I petted the velvet-soft muzzle of the horse nearest us before climbing into the sleigh. It wasn’t fully enclosed like our carriage, but there were more fur throws in the small space than I’d ever before encountered. We might not have a covered roof, but we’d not freeze with all of the animal pelts to wrap ourselves in. Mrs. Harvey tottered into the sleigh and pressed herself against one side, leaving the rest of the seat open for us as she arranged the foot warmers.

My body seized up when I realized how close Thomas and I would have to sit. I hoped the headmaster wouldn’t be standing outside for our arrival; it would hardly be decent to be found snuggling next to Thomas, even with a chaperone. As if that very thought were crossing his tainted mind, Thomas flashed a roguish grin and lifted the edge of a large fur-trimmed blanket, patting the space beside him. I set my jaw.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence as I situated furs around myself, stuffing extra bulk between us with dramatic emphasis on building a fluffy barrier. Predictably, Mrs. Harvey was already nodding off. I wondered if Thomas had struck some sort of bargain with her to be present in physical form only. “I’m simply being gentlemanly, Wadsworth. No need to spear me with that glare of yours.”

“I thought you wanted to be on your best behavior for my father’s sake.”

He held a hand to his heart. “You wound me. Wouldn’t your father be angry if I let you freeze to death? Body heat is scientifically the best way to stay warm. In fact, there are studies that suggest removing your clothes entirely and pressing skin to skin is the surest means of avoiding hypothermia. Should you fall prey to that, I’ll use every weapon necessary to save you. It’s what any decent young gentleman would do. Seems terribly valiant, if you ask me.”

My treacherous mind strayed to the image of Thomas without his clothing and drew a wide grin from my companion, as if he were privy to my scandalous thoughts.

“Perhaps I shall write to Father and find out what he thinks of that theory.”

Thomas huffed and tossed the blanket about his shoulders, appearing like a wild king of beasts from some Homeric poem. I nestled into an oversize fur, breathing in the scent of tanned animal hide, and tried not to gag. It wasn’t the most pleasant-smelling ride, but at least we’d make it to the academy before midnight. I’d endured worse scents while studying putrid cadavers with Uncle. A bit of earthy skin would hardly be too much to handle for another couple of hours.

Strange as it was to think about, I missed the slight smell of decay mixed with formalin most mornings. I couldn’t wait to arrive at school and be surrounded by scientific study once again. A new environment might cure me of whatever I was suffering from. At least I hoped it would. I could not continue with forensic practices if I was afraid of reanimated corpses.

I glanced at all the grayish pelts, realization dragging my lips into a frown. “Isn’t it odd to have so many wolf hides?”

Thomas lifted a shoulder. “Romanians aren’t fond of large wolves.”