A Taste of “Night’s Temptress”

Santan looked at his sister. He knew that at some point they would both move away from their childhood lives and embrace their responsibilities within the family unity. He knew what was in store for him—the throne. What Samara’s role would be was yet to be decided.

Samara walked over to Santan and grabbed hold of his arm. “Tell me, brother, why you’re not excited about this confirmation of who we truly are? We should have no secrets from each other.”

Santan grinned. “I believe you have many secrets from me, sister.”

“How can you accuse me like that,” Samara pouted. “I’ve no secrets from you.”

Now, Santan laughed. “Do you think your nightly escapades have gone unnoticed by your ever-watchful brother?”

“What do you mean?”

“I follow you—most nights that you venture out. I’ve kept your secrets of your liaisons with your boy toys.”

“Why didn’t you tell Mother and Father?”

“And have their wrath reign down on my beautiful sister! You are daddy’s little girl…”

“You’ll sit on the throne one day, Santan—doesn’t that excite you?”

“Do you want the truth, Samara? Are you able to keep a secret, as I’ve kept yours?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t wish the throne when our father is ready to step down. I’m in love with someone whom he would never approve of.”

As Samara walked toward the house, she could not help but to feel a certain amount of satisfaction. Santan was clearing the way for her to have her ultimate dream—that of sitting on the throne of power!

Also by Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour

Novels

Night’s Vampire Trilogy:

Night’s Gift

Night’s Children

Night’s Return

Children’s Titles:

A Story of Day & Night

Biographies

A 20^th Century Portia

Short Stories

From the Heart

Poetry

Life’s Roller Coaster

Devastations of Mankind

Shattered

Memories

What Readers are Saying about “Night’s Temptress”

Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour takes you on a wild roller coaster ride with many exciting and unexpected twists and turns, leaving you with baited breath in the final epilogue. She leaves you wanting more—a truly amazing read!

∼ Mary Sass

“Night’s Temptress” is descriptive, but not for the faint of heart. The twists, the turns—the opening endings—all there for more stories to come. Love it! Love it! The references back to the previous history in the “Night’s Vampire Trilogy” makes me want to reread them. Thank you, Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour, for the love of the characters, and for sharing their stories with us, your readers. I’m so happy their stories are not over… “Night’s Temptress” is a new beginning, I do believe.

∼June Armstrong-Cainey

Every time I open one of Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour’s books, I see something truly special. There are few authors I have read that seem to have that innate talent for folding a story together like that of a master chef plying their craft. Reading “Night’s Temptress” was an exhilarating experience! Life is full of real emotions and I found myself comparing the characters in this book with my own life. Samara is very much a “daddy’s girl.” Santan is wise and mature, yet defies his father’s wishes. The dynamics within Basarab and Randy’s families are interesting. Randy, although devoted to his human family, still holds lingering feelings for the life he might have had with Virginia, if it were not for Basarab. Thank you for the opportunity to once more delve into your fantastic mind and watch as a fairy tale of darkness and beauty unfolded on the pages!

∼Jen Sywyk

Wow! Once I started I just could not stop until the last page. When I finished the original trilogy I wanted more, and I was not disappointed by “Night’s Temptress.” Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour has created another thrilling page turner, with something for everyone. Many twists and turns, with passion and intrigue galore. When I read the last sentence, my first thought was “how long until the next instalment?” I really, really want to know what happens next! Mary, you have given us another winner!

∼Jeri-Ann Abbott

Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour takes you on a thrilling adventure that keeps you on the edge of your seat, waiting for the next twist. An exciting read that you will never want to put down!

∼Victoria Green

Wow! Another great read from Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour. From beginning to end, I couldn’t put the book down. There were many unexpected twists that took me by surprise. I was on the edge of my chair, trying to read faster. This book truly is a must read!

∼Joan L. Mailing

I have very much enjoyed reading “Night’s Temptress.” I found it an excellent story with plenty of twists to it, and I hope Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour will keep writing as I’ve found her books to be good reading.

∼Linda Tipler

“Night’s Temptress” was as addicting as the “Night’s Vampire Trilogy,” I couldn’t put it down. The story line is amazing and draws you in. So many incredible twists in the story—I love it! Great job on the book, Mary M. Cusnie-Mansour, keep up the amazing work.

∼Susie Dyck

“Night’s Temptress” is a wonderful story about the complications of a vampire family. The story encompasses the difficulties of Basarab and Virginia’s children, growing up and not wanting to follow the path that has been chosen for them. Follow the journey of Santan and Samara and see how this beautiful tale unfolds.

∼Trisha Haines

Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour weaves a web with her characters that will draw you into this spin-off of the “Night’s Vampire Trilogy.” The vampire princess, Samara, proves she is a force to be reckoned with. Love her or hate her—her power, charm, and bloodthirsty drive will get this character under your skin.

∼Heather Carlson

Having finished reading “Night’s Temptress,” I can’t wait to read the next part. The language is lucid and flowing, and gives the reader ample room for imagination. The story has its own identity and can be read in itself, without being overshadowed by the “Night’s Vampire Trilogy.” Every character, their strengths and vulnerabilities, can be identified within our day to day lives, and this is what makes this story so alive and interesting. The description of the Scottish landscape further adds to the mystery. The best is the conclusion, which leaves the reader gasping for more—will Ákos survive to identify the one who tried to kill him? Wow! I yearn for more. “Night’s Temptress” was a great read, and it propels me further to read your other books. Please finish the story line, so your readers can reach a conclusion. (p.s. I would like to invite you to India, where you will find riots of material and plot for your work.)

∼Sunanda Ray

There will be vast appeal to readers who love Gothic subculture. There is infusion of enough Vampiric scenes to wholly satisfy. I loved that the author harkened back to the first three volumes, the “Night’s Vampire Trilogy,” and honed in on her original voice, continuing Count Basarab Musat’s family saga. It was a pleasure to read “Night’s Temptress.”

∼Brenda Wright

NIGHT’S TEMPTRESS

Copyright © 2015 by Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author through the website: www.marymcushniemansour.ca

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Ordering Information:

Books may be ordered directly from Cavern of Dreams Publishing or through booksellers. A list of all Cavern of Dreams publications is available on the 49^th Shelf:

http://49thshelf.com/Lists/Members/2015-26/Cavern-of-Dreams-Publishing

Cavern of Dreams Publishing

Brantford, ON , Canada

1-519-770-7515

www.cavernofdreams.com

Discounts are available for volume orders.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Cushnie-Mansour, Mary M., 1953-, author

Night’s temptress / Mary M. Cushnie-Mansour.

(A night’s vampire series book)

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-927899-17-5 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-927899-16-8 (pdf)

I. Title.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

I would foremost like to thank all the readers of the “Night’s Vampire Trilogy.” I was going to end the story there, but so many of you asked me for more—you wanted to know what happened when the children grew up—so here you have it: “Night’s Temptress.”

Once again, without my editors, Bethany Jamieson and Danielle Tanguay, who tend to keep me on track, I wouldn’t have been able to think straight—sometimes. You know how it is with writers—they love every word they’ve written and don’t want to change a thing in the masterpiece they believe they just created! Voice is an important element of a story, and it’s essential to make sure everyone doesn’t sound the same, thus, my young vampires now sound like they belong in this world, whereas, the ones you came to love in the trilogy still sound like they are in the old world. Thanks for pointing that out, Bethany and Danielle, and causing me hours of work fixing voice—love you for it!

The cover photography is, once again, by Cathleen Tarawhiti from New Zealand, and in the capable hands of Terry Davis @ Ball Media in Brantford, ON, it was transformed into an eye-catching beauty (no pun intended here).

Special thanks go out to the wonderful beta readers who offered to pre-read and give testimonials for “Night’s Temptress.” There are too many to mention here, but your testimonials are all at the front of the book, or on the back cover! I am touched by the amazing feedback.

Randy Nickman, at Brant Service Press, has continued to be a great support for me when it comes to printing my books and my advertising materials.

A photo of Yates Castle remains on the back cover, and I thank the Talos family for allowing me the continued use of this beautiful home as a backdrop for this series of books. Although, the entire story does not take place in Brantford this time, some of the cast does return to Yates Castle.

It would be unfair if I didn’t thank, once again, my husband, Ed, who has had to put up with my lack of attention to household duties whilst I was finishing this novel. I should also thank him for taking me to Scotland in 2013 where I got my inspiration for one of the settings in “Night’s Temptress.” Thanks, honey, for allowing me to follow my dream.

Last, but definitely not least, I extend a thank you to my Princess, a gray fur ball that keeps my company while I work away in my office. Being a writer can be a lonely occupation, and even if the only other sound in the room is some gentle purring, it is the knowing that another living being is present in my life.

Chapter One

Virginia and Basarab stood on the balcony of their bedchamber and watched their children, Santan and Samara, as they raced their horses across the open fields surrounding the castle. It was early evening, but the moon was full, lighting a path for the riders. Basarab slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and heaved a sigh. Virginia laid her head on her husband’s chest, breathing in his scent.

“They have grown since we arrived here seventeen years ago,” Basarab commented.

“Of course they have,” Virginia laughed. “That is what children do.”

There was a brief pause before either spoke again. “It is time,” Basarab stated softly.

The moment Virginia had been dreading for some time now had arrived—the moment when her children would completely cross over to the world of her husband—the vampire world. The world she had joined some years ago. She’d had the occasional short-lived moments of regret, but they had been few and far between because she was with the man she loved.

“What will it be like for them?” Virginia asked. “Will it be as when I crossed over?”

“No.” Basarab withdrew his arm from Virginia’s waist. “It will be much different.”

“Can you tell me what will happen—how it will happen?”

“No.”

Once again, this tells me I will never truly be one of you… “That does not seem fair. I am their mother, and I think I should know.”

Her husband’s silence told Virginia it was a subject she should not pursue. “When will this take place then?” she questioned.

“Soon. We must begin to send out the invitations. It will be quite the affair, especially since one of the children will be the heir to the vampire throne.”

“Santan, of course,” Virginia stated knowingly.

“Of course.”

“I sometimes think he does not wish that,” Virginia said.

Basarab sighed. He was thinking of how he had—through no choice of his own—come to be on the throne because of the curse of the old Gypsy, Tanyasin. She had thought it would be like a slap in the face to Dracula, his uncle, who had been the real source of her anger. She had assumed if she cursed the unborn child of his little cousin to be the one on the throne, it would be like a dagger in his heart. “We don’t always get what we wish for,” he declared. “Santan is a wise young man; he will rise to the occasion and do what he knows is his responsibility when the time comes.”

Virginia sighed. She wasn’t sure her husband was correct on this matter. She had been watching her son of late, and he seemed withdrawn. “Time will tell, I guess.” She paused. “It will be good to see some of the family again, and our friends,” she added.

“Yes, it has been a while.” Basarab pointed to Santan and Samara, who had gone to the furthest corner of the field. “Look…it appears they are getting ready for a race back to the barn.” He laughed. “I wonder if Samara will ever allow Santan to beat her. I don’t understand, his stallion is much faster than hers.”

“Santan is not all about winning,” Virginia replied. “I believe he allows his sister to win because she needs that for her ego. He has always known ways to control her and if letting her win…”

“He will not be able to keep doing that,” Basarab interrupted. “One day, he is going to have to step up to the plate and take a leadership role, even with his sister.”

Basarab turned Virginia around gently and took her in his arms. No matter how many times he made love to his wife, it never seemed enough. He had never felt that way with his former wife, Teresa, despite how beautiful she had been. It saddened him, how things had ended, and he often wondered what Teresa was doing now that she no longer had her father with her. The news of Max’s death had hit Basarab hard; Max had been a faithful servant for centuries. Basarab leaned down to steal a kiss.

Virginia pushed him away. She was watching her children race across the field. “Look!” she pointed. “Santan is winning.”

Basarab laughed. “For now…he always starts out winning, and then he pulls back on that stallion and allows his sister to cross the finish line first.” Basarab sounded disappointed with his son’s actions. “I have seen it happen time and time again, and our daughter laughs at her brother. She tells everyone Santan can never win against her!”

“Ah, you are right…look…here she comes, and as you said, Santan is pulling on Midnight’s reins.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of watching these two,” Basarab said as he made another attempt to pull Virginia into his arms. “Why don’t we go inside and see which one of us can reach the finish line first?”

This time, Virginia did not resist her husband. She smiled. They both knew who would win their race, several times, before it was over. She allowed her husband to lead her into their bedchamber. At the entrance, Basarab scooped her up in his arms and used his foot to shut the door. He strode swiftly to their bed and laid Virginia gently on the heavy brocade quilt.

Basarab stepped back and stood for a moment, staring at her beauty, drinking it in as though it were his life’s sustenance. The long, red locks of hair had a sheen to them that they had not had before her turning, and they fell in a spiral of waves. Virginia trimmed her hair on a regular basis, once even cutting it short. Basarab had told her how much he hated the cut and then had laughed because he knew how quickly it would grow back, which it did.

Slowly, he climbed onto the bed and began to remove her clothing, bit by bit, piece by piece, until she lay trembling beneath him. Her skin, once pink with life, was now porcelain. Her veins meandered just beneath the surface, following the lines of her perfect body, well-muscled, with not an inch of extra pounds.

“Are you not going to show me your magnificence, my lord?” she whispered seductively, staring at him with eyes that had turned red, yet still maintained flecks of their former icy-blue.

“You forgot…and master,” Basarab chuckled playfully.

“It is not enough that you are my life?” Virginia’s bottom lip quivered.

Basarab leaned over and ran his tongue along Virginia’s neck, and up to her ear. “I shall never have enough of you,” he murmured seductively.

Casually, Virginia began to unfasten the buttons on Basarab’s shirt, and then his pants, until all came undone. Her hands moved rhythmically, stripping her husband—her lover—of his garments, casting them aside to join her own on the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, drawing him to her, swirling her fingers in a musical dance upon his skin, searching until she found her prize. As Virginia took hold of his manhood, rock-hard and pulsing with energy, she heard Basarab groan.

“Sorceress!” he cried out as he skilfully lifted her from the coverlet and laid her upon his flesh.

Virginia placed her hands on Basarab’s chest, pushed away from him, and stood. She straddled his stomach, teasingly out of reach as she continued to dance for him. Basarab grinned as he reached up and gently took hold of her breasts, massaging the nipples until he heard her moan with gratification. He moved one of his hands to her posterior and pulled her back to him, grasping hold of her breast with his mouth, suckling her with a fierceness that spawned a fire deep within her belly.

Not being able to hold back a moment more, Virginia shifted her body and climbed onto her lover’s pulsing shaft, impaling herself into another world—one no one else could enter—theirs alone. Their children were forgotten.

It was hours before they were spent enough to sleep—deeply and contentedly—in each other’s arms.

Virginia hadn’t dreamt for a long time, and despite the satisfaction she had just had making love to her husband, her mind was in turmoil. She was disturbed by the fact she was not privy to the type of ceremony her children would have to endure as they crossed the final threshold into their father’s world.

Virginia’s dream took her back to another ceremony, the one performed soon after her arrival in Transylvania. She had stood by helplessly and observed, as she had watched once before during Santan’s infant initiation into the vampires’ fold. Only with Samara’s ceremony, Virginia had known what to expect.

Samara had been older than her brother had been for his first ceremony. Santan had been an infant of two weeks; Samara had been two years old. She had been excited about what was going to happen to her, not that she actually understood any of what was going on. She had bravely held out her finger when it was time to cut and draw her blood, and mix it with the blood of her relatives. She had clasped her little hands over her father’s hands, helping him to lift the bowl to her lips. She had drunk the blood thirstily, gulping it down in seconds.

Basarab had smiled as his daughter took charge of the situation. Virginia could tell how proud he was of the offspring he had only known for a short time. Santan had stood by Virginia’s side and had buried his face in her cloak as his sister consumed the blood. Afterwards, he told her he hoped he never had to do that, and she’d had to tell him he already had.

The dream moved forward from the past, and Virginia found herself in a room in the old dungeon of the castle. There were several individuals there, but she couldn’t see who they were because their faces were hidden deep in the hoods of their cloaks. The chanting began when Basarab walked in with Samara holding onto her father’s arm. Her head was held high as she looked around the room at each one of the faceless individuals awaiting the ceremony.

Virginia saw herself standing in the doorway, not allowed into the circle yet. She looked around for Santan; he was supposed to be part of this ceremony, too. Finally, she noticed him skulking in the hallway leading to the room. She held her hand out to him. He shook his head, and she saw tears in his eyes. She looked around and saw no one was paying any attention to her, so she slipped out of the room and went to her son.

“This is what your father wishes, Santan, you have no choice but to go through with the ceremony,” Virginia told him when she reached the spot where he was standing.

Santan looked away from his mother. “I know what my responsibility to my father is, but you know I’d have it otherwise. Is there no other way for me, Mother?”

Virginia found herself shaking her head no. She loved her son, and she loved her husband. Since she had taken the step and crossed over, she had been torn many times between what she knew were the sensitivities of her son, and what she knew her husband would eventually demand of him.

Suddenly, Basarab appeared in the doorway. He scowled, and began walking toward Virginia and Santan. “What is happening here?” he demanded.

Virginia opened her mouth to make an excuse for Santan, but he laid a hand on her arm. “It’s okay, I’m ready.” He extended his arm to Virginia, and they swept past Basarab and headed to the room.

A cry rang out. Shrill. Close. Virginia didn’t realize the arms around her were real. She didn’t realize the cry was real. “Virginia, my love, what is it? Are you dreaming again?”

Virginia opened her eyes and found Basarab looking lovingly into her eyes. “Yes, I must have been dreaming,” she finally managed to say.

“I thought your nightmares were over; it has been a long time since you had one. Are they the old dreams coming back to haunt you?” Basarab asked, his voice full of concern.

“No…no…nothing like them. It’s okay, it was nothing. Really. I actually can’t even remember it,” Virginia lied. She remembered all of it. She shifted under the covers and managed to turn over, putting her back to Basarab. “I’ll be fine, it was just a dream, and it’s gone already,” she reaffirmed, breathing in deeply, her breath catching in her throat. “I think I just need some more sleep. You tired me out, my love.”

Basarab knew better than to say anything more. He had worried for months after the episode in Brantford. He had feared Virginia would never get over the trauma that had almost killed her, but she had. The dreams were horrific at first, but gradually they had lessened, only returning occasionally. For the past ten years, to his knowledge, she had been nightmare free. So, why now?

Basarab drew the cover up over Virginia, and then got up and left the bed. He had a lot to do to prepare for the ceremony for his children.

Chapter Two

The horses raced across the field. Samara was laughing as her horse, Golden, gained on Midnight. “On your tail, brother!” she shouted out.

Santan glanced back at his sister. He was smiling. It was time to pull up on the reins and let Samara have her way. Santan remembered how, when they were little, whenever she hadn’t gotten her way or didn’t win the game they were playing, she would go into a rage. He had been the only one able to calm her down. Then, he had done so by a form of mind control, which when he was younger was the best technique. However, as they grew older, he’d found it much easier just to step aside and let his sister have her way.

Midnight wasn’t pleased with being reined in. He fought against the pull on his bit, but Santan insisted, and the stallion began to slow his pace.

“Midnight is getting sluggish in his old age,” Samara shouted as she and Golden pulled up alongside.

Midnight snorted, as though he understood what Samara had said, and he stretched his neck in another attempt to overpower his master.

“He’s just too much of a gentleman,” Santan smirked. “He doesn’t wish to displease the lady that always needs to win,” he hollered over the din of the pounding hooves.

“Smart horse,” Samara laughed as she kicked her heels into Golden’s ribs. “See you at the barn, brother!”

Midnight gave another tug on his bit as Golden moved past him. Santan reached and patted the stallion on his neck. “Give them some time, my friend. Let them get far enough ahead that my sister can win, and then I’ll give you your head.”

Santan finally loosened the reins, and the stallion gobbled up the ground, bearing down on Golden and Samara, almost catching them before they entered the barn.

Samara was laughing as she jumped off Golden and turned to her brother. “Beaten once again, brother! Father should get you a better horse.”

Santan pulled Midnight to a stop and dismounted. Midnight stamped his front hoof disapprovingly and reached out to take a nip at Golden. Santan managed to catch him before his teeth dug into Golden’s rump.

“Didn’t you see how quickly Midnight arrived here?” Santan baited his sister.

“No, there was too much dust behind me—Golden’s dust!”

Santan laughed. There was no reasoning with his sister, and why should he even bother—it would spoil the game he played, the game of which she was totally unaware.

Samara turned and took hold of Golden’s reins, drawing them over his head. She led him to a hitching post and tied them loosely to the ring. As she was removing the saddle, she smiled to herself. She was aware of what Santan was doing. She knew Midnight could win any race his master would allow him to. She was intuitive enough to know whose horse was the fastest; she had observed the horses in the fields when they sprinted untethered. Golden never reached the other side of the meadow before Midnight!

She knew how much winning did not matter to her brother, and she knew he would rather have peace than have a confrontation. Santan was so like their grandfather, Attila.

Santan tethered Midnight at the pole outside his stall and began to remove his saddle. He reached into the box sitting by the stall and drew out two brushes, and handed one to Samara.

“Thanks,” she said as she took the brush from him, her fingers lingering on her brother’s hand momentarily. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

“I aim to please.” Santan began stroking Midnight’s coat. The stallion was barely sweating. Santan knew he had only just warmed the horse up, and that he could have gone on for hours. He brought the brush up to Midnight’s face and gently massaged the dish in his nose—confirmation of the Arabian bloodline.

“You’re always trying to please everyone, Santan,” Samara began. She paused thoughtfully. “You know we’ve another ceremony coming up? Father told me it would happen on my nineteenth birthday, and that’s in three months.”

Santan nodded his head but said nothing.

“Aren’t you excited, Santan? I am.”

“Not really.”

“You should be.”

“Tell me, Samara, why should I be excited?”

Samara stopped grooming Golden, and, waving her arm in the air exclaimed, “Because, this is how we’ll look for eternity. I’ll be young and beautiful, and never have to worry a day about becoming old and wrinkled like a human. We’ll be full vampires, into the fold as one with them—the same as our father and mother—finally. We’ll never die; we can be together forever.”

Santan, despite how wild and temperamental his sister was, loved her dearly. He didn’t know what he would do without her. She breathed life into his world. She was the side of him that, at times, he wished he could be, but knew he never would be. There was too much of his mother in him, and to him that was a good thing. Santan thought back to the day when his parents had announced his mother had changed.

It had been a difficult time for Santan. His mother had been ill for several weeks as the vampire blood sourced through her body, turning her into a monster. That is what Santan believed vampires were—monsters—and he was not looking forward to the ceremony. The usual age of a vampire child fully coming into the fold was nineteen. Santan had been glad when his father had decided to wait another year before initiating him—to wait until he was more physically mature had been his father’s reasoning.

Santan thought of his conversations with his friend, Randy, and he envisioned Randy’s beautiful daughter, Mia. He longed for a normal life, one that would be able to include Mia—one that would allow them to wed and have a family of their own. But the nagging voice inside Santan’s head kept telling him his father would never allow such a union.

There were times Santan thought his father was a bit of a hypocrite. After all, he had married a human woman—twice. But in their conversations, he had insisted Santan marry a vampire from the Dracul bloodline. So Santan had kept quiet about his love for Mia, biding his time until the moment when he would be able to stand up to his father.

“Earth to Santan…you still there?” Samara broke into her brother’s thoughts. “Does the thought of being with me forever disgust you, brother?” she joked.

Santan looked at his sister. It was true, they were close; they had been through so much together. But he knew, eventually, they would both move away from their childhood lives and embrace their responsibilities within the family unit. He knew what was in store for him—the throne. What Samara’s role in the family would be was yet to be decided.

“No, Samara,” he finally answered, “you could never disgust me. Blood ties us, and nothing will ever sever that bond.”

“So, I ask again, brother, why aren’t you excited about this confirmation of who we truly are—who we were born to be?” Samara came over to Santan and grabbed hold of his arm. “Tell me…we should have no secrets from each other.”

Santan grinned, and smoothly changed the subject. “You have no secrets from me, sister? I think you have many.”

“How can you accuse me like that?” Samara pouted. “I have no secrets from you.”

Santan laughed. “Do you think your nightly escapades have gone unnoticed by your ever watchful brother?”

Samara looked shocked. “What do you mean?”

Santan knew he had her right where he wanted her. “I follow you, Samara—most nights that you venture out. I have protected you and your secrets for as long as you’ve been sneaking out and having liaisons with your boy toys.”

“You’ve known all along?”

“From the beginning.”

“I see.” Samara turned around. “Why didn’t you tell on me?” she asked.

“And have our parents’ wrath rain down on my beautiful sister? You are daddy’s little girl, but, despite his love for you, he’d never allow such behaviour.”

“Are you so sure of that, brother?”

“Very sure.”

Santan was not about to tell his sister of a conversation he’d had with their father several years ago on his thirteenth birthday. Basarab had taken him aside and informed him about his expectations for him and his sister, and none of what his father said had included messing around with humans. His father had been quite firm when he had said he expected his children to stay within the family walls.

“Well, thanks for your discretion, but I’m sure you’re wrong—Father would never be able to be angry with me.”

Santan just smiled at his naïve sister. Better to not crush her feelings for her father; it’s enough that I know what he truly is. Santan knew that if it weren’t for his father’s word to protect his mother, he would never have come around to even liking, let alone respecting him. Nevertheless, Basarab had been a man of his word, and he had saved Virginia from those beasts that had almost killed her. Santan saw how much Basarab genuinely loved Virginia, so he had sat back and just kept vigil over his mother and sister throughout the years. He knew there might come a time when they would need him as more than a son and a brother.

“Maybe you’re right, Samara; how could Father ever be angry with you?” Santan decided it was not worth the bother to carry on any further—to burst Samara’s bubble.

Samara chose to return to the subject at hand. “You’ll be on the throne one day, Santan—aren’t you excited about that?”

“Do you want the truth, Samara, or should I tell you what you want to hear?”

“What do you think I want to hear, brother?”

“Are you able to keep a secret, as I’ve kept yours these past couple of years?” Santan took his sister by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. He knew she would not be able to lie to him.

“Of course I’ll keep your secret,” Samara replied. She knew better than to lie to her brother, having done so a couple of times. He was not fooled easily.

Santan hesitated a moment more before continuing. “I don’t wish to take the throne when our father is ready to step aside.”

“But you’re his heir; you’ll have no choice.” Samara knew there was something else bothering Santan. “I know you better, brother, there’s something more. What secret are you keeping from me?”

“I’m in love with someone whom Father would never approve of,” Santan stated. “Mia.”

Samara stepped back from Santan, a look of shock on her face. She had never paid much attention to Randy and his family when they visited, especially the beautiful Mia. “You’re in love with Mia?” she spit out. “You know Father will never allow that!”

“Of course I know,” Santan stated. “And, I know there’s nothing I can do about it.” He took a short breath before continuing: “Unless you’d like the throne and we can convince Father you’d be the better choice—would you like that, Samara?”

“You’re crazy! You know our father wouldn’t even consider such a thought as to have a woman on the throne of power, nor would any one of those stuffed shirts he has on his council approve such a move! That’s the reason he went out of his way to have you, brother—his own little prodigy!” She giggled. “He ensured his direct bloodline would remain on the throne—should he ever decide to step aside.”

“Well, it’s settled then, isn’t it? We each have our lot to bear in life—I must become a leader I don’t wish to be—you won’t ever be the leader you desire to be.” Santan paused a minute, and then, “I wonder if our father will ever be able to step down; the curse was on him to be on the throne.”

“The old Gypsy witch is dead, though,” Samara said. “Surely, that would remove the original curse, leaving the door open for Father to do as he pleases.”

“Maybe,” Santan looked thoughtful. “We’ll see, I guess, when the time comes.”

Santan turned and walked back to Midnight. He opened the stall door for his stallion, slipped the bridle over his head, and guided him into the stall. He closed the door and turned to his sister again, “It’s been a long night; I’m tired. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head to bed. It’ll be daylight soon, anyway.”

Samara watched as her brother walked away. She was torn between her desires and what she knew her father would want from her. Santan had nurtured the seeds in her mind by letting her know he wanted nothing to do with the throne. Did he know what her real desires were? She knew, in reality, she had never been able to hide anything from him. Was he saying he didn’t want the leadership of the family because he knew it was what she wanted? Was he willing to step aside from his role in the vampire world, just like he allowed her to win all the races?

“Santan thinks he has us fooled, doesn’t he?” Samara said as she opened the stall door and guided Golden through it.

As Samara walked toward the house, she could not help but to feel a certain amount of satisfaction. Santan was clearing the way for her to have her ultimate dream—that of sitting on the throne of power.

Chapter Three

After leaving the bedchamber, Basarab sought out his father, Attila, to discuss the upcoming ceremony for Santan and Samara. He found him sitting in his study, writing in the family diary he liked to keep up-to-date.

“You still record our life, Father?” Basarab asked as he took a seat across the desk from Attila.

Attila looked up at his son. “Of course—someone must do so.” He set his pen down. “What can I do for you, Basarab?”

“Samara will be nineteen in three months, and that is the agreed upon time to perform the ceremony that will seal my children into the family. I would like your assistance in the planning of this event.”

There was a smile on Attila’s lips as he spoke: “Our little Samara is finally going to cross fully into our world; how she has desired for this moment for such a long time.” He paused. “But what of Santan—do you think he is ready? I have noticed something different about him of late—a distance from the family.”

Attila had noticed more than that. He had observed how Santan and Mia had behaved, stealing glimpses of each other when she had last visited with her parents, and he had kept silent. Of his two grandchildren, he loved Santan the most, probably because Santan was more like him—a scholar. He also knew his grandson did not wish the throne of power—now or ever!

“Santan is as ready as he will ever be,” Basarab replied. “Maybe after the ceremony he will realize his role in our world. It might just be what it will take to bring him out of his dream world,” he added.

“I don’t think your son is in a dream world,” Attila pointed out. “I believe he would be content to just live and die an ordinary life.”

“Unfortunately, that is not the hand life has dealt him,” Basarab stated, sadness in his voice. “It is not the hand dealt any of us.”

Attila got a faraway look in his eyes. He, of all the family, knew just what the curse had caused in personal loss. Despite having found happiness with Angelique, he had lost his beloved Mara, Basarab’s mother, to the curse. He thought back to the day he and Dracula had fled the castle when the Turks were closing in on them, to the day they had come upon the Gypsy women, and their leader, Tanyasin, had cursed the Dracul family.

It had been from that day forward that anyone related to Dracula by blood had had to hide from the sun. It was the end of his beloved Mara’s life, for she could not bear what was happening to her body. After the birth of their son, she weakened day after day until there was no life left in her. She died while he was seeking Tanyasin, in the hope she would lessen the curse so his beloved could live.

Tanyasin had scorned him, had called him a pup that ran by the dog’s side—the dog being Dracula. She had sent him away, insulting him as he dragged his feet out of the clearing. As he was about to mount his horse, Angelique had stepped out of the shadows. She had been kind as she showed him Mara’s image in the nearby pool. Mara was on her deathbed, but Attila was able to hear her last words to him, and for that, he had been forever grateful to Angelique.

“Father?” Basarab leaned forward. “Is everything okay?”

Attila nodded. “Yes…sorry…I was just thinking about the past.”

Basarab knew better than to go there. He knew what his father was thinking about, and he could identify with how painful it was for him. The separation he had felt from Santan when he’d had to leave Brantford so soon after his birth—when Virginia had fled with his son—and the separation from Virginia when Radu had her taken by his followers had tortured him beyond anything imaginable. Only in his case things had worked out, and he was spending the rest of eternity with the one he loved.

The biggest consolation for his father was when Attila and Angelique realized their love for each other. After leaving Brantford and returning to Brasov, they had married—a double ceremony with him and Virginia.

Attila cleared his throat. “Well, enough reminiscing; shall we get down to business? Do you have a guest list?”

“I think we should invite as many as possible. The stronger the blood my children drink, the stronger they will be,” Basarab replied.

“I agree,” Attila affirmed. “You get me the list, and I’ll send out the invitations. I’ll begin writing them now.”

“No computer?” Basarab grinned. It had taken him a long time to catch up with the times; modern technology had not been a necessity in his mind and he had always put it on a back burner. However, when the family had been at war with his Uncle Radu, Basarab had had to embrace some modern tools. His father didn’t, outside of the cell phones they used to keep in touch.

Attila didn’t bat an eye as he replied: “Too impersonal. A handwritten note is the way we invite our family and friends to an event like this.”

Basarab stood. “I’ll have the names for you by tomorrow; if I miss anyone, be sure to add them to the list.”

“What about Randy and his wife, Katalin, and their daughter, Mia—are you inviting them?”

“Santan will want Randy to be here,” Basarab stated.

Attila was about to tell Basarab that he didn’t think it was a good idea to invite Randy and his family because of how Santan felt about Mia—but decided against it. He would try to talk to his grandson and reason with him—it would be better than having Basarab know the truth.

“Okay then.” Attila picked up his pen and pulled some special paper from his drawer.

Basarab returned to his bedroom, hoping to find Virginia awake and maybe ready for another romp in the blankets. What he found was an empty bed, and no Virginia in sight. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. It had been a long road they had travelled since he had defeated Radu and saved Virginia’s life.

Having to cast his wife, Teresa, out of his home, banning her from ever setting foot near him again, and having to send his cousin, Ildiko, into exile had hurt him more than he’d thought it would at the time. Teresa was a faithful wife, and she had been noble and understanding until Virginia had come on the scene. In many ways, it was his fault she started to fly into jealous rages: he had stepped over the line and fallen for Virginia. She had awakened something inside him that he’d never felt before, and she became more to him than just a vessel to give him a son.

Virginia had been a challenge. He could never tell for sure exactly what she was thinking, whether she loved him or hated him, or if she was playing the game he thought she might be. However, the night she presented him with a son had sealed it for him. He no longer thought of his wife as his lifemate; it was Virginia he wanted to be with for eternity. But it was unheard of in the vampire world to set one’s spouse aside for no lawful reason. He often wondered if his instigation of negative behaviour toward Teresa caused even more friction between the two women—his way of obtaining a valid reason for ridding himself of his wife and paving the way for Virginia.

Then there was Ildiko. Basarab knew he should have considered her to be his wife over Teresa, the daughter of his Gypsy servant, Max. However, when Max had come to him and asked him to release his wife, Lily, from the living death she was trapped in, offering his lovely daughter in exchange, Basarab struck the bargain. He had an eye for beautiful women—and, he was a man of his word.

Basarab remembered going to his Uncle Farkas’ castle to tell him that he would not be accepting Ildiko’s hand in marriage. Farkas said he understood, and Ildiko’s twin brother, Gara, said he hoped Basarab’s chosen one was more beautiful than his sister was, although he thought that was an unlikely possibility. However, there was no way this new bride would be more headstrong than Ildiko!

Ildiko had proven to be more than just determined over the years. She constantly resented the fact Basarab had chosen Teresa, and perpetually referred to her as a dirty Gypsy. Eventually, her resentment escalated, though, and Ildiko conspired with Teresa to rid themselves of Virginia—the threat to both women. He’d had no other choice but to exile his cousin from the family for a time; she needed to be taught a lesson. In doing so, Gara had also taken his leave to be with his sister.

It hadn’t taken the council long to come back with a positive decision concerning his divorce from Teresa because of what she had done. Once finalized, he and Virginia had exchanged their wedding vows.

Basarab stood and walked out onto the balcony. The sun had already set, and the moon was high in the sky. He wondered where his wife had disappeared to. He leaned on the railing and gazed over the fields he and Virginia had looked over the previous night when they had watched Santan and Samara racing. A vision of how she had looked on their wedding day came to mind.