My eyebrow inches upward. “Then I might accuse you of trying to kidnap me.”
He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “I’m not much into kidnapping these days. Guiding tourists into castles is more fun.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s been a while since I last visited Negru Castle. I’m almost tempted to offer a tour for free.”
I still. “You’ve been to Negru Castle?”
“Of course,” he replies.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Prove it,” I dare him.
Because I’ve been researching Negru Castle for the last three years and I know for a fact that the general public isn’t allowed on the property, let alone inside.
It’s a private residence up in the Carpathian Mountains, owned by a family that no one has seen in centuries. Yet the paperwork continues to get mysteriously passed down to each new generation.
But there are no pictures or identifying images.
Just signed documents.
All of which appear to be penned by the same hand. It’s illegible. And the printed name is redacted.
On. Every. Page.
Whoever owns that property does not want to be found.
Which is exactly why I’m here.
Because I suspect he’s the mythical beast I’ve been hunting. The one illustrated in ancient texts. A creature with wings. Red eyes. Pointed ears. And a tail.
“This is from my last visit,” the stranger tells me, holding up his phone and distracting me from my thoughts.
I blink at the image before me.
It’s a recognizable staircase, one spiraling up through a modern living area to a third-floor landing. Paintings line the walls, ones known to be owned by the Negru estate.
I look at the man in front of me and then the man in the image.
They’re definitely the same person.
But…
“Is this photoshopped?” I ask.
He chuckles, turning the phone back toward him as he starts to scroll. Rather than answer me with words, he simply turns the screen in my direction again as a video begins to play. His voice carries through the speaker, but the language isn’t one I understand.
It’s not Romanian, as I’ve spent the last few years studying it for research purposes.
Instead, it sounds harsher. More Slavic in nature. Yet the words are unrecognizable.
However, the scenery is familiar.
It’s him walking outside Negru Castle, the beautiful fields of flowers and trees nestled into the mountains showcased in abundance as he strolls down a long pathway toward an enormous estate. The Neo-Renaissance architecture is undeniable, as are the stained-glass windows.
My heart skips a beat as the one depicting a woman lounging in a bed of bloody flowers comes into view. It’s famous. Or, perhaps,infamous. Because it’s said to be a tribute to vampire brides, specifically the ones of a well-known literary vampire.
I shiver, the piece speaking to me like it always does. I’ve dreamt of being that woman. Which is crazy. Yet sensual in a way I can’t deny.
