THE IMPALER'S WIFE

12

I am a fool. What compelled me to trust a man with such a violent past? I step back from the hungry-eyed prince, wrap my arms about myself, and shudder.

Vlad drapes his wolf-lined coat over my shoulders. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." I sink into the fur, still warm from his body.

Prince Vlad's forehead furrows. "Are you quite certain the tunnels do not frighten you?"

"Szilágyi's are fearless." My voice is as brittle as thin ice.

"You certainly are your father's daughter." Prince Vlad holds the lantern aloft and strides into the tunnel.

I hurry after him, the icy shivers melting after hearing the warmth in his voice.

He holds the lantern near the wall, illuminating a crude etching in the rock. "Who drew these?"

"The wild men who lived here long ago." My fingers trace the outline of the fanciful spider-like creature. "Father said the tunnels have many such drawings."

"Is that so? How wonderful. Did you explore the tunnels as a child?"

I keep close to his side and within the circle of light. "I was only eleven-years-old when we moved into the palace. The nanny forbad us to come here. She said the tunnels led to Alsó Világ, the entrance to the underworld." I roll my eyes. "She also claimed Bába lived down here."

One eyebrow quirks. "Bába?"

"A withered hideous old woman with a few straw-like strands of hair coming out of her scalp."

"Reminds me of my nanny." Vlad chuckles. "This Bába doesn't sound very frightening."

"Oh, but she is." I laugh, Prince Vlad's easy manner dispelling my earlier fear about his intentions. "Shelures children into her watery home and eats them."

"Then we have nothing to fear: We are too old to eat." He sidles next to me, our shoulders touching. "We have similar creatures in Romania. One is a demon who punishes faithless wives and wicked children." Prince Vlad stops walking, his shadow looming like a specter on the wall. "The Martolea rips open their victim's stomach with sharp claws, sloooowly pulls out their entrails, and loops them over a hook on a wall as a warning to others with sin on their minds."

I wiggle my fingers. "Ooooo, ghost stories."

"Are they?" Half his face is in shadow, his profile bold in the lamp's golden glow.

I want to run my fingers over the curve of his brow, slope of his nose, and the contour of his lips. I want to map his face and commit it to memory. "Those creatures are no more real than centaurs or harpies."

"You dismiss otherworldly beings too easily." Prince Vlad glances into the darkness, and then lowers his mouth to my ear. "Do not dismiss the moroi. These demon-inhabited corpsesrise from their graves and suck the life force from the living." His leans closer, his breath warm on my neck. "Do not scorn the strigoi either. Those troubled souls are doomed for all eternity to walk the earth and feast on human blood."

The heat emanating from him seeps into my skin like a molten liquid warming my limbs. "How can I identify a strigoi if I ever meet one?"

"You can't. Strigoi are shapeshifters who can change into animals." Vlad Dracula circles me, his shoulder grazing mine. "Or become invisible."

His head tilts toward me, close enough I see the texture of his skin.

I adjust the coat—suddenly overheated—and stroll away. "Your talk of entrails and blood does not frighten me. We alsohave a blood drinker, Táltos, a sage with a spiritual link to God."