Forbidden

Prologue

Romania, 1689

Roseline Dragomir peeks out from her hiding place behind the altar, searching for the man who led her wedding guests to slaughter. From the moment she had been presented to him, she saw evil in her suitor's eyes. His stance was firm, overbearing, and far too possessive for a casual introduction. His skin was frightfully pale, his smile leering, as if she were a meal to savor.

She'd tried to warn her father against Vladimir Enescue's marriage proposal, but he was blinded by Vladimir's vast wealth, a castle, and a bloodline to rival any in Romania.

 All her father got, in return, was a sword through his chest.

Roseline's gaze darts about the room, flitting high over the lifeless faces that stare at the ceiling. She dares not focus on any of them for fear of her nerve crumbling entirely.

Her fourteen-year-old sister, Adela, trembles in her arms. Tight straw-blonde curls quiver against her face; pink bows sit askew in her hair. Blood and soot smudge the freckles from her heart-shaped face. Roseline must remain strong for her.

Vladimir's older brother, Lucien, blocks their only exit. His maniacal gaze sweeps the aisles, searching for survivors.

 The rectory at the front of the church was set ablaze during the massacre and acrid smoke now hangs thick in the air. It coils into Roseline's lungs, grating against her throat. Small wisps of smoke rise from the tips of her loosely curled bronze hair. She beats the embers against her white corset, wincing at the blood that clings to her narrow waist and trails down to bare feet. This blood came from her father.

  There is nowhere to go and no one left to help them. She and Adela are the only ones left alive. Roseline's chest rises and falls rapidly, her pulse thumping in her ears as she fights back tears. Her parents are gone. Her beloved brother and friends too. Her new husband has murdered everyone she has ever cared for...except Adela. Roseline vows to do whatever it takes to save her sister.

The wailing cries of the dying faded away a few minutes ago, only to be replaced by an odd slurping noise. Vladimir's giddy laughter ricochets off the church walls as he celebrates with his brother.

Roseline cradles her sister, lifting desperate prayers for protection heavenward. Fear seeps into the marrow of her bones, rooting her in place. Where is Vladimir? Why has he not finished them off yet?

Wide baby-blue eyes stare up at Roseline. Adela's delicate fingers claw at her arms, pleading with Roseline to flee. To make the bad men disappear. Oh, how she wishes this was all just a terrible dream.

"Roseline," Vladimir croons. His boots squelch in the lifeblood of her friends and family. From this vantage point, she can see her father's family ring exposed in the aisle. Its eagle crest drips with drying blood.

Vladimir tsks as he slowly mounts the steps toward the altar. "This is no way to treat your husband, Roseline. Your mother would be shamed by such abhorrent manners."

Adela trembles in Roseline's arms as the sound of Vladimir's sword, trailing along the stone floor, draws near. Her pale pink lips quiver as she presses into Roseline's chest.

 Heat from the flames licks Roseline's face while cool moonlight filters through the church windows above. She closes her eyes against the fear that threatens to handicap her mind. They cannot wait much longer. Soon the tapestries will engulf in flames, and then the pews, and then the...bodies.

An eerie silence hangs over the room. Roseline shivers, fighting to stave off the terror encroaching on her mind. She must be brave for Adela.

"Come out, my love. It is time," Vladimir calls, his words disgustingly intimate.