After many months of getting beta reads and advice from my group, I think I have achieved a final version of this book. It starts and ends much differently than the first draft I posted on here. It is the second book in a series so you might want to...
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Analise
An unearthly glow gathered in the room, white as a clutch of lilies, yet nacreous, and tinged with the dusty scent of old marble. In the light of the last three candles sputtering in the darkness, the bed linens glowed red. The linen had not been that color before, but pristine and white as befitted a bridal bed. Analise did not dwell on this change. Rather, longing for his embrace, she turned toward her husband, Stefan, who should have been lying beside her, but was not.
The high keening wail of a wolf filtered through the walls. She shivered as if a ghost floated over her grave.
The touch of icy fingers woke her. Who's there?Stefan?
Her eyes shot open on pure darkness.
The candles must have gone out...
She felt the space beside her, expecting to grasp her husband's hand, but instead, there was empty space, then plush velvet, and then a hard surface, like a wall. She turned toward the dark, and saw nothing, heard nothing; not even her rapid, anxious breath made a sound. She tried to sit, but her head hit stone.
She felt dizzy and lay back again.
Where am I?
The last thing she knew was that she was in bed with Stefan. But now she was here, in this... box.
The obvious nature of the box sent a tremor through her body.
No, no! It couldn't be! Father Sebastian had told her she was redeemed in the eyes of God. There must be some mistake.
"Help!" she cried. Her voice died like ashes falling from a burning log. She knew no one could hear her, but she called out again. "Help me!"
The silence was so deep it seemed to suck the life out of her.
"Help me!" she shrieked. She tore loose from the cloth that wrapped her arms tight to her body, and banged her fists on the stone slab that held her down.
"Let me out! Let me out! Help!" she cried.
Had she been buried alive? Who had done this to her? Why? It was her wedding night. No one could have thought her dead. She'd never felt so alive!
"Stefan!" she screamed. Where was he? "Stefan!"
Analise blinked as if to dash away her tears, but her eyes were dry.
That was strange. She felt her eyes again. Dry as bone.
What am I?
She lay back and closed her eyes and gave herself up to the silence and the dark.
As if possessed by an unexpected heightening of her vision, she found herself gazing up through a veil of white gauze, through the stone lid that covered her, into a great dome of marble, and the moon shining in a black, sparkling sky.
This had to be a dream. Soon she would wake and be in Stefan's arms again. But the dream was strong. It held her in its grasp. A terrible wailing filtered through the walls. A flurry of fear battered her heart against her ribcage. She wanted to get up, to run, but was held down by the stone lid, and could not move. Yet, though the slab covered her, the moon shone down, cold and unmoving and pale as alabaster. Small animal cries, wings fluttering in the dark, and the sound of falling dust, brought to her mind's eye the vision of a tomb falling to ruin. The image was clear and real, but it was impossible to rise and find out if it were true. She imagined pushing the lid away and standing, but her arms would not move. Tension wound through her and around her like baling wire.
This is a dream... it's a nightmare. That's all. I am in my bedroom at cel Mare, sleeping with Stefan.... This dream will end... it will pass... and all will be well again.
The sound of stone slowly scraping against stone broke the spell of the nightmare. A slash of light came through the gap, flashing on the countenance of a man of ferocious beauty. As quickly as she saw him, he vanished.
Torchlight sputtered over a single blood red rose perched on the edge of what she saw clearly now, was a sarcophagus. The petals shimmered as if on fire; its rich, sweet fragrance fell over her like the Vampire's suffocating breath.
"Hello!" she said. "I'm not dead!"
Her voice sounded like a slow, hollow echo in her skull. She shut her eyes and waited for an answer from the rose-bearer.
The dragon mirror appeared in the darkness under her eyelids. In the glass she saw the castle, and in the doorway of the castle, the Vampire appeared. He was small and far away, bright in his red silk robes, his long, sharp fingers curling and uncurling, beckoning her.
A sob rose in her chest; tears reached her eyes but did not spill. Tonight was her wedding night, yes, but was also the night of her death, her true death: the death of her soul.
But there some free will left in her, enough to get out and return to Stefan.
With a surge of energy, she reached up to push the lid further open. It scraped slowly as she shoved it aside, then fell with a loud crack to the floor. In a breath, she stood.
