Smoke filled her nose.
Ruxandra froze. The smell was faint, almost imperceptible. She turned in a circle, sniffing the air. She walked a few paces, lost the scent, changed direction and found it again. She began running through the forest. Her feet moved unerringly, as if her body could sense the obstacles and avoid them. Then she reached the forest’s edge.
She stood on the edge of a field, near a cluster of houses and barns surrounding a fortified manor house. The solid stone house had no windows on the ground level and slits for archers on the second. A stream of smoke came from the chimney, which carried the aroma of burning wood and something cooking.
Chicken broth, I think. They must be making stock.
She was surprised her mouth didn’t start watering at the thought of it.
She strode between the houses to the manor, and pounded on the big iron door, hoping the noise would get through. No one answered. She pounded again, this time hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.
“Who the hell is knocking this time of night?” yelled a deep voice from the narrow slit above.
Ruxandra stepped back so the man could see her. “Please, let me in.”
“Let you in?” the man echoed. “Who the hell are you?”
She pushed the hood of her cloak back and looked up at him. “Please, I am Ruxandra Dracula, daughter of Vlad Dracula, voivode—”
“By God’s balls!” The man disappeared from the slit, and shouting came from inside. The man hollered at people to wake up and to rise and help.
“Get that goddamn door open! Now!”
The bar was taken from the door, and bolts were thrown back. A tall, older woman in a luxurious fur cloak pushed the door open, a lantern in her hand. She raised it high. “I am Lady Demetra. You are welcome, Princess Dracula.”
All at once, Ruxandra began crying. The woman handed her lantern to a guard and pulled Ruxandra into an embrace. Ruxandra buried her face into the woman’s shoulder. It was a relief, after days alone in the snow, to feel another person’s warmth. And the longer Ruxandra held on, the more she could feel. The woman’s heartbeat pulsed strong and steady in her chest, the force of it vibrating through her body as it sent her blood rushing through her veins.
Ruxandra was very, very hungry.
She pulled her away and stepped back. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Lady Demetra took her hand. “This way, my child.”
She led Ruxandra out of the small, stone entry room with its slits in the walls on both sides and hole in the ceiling for attacking anyone who tried to force their way in. They went through the great hall, whose walls were hung with tapestries and empty torch holders.
“Come to the kitchen, and we’ll get you cleaned up,” Lady Demetra said. “You’re covered in dirt.”
“Worse,” Ruxandra said. She wiped at her eyes and tried to swallow back the sob that came with it. “Under the cloak and the surcoat. I am . . . they . . .”
“Shush, child,” the woman said. “We can get you a tub if need be. Come to the kitchen. Then you can tell me what happened.”
No, I cannot. But what will I tell them?
The woman led Ruxandra downstairs into the kitchen. It was warm with the glowing coals of the fireplace and smelled wonderful. There had been beef a short time before and pork and chicken over the past few days. There was a large pot of broth simmering over the coals. Two other women—one younger, one much older—were setting up the fire.
“Now come, child,” said Lady Demetra, “give me your cloak.”
Ruxandra hesitated, then undid the belt at her waist and let the cloak fall open. The women gasped at the surcoat underneath. “Dear God, child, is that all you’ve got on?”
“They cut my clothes off,” Ruxandra said. “Just before they—”
She couldn’t say what they had really done, so she let them believe the obvious instead.
“There’s blood all over your legs,” the younger woman said. “Are you hurt?”
“It isn’t mine. There was a fight. People were killed. My father—” I ripped his head off and drank his blood. “My father was beheaded right beside me.”
The young one’s hand went to her mouth as if doing so would stop the horror. The older one shook her head.
“We heard of Prince Dracula’s death,” Lady Demetra said. “And we had heard his daughter disappeared as well. We thought . . . well . . .”
Ruxandra swallowed hard. “After the fight, I took these clothes from one of the dead men and ran into the woods. I’ve been lost ever since.”
“You’re lucky you still have all your fingers,” said the old one. “It’s a deep frost out there. Cold enough to freeze a body solid.”
“Very lucky,” said Lady Demetra. She picked up a bowl and began filling it with broth. “Gerta, heat water. Lusa, get the tub.”
The older woman went off to the corner where a large wooden tub sat. The younger ran to a barrel and dipped a large pot in it.
“Take this,” Lady Demetra said. “You must be starving.”
Ruxandra took the bowl and sniffed. It was full of winter vegetables and herbs that had blended together with chicken fat and the juice of the meat. Ruxandra blew on it while the woman fetched a spoon. The first mouthful was an explosion of warmth and flavor. Ruxandra could taste each of the ingredients that went into it, and each one was wonderful. She savored each mouthful, letting the heat from the broth warm her from the inside out.
It was delicious. And it did nothing to fill up the hollow inside her.
The women took turns sitting beside her while the water for her tub heated. Each heartbeat filled her ears. The young one held her hand for a little while, and Roxanne felt the girl’s pulse rushing through her skin.
It would be so easy to. . .
No. This time, I have a choice.
The water was finished, and the washtub set out in front of the fire. Lady Demetra helped her take off the surcoat, and all three women stared in horror at the dried blood on her. They poured water over her and started working.
Twice Lady Demetra made Ruxandra step out of the tub so Lusa and Gerta could throw out the bloody water. Each time the other two went past with it, the blood filled Ruxandra’s nostrils, making her drool. She wiped a hand across her mouth, to make sure there were no fangs growing and to catch any spit.
Gerta fetched a dress—old and patched but clean and still serviceable. It was short on Ruxandra but covered her and didn’t smell of blood or dirt and was so much better than the feel of the filthy clothes against her skin.
“There you are,” Lady Demetra said. “Much better. Now, we must find you a place to sleep that’s out of the way.”
“My room,” Gerta said. She blushed the moment it left her mouth. “I mean, it’s really just a corner of the pantry, but it’s warm and I’ll not be using it during the day. Would that be acceptable, Princess? Until we find you better?”
Ruxandra nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
Gerta led her in and then helped her lie down. After the night in the dirt in the forest, the rough cloth of the blankets and the thick straw of the mattress felt wonderful. Ruxandra thanked the girl and closed her eyes. Hunger gnawed at her. Ruxandra pretended she was in bed back at the convent, sent there without supper for some misbehavior or other that she and Adela and Valeria would laugh at with the sunrise.
I’m not hungry at all. I don’t need to eat. I’ll be fine.
When she awoke, she was starving.
She crawled out of the bed and into the kitchen. It was empty, save for the old woman, Lusa, who sat on a short stool in front of the fireplace, her back to Ruxandra. Despite her age, her heart moved in a strong, steady rhythm, driving the blood through her veins with the vigor of one much younger. It called to Ruxandra, like a wounded animal cries called to wolves.
Her eyes locked on the old woman’s neck. She took a step, then another, and before she knew it, she was behind the old woman. Lusa poked at the coals and sighed. She rose fro
m the stool and stretched her back with a groan and a creak of old bones. Her heart sped with the motion, rushing to send blood to fill her moving joints as she stood and turned.
“Oh!” Lusa jumped back and stumbled. Ruxandra caught her with one arm to keep her from tumbling into the coals. Lusa gasped with relief. “You startled me, child.”
Lusa’s pulse rushed underneath Ruxandra’s fingertips. The smell of the old woman—sweat and cooking grease and woodsmoke—filled her nostrils. Ruxandra’s eyes dropped to the vein in Lusa’s throat, watching it pulse in time with her heartbeat. Almost against her will, Ruxandra moved her face closer and closer to Lusa’s.
“You’ve slept the day through,” the old woman said. “Not surprising, with what those soldiers did to you. Come here, girl.” Lusa pulled Ruxandra into her embrace. Ruxandra couldn’t resist her. Her arms went around Lusa, and she rested her head on the woman’s shoulder. Her mouth felt strange, different, and Ruxandra knew the fangs were back. Lusa hugged her tighter. “You’ll be better soon.”
No. Get away from me. I’ll hurt you.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Instead, Ruxandra turned her head sideways, drove her teeth into the old woman’s neck, and drank.
LUSA DIDN’T HAVE time to scream.
She pushed and fought, striking at Ruxandra with hands made hard and strong by years of working in the kitchens. She clawed at Ruxandra’s face, trying to reach her eyes. Ruxandra closed them tight, crushing the woman to her body. Lusa’s ribs creaked, and the air whooshed from her lungs.
Ruxandra wanted to stop. She tried to let go, tried to pull away from Lusa’s body. She couldn’t. Lusa’s blood rushed down her throat. It filled her body with warmth and strength. Ruxandra wanted—needed—every drop of it.
Lusa’s arms fell to her sides. Her struggles turned to spasms. Ruxandra felt the last of the old woman’s life fading away, felt her soul leaving her body. Then Lusa was still. Ruxandra stopped squeezing, and the woman slid to the floor.
Ruxandra licked her lips to catch the last of the blood. Her fangs retreated into her gums with a squish. Ruxandra shuddered from the strange feeling. She gazed at her hands and saw that the veins were protruding, the old woman’s blood turning them black as it spread through her body. She held them up, watching in horrified fascination as the black faded and her hands were once more pale and smooth.
She dropped them to her sides, and her eyes fell on Lusa’s crumpled corpse. The old woman’s eyes were opened. The holes in her neck did not drip, and her skin had gone pale and sallow in death.
Oh dear God. Ruxandra’s knees trembled and threatened to give way. What have I done?
In the cavern, Ruxandra had acted on instinct. She had been a beast, unthinking, uncaring about anything except feeding. Though she remembered every detail, she’d felt nothing when she killed those five men. Nothing but hunger and relief as the blood flowed through her body.
This time, Ruxandra had known what she was doing . Even though she had been horrified, she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She had realized what she was going to do as soon as she felt Lusa’s pulse from across the room.
Worse, she had reveled in it.
I’m a monster.
I must leave before they discover the body. I must—
What?
What can I do? Where can I go?
The terrified stare on Lusa’s face seemed accusatory. Ruxandra’s hand went to her mouth again, as if she could wipe away the blood she knew wasn’t there.
If I am around people, I’ll do this again. And I cannot do this again. I will not. I must leave.
They had taken Ruxandra’s surcoat, cloak, and boots. She had no idea how to get them back or if she could. The blood on the surcoat had been thick enough that it should have been destroyed, but the cloak might still be around. She just needed to find it and her boots. Then she could run. She wasn’t sure where she would go or what she would do.
She stared down at the old woman’s body. Tears blurred her vision. She reached down, hesitated, then knelt beside her. She wanted to close the old woman’s eyes. She wanted to straighten her out. But she couldn’t bring herself to touch the corpse. She began to cry.
“Lusa!” The voice was rough and male and strong and came from the stairs above. “Is there any tea left? I can’t sleep. Lusa?”
Footsteps, heavy and hard, hit the stairs. Ruxandra stood up. Her throat closed with fear and grief, robbing her of words. She stood speechless and helpless when the big man stepped off the last stair and into the kitchen.
“Oh, the girl. You’re awake then. Slept the day through, you—” He stopped, his eyes going wide. “Lusa!”
He ran forward, shoving Ruxandra aside. He knelt beside the old woman, then took her in his arms. “Lusa! Lusa! No—”
His body shook as he sobbed. He cradled the old woman in his arms. Ruxandra began backing away, her eyes never leaving him.
If I can reach the stairs, I can get out.
“What happened?” the man barked, causing Ruxandra to freeze. Grief made the words come out harsh. “Why didn’t you call for help? Why were you just standing there?”
His face folded in on itself, and fresh tears began. “She was my nursemaid, you know. She looked after me as a wee one. God, she had a hard hand. Would whack me right upside the head when she was mad. Left my ears ringing.”
He laid her on the stone floor. Ruxandra started backing toward the stairs again. She wanted to run away but couldn’t take her eyes off him. He straightened the old woman’s legs and then her dress. He crossed her arms, then turned her head to face up.
He saw the holes in her neck.
His body stiffened, and his eyes went wide. Even though Ruxandra knew she should run, she couldn’t. She watched in dread and terrible pity as his trembling fingers traced over the two ragged holes. Confusion filled his face first, as if he couldn’t understand what he saw.
His gaze rose from the old woman, locking on to Ruxandra. “What happened?”
Ruxandra couldn’t say a word, couldn’t do anything but stare at him.
The last of the grief faded from his face, replaced by bright red anger. His voice hardened, and the next words snapped out like Sister Sofia’s commands. “What did you do?”
All Ruxandra could do was stare and tremble. Tears flowed down her face. The man rose. His legs stayed bent, like an animal ready to pounce. His hands curled into fists. “Answer me!”
Ruxandra searched for words, for excuses, but she could think of nothing to say.
“Answer me!”
Ruxandra’s words came out soft and broken, like a child begging forgiveness for something she knows cannot be fixed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He launched at her from across the room, his hands clenching her dress as he slammed her against the wall. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t mean to!” Even as the words came out, Ruxandra knew they were a lie. “Please, I didn’t want to.”
“You killed her.” His words were sharp, angry hisses. “You bit her and drank her and killed her, you demon.”
“Please, no—”
“Demon!” The man’s voice rose loud enough to reach the entire house. “Demon! Vampire! Murderer! Help! Murderer!”
“No!” Ruxandra shoved him hard. The fabric of the dress tore in his grip, and the man went flying backward across the room.
He yelled in pain as he hit the side of the fireplace. Ruxandra ran up the stairs and into the great hall. A babble of confused voices came from all around the house. Men in hard boots and armor ran down the stairs as women roused and called to one another.
From the kitchen, his voice filled with pain, the man still shouted. “Help! Murderer! Help!”
The inner doors were shut and barred. Ruxandra rushed to them and threw the bar off. It flew across the room, slamming hard against the wall. She hauled the door open and then ran to the outer doors.
“Stop right there!” a soldier
shouted.
She spun, her back against the door. Three men had swords pointing at her. They appeared grim and angry and more than ready to kill her. She held out her hands. “Please. Please just let me go. Please.”
“Stay right there until the lord comes,” growled the oldest of the three. “And do not move one bit.”
“Oh, God, please. Please. Just let me go.”
“God?” The man from the kitchen appeared in the doorway. He held up a lit torch. The flames glowed red and yellow. “A creature like you shouldn’t dare talk about God.”
“What is going on here?” Lady Demetra demanded. She stepped into view, a night robe wrapped tight around her body. “Husband?”
“She killed Lusa.” He pointed at Ruxandra, his arm shaking with rage. “She drank her blood and killed her!”
“What?” Lady Demetra’s eyes went wide. Her gaze went back and forth between Ruxandra’s torn dress and thin form and the fury on her husband’s face. “How?”
“She’s a demon.” Her husband raised the torch. “She’s a demon, and she needs to be killed right now!”
He stepped forward and shoved the burning wood at Ruxandra’s face. She sprang back, her head banging against the door. He swung again. “Kill her!”
Ruxandra ducked the flaming torch. It hit the door, sending up a shower of sparks. She dodged one of the men’s swords as he thrust at her stomach. A second man raised his arm to swing. Ruxandra screamed and turned. She slammed both hands against the door. The doors shuddered, and the bar holding them closed broke in two with a sharp crack. The doors swung wide open. Ruxandra almost froze in surprise, but she smelled the bloodlust of the men around her, felt the air moving as they raised their weapons.
She ran into the night.
The guards and the man howled in rage and followed, boots thudding on the frozen ground. She tore across the fields, leaving the men behind. Then she was in the woods, dodging through the trees and jumping fallen branches. The old woman’s blood sang through her veins, filling them with a deep thrumming power. She ran far and long until there were no sounds of pursuit, only the night animals and the cold wind whistling through the trees.