Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
VIVI
brA?OV, ROMANIA
Three Years Later…
Vampires are real, and I am going to prove it.
I stare at the screen, reading the first line of my thesis, and drum my fingers against the table.
As far as opening statements go, this one captures the essence of what will eventually become an eighty-thousand-word doctoral dissertation.
I’m about to begin documenting my hellacious travel day—which actually equates to more than a day’s worth of hours, thanks to my prolonged layover in Paris—when my phone dings.
Did you find your vampire yet? Gaby, my best friend, asks in her message.
I snort. I landed in Bucharest not even five hours ago, G. Baggage claim took forever, as did the rental car place—so many rules, by the way—and it was a complicated-three hour drive here after all that. I’m exhausted.
Three little dots appear and disappear as Gaby contemplates her reply.
Vampires don’t sleep is what she finally sends back to me.
I wait for more.
But in classic Gaby style, she doesn’t say anything else. However, the implication is clear. I’m a night owl, G. Not a vampire.
Uh-huh, she types back. Says the vampire hunter.
You basically just called me a slayer, G. That implies I want to kill my quarry, which I don’t. That last part is added out of superstition.
I’m certain the object of my research has no idea I’m here.
I mean, why would he? I’m just a human.
But on the off chance he’s aware of me—and also reading these messages—I feel it’s necessary for him to know that I have no desire to harm him.
I still think you should try to fuck him, Gaby responds, as crass as ever. The books I’ve read make it sound like an otherworldly experience. Pun intended.
My lips twitch. Biting is supposed to be euphoric.
That’s what I’m saying, she replies. I just hope he doesn’t glitter in the sun, you know?
I shake my head. You’re ridiculous.
I’m curious, she counters. I’m also not the one who flew all the way to fucking Romania to hunt a mythical creature. But I digress.
Sighing, I type back, The whole point of this adventure is to prove that myths are founded on reality.
Yeah, yeah. I can practically picture her waving her black-polished fingers at me in dismissal, her usual gothic ensemble part of her charm. She’s probably wearing tight leggings and a ripped shirt—both black to match her nails, of course.
Meanwhile, I’m in jeans and a sweater, my messy brown hair pulled up in a bun, and a pair of glasses perched on my nose.
We make quite the pair when out in public.
She approaches life with an “I don’t give a fuck what you think about me” attitude, while I hide behind my books.
Somehow, it works for us.
You don’t have to sell me on this adventure, V, Gaby writes to me. I’m not on the scholarship committee.
I roll my eyes, her comment referring to a discussion we had months ago when I first started planning this study-abroad experience.
“And how do your scholarship providers feel about you using academic funds for a vampire-hunting vacay?” she asked me after I excitedly told her about my plans to finally visit Transylvania.
“It’s for research, G,” I informed her, my voice flat.
“Research,” she repeated. “I mean, I guess fucking can be considered research.”
“Fucking?” I echoed, confused. “I’m going alone… and I don’t plan on hooking up with anyone while I’m there.”
“What about the vampire?” she drawled. “I mean, you will fuck him if you find him, right?”
My best friend and her monster-romance obsession.
I’ve read several of her book recommendations, though. And, well, I get it. However, I would never admit that to her out loud.
Nor have I ever confided in her about my dreams.
I simply keep telling her that this project is for academic purposes, not personal ones.
She doesn’t believe me.
That’s fine. I don’t believe my motivations most days, either.
Hey, it’s stupid early here, so I’m going back to bed. I just wanted to make sure you haven’t been eaten by a vampire yet.
I huff a laugh and shake my head again. Go back to reading, G. Because we both know she’s not actually sleeping. She was probably up all night with a book.
Let me know when you find your vampire. I need to know if his dick glitters.
I send her a sun emoji, then set my phone down to stare at my computer screen. It’s… way too late to try to recount my journey here. I’ll just do it in the morning.
After I get some much-needed sleep.
And food, I think, my stomach rumbling as I put my laptop away.
I can’t remember the last time I ate. I don’t even really know what time it is, either. Just that it’s late here. Although, Bra?ov appeared to be very much awake when I parked my car on a nearby street.
Grabbing my bag and room key, I put on my shoes and leave to explore the main plaza outside my hotel. There are numerous places to eat, along with a myriad of people wandering about.
But I pause to just… admire the view.
It’s nothing like Columbus, Ohio—where I’ve lived my entire life.
It’s flat there. Busy in a different way than this, especially on campus.
And just… freer. Maybe it’s the nearby mountainscape, or the fresh air, or the fact that I don’t know a single person here.
However, I feel liberated. Like I’m entering a new world.
I stare up at the city name built into the mountainside, my lips curling into a smile. The letters are lit up for everyone to see, creating a stunning sight that I merely admire for a few moments before shifting focus to my food options.
Most of the places are still open, and a quick search on my phone says they don’t close for another hour or so. Seems the area caters to late-night meals. Or maybe ten is normal here. I’m not sure. That wasn’t part of my research preparations, but I make a mental note to look it up later.
Entering a place only a few yards from my hotel, I request a table and then peruse the menu. It’s all foreign. Not surprising, considering where I am.
Fortunately, my phone helps me translate, and I eventually settle on some sort of meat dish. “Good choice,” says a male voice to my left, shortly after the waiter leaves.
I blink at the tall man, wondering if he’s talking to me.
Given that his dark eyes are locked on mine, I assume he is, so I reply, “Er, thank you.”
He smiles, allowing me a glimpse of matching dimples on each pale cheek. “Want some suggestions for dessert?” he asks, his accented voice warm and a little too alluring.
I can only imagine what Gaby would be saying right now. She’d probably be cheering me on, demanding I mix business with pleasure, and blah, blah, blah.
But I’m not her. She’s confident. Beautiful. Goes after what she wants.
Meanwhile, I date fellow graduate students, none of whom have ever held my interest for long.
However, this stranger smiling down at me doesn’t know any of that.
And he’s still waiting for a reply.
“Sure,” I force out, wanting to appease my inner Gaby-inspired voice.
The handsome male slips into the chair across from me and drags his fingers through his silver-blond hair, the ends of which touch his muscular shoulders.
His pale features are more Nordic in nature, making me wonder if he’s a lonely traveler just seeking out some company while venturing around Romania… or if he’s a local who enjoys picking up solo women.
Regardless, I’m curious.
Even though I shouldn’t be. I should be eating and sleeping. Maybe showering, too.
Yet I decide to indulge this unexpected occurrence and arch a brow. “Will you be joining me for dessert?”
“Depends on what you order,” he murmurs, his intense blue eyes dancing over my features. “What’s your favorite fruit?”
I shrug. “I like anything sweet.”
“And how do you feel about cream?” he asks, making me wonder if that’s supposed to be an innuendo for something else.
“Depends on how it’s served,” I reply, still channeling my inner Gaby.
“Hmm,” he hums, glancing away from me for a moment before focusing on me once more. “Do you like cake or pie?”
“Again, I like anything sweet,” I tell him. “I’m really not picky.”
He nods. “Then any dessert I suggest will suit you.”
“Most likely, yes,” I admit.
He folds his arms on the tabletop, drawing my gaze to his muscular form. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, the fabric not tight, yet revealing his strength at the same time.
“What brings you to Romania?” he inquires, changing the topic. “Business or pleasure?”
“Both, I guess.” I fidget a little in my chair, suddenly feeling a bit exposed. I don’t like talking about myself. Dessert preferences are one thing. My studies are… quite another. “I’m here for research.”
“Oh?” He leans forward, intrigue written across his features. “What are you researching?”
“Mythology.” It’s a vague response, but explaining my doctoral thesis would take hours.
“Mythology,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word. “From medieval times?”
“Something like that,” I say, not wanting to elaborate. “Why are you here?”
He smiles, his dimples appearing again. “I’m a tour guide.”
My brows lift. “A tour guide?” I suppose that explains his perfect English. I mean, there’s an accent, but he’s clearly fluent.
He dips his chin. “Guilty as charged.” He scrutinizes me for a moment. “Do you have any tours planned?”
I stare at him, understanding finally breaking through my mind.
This guy isn’t hitting on me or flirting with me. He’s trying to woo me into hiring him for a tour. I almost laugh out loud at the realization, but I’m too exhausted to put forth the effort.
Instead, I just shake my head and tell him the truth. “The castle I want to visit doesn’t have a tour available.”
He leans forward even more, his interest palpable. “Which castle do you want to visit?”
I don’t bother lying to him. “Negru Castle.”
His blue eyes widen. “You really have done your research, haven’t you?” He glances around, then lowers his voice as he says, “What if I told you I could take you there?”
My lips twitch. “Then I would know you’re trying to make me pay for something you can’t deliver on.”
He leans back a bit, evaluating me once more. “What if I promised to take you and accepted payment after?”
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.
The door of the castle opens to reveal a male standing just inside, his body large and imposing in the shadows.
My lips part. Is that…?
The video ends, and I suddenly feel like weeping. I was so close. Only, not close at all.
Because I’m sitting at a table in Bra?ov.
With a stranger holding a phone.
A stranger who has actually been to Negru Castle.
Because some of those video panoramas included him smiling at the screen like a selfie before refocusing on the immense scenery.
“Believe me now?” he asks, arching a silver-blond brow.
“Who are you?” I whisper, unable to keep the awe out of my voice.
“Marius Scaevola,” he replies, holding out his hand. “And you are?”
Completely captivated, I think, reaching out to place my palm against his. Fortunately, I don’t utter that aloud. Instead, I say, “Vivi Dalca.” I stare at him, our hands joined in an awkward shake. “How soon can you take me to Negru Castle?”
“Shouldn’t you ask me about costs first?”
I shake my head. “You take me there and you can name your price.”
“A dangerous prospect.”
“The heart of my research is a dangerous obsession,” I tell him. Or a dark obsession, anyway. “Tell me when we can leave, and I’ll be ready.”