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 could not shake the image of Dracule's bloody mouth from her mind. That he should appear to her so, and without shame, set her stomach churning. She curled up in a ball as if that would protect her, and covered her eyes with her hands. Was the blood a trophy, a flag of victory? Like fingers touching forbidden picture cards in her mind, she sought the answer she didn't want to know: Was it Stefan's blood?
Dread seeped through her body from head to toe.
Was that why Stefan never made it into the castle to save her? Did Dracule kill him?
No...No!
Her throat went dry. She rose on her hands and stared into nothingness.
"Stefan?" she whispered.
Moaning, she clutched her sick stomach and collapsed face down onto her pillow. She would never love Dracule. And never, never, never, let him near her again. Even if she had to stay in this room and starve until she was bones, she would bar him from her presence.
Missing the rosary that had once given her such comfort, she looked up at the image of St. George thrusting his long spear down the dragon's throat. This was most encouraging. All the saints and angels in Heaven were guarding her door against the monster. She made a prayer of thanks and felt her stomach pains subside.
If only Stefan would come! But...
Perhaps he was not dead. Perhaps Dracule thought to trick her. That was all. Stefan was like Saint George, destined by God to slay Dracule. But if her true love was lost, it would be up to her. She spun around as if she wielded a lance and let it fly at the door. She would do it. She wanted to do it. "Death to Dracule!" she shouted.
Flushed with excitement, she went to the window and looked for the dawn.
The sun was just rising above the trees. If he were alive, Stefan would come for her now, in the daylight, when the Vampires were defenseless in their graves. Vampires could not stand the light of day. They were night creatures whose works of darkness must end at daybreak. The dim, gray light of dawn was enough to send them scurrying into the darkness of the tomb. Folded up in their coffins in their bat-like slumber, they were said to be easy to dispatch. Even she could do it.
She imagined finding Dracule in his coffin, imagined raising a stake over his chest, hammer ready to pound him into the earth. As the vision took on life in her imagination, his Vampire eyes blazed open, his tongue grew long as whip, and flew at her. She jumped. Dracule wasn't asleep! Just frozen like a doll, his basilisk eyes entrancing her so that she could not move. In a flash, her mind's eye was blocked by a spray of blood.
"Oh! Disgusting!" Wiping her eyes, she shook herself alert. She'd never imagined anything like that before. Had Dracule somehow sensed her thoughts, and sent her a warning? Did she not even have the privacy of her own mind?
"Stefan! Come to me now!" she moaned. Oh please, God, don't let him be dead.
The icon of St. George gave her hope. If her husband was destined to rid the world of the Vampires forever, he would be a hero, like St. George. If so, then he must survive to carry it out. God would help him. Soon, the sun would be high above the walls. Then he would be here. Even if he couldn't find her in the winding passages of the castle, she would go out and find him.
As if it heard her thoughts, a wolf howled close by. She had to be careful. And that smell was in the room again; cloying and heavy, infusing the air with a strange purple odor of death.
Death... Was she dead?
She looked at her hands. They were solid flesh. She felt her arms and legs. They too were solid and alive. Dracule's body felt that way when he held her close, yet he was dead. Dead. And also alive. Undead.
"Stefan, please come for me. Please, be here soon so we can kill them together, and then fly as far away as a strong horse will carry us."
