Prologue

We - and by that I mean my father and myself - live in the Carpathian Mountains, in a schloss or castle that rears its proud Gothic head above the dark forests that surround its stone walls. My father is English and I bear an English surname, but I have never visited that country, although my father has often urged me to travel the land of his birth. My home, the true place of my heart and spirit, is here in the wildness and fastness of mountains that my mother loved so much.

My mother was related to the once proud and noble House of Dragomir, that clan whose roots ran deep within the blood and bone of Romania, but the ancient line of Dragomir died long ago. Mother perished in my infancy; my father gave me her name - Gabriella - in remembrance of the woman who had been so very dear to him that he had wandered far from home and family to be at her side.

Our schloss is located in a peculiar position; to the north, the craggy mountains thrust their snow-rimed shoulders to the sky. In the south, there is nothing for many miles save forests and a few rude peasant's huts. The nearest village, Patradornei, is fifteen miles to the east, and my father's good friend, General Alexandru Voinea, owns a schloss of his own nearly twenty miles to the west. Thus, you can see, I lived an isolated and lonely life. Too isolated for the young girl I was; I longed for friends, and any new face or the promise of a visit was a matter of joyous celebration and weeks of anticipation. 

The events I will now relate to you happened twelve years ago, yet it seems to me - so crystal clear are my recollections - that they might have just taken place. You will find my tale difficult to believe, so fantastic and terrible are the circumstances... yet I implore you to have faith in my honor and truthfulness. There were other witnesses, to be sure; but no other heart beat as wildly as my own, no other's blood sang with an ardor as great as mine, no other eyes were subjected to the otherworldly brilliance and beauty that was my Irina. 

But I get beyond myself. Let me tell the tale properly... and then perhaps you will understand. 
 

CHAPTER ONE

It was in the spring of 1781 that my father came to me when I was walking in the terraced garden behind the castle.

"Gabriella!" he called. "I have sad news to relate. General Voinea will not be able to visit us as he planned."

I was very disappointed and I suppose this showed in my face; Uncle Alexandru, as I called him, had promised to bring with him his niece and ward, Mademoiselle Cristesci, a young girl of about my same age. Her arrival - and the two week visit to follow - had been the subject of my fondest daydreams for some time.

Father sighed; putting an arm about my shoulders, he led me around the garden. "My poor little bird," he said, plucking a rich, crimson poppy as we passed and thrusting it into my hair. "I received a letter from Alexandru in the post. In a way, I am glad you never had the opportunity to meet young Mademoiselle Cristesci."

I wondered at that statement and begged Father to enlighten me as to what he meant.

"The poor girl has died," he replied. "May God Almighty rest her soul."

"But Father!" I exclaimed. "In Uncle Alexandru's last letter, her illness did not seem so dire or dangerous; that was only two months ago!"

Father sat me down on a nearby bench. "Read his letter for yourself," he said, offering me a much folded piece of correspondence.

I read it through once, then again - so strange and contradictory were the contents that I could scarcely comprehend it.

The letter read thusly:

"My dearest friend:

It is with deepest sorrow that I write to you and report that my daughter - for such as I thought of that bright angel, she who was my niece! - has, after a lingering illness, been taken from us most cruelly.

I curse and blame myself for this; I nurtured a serpent in my bosom when I believed I was providing gaiety and companionship for my beloved Natalia. That vile and monstrous creature who has stolen the soul of Natalia is the beast I have now sworn to destroy at whatever cost!

Know that I shall visit you in a few months time, in order to relate to you that which I dare not commit to paper. In the meanwhile, I will gather what information I can among the learned gentlemen, possibly even going as far as Vienna or Brussels.

Do not think me mad, my friend. My mind and my mission are clear. Take care and may the blessings of an old, repentant sinner keep you and yours safe from this present darkness.

I remain as always,
Your obedient and loving servant,
Gen. Alexandru Voinea"

I was aghast; strongly mingled with my sympathy for Uncle Alexandru's loss, I also felt a keen disappointment that made my eyes burn with tears. And yet I had a certain sense of curiosity and dread that made me wish to know more of poor Natalia's unfortunate circumstances. Father was at a loss to explain the General's strange words and references to monsters and serpents; he supposed that his old friend was naturally overcome with grief and had succumbed to hysteria.

Just then, all at once, without any warning, a fierce cold wind sprang up. Black stormclouds, swollen with fury, rolled in from the mountains, unleashing lightning and heavy, stinging rain from their ponderous bellies. Before my terrified gaze, a serpent's tongue of lightning lashed down from the heavens, striking a nearby tree and blasting it into smoking splinters that hissed and sizzled in the downpour.

Father and I dashed towards the safety of the schloss. Soon, we were marveling at our scant escape from the wrath of nature while white-faced servants hastened to bring dry clothing and hot drinks.

That storm, the wind, the hot lightning that struck again and again while we sat in comfortable ease, protected by our ancient stone walls - they were all portents, ill omens of things to come... had we only been wise enough to see.
 

CHAPTER TWO

It was later that evening, when the first fury of the storm had passed, that we were startled from sleep by a heavy, rhthymic banging on the iron-studded doors at the front of the schloss. 

I threw a knitted shawl about my shoulders and had to flinch back into my room as our housekeeper, Madame Bochinsky, flew past me down the hall, making for the great circular stair that spiraled up the center of our home. Father was hot on her heels. 

I have mentioned before of the isolation in which we spent our lives; visitors were few and far between. So I headed down the stairs, wondering what dire emergency had brought this mysterious and as yet unknown person (or persons) to the schloss. For such I deemed it must be; the peasants hereabouts are a superstitious and backward lot, much given to fancies of demons and devils that lurk in the night, and rarely venture from their rude huts after sunset. 

Arriving downstairs, I beheld quite a sight. A giant of a man stood there, drenched to the skin and dripping wet; puddles of icy water ran from his clothes and hair, puddling at his feet. In his arms he carried a slender, pale bundle; at first glance, I took it for a bunch of old clothing... until it stirred and I saw a graceful arm extend in a pleading gesture. 

It was a woman! 

I hurried over to the scene. Father, who had received some medical training while in service, was directing the giant to carry the poor, half-drowned girl to the parlor. In a few moments, servants stirred up the fire, others sent to fetch blankets and the like. With his own hands, Father poured the girl a dram of brandy and tenderly held it to her lips; her throat worked as she swallowed thirstily. 

I was fascinated by that throat; so swan-like, slender and delicate, the skin as pure and white as new ivory, so fine that a tracery of thin blue veins could be clearly seen. The arm matched the owner, for it too possessed grace and purity of line. I noticed that her fingernails were rather long and came to a wicked point... but then all conscious thought fled when the flickering light of the fire at last illuminated her face. 

Her face! Never will I forget that first, shocking view. My heart fluttered in my chest; I gasped and trembled, caught in the grip of a strong emotion that I did not consciously understand; to this day, I still do not comprehend why I should have reacted as I did. 

Nevertheless, I shall attempt to describe her to you, although mere words are not enough; it would take the genius of a master to capture her image in ink and oil, and I cannot claim such artistic eloquence in my poor prose. 

As Father peeled back the layers of cloth that surrounded her, I could see that she was older than myself but still quite young. Her hair was incredibly long and thick, of such a shade of purest black that I marveled. As wet and slick with rain as it was, that hair clung about her face and shoulders like an inky shadow. 

She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen; never have I met her match in looks or bearing. Her eyes, fringed by long sooty lashes, were of a color that is difficult to describe. To say that they were blue is not adequate. Have you ever looked deep into the heart of a candle flame and seen the brilliant, fiery blue that flickers there? And seeing that, have you looked still deeper and discovered that within those azure depths, there lies a further shade - a pale and glacier blue that is cool, and yet suggests a passionate conflagration that is far hotter than pure white heat. 

That was the color of her eyes. 

Father chafed her wrists and fussed about her, draping blankets and clucking like an old hen. My governess, Mademoiselle Daumier, stood nearby with a bottle of smelling salts, and Madame Bochinsky directed the servants with her usual bustling and commanding air. 

I tore my eyes away from the girl and focused on the giant, who stood patiently waiting. Having gotten the girl settled to his satisfaction, Father began to question the man, whom I recognized as being a wolf hunter who lived in a hut near the ruins of the old Dragomir estate, some three miles distance from our home. 

In halting French - the sole language we had in common - the hunter explained that he had been returning from checking his traps and had gotten caught in the storm. Struggling against the wind and rain, he thought he heard a high, thin voice calling for help. Following the sound, he came upon the unfortunate girl, who had apparently been attempting to cross the Bistrita River via an old wooden bridge; the river waters had risen significantly, swollen by the rain, and swept the bridge away. The girl had crawled out onto the bank and lay there, barely conscious, frozen to the bone. 

Our schloss was closer than the village; not wishing to bring the girl - whose delicacy and beauty suggested high birth - to his own hut, the hunter made the journey here, carrying her in his own arms the entire way. 

Father rewarded the hunter; I saw the gleam of gold pass between their hands. The hunter made his phlegmatic thanks and then disappeared back into the night, leaving only the whiff of moldering wolfskins behind him to remind us that his presence had not been a dream. 

The girl was carried carefully up the stairs and installed into a guest room; I burned to go to her but my governess forbid it. 

"She has been through enough," Mademoiselle Daumier said, drawing me aside with a firm grip. "Satisfy your curiosity in the morning. Too much more excitement, added to what she has already suffered, may be detrimental to her nervous state." 

I agreed reluctantly and sought my own bed. 

But throughout the remainder of the night, I tossed and turned until my sheets were twisted into knots about my restless limbs. I could not sleep; the beautiful face and eyes of the mysterious girl burned in my vision like a beacon... and I could not help but surrender myself to waking dreams until at last, the sun rose and released me from torment. 
  

CHAPTER THREE

As soon as I finished a hasty breakfast, I hurried to the girl's room.

Father was there already; upon seeing me, he drew me outside the bedroom and closed the door behind him. "Irina has suffered through a great ordeal," he began.

Quite forgetting my manners, I interrupted him rudely. "Oh! Is that her name, then? Irina?"

"Yes." Father stroked his mustache with a forefinger, as he was wont to do in moments of serious contemplation. "However, she has very little memory at the moment. She recollects her Christian name, that her family is a noble one, and hardly anything else. I suspect that the traumatic events of last night - and she does not remember how she came to be at the river or why she is in this country alone and unescorted - have erased a portion of her memory. Irina says she can clearly recall events from her childhood but her own mother's name is a mystery. She is quite understandably upset by all this; I urge you to be cautious in your dealings with her and refrain from adding to her emotional burden."

"Will she be staying with us?" I asked eagerly. Although I was certainly sympathetic to the unfortunate circumstances in which Irina found herself, I admit that the thought of having a companion staying at the schloss - even for an indeterminate period of time - was exciting to the lonely girl that I was.

Father nodded. "Yes, she will be staying. I can hardly turn her out into the forest, you know! I shall send a letter to the village doctor and also to the local authorities; perhaps someone will recognize her description and come forward with information."

He left me and I stood alone before the bedroom door.

I reached out slowly for the brass knob; once again, the strange emotion that had flooded my being on the previous night was sending shocking thrills through my veins. Irina! How very beautiful, how exotic it seemed. I repeated it quietly to myself a few times, enjoying the way the sound of her name passed across my lips like a soft caress.

Smiling and trembling a little in anticipation, I entered the bedroom, taking care that my footsteps did not clatter unpleasantly on the stone floor.

She was sitting up in bed, wrapped in one of Mademoiselle Daumier's quilted silk dressing gowns. Her hair was down; now dry, it swirled in intricate patterns across the bank of pillows that was propped behind her back, and continued to flow in an inky stream over the embroidered linen sheets.

I introduced myself, noting as I did so that her eyes seemed to gleam with appreciation and something else... was it hunger that I noticed there? But then the fleeting impression was gone; in its place was a melancholy sadness that seemed out of place in so young a girl.

After welcoming her properly, as I had been taught to do, I took my place on a stool beside the bed. By daylight, she was even more astonishingly beautiful; her cheeks were prettily tinted in a rosy hue, her crimson lips moist and glistening. She sat with a peculiar languorous grace, a sensuous and lazy pose that I would soon learn was her natural bearing. Irina's eyes were half closed, black lashes resting in shadowy curves on her cheeks. But suddenly she opened them wide and focused straight on me; I felt my heart thump crazily as I stared into those pools of impossible blue.

"Why, you delightful creature!" she purred. Her voice was husky, but still pleasing and musical in its tone. "If you were less pretty than you are, I believe I should be quite afraid. I am, after all, unwell; far away from home and family - at least, I assume I am far away as I have no recollection of either! - and alone in the midst of strangers. Still... I feel as if I know you. I am certainly drawn to you, Gabriella. In fact, I am positive that we shall be the best of friends."

She sighed and those incredibly pale eyes gazed passionately at me.

The truth is that I felt 'drawn to her' as she had said; the sense of strong attraction was unaccountably immense. But mingled with this was an ambiguous feeling of dread, as if she threatened me by her very presence. But Irina was beautiful, engaging and fascinating; as we chatted, I soon lost any apprehensions and fell entirely beneath her charming spell.

All too soon, however, I perceived a state of exhaustion stealing over her. I made as if to take my leave, saying, "I see you are tired and should probably rest. Father believes you ought to have a maid sitting up with you, at least for the next few days. It will only take me a moment to fetch her."

She stopped me with a gesture. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, shuddering a little. "I simply cannot sleep with another person in the room. I suffer from a terror of robbers; once, when I was a child, thieves entered our home and murdered two of the servants, so I always sleep alone with the door locked. It is a habit of mine; I do hope you'll forgive my silly little mania."

Irina held out her pretty arms and wound them about my neck in a warm embrace, whispering in my ear, "Darling girl, I hope to see you later this evening, after I have rested a bit. Oh, but it is so difficult to part... the only reason why I do not weep is because I know I shall see you soon again."

Her lips burned a little kiss into my cheek. I blushed; this close to her, I could smell her unique scent. It reminded me of sweet night lilies, the kind that only bloom beneath the full of the moon.

I stammered some sort of reply and left, casting a final backward glance over my shoulder. Irina smiled... and with that loveliness stamped into my memory, I stumbled away and went about the day's business.
   

CHAPTER FOUR
 

Although Irina joined us at dinner that evening, she did not eat much. She explained that she suffered from the most delicate of constitutions, requiring little in the way of sustenance to maintain body and soul. Irina nibbled delicately at a biscuit and drank a half glass of wine, but that was all.

Instead, she seemed to consume, even thrive, on conversation. She sparkled, charming Father and myself; Mademoiselle Daumier was most impressed with Irina's French, proclaiming that the beautiful girl spoke with the purest Parisian accent she had ever had the privilege of hearing.

Afterwards, she and I took a walk in the garden. I pointed out the lightning blasted tree; once a flourishing elm whose spreading branches had provided welcome shade in the summer heat, it was now a blackened, irregular stump that pointed like an accusing finger to the stars.

She sank down on a bench; I sat beside her. Taking her hand in mine, I exclaimed in surprise. "Why, Irina! Your poor little hand is chilled through; it seems positively icy! Shall I go fetch a shawl?"

She shook her head. The moon had come out, a silvery eye that shed an eldritch brilliance on the flowers and shrubs. "My blood is thin and weak," she replied. Irina lifted up our joined hands and laid the back of mine against her cheek. "Please do not go, do not leave me alone. Put your arms around me and we will share our heat."

I did so and she rested her head against my breast, her soft breath tickling the side of my throat.

I have said that she was a charming and fascinating creature; I have remarked upon her beauty and bearing. But aside from all this, I cannot say precisely why I felt so close to Irina. After all, we had only just met, but I already felt a sense of intimacy with her, as if we were two lost souls who had finally, after a separation of centuries, come together again.

Young people love or hate on impulse; we carelessly assign our hearts without consideration, learning discretion only when we gain sufficient age and maturity. The attention she gave me was flattering; the affection she had already shown towards me was delightful. I was impressed with the confidence and ardor with which she had received me. That we were destined to be good friends seemed a certainty.

She was taller than I, nearly as tall as Father, but her pliant body fitted itself against me perfectly. We gazed at the moon for a while in silence before returning to the schloss and thence, to bed.

I escorted Irina to her room; she paused before entering. Raising her hand, she briefly caressed my face and then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good night, darling Gabriella," she said.

"Good night," I replied. I gave her a brief hug; one last opportunity to savor the tantalizingly, lily sweet scent that seemed to emanate from her very pores.

She glided gracefully within and the door closed. I heard the key twist in the lock... a sound of finality, and I could not help but long for the sun's rising, so that I could once more bask in the melancholy beauty that was Irina.

Days passed and we grew closer, as two young girls do when they are thrust together without the benefit of any other company. No, it was more than that; as I spent more time in the company of Irina, I began to feel more and more attracted to her. Even my dreams took on strange and almost frightening tones; I dared not speak of my feelings, not even to the source of those unfamiliar and disturbing emotions. 

Irina commonly stayed abed until one o'clock in the afternoon; when she finally rose from slumber, she would usually accompany me for a walk in the yew alley, where we would speak of this and that. I would hold her hand or sometimes put a friendly arm about her waist, and it always thrilled me when these little gestures of mine were returned. 

She was not a terribly active girl; she preferred to recline on the tapestried divan in her dressing room, holding court with me in attendance as her willing slave. I would fetch books so she could read aloud to me; I would bring small treats like chocolates or fruit as she required. 

Irina acted like a queen, accepting my service readily; although we never spoke of our respective roles, I knew instinctively that where she would lead, I would gladly follow. 

Forever. 

CHAPTER FIVE
  
Although I tried to follow my Father's injunctions and not upset Irina unduly with questions about her past, I sometimes could not help but express my curiosity as to her origins, family and the like.

She would sigh, her gloriously pale eyes seeming to darken as if clouds of sadness were passing over a bright summer sky. And she would change the subject with a marked coldness that seemed far beyond her years, although she often blessed me with a melancholy smile meant to take the sting away.

I could not find it in my heart to be offended by her; instead, I was fascinated, drawing closer and closer to her. If I had only known what fire I was toying with! But even writing as I do, after an interval of nearly twelve years, I can honestly relate that - had I known the truth about Irina - I would have acted no differently.

There were times when a mysterious mood would seize her; drawing me down into her arms, laying her cheek against mine, she would murmur in a voice that sent trembling chills down my spine, "Gabriella! Darling! My sweetest, my dearest, my only one! I live now in your warm life but soon, you shall sweetly die in mine. I cannot help it; my love for you is too great to be denied. Oh, swear it, Gabriella! Swear we will never part again!"

And I, intoxicated by her scent, dizzy with an almost painful pleasure as her soft lips placed glowing kisses along my cheek and throat, would whisper some half-considered reassurances and sink down further into her adoring caresses, losing myself in the rapture of her embrace. I did not understand the meaning of her words but the emotion behind them was clear - Irina loved me and that was all that mattered.

Irina spoke and acted with the ardor of a lover in these moods and I... well, I doted upon her, and not a day passed when I did not with nervous anticipation long for the familiar smile, the nod, those outstretched and eager arms, the slender body that welcomed my hesitant and clumsy caresses so beautifully.

Sometimes she would whisper while stroking my hair, "You are mine! You and I are forever one!," and she would turn those impossibly blue eyes upon me in a languid but passionate gaze that nearly took my breath away.

All of this was conducted away from the eyes of my Father, Mademoiselle Daumier and the servants; I needed no urging from Irina to realize that we must be discreet. Adults, with their hidebound and formal ways, could never understand. We were as secretive as star-crossed lovers and even had our own little rituals, like leaving romantic notes for one another in the trunk of the burned oak tree.

Had he known, could Father have prevented the terrible tragedy that was to follow?

Perhaps. But again, I leap ahead of my story.

To continue my narrative in its proper course, I should relate that Irina and I were walking one day in the high grass at the edge of the forest. She was picking wildflowers and braiding them into a coronet. As we passed to and fro, we saw a funeral procession come winding out of the forest; a group of peasants carrying a wooden coffin.

I knew of the death; Father had told me that the pretty young daughter of a local swineherd had died unexpectedly of some type of fever. The girl had complained of being attacked in the night by a wild beast and nearly strangled; after steadily weakening over the course of a week, she finally succumbed. Father had insisted upon examining the body himself to ensure that the girl had not died of the plague.

As the peasants walked past, they began to sing a hymn with an intricate and beautiful harmony. I listened with pleasure until Irina grabbed my arm, squeezing it quite painfully. I turned to her with a reproach on my lips, but that impulse died the moment I saw her. The twisted expression on her face spoke of considerable pain; her eyes were wild and fluttering. She clung to me and I exclaimed over the extraordinary strength of her grip.

"Take me away from here," she whimpered. Putting my arms about  her slender waist, I realized she was quivering in agitation.

I led her away from the scene, murmuring soothing nonsense. When we reached the schloss, she sank down gratefully on a garden bench; I held her until the seizure had passed.

She stirred in my embrace weakly. "How terrible!" she said in a soft little voice. "Such disconcordance! It affected my nerves horribly. I simply could not withstand it another moment."

I was amazed and replied, "But it was really quite sweet. I don't understand why you thought the singing so terrible."

Irina glanced at me from beneath her lashes and I fancied her eyes flashed with irritation. "I have never cared for church hymns," she murmured. "The religion of my ancestors is a different one from your own. That peasant singing - ugh! How ill it made me feel. Hold me, darling Gabriella... hold me. I feel so very faint."

I tightened my arms about her, pressing her head down upon my breast until the tremors ceased once more. 
 

CHAPTER SIX
 

I wondered at her unusual reaction but decided not to mention the subject as it seemed to upset her. Instead, I ventured to begin a conversation by asking, "Do you suppose we are in for another plague of fevers? This is the third person to die in the month; I heard one of the maids telling my governess that the peasants believe it is being caused by a ghost."

"Don't speak to me of ghosts, darling," Irina said, although she did not draw away from my embrace but instead pressed herself more closely to me. "If you do, I'll not get a wink of sleep tonight."

An imp of mischief seized me; hiding my sudden grin in her hair, I said, "Ah, but this is a terrible ghost indeed! All pale and thin, with the shape of a woman, the peasants say it is the vengeful spirit of Rinia, Countess of Dragomir, come to revenge herself on those who killed her demon lover."

I laughed in what I supposed was a sinister fashion. Her reaction surprised me greatly.

Irina gave a strangled scream. Tearing herself out of my arms, she said vehemently, "What do those filthy peasants know? What can they know?," and she fell to her knees in the grass, sobbing wildly.

To say I was alarmed would be an understatement; I immediately flung myself down beside her and gathered her close to me, stammering apologies over and over again. At last, she fell silent, her face covered by stray locks of black hair.

"Leave me," Irina said abruptly.

I was aghast; berating myself for my foolish behavior, I begged her not to send me away. Still without looking at me, keeping her face averted, she said, "Please, darling. I am over my fright and I would not have you see me all tear stained. Go back to the house and wait for me; I will join you in a little while."

I had no choice. I left her there in the garden, and when I had reached my own room, I threw myself down on the bed and wept myself to sleep.

My worst fear at the time was that Irina would have nothing further to do with me after my backfiring jest; to my great and heartfelt relief, the opposite was true. 

Rather than pushing me aside, she welcomed me with further protestations of love, more caresses, more time spent in the comforting and pleasurable circle of her arms. I gradually forgot about her strange reaction to the funeral hymn and contented myself with drowning in Irina's fragrance, willingly mesmerized by the husky music of her voice. 

Once, she asked me, "Are you afraid to die?" 

Twisting a lock of her hair between my fingers, I answered in an off-hand manner, "Isn't everyone?" 

"To die like lovers - to be together forever - wouldn't you find that glorious rather than frightening?" 

I shrugged and replied, "Does it matter? Everyone dies in the end." 

Suddenly, Irina's fingers bit into my shoulders, her wickedly sharp nails searing into my skin like brands. I flinched and she immediately released me. "Have I hurt you, darling? Let me see," and carefully drawing down the bodice of my gown a little, peered at my 'wound.' 

"A scratch," was her verdict. "Only a tiny bit of blood, just a drop really. But still..." 

Before I could say anything, I felt her lips fasten upon the flesh of my shoulder. I quivered; a sensation like a red hot flame passed through my body. Dimly, I heard her say in satisfaction, "There, it's all clean. You can't be too careful, Gabriella. Even the tiniest wound can fester and make you ill." 

I felt her clever fingers readjust my bodice. When I came to my senses, I could see that her crimson lips were curved in a small, almost gloating smile. 

I was frightened, perhaps even a bit repelled, but I smiled in return. 

"I think you're right," I said, my voice shaking a little. "To die for love is surely the greatest thing of all." 

Irina smiled again, approval and satisfaction radiating from her eyes. Lazily, she lay back on the divan and beckoned with a graceful wave of her hand. "Come to me," she purred as I settled down beside her; the sweet lily scent of her body rising about me like a dizzying cloud. "We will be together forever, my darling, dearest Gabriella. Nothing will ever separate us again... neither life nor death." 

She stroked my hair, and any fears or confusion I may have felt vanished as I surrendered once again to the seductive spell of Irina. 
 

CHAPTER SEVEN
 

I had taken to emulating Irina in locking my bedroom door at night; I do not know why I should have done this, only I suppose that I adored her so much that I wished to follow her in every sense. 

The night after my strange conversation about love and death with Irina, I suffered from a terrible dream. I call it a dream, because I do not know how else to describe this singular event; at the time, the experience was to me both a terrifying nightmare and an all-too-real occurrence that was not entirely unwelcome. 

But you shall make your own judgment. 

The evening was unusually warm, so I had thrown open the window to catch any stray breeze. I had no fear of robbers; my bedroom was on the third floor of the schloss and it would take an unusually clever and agile thief to make the perilous journey up the ivy-wound walls. 

I wore my thinnest cotton nightgown, a pretty thing of frills, ribbons and lace, which Irina had much admired. When at last I fell asleep, my peaceful slumber was disturbed by a nightmare; so frightening and seductive it was that even now, my hand trembles to write of it. 

It seemed that I lay in my bed; a thin stream of watery moonlight pooled on the floor beneath the window. Suddenly, a dark cloud passed through the open casement; it seemed like some great, black cat that prowled silently back and forth, casting its head to and fro as it searched for any sign of its prey. 

It lifted its head and I was paralyzed at the sight of its enormous, luminous eyes; eyes that burned with a pale blue flame which both mesmerized and repelled. Before I could shake off my terror, the beast leaped upon me; I could feel the prickle of its claws upon my shoulders. I closed my eyes, terrified beyond belief, but utterly incapable of making a sound or moving so much as an inch. 

My nightgown slid from my shoulders smoothly, then was pulled down to my waist, exposing my flesh to the beast's hot gaze. All at once, I felt a stinging pain as if two cold and razor sharp needles had been inserted deep within my breast. I drew a shuddering breath and my hands flew up in protest. But instead of the dense fur I expected, beneath my palms I felt a familiar form - Irina's long black hair and the fine shape of her skull. 

My eyes opened and met the passionate gaze of Irina. She lay atop me, her face buried in my breast, eyes rolled up to meet mine. The icy pain I had felt melted smoothly away and in its place came a warm, liquid sensation that flooded me with transports of delight. I groaned, I think, and caressed her hair. 

But the delicious feeling passed away all too quickly. Irina lifted her head and licked her crimson lips; they seemed even redder in the pale moonlight, as if she had smeared them with rubies of blood. She kissed my mouth lightly and whispered, "Together, my Gabriella, my love. Forever." 

Then she seemed to float away and vanish. 

I awoke with a gasp; the room was empty and I was alone. 

I was loathe to discuss the dream with anyone, including Irina. Indeed, I had almost forgotten the details. Father remarked that I seemed a little wan and pale when I came down to breakfast, but I was saved from telling him a lie by the arrival of the greasy-haired and pock-marked son of the picture cleaner, who had come all the way from Baiamare, driving a horse and cart laden with large, flat packages. 

Baiamare is a long way from Bucharest, but it is still far larger than our own little village of Patradornei. Whenever anyone from the town had occasion to visit, it created a sensation; we all crowded the halls, eager to hear the latest news. Isolated as we were, it was easy to forget that another world existed outside our vast forests and mountains. 

The cases were brought into the hall of the schloss, my Father on hand with a list. The schloss had many fine, ancient paintings, nearly all portraits, and all of them coming to us from my poor late mother, whom I have already mentioned was descended from the old Dragomir line. These paintings had been sent away to be cleaned and renovated months ago, their canvases having been dreadfully obscured by the dirt, smoke and filth of ages of neglect. 

As the artist unpacked his crates, Father read numbers aloud from his list. The artist then rummaged among the paintings, producing the matching work. I do not know if they were good or not; the portraits mostly depicted men and women in strange, exotic costumes, smothered in flashing jewels and cloth-of-gold. The only thing they had in common was the look of glittering pride each one radiated in both bearing and expression. The Dragomir line was a haughty tribe from the look of it; I was glad that there was no chance of my meeting one of those uncommonly proud and richly dressed people. 

Father frowned, consulting his list. "I haven't seen this one yet," he said, then read the number aloud. As the artist searched, he continued, "It is framed in gilt. In one corner, as nearly as I could make it out, was the date 1631 and a name - Ryna Dragomir. I am curious to see how it came out, since it was one of the most damaged pieces." 

Irina, who was present, watched all of the proceedings with a listless smile, her elegant body draped languidly upon a settee. I had declined her invitation to sit beside her; I was too keenly interested in seeing the picture cleaner's work. I remembered all these paintings as mere vague blobs of shadow and ochre smears, and was eager to see how well they had been restored. 

The artist produced the aforementioned painting, holding it respectfully between his fingertips. I remembered that this was a small picture so blackened by age that it had been impossible to glean any details save those Father had mentioned. 

When I saw the portrait, I was electrified. I gasped and flushed with surprise. 

For portrayed there on the canvas was the face of woman from one hundred fifty years ago... 

And it was none other than Irina! 
 

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Irina!" I exclaimed. "Why, it is your very likeness! How amazing! Father, what does the inscription say?" 

He took the painting from the artist's hands and examined the upper corner. "Well, the date is certainly 1631 but the name is not as I thought. See, a small gilt crown above and below? The inscription reads 'Rinia, Countess of Dragomir.' Are you perhaps related to that line, Irina? The main branch is extinct but my dear departed wife was connected through a distant relation." 

Irina's lips stretched in a lazy smile. "I cannot remember," she replied. Her body shifted on the settee; it seemed to mold itself more fully to the curved seat. "There is still a great portion of my memory that remains a mystery to me. I can say that such a connection is likely; my family, as I have said before, is an ancient and noble one - of that I am sure." 

Father looked at her in sympathy. "Poor girl," he murmured. 

I touched his wrist. "May I have the painting, Father? I want to hang it in my room." 

"Why, of course!" he answered. "It is a pretty thing, isn't it? The cleaner did some extraordinary work..." and here he broke off, turning to the artist and discoursing with the man about the portraits. After I gently tugged on the arm of his jacket, Father absently handing the picture to me. 

It was not terribly large, only two foot square, but I was amazed at how much detail had been revealed. The face of the Countess - even the eyes had been captured in all their pale and fiery blue glory! - was so like Irina's. I touched the crackled varnish reverently. 

Irina joined me; looking over my shoulder, she said, "Are you really related to the House of Dragomir?" 

"Through my mother," I answered. "Although the connection is quite a distant one." 

She nodded. "Let us hang this picture in your room," she said, linking her arm through mine and guiding me to the staircase. Leaning over and putting her mouth next to my ear, she whispered, "Then you can dream that I watch over you in your sleep... and can see everything you do in that bedroom of yours." 

The way she emphasized the word "everything" made me shiver with excitement, mingled with a cold little trickle of apprehension that wound its way down my spine. 

Before I went to bed that night, I examined the wound on my breast. I call it a wound, but it was hardly more than a scratch; two tiny marks surrounded by a bluish bruise. 

I had already thrust the dream from my waking mind; a defense, I suppose, against the accidental revealment of an unwelcome truth. I loved Irina, she loved me... thus, she would never, could never, harm me. So I blocked certain details of that visitation from my mind, remembering only a childish nightmare about a cat-beast with glowing eyes. 

I decided that when I'd pinned my shawl, I must have accidentally caught some flesh within the pin. It seemed a reasonable enough explanation, so I gave the matter no more thought and went to my bed. Before blowing out the night candle, I looked once again at the portrait of the Countess; Irina had insisted on hanging it so that the woman's face peered into mine directly across the room. 

Sleep did not come lightly or easily, but at last, exhausted, I tumbled into a deep slumber. 

Again, it seemed as if I dreamed of the black cloud that passed through the stone walls like a mist. I saw once more the beautiful face of Irina; I felt her slim and clever fingers caress me with smooth, soothing strokes that became ever bolder and more confident.  Twin agonies of icy needles stabbed into my breast... and again, after the pain I experienced that strange but pleasant feeling of lassitude and oily warmth. But this time, the feeling grew stronger and stronger until I felt as if hot lightning ran in my veins; my breath rose and fell faster, my heart thumped crazily until I knew it must burst. 

Then, as I stared into Irina's beautiful eyes, I reached an unknown pinnacle and fell, passing through burning universes and spinning stars that lashed my flesh with rapturous sensations, thrummed in vibrations of sweet and pleasurable pain that left me gasping for air, my hands tangled in her long dark hair. At last, I lay still, my sweat-beaded body covered and embraced by hers. 

While we lay together, she whispered to me of things wonderful, bizarre and so passing strange that I could hardly contemplate them. But I listened, stroking her hair and her back, while she spun her fantastic tale. 

I, young and innocent though I was, knew that I had somehow passed a point of no return; no matter what lay ahead, I had made my choice, chosen my destiny... and that destiny was Irina.

CHAPTER NINE
 
 We lay together, Irina and I, in my bed, our bodies washed by milky moonlight.

"We have been together forever," she whispered, her head pillowed on my breast. The small wound I had noticed there earlier now stung and burned a little. "From time immemorial have the gods permitted us to join and rejoin in life after life. We crawled from the sea together, where all creation began; our souls will remain entwined in singular destiny until the earth itself is no more."

I listened in silence, the husky music of her voice, the growing warmth of her flesh, that sweet lily scent that was so uniquely hers soothing me like a lullaby.

Irina continued, "Do you remember, darling Gabriella? Do you remember the fatal night when you were lost to me? When my foolish mistake nearly cost us the promise of eternal unity? Oh, Gabriella... how I have longed for you through all the lost, lonely years! I have prayed for your forgiveness; I have beseeched the silent and unreachable gods to bring you to me. And at last, when my hope had nearly vanished, I found you once more."

Finally finding my voice, I spoke. "I don't understand these past lives you speak of, but I do know... in this life, and in any other, I love you, Irina."

She tenderly placed glowing kisses in the hollow of my throat. "Will you stay with me forever? Will you sacrifice everything to be with me?"

I nodded.

"There is no love without sacrifice and no sacrifice without blood." She lifted her head and stared at me solemnly. "Do you know what I ask? Can you know?"

When I gave a hesitant shake of my head, Irina began to explain. In my lethargic state, I accepted the things she told me without question. She would never lie to me, of that much I was certain. When she finished, I took a deep breath, steeling my resolve, and said, "I would follow you into death and beyond. I would die for you, I would live for you. Where you lead I gladly follow."

The cock crowed, announcing the arrival of dawn. Irina sighed; gazing at me passionately from beneath her thick, dark lashes, she said, "I must go now and make preparations. I will come again to you, my dearest love, my finest treasure. Wait for me."

And giving me a final kiss from those wet, crimson lips, she glided away and vanished.

But this time, when the spell had dissipated and I came to my senses... I knew far more about Irina - and myself - than I ever had before.

Before I relate to you the incredible events which were to follow, I will - in the interest of my narrative - tell you Irina's tale. You will think me mad; you will call me delusional and hysterical, to believe such dramatic nonsense as her story seems, but I implore you to have faith in my veracity and listen with an open, if skeptical, mind. 

Irina confirmed that she was indeed Rinia, Countess Dragomir. Not the reincarnation of that noble lady from a century and a half ago, but Rinia herself. I still find it hard to connect my darling girl with that - so it was believed - long dead woman, so I will continue to call her Irina, for that is the name under which she came to me and the name I learned to love. 

She told me that she had lived with and loved a distant cousin named Tereza, member of a family clan related by blood - however thin - to the Dragomir line. Irina and Tereza, once meeting and recognizing within one another that timeless and destined connection of souls, became lovers and more. They dwelled with complete and utter happiness in Castle Dragomir, which Irina had received as an inheritance from her departed mother. 

Irina gave many great balls and parties for the nobility, some coming from as far away as Bucharest and Hungary to attend the Romanian Countess' famous soirees. At one of these balls, a masquerade dance, she met a stranger who was to change her life - and poor Tereza's - for the worst, destroying that which the women held so precious and dear. 

The stranger introduced herself as Elisabetha, Countess of Bathory. 
 

CHAPTER TEN
 

"You cannot be the Blood Countess," Irina said to her. "She died seventeen years ago, walled up in Castle Cachtice in punishment for killing over 600 peasants." 

The stranger smiled. All that could be seen of her features, since she wore an elaborately feathered mask in the shape of a raven, was her curious smile; she possessed a pair of thin, needle sharp upper teeth that gave her a sinister feline expression. "Ah... reports of my death were highly exaggerated," she replied, fluttering her fan. "I am indeed Countess Bathory. But you, my dear Countess Dragomir, may call me Elisabetha." 

Irina was delighted by the woman's boldness and would not hear of her being ejected, as some of the more pretentious guests had suggested. She and the mysterious Elisabetha flirted and sparred throughout the evening; Tereza had not been able to attend the ball, having come down with a slight fever. Irina was bored and lonely, and the interaction she had that evening with the self-proclaimed Hungarian Countess was, to her, the most diverting and entertainment moments of her life. 

But the choice to allow the stranger would turn out to be the most terrible and unfortunate decision she could have made. 

Irina found Elisabetha intelligent and extraordinarily beautiful, with the whitest skin she had ever seen and an engaging pair of brown eyes that sparkled and flashed with a light that seemed half insanity, half cunning. Her hair was the very color of summer sunshine, a pure spun gold that caught the candlelight and created an aureole around her head like a halo. In Irina's words, this Elisabetha had the look of a sinful saint, the face of a fallen angel, and more than enough wit to match. 

As the evening progressed, Irina began to feel some type of connection with this woman; as she told me in a voice half-choked with grief, "I felt something for her. Not the love I had for Tereza; no, this was different. Attraction and repulsion, fascination and disgust. All at once. I did not know why then, but I do now. It may sound strange, but Elisabetha captured me somehow, entranced me with those half-mad eyes of hers, put me under some kind of spell. I came to find out  - too late! - that she is an ancient enemy of the Dragomir line, seeking always to destroy that which the gods have decreed united. Oh, if I had only known!" 

But Irina, having fallen completely beneath Elisabetha's spell, readily accepted the Countess' coy invitation to rendezvous the following night. They came together breathlessly, a clash of lightnings and storms, an orgy of raging lust and maddened desires that could not be denied. And afterward, Irina was sickened... but when Elisabetha beckoned a second time and then a third, Irina could not resist returning again and again with the Countess' dangerous fire. 

Thus began a dance of seduction and sensuous spells, with Elisabetha weaving her dark web ever closer around Irina. Tereza, still ill, never suspected that her dearest lover was caught in the grip of infatuation with another. At last, when Elisabetha's witchcraft held Irina firmly in its grasp, this Hungarian enchantress - who was indeed the universally despised Countess Bathory - took Irina's life in an orgy of blood and death... but within that death were planted the seeds of un-life. 

For Elisabetha was a vampyr. 

As Irina explained it to me, a vampyr is a revenant, the soul of a deceased person trapped forever within their unliving but animated flesh. They suffer from the hunger, the irresistible craving for human blood, and will do anything to obtain it. If they deny this terrible thirst, then after descending into hellish agonies and torments, they revert to an animalistic state and kill anything they can find before coming to their senses. 

Elisabetha, Countess of Bathory, had been visited by a vampyr after she had languished for three years in her sealed and lonely prison. Seduced by its promise of everlasting youth and captivated by idea of killing without consequence, Elisabetha eagerly accepted the revenant's embrace and disappeared from history's view. 

Surely, you ask, if Elisabeth wished the utter destruction of House Dragomir, she would not have made one of its members a virtual immortal like herself, thus creating a vengeful enemy who was just as strong and powerful as she! 

True... therefore, allow me to make the circumstances clear to you. 

Irina told me that Elisabetha did not intend to make her a vampyr. You see, the only way one of these creatures can create another of its kind is by draining the blood of its victim to the very brink of death and then forcing the victim to drink some of the dark substance that runs within the vampyr's own veins. 

On the fateful night, the two women had agreed to an assignation in the woods outside Castle Dragomir, a mile away from the estates. Irina knew of a little cottage there, run down and abandoned but still not without its comforts and charm. So Irina, all innocent of Elisabetha's true intentions and palpating with scarcely contained excitement, made her way to the hut. It was there that she found, not the lovely and fascinating woman whom she expected, but a ravening beast that leaped upon her, needle-like fangs burying in her throat. 

When the monster attacked, Irina stabbed at it with a small knife she always kept concealed between her breasts. Thus, as the Blood Countess drained her of life, a trickle of the vampyr's blood passed between her lips and she unconsciously swallowed. Then she fell into a deep, dreamless stupor. 

When Irina regained consciousness, three days had passed. Raging with an uncontrollable thirst and nearly insane with need, she killed a deer and drained its body in a moment. But that was not enough to satisfy the hunger that stabbed and twisted in her belly like razor sharp knives. A passing woodsman was her next victim; the peasant fellow never knew what attacked him there in the thick woods. 

Coming to herself once gain, Irina was appalled at what she had become. In Romania and other parts of the world, where our so-called civilization has not taken a firmer hold, the old superstitions are still discussed and believed with a fervor like that of a priest to his Church. So Irina knew she had died and been reborn into the non-life of a vampyr. 

Elisabetha of Bathory was gone; no trace remained and Irina never saw her again. 

In the first few moments of consciousness, Irina considered suicide, killing herself rather than face the consequences of her foolish actions. She was consumed by guilt; she had failed Tereza, the woman she loved; she was condemned to an undead and undying existence that could last for centuries and beyond. 

The only way she and Tereza could remain together was if she damned her beloved to the same undeath she now experienced. 

Irina was truly in Hell. 

But the desire for life - even unlife - burns within all of us, a force outside of our control. Self-destruction was no real answer. She must live, hiding her secret from all, concealing that which she had become. 

For a time, the deception worked. But soon, Tereza became suspicious and began to wonder why her lover disappeared nearly every night, returning home only just before dawn. There was a fear of plague beginning; many of the peasants who lived in the forest surrounding Castle Dragomir were dying of a mysterious wasting fever, sometimes passing away between one night and the next. 

Tereza, believing Irina was guilty of some sin - no doubt adultery was among her suspicions - followed Irina one evening, carefully tracking her through the forest. 

Once, she lost the trail, but soon picked it up again. Rounding a corner, she saw Irina... and her heart stopped with horror. 

Irina, covered in blood from chin to knees, was kneeling beside her victim - a young girl, daughter of the local blacksmith. The child was lifeless and Irina nuzzled at her throat, seeking further sustenance. 

You can guess the end of the tale. Tereza, nearly insane with horror at the monstrous sight of her lover - the great and all consuming passion of her life  reduced to an undead and damned creature, the dreaded vampyr - ran wildly back to the castle. Before she could be stopped, Tereza hurled herself from the upper battlements, seeking to obliterate that searing and soul-shaking sight in death. 

And Irina, mad with grief, slew all who served or walked within Castle Dragomir's walls, and left Romania to travel for many years in the countries of the world... seeking always for her lost Tereza. 

Me. 
 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

There was a great to-do when Irina's disappearance was noticed. Where had she gone? What was to be done? A letter was found beneath her pillow and I delivered it to Father, pretending to be disappointed and worried that she had left without a word. 

Father read the letter, stroking his mustache. "It says that she feels she has impinged upon our hospitality enough; she thanks us quite prettily for the trouble we have taken and hopes that we are blessed for taking a poor and injured girl beneath our wing. Irina goes on to say that her memory has recovered sufficiently to cause her to recollect that her father has family in this country; she has made arrangements to leave by the postal coach from Patradornei in order to seek them out. She apologizes for leaving so suddenly but feared that we might feel obliged to lend her escort or money, and she has no need of trespassing on our generosity any longer." 

He put the folded bit of paper down beside his plate; he was in midst of breaking his fast. A thing I may not have mentioned about Father is that he is a very deliberate and careful man; when others race about, losing their heads, Father sits quietly and contemplates the circumstances until he has arrived at a favorable solution. 

I had earlier anointed my handkerchief with sal volatile; I now held it to my face and inhaled. The acrid fumes nearly choked me but they produced sufficient tears. "Oh!" I cried, feeling very much the stage performer, "Why did she leave without a word! I thought we were friends!" 

And with other protestations and exclamations of dismay, leading Father to recommend with a concerned air that I go immediately to my rooms and lie down to calm my nerves... I gladly went upstairs to dream of my beloved Irina. 

Two days after Irina had gone, we received an unexpected visit. General Alexandru Voinea - Uncle Alexandru, as I called him - arrived in the company of a strange gentleman. 

Uncle Alexandru introduced the gentleman as Baron Oktov Grosskopf, an Austrian philosopher and doctor of no little repute and learning. 

My dear uncle was haggard; his wavy dark hair now branded with two wide streaks of silver at his temples. We greeted him and his guest with enthusiasm, offering much love and sympathy for the loss of his niece. 

Greetings finally over, we all retired to the formal parlor for refreshments. Over cold meat, cheese and bread, he began to tell us of the death of his ward, the lovely Natalia Cristesci. 

Uncle Alexandru spoke of a sudden storm which had whipped up out of nowhere. Some of his horses escaped from their paddock; my uncle prides himself on breeding the finest racehorses in the country and sent some of his servants to fetch them back before they could be injured. His servants returned after a few hours, the horses successfully retrieved... and bearing as well a slender and elegant girl. 

The girl claimed to have no memory, other than her Christian name of Raini. Natalia was delighted with her and begged Uncle Alexandru to allow her to stay. Soon after, Natalia began to waste away, often complaining of nightmares and a sensation of being drained. The morning Natalia died, the girl Raini disappeared. 

You will have already seen a connection between Uncle Alexandru's mysterious guest and the circumstances of Irina's arrival to our own schloss. My Father, a clever man, was just as quick. 

"That is a familiar tale!" he cried. 

Baron Grosskopf wore spectacles perched on the end of his long, thin nose. Now they flashed in Father's direction. "Oh?" he asked casually. "How so?" 

Father told them of Irina... and soon, all eyes turned towards me. 

"I know no more of her than you do," I said, feeling the uncomfortably piercing gaze of three sets of eyes. 

Father snapped his fingers. "I recently received a shipment of old portraits that I had sent out to be cleaned...," he began, turning back to the two gentlemen. 

I immediately knew in which direction this observation was heading. Comparing the portrait of Countess Rinia with his visitor, Uncle Alexandru would know the truth. 

I made a hasty excuse and left the parlor, fleeing up the stairs to my bedroom. 

Once there, I tore the picture from the wall and held it clutched to my bosom, looking this way and that for a hiding place. All too soon, I heard booted footsteps echoing up the stairway and down the hall. I had to do something! My heart thudding with fear, I thrust the portrait beneath the bed and sat down at my dressing table, pulling the pins from my hair with fingers that trembled. 

A knock sounded at the door. Controlling my voice with an effort, I called, "Come in!" as cheerfully as I could. 

Around the corner peered the concerned face of my Father. "May we come in, Gabriella?," he asked. "The General and the Baron wish to see that portrait of Countess Dragomir that you have." 

"Portrait?" I asked with a little laugh as the three men entered. "Oh, that old thing!" I wrinkled my nose and began to brush my hair. "I gave it to one of the servants because I was tired of being stared at all night." 

Baron Grosskopf frowned. His face was creased with care; deeply carved lines in his high, broad forehead became deeper still. "Are you certain of this, Miss Gabriella?" he asked. 

"Do you doubt me, Baron?" I retorted. 

I admit I had not reckoned on the cleverness of my opponents - for such as I thought of them. Uncle Alexandru, his sharp eye spotting the nail where the painting had hung, looked around the room, seeking likely hiding places. Suddenly, he knelt on the floor and thrust his head beneath the bed. 

I leaped up from my seat. "Get out, all of you!" I cried, shaking my hairbrush in agitation. "You have no right!" 

"On the contrary," Uncle Alexandru said, backing away from the bed and standing up. In his hands he held the portrait; Countess Rinia's face - so beautifully and lovingly restored - reminded me so much of Irina that I felt a sharp pang behind my breastbone. 

Uncle Alexandru continued, "I have every right... for you see, here is the face of the fiend who took my darling Natalia's life! The monster, the blood maddened murderess who insinuated herself into my home and hearth, and in gratitude, sucked the very soul from my daughter!" He pointed at the picture with a shaking hand. "I knew her as the girl Raina, but what I see before me now is none other than the damned undead... a vampyr!" 

I drew in a deep breath and fought to keep from fainting. 
 

CHAPTER TWELVE
 

Baron Grosskopf removed his spectacles and cleaned them with an immaculate handkerchief. I could see now that he had watery blue eyes that protruded a little; those eyes, combined with the lines and folds of his cheeks and forehead, gave him the look of a benevolent toad. "May I speak to you a moment?" he asked Father mildly, drawing him aside. 

Uncle Alexandru stood blankly in the middle of the room, holding the Countess' portrait and mumbling to himself. He looked so lost and alone, dazed and filled with helpless, frustrated anger. Part of me longed to go to him, to soothe his distress. But another part of me, a dark and cunning place that I had never known existed, remembered Irina and stayed watchful and silent. 

Baron Grosskopf conversed with Father for many long minutes; Father listened gravely, sometimes nodding his head and asking a muffled question. I could not hear what was being said, so I sat back down at my dressing table and began pinning up my hair, maintaining an air of calm despite my inner tremblings. 

Quietly, so stealthily that I never heard them, Father and the Baron approached me. I glanced up; seeing Father's face reflected in my mirror, I smiled, although I also started with a bit of surprise. Suddenly, I felt his strong hands bite into my shoulders! I protested but he held me all the stronger, pushing me down into the chair and holding me there by force. 

I screamed and struggled but he was adamant and nodded to the Baron, obviously a pre-arranged signal. I felt the Baron's pudgy fingers fumbling as they unbuttoned the high neck of my gown. Oh, how I fought! Like a wildcat, spitting and nearly howling with rage and indignation. But Father's grip held me firm. 

Baron Grosskopf finished, having unbuttoned my dress just to a little below my collarbone. Drawing apart the sides, he grabbed my chin and peered at my throat, first one side and then the other. At last, he released me with a sigh. Father let go of me as well;  I sprang up from the chair, panting and quivering with fury. 

"She bears not the mark," the Baron said with, I thought, a touch of disappointment. 

Father apologized for his conduct; Baron Grosskopf had considered the examination necessary but had insisted on not forewarning me. 

I re-buttoned my dress, glaring at the both of them. Uncle Alexandru laid the portrait down on my bed; tears sparkled in his eyes but did not fall. "Gabriella must be protected," he said. 

"I agree completely," the Baron replied with a flash of his spectacles. "Young lady, I apologize as well for the rudeness, the rough and ungentlemanly way in which we have treated your person. I implore you to believe that we had only the best of intentions, as well as your safety, in mind." 

I controlled my anger with an effort. "Oh?" I said coldly. "Pray, what were you seeking? What did you think you would find?" 

"The answer to that I will relate shortly," Baron Grosskopf said. "I suggest we all retire to the downstairs parlor and have a drop of brandy to calm our nerves. Then I promise, all will be made clear." 

As I passed the bed, I picked up the portrait and laid it on a table next to my writing desk. Uncle Alexandru looked at me with glittering eyes; I knew he wondered why I had hidden the picture. Before he could voice his speculations, I said with an air of complete unconcern, "The servants here can be lazy sometimes. You have found it so yourself at home, I suppose? No doubt the wench put the picture beneath the bed, rather than getting rid of it as I requested." 

That seemed to satisfy him. 

We retired to the parlor, to await Baron Grosskopf's explanations. 

"The vampyr or revenant," the Baron began, thrusting his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat as if he were lecturing a classroom full of medical students, "is not a living creature. Nor is it entirely dead; instead, it is an unrestful soul who though some circumstance - sometimes suicide, sometimes the attack of a revenant - becomes trapped within a 'living' corpse. They sustain this unnatural existence only by the consumption of human blood. 

"I have studied all of the lore - the Magia Posthuma, the Philosophicae et Christianae Cogitationes de Vampiris, the Augustinus de cura pro Motruis - these and a thousand other literary and learned works all provide discourse on the vampyr. I know that they must rest on the soil of their birthplace to regain their strength; that they can change their form, metamorphisizing into a mist, a wolf, a bat; that they often exude a curious fragrance that seems to emanate from their pores, a scent that has been described as being closest to that of Oleaceae jasminum grandiflorum, or moonflower; so named for its habit of blossoming only at night. 

"The vampyr despises running water and will avoid it if he can. The rushing, elemental life force of water drains his powers, leaving helpless and weak. 

"Despite superstitious beliefs, the vampyr does not resemble a corpse in his complexion. They appear to be quite beautiful and graceful, although they often exhibit a certain lassitude or languor during the daylight hours." 

The Baron paused to take a grateful swallow from his glass of brandy. Wiping his small and bristling mustache with a finger, he continued his discourse. 

"The vampyr fears only three things - holy water, the crucifix and garlic. Holy prayers or hymns when recited aloud can weaken him. And the only way to ensure the total annihilation of the creature is to drive a stake through his heart, cut off his head, and after burning the remains, scatter them into a river or running stream. Only thus can we be sure that the vampyr will not return." 

Hearing all this, I felt dizzy and somewhat sickened. I turned my head and met Uncle Alexandru's gaze; seeing concern as well as suspicion there, I steeled myself. It would not do to show any sign of weakness in this company. 

So, that was the fate they intended for my beloved Irina? 

I swore in my heart that I would die first.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Speaking to Father, Baron Grosskopf said, "I do not understand why the vampyr has not yet attacked Gabriella. But it is clear, after studying the Countess' pattern, that this dear girl is intended to be her next victim." He patted me on the hand in what he obviously thought was a comforting gesture. 

"Do not fear, little miss," the Baron continued. "We will keep you safe. Certain precautions will have to be taken; I will direct your servants in the matter... with your permission, of course." 

"Of course," I replied, forcing a quaver into my voice. "I do not know what I should do or how I should feel! She has been here all this time, pretending... she acted like a sister to me... oh!" I artfully buried my face in my hands, so they could not see how I smiled - yes, I smiled because of the tremendous sense of self-satisfaction and triumph I felt at fooling these so-called wise men. 

I did not dare give them the slightest hint of how I truly felt... instead I sniffled and sobbed like a child who has lost her dearest friend. 

They took it for an hysterical outburst; after patting me on the back, offering a snifter of brandy and handkerchiefs, the general consensus was that I should retire to my rooms and rest. 

I obeyed their instructions, even going so far as to help the servants hang swags of garlic around the windows; when Uncle Alexandru gave me a little gold crucifix on a chain, I allowed him to hang it around my neck and thanked him prettily with a kiss on his whiskered cheek. 

The Baron muttered prayers and holy incantations, designed to keep a vampyr at bay. 

At last, expressing themselves satisfied, the three men - Father, Baron Grosskopf and Uncle Alexandru - bid me good-night with many reassurances. They would have insisted that a maid stay with me but I wept with such abandon at the thought that they hastily reconsidered and instead, installed her in a chair outside the door. 

They never knew that I went to my bed that night with a sigh of complete happiness and content. 

They had no need of keeping Irina out... for it was I who would go to her when the time was right. How different things would have turned out had the old men concentrated their efforts on keeping me in! 

You will recall that I once mentioned that Irina and I would leave letters for one another in the trunk of the lightning blasted tree in the garden. It was here, during that time when we were apart, that I would surreptitiously leave notes, retrieving her answer in the evening after dinner on the pretext of taking a turn in the garden. Sometimes a few days would pass between my letter and her answer, and those delays caused me a great deal of worry and consternation. 

Fortunately, Father and the rest took my agitation for nervousness regarding the threat that hung over us - so they thought! - and did not press me for explanations. 

I will not relate you the contents of our letters; the private communication between lovers, filled as it is with little codes and phrases that mean nothing to outsiders, would not interest you. It is enough to state that we renewed our vows, she and I; when she summoned me to come to her - revealing at last the place where she concealed herself, making ready my future transformation - I would come to her, though hell itself bar the way. 

I did not know how long Irina's 'preparations' would take or what they consisted of; I only knew that the depths of my love knew no bounds and I was willing to wait as long as necessary, trusting that I had not been abandoned or forgotten. 

Little did I know that events were conspiring against us; even as we fretted and moaned in our letters - chafing at delay and assuring one another of love received and returned - stormclouds were gathering, conspiracies were afoot. 

For Baron Grosskopf, Uncle Alexandru and Father were plotting together to destroy my life, my love, my destiny... my Irina! 
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
 

Several days had passed since the Baron's rude examination of my throat. I still slept in a chamber filled with the nauseating  fumes of garlic and dutifully wore my little gold crucifix. The men muttered amongst themselves, always huddled together in a congenial knot by the fireplace in Father's study. 

One evening, just after supper, I happened to be passing by the study. I assure you that my presence there was entirely innocent; I was on my way to the library, which lay on the other side of Father's private rooms. 

As I passed the door, I noticed it was ajar and I could hear the distinct murmuring of voices. Suddenly, a name caught my ear, then two words that snatched at my absent attention like a barbed hook: "Countess Rinia must die." 

I immediately stooped down beside the crack in the door and listened intently. 

"We know the vampyr must recuperate her powers upon the soil of her birthplace," Baron Grosskopf was saying. Although I could not see him, in my mind's eye I still imagined his stout figure striding up and down the room, spectacles flashing. "We know, through Herr Voinea's testimony, that the vampyr which took the life of his niece was the Countess Rinia of the House of Dragomir. Therefore, I suggest - since the revenant is reluctant to come to us - that we seek her out in the ruins of Castle Dragomir. There is a crypt, is there not?" 

Father replied, "Yes... the old chapel which was once attached to the castle. Only the alter and a few broken stone walls remain but in the back, there is a vaulted room which holds a staircase; these stairs lead down into the Dragomir family crypt." 

Uncle Alexandru burst out in agitation, "Why haven't we confronted this demon yet? Why delay another moment? I do not fear her! Let us go to the crypt tonight and destroy her now!!" 

The Baron replied soothingly. "As I have already explained, my good General Voinea, to beard the vampyr in her den is extremely dangerous. It is there that her powers are at their peak. Believe me, she is capable of killing ten or more men without exhausting herself; even the full light of day would not be enough to protect us. It would be better if we could have lured the Countess away from her birth soil but..." A shrug was evident in his tone of voice. 

"My messenger is on his way with your trunks," Uncle Alexandru replied grudgingly; I could tell that he did not like to wait and would have preferred to plunge in regardless of the danger, but deferred out of his respect for Baron Grosskopf. "He should arrive soon, within the next day or so. I sent him to Castle Voinea yesterday morning." 

"Excellent!" The Baron voice contained an odious sense of triumph. "We must gather together all the men we can. My trunks contain the necessary equipment for ensuring the vampyr's destruction; as soon as they arrive, we will make a foray into Castle Dragomir in order to destroy the Countess and put an end to the vampyr's curse once and for all! Are we agreed?" 

They all murmured in consent. I reeled back, horrified and shaken to the core. 

I wandered away, my mind whirling in a jumbled confusion. How could I stop them? What could I do? 

I left the schloss to walk in the garden and think undisturbed. 

Uncle Alexandru's home was twenty miles away; assuming good weather - curse these sunny summer days! - his servant could have the Baron's trunks within two or three days if he made a determined effort. And I was certain that he would; my uncle was determined to be revenged for his niece's loss and would stop at nothing to see that the deed was done. I had already lost a day; the messenger could be halfway to Castle Voinea already. 

If I communicated this information by the usual method, Irina might not receive it in time. I did not know when or how often she checked our secret postbox... and a delay in this instance could prove fatal. 

After I had calmed myself and given the matter grave consideration, I realized only one answer was possible. 

I must go to Castle Dragomir and warn Irina myself of her impending doom. 

I knew where the ruins lay, three miles from our schloss; although I had never been in the forest at night - and I would not be able to manage both horse and torch - I trusted that the moon's light would provide sufficient illumination. Also, I had a great fear of wolves; those shaggy, savage beasts had been known to kill a human being when their hunger overcame their natural caution of man. 

I made a mental list of the things I would need and firmed my resolve until it was as strong and inflexible as adamantine. 

I would save Irina... or die in the attempt. 

Everything I needed was in the pocket of my gown - candle stub, tinderbox, one of Father's revolvers and a few spare bullets. If I met with wolves along the way, I would have some means of self defense. 

I crept out of the schloss, tip-toeing past the snoring maid, and made my way to the stables. Our own horses were there, as well as Uncle Alexandru's carriage team. I usually rode a bay mare whom I had named Mignon. And she was pretty, although a bit high spirited, but before Irina came into my life, I doted and spoiled Mignon terribly. 

I had brought an apple with me; while Mignon chewed on the sweet treat, I quickly saddled and bridled her. I had done this so many times before that it was easy for me to perform this task, even in the dark. I dared not strike a light, for fear of alerting anyone who might be awake in the schloss and, seeing a light where there should be none, raise an alarm. 

I led the mare out of the stable, then swung myself up into the saddle and guided Mignon out of the paddock, down the path that meandered away from the schloss, meeting with the main road at the bottom. Then, letting the mare have her head - for she saw far better in the dark than this poor, night blind human - I guided her into the forest, following a small track that led eventually to the ruins of Castle Dragomir. 

I was terrified; moisture beaded up on my face and beneath the arms of my gown; I could smell the strong and acrid scent of fear emanating from me in waves. 

But I did not turn back. I could not. 

For I knew Irina waited for me at the end of my perilous journey. 
 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
 

The voyage to Castle Dragomir did not prove to be as dangerous as I'd thought. Although I did hear the howling of wolves, the blood curdling wailing came from far away, in the direction of the mountains. But still, I flinched and waved my pistol each time an owl hooted or a mouse rustled in the thick carpet of last year's leaves that had gathered on the edges of the cleared path. 

Mignon knew her way, of course; I often rode her to the ruins, for I loved to play and pretend that I was an unhappy princess being rescued from durance vile in one of the destroyed towers. Great blocks of stone littered the site, along with half-burned timbers and scraps of wood; the great split staircase still wound part way up, but ended abruptly in a mass of rotted splinters. Ivy - of so deep a green as to appear almost black - crept up the dismantled walls, draping itself in long festoons and swags as if it were an elaborate mourning cloth. This was all that remained of the castle where once the mighty Dragomir clan had ruled with an iron fist over much of Romania. 

The chapel was in slightly better shape than the rest of the estate. True, one of the walls had collapsed entirely, the rest were in none too upright shape. But the ceiling, that breathtaking arch of cunningly wrought stone, still spanned the top of the building, and the sacred alter - crafted of snowy marble now marred with streaks of brackish mold - still stood firm. 

Behind the altar, a door led to a room which was still mostly intact. It was here that the priests, in those long ago days, stored their robes of office... and if rumor would have it, also conducted rites involving blood and sacrifice that had nothing to do with Holy Communion. Another door at the back of this room opened into a stone staircase that led down into the Dragomir crypt. It was here that I would seek Irina. 

I left Mignon tethered to a bush, where she was well content to nibble on the lush grass. Fumbling with my tinderbox, I eventually got my candle stub alight. Shielding the frail flame with my hand, I picked my way carefully into the chapel, not wishing to take a tumble over any of the scattered debris. 

There was a small wooden door; despite the years of neglect as well as the fire that had destroyed the castle long before my birth, the wood was still strong and firm. I opened the door and discovered that it could be barred from the inside. This I did as a matter of course; I do not know why I should have done this, only that since locking doors had become my habit to protect privacy and secrets, I hauled the stout oak beam into its iron braces with scarcely a thought before continuing on my way. 

As I crept my way down the crumbling stairs into the crypt, small stones rolled and skittered beneath my feet. Cobwebs clung to my face and hair like ghostly fingers but I pressed on. Finally, at the bottom, the narrow space opened up into a vast, underground vault; the tombs of the Dragomir ancestors - huge marble sarcophagi adorned with Gothic flourishes, scrolls, beasts and effigies of their proud, blind faces - lined up on either side of an arrow straight hallway that disappeared into the distance. 

It was but the work of a few moments to locate Irina's tomb. The top of the marble box had been carved into a perfect likeness; it seemed that she rested on her stone bed with a small contented smile. I called to her, my voice echoing hollowly; there was no reply. Sticking my candle into its own grease on a close-by tomb, I picked up a fist-sized rock and banged on the lid, calling Irina again and again. My efforts were not met with success; if she was there, she was not answering me. 

Depressed and shivering, clammy and damp from the unhealthy atmosphere of the crypt, I let my rock fall to the floor and wrapped my shawl more closely about my shoulders. I stood there, gazing at the stone Irina's face. My fingers reached out involuntarily, tracing the line of her unmoving cheek, caressing those cold, marble lips. 

Suddenly, I felt a hand grip my arm; I shrieked, flailing about, and knocked over the candle. 

I was plunged into darkness with an unknown assailant! 

"Gabriella? What are you doing here?" 

I drew in a great shuddering breath, almost weeping with relief at the sound of that familiar voice. "Irina!" I exclaimed, turning around and coming into contact with that fragrant, pliant body I knew so well. "Oh, I am glad to see you!" 

There was a sizzle, then a flash, and the candle shed its feeble light once more. Irina stood before me, the tinderbox dangling limply from one of her hands. "Why are you here?" she repeated, flinging the tinderbox away. It struck her tomb with a clatter and I involuntarily flinched. 

I gazed into those impossibly blue eyes and melted. That is the only way to describe the sensation that flooded my bones and blood with languorous warmth and a longing like an ache that only one opiate could ease. Irina! Boldly, I embraced her, my face tilted up, begging for a kiss. 

She obliged eagerly, her crimson lips traveling over my face and throat, burning the sensitive flesh like embers. I sighed happily, content to be within the circle of her arms once more. 

Irina put her mouth close to my ear and said, "Gabriella... what has happened? I told you to wait." 

The plot!

Hastily, stumbling over my words, I outlined what I had overheard, the calculations I had made. When I finished, tears ran down my face. "What will we do?," I asked, desperate for a solution to what seemed an insurmountable problem. "They want to kill you!" 

Irina laughed. Her slender fingers caressed my loosened hair, my back, my shoulders. I leaned against her, arms wrapped around her waist, my head cradled on the softness of her bosom, still weeping but hopeful that now we were together, we could somehow find a way to make everything right again. 

Suddenly, she wound a fistful of my hair into a painful knot and jerked my head backward. Her eyes glowed like pale flames. "Do you still love me?" she asked fiercely. 

I gasped out, "Yes! Yes! With all my heart and soul!" 

She released me with a painful kiss; her sharp teeth drawing a trickle of blood from my lip. "You know what I am, what you will have to become." Irina searched my face, seeking signs of revulsion or disgust. She found none; I was eager - oh God! you cannot know how eager! - to leave my poor and lonely life and join my destiny with hers. 

I could do no better than quote her own words back to her. "Love requires sacrifices," I said. "And there is no sacrifice without blood." 

I drew my finger across my bloodied lip and held it out to her. "Do what you must," I continued solemnly. "Death holds no fear for me, so long as I am with you." 

Gently, she drew my finger into her mouth and sucked the blood from it, her tongue sweeping it clean in long, sensuous strokes that left me trembling in every limb. I kept my eyes riveted on hers; you could not have pulled me away from my beloved Irina had you used a team of cart horses. 

She said quickly, almost thoughtlessly, "We will have to flee immediately afterward. I have booked us passage on a ship that is bound for America; we will travel to Bucharest by coach and thence to Varna, catching the ship at the port. Then..." Irina broke off and looked at me again; I thought I detected something in her face, something I had not seen before. 

I looked carefully, for I had attuned myself to Irina's every nuance and gesture. Was what I saw there true? 

Yes... I was sure of it. 

The expression that haunted her beautiful face was... fear. 
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
 

"Why are you afraid, dear Irina?" I asked. 

She abruptly tore herself from my embrace and stood a little ways apart, panting. 

"What is the matter, darling?" I said, desperate to soothe whatever troubled her mind. "Are you angry that I came to you so suddenly? I had to, don't you understand?" 

Irina shook her head violently; strands of black hair tumbled across her white face. She looked at me with something approaching horror dawning in her eyes. "Gabrielle...," she whispered. "Tereza... my lost ones..." 

To my extreme consternation, I saw a single tear begin to track its way down her cheek. It was dark red; I realized it must be blood. No wonder she had hidden her face from me in the garden after she had been injured by the peasant's hymn that day! 

"Irina, please tell me what is the matter?" I exclaimed. I extended my hands towards her and started forward, but she drew back, gesturing that I should remain where I was. 

"No!" she choked. "Please... I can't bear it. I can't!" 

I was confused and hurt by her protests. Why should she now reject me? Did we not belong - in the truest, most infinite sense - to one another? 

"You are so like her!" Irina said. More dark and bloody tears bathed her face and she wiped them away impatiently with her sleeve. "Your hair is the same shade of golden red; I used to compare Tereza's to the crackling flames of the hearth. Your eyes the same sunny green. Your face, your body... even your hearts beat to the same rhythm! Your flesh bears her scent... if you only knew how much I have longed to bathe myself in that wonderful, spicy fragrance! A hundred and fifty years I have waited, despairing that I would ever find you; creating plan after plan, using every ounce of intelligence and cunning that I have learned down through the years, so that having been reunited with you at last... I would never lose you again. And now I cannot!" she wailed, sinking to her knees. 

I did not understand her outburst; I thought that perhaps in her absence, she had compared me to her lost Tereza and found the girl Gabriella wanting. I sobbed desperately, "I love you, Irina! Is that not enough?" 

Irina looked up at me in despair. "I love you, Gabriella." She held out her hands. "I cannot damn you as I have been damned. I cannot condemn you to this half life. I will not! No... you must leave. Now! Return home. I will go away, far away..." Her voice trailed off and she stared at me. 

I could read her soul through those impossibly blue eyes. I saw fear and despair; I also saw passion and raw hunger, but most of all, I could see the love she bore for me reflected there like a beacon, drawing me to her as a storm-wracked ship follows that night-shattering light to the safety of harbor and home. 

I sank down to my knees in front of her; with my own hands I unpinned my shawl and cast it aside. Then I loosened the bodice of my gown, letting it fall around my waist. Kneeling there, I said, "Don't deny me, Irina. It's too late for that. Our love transcends all boundaries; even time and death itself could not keep us apart! How can you presume to do so? I know my heart and my will is made up. My dearest... take my blood, take my life, my soul, my very existence, take it all! Do with it what you will! I have been yours from the beginning;  there is no part of me that you have not touched and changed. You claimed me once with a kiss; kiss me again and let us be together... forever." 

She looked at me; I could see questions and denials in her eyes. But she shook her head; clasping my hands and drawing me closer to her, Irina said, "I kissed you here, once," and pointed to my breast, to the tiny wound that had already healed, leaving behind a pair of silvery pinprick scars. 

I nodded and she continued, "If I kiss you truly, on the throat..." She cleared her throat, seeming uncomfortable. I remained silent but tried with all my might to project understanding and acceptance. 

At last, she continued, "Well, you must know all; it would not be fair to keep anything back from you now. I have already told you how a vampyr makes another of its kind, by draining its victim to the brink of death before allowing them to swallow some of its own blood. To do that, I must feed" - she stressed this word, I think, to make sure I understood precisely what would happen - "from your throat. Once I taste that rich stream, there will be no going back. You understand this, Gabriella? The scent and taste of that blood will bring all my predatory instincts to the fore; I will have to battle mightily against those instincts in order to stop in time. You will not be able to change your mind in the middle; if you struggle, I might kill you without conscious thought. Do you understand?" 

I averted my eyes and whispered, "Yes." 

Her hand reached out and caught my chin; raising my face so that my eyes met hers, she said again, "Do you truly understand, Gabriella? Are you absolutely sure? If you have any doubts or fears... well, now is the time to voice them." 

"You kissed me here before," I said, indicating my breast, "because you did not want to kill me?" 

"Yes." Irina leaned forward and said softly, "As a vampyr, all humans are prey to me. They will become so to you as well. Are you strong enough for this kind of life? Can you bear it?" 

"If I am with you, I can bear anything," I replied with the bravado of youth. 

Her eyes glittered in the feeble candlelight; she drew her lips back from her teeth, exposing two thin, needle-sharp fangs. "There will be pain; death will lay his icy grip on your heart and you will feel yourself slipping away. Your breath will falter; a cold mist will seem to gather, stealing away all the warmth of your life." 

I swallowed and said bravely, "And when I wake, I will be as you are now?" 

"You will." Irina pulled me into her lap, nestling me close to her. Her mouth touched my ear and she whispered, "I cannot deny you, Gabriella. I love you so..." She brushed a stray lock of hair away from my neck. 

I looked up and touched her beautiful face with the palm of my hand. "I am not afraid, my beloved. This is what I want with all my heart - to be with you forever. If I must die to live, then kill me sweetly; let me breathe my last breath into your mouth, knowing that there is no heaven or hell... only Irina." 

"You are sure?" 

"Everything I am is your possession." I kissed her slender hand. "I have never been so certain of a thing in my entire life. Make me entirely yours, dear one. Drink of my life and love, feast upon my bones and make a bonfire of my heart! Take me so deep within yourself that we will truly be one mind, one soul. My love for you is too great, too all consuming; it runs too hot and boldly for one girl's body to contain. To be at your side throughout eternity - I can conceive of no better fate!" 

Irina sighed as well. "Gabriella... do you know what you ask of me? You will die..." 

"Yes!" I sat up a bit, flinging an arm about her neck. "I will die in your arms and you will rebuild me in your image. What is death but a little sleep? What is life but an inevitable journey towards a single destination - death! I cannot live without you, Irina. So I must die for you. Can you not see the logic in that?" 

"I never dared dream this moment would come," she said slowly, hope beginning to dawn in her marvelous eyes. She looked at me with a kind of wonder. "There is no love without sacrifice," Irina said. 

"And there is no sacrifice without blood," I concluded. My heart swelled with triumph; I would be hers at last! 

I fancied her fingers trembled a little as she pushed my head to the side. One of her hands held my chin firmly; the other curled around mine and squeezed gently, careful not to dig in with her razor sharp nails. I grasped her fingers and held on, drawing in a breath and screwing up my eyes. My heart pounded; I felt clammy sweat spring out on my brow and trickle down my naked shoulders. 

She kissed me with those crimson lips; each touch was a glowing brand imprinted upon my flesh. I whimpered, I quivered, I panted with suspense and need. I was spread out before her like a feast and I eagerly waited for her to devour me entirely. 

Suddenly, I felt those needle-like teeth dent the skin of my throat. 

With an effort, I held myself still, although my first primeval instinct was to flinch away. She paused, waiting for my reaction. 

I knew that this was the moment; all of our arguments were passed. Irina was granting me a final opportunity to withhold myself, to turn back from this perilous course. 

Instead of pushing her away - as she obviously expected me to - I let myself to limp; putting a hand to the back of her head, I pushed down, encouraging her to feed. 

This was the signal she had been waiting for. Now sure of my acceptance, all doubts erased and answered, my beloved Irina nuzzled and kissed the sensitive skin at my throat... 

And I nearly screamed at the sheer, undeniable pleasure when her fangs drove into me, piercing not only my flesh... but also my soul.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
 

Although I have, over the years, attempted to recall those precise moments when Irina possessed me fully for the first - and last - time... I cannot. The whole episode seems to me a gigantic dream, a hallucinatory vision of blurred images with flashes of meaningless clarity; a place where vivid colors evoked the music of the spheres. I floated in a vast ocean of alternately caressing waves and angrily lashing seas; I froze and burned as pallid, ghostly flames licked across every inch of my sensitive flesh. I breathed the sanctified perfume of Heaven and was bathed in the brimstone stench of Hell. Above all, I felt as if my life were a slender silver cord, once stretched taut and anchoring me to this world, now increasingly unraveled and picked apart by Irina's blood-drenched touch. 

All at once, in the midst of my transports of ecstasy and bone-numbing agony, I seemed to feel a conflict, some disturbance that rippled and twisted like a saw edged blade, suddenly tearing me away from my dream. I resisted with all my strength, clinging to that comforting, all encompassing mist which slowly but surely slipped through my fingers like wisps of thinning smoke. I whimpered, opening my eyes with an effort that left me gasping for breath... and saw Irina. 

She stared down at me, pale eyes wide and glazed; other than the scarlet gore that bathed her chin, her face was absolutely colorless. "No...," she whispered in a voice so full of grieving madness that my heart ached. 

Suddenly, she lifted her head, cords standing out in her neck. Her mouth worked violently; it seemed that she choked on some raw passion that had crawled up from the depths of her soul and was pounding frantically for release. I was paralyzed, incapable of moving or uttering a protest, but I watched her as she struggled. 

At last, when I feared she would die if her inner agony was not released, she threw back her head and howled in tragedy, despair and insane, fruitless longing - "Noooooo!!!!!" 

The reverberations of that wild, chilling scream of denial rang hollowly again and again, the stone walls of the crypt tossing back the sound back until it was deafening. My bones vibrated from the sheer force of Irina's cry and I felt tears spring to my eyes. 

"What is it?" I asked when all was quiet once more. "Why have you...?" 

Irina looked down at me once again. Her hair straggled across her face; her eyes were dimmed by sadness, a fertile melancholy that spoke eloquently of emptiness and ashes, of a life once full of promise suddenly destroyed, turned to ghostly embers and thin shadows; a pale echo of what was and can never be again. 

"No," Irina repeated dully, turning her face away. "I will not wrong you as I was wronged. I can't steal that bright innocence of yours; I will not be the thief of your life. I could not do that to Tereza; I will not do it to you." She pushed me off her lap and rose; her shoulders slumped, her entire posture indicating defeat and unconditional surrender. 

I did not understand; I felt weak and dizzy; although I had little strength in my arms, I struggled to push myself up. "Why?" I sobbed. "Why?" 

She looked at me solemnly. The brilliant flame of personality that had once surrounded her, drawing me as a moth to candlelight, was extinguished, snuffed out; all her grace was gone. In its place was a wooden caricature that resembled my beloved Irina but was, to my eye and perception, a gloomy stranger. 

"Why?" Irina repeated, parroting me. 

She began to pace back and forth; as she moved and talked, to my relief she seemed to gather back some of her old languorous energy; she began to shine once more. "Because I love you, you fool!" she raged, eyes flashing passionately. "I love you too much to watch you die! I love you too much to condemn you to living death!" 

I wept in disappointment; I am ashamed to say that I behaved like a child denied its favorite sweet. "But Irina!" I cried weakly. "Please!" 

"Do not!" she almost screamed in reply, covering her ears. "Do not implore me! Can't you understand how hard it is? How difficult for me to endure?" 

While I wept, she continued in a softer tone, "I will not see you become what I am... I cannot endure seeing you so debased; it would kill me. Oh, Gabriella... you must live - you must! The only life I have is through you; the only light in my eternal darkness is the brilliance of you; my sole reason for existence, my one hope and prayer, my impossible dream. You must live, my love... or else I must die." 

I sobbed, feeling very much alone and unloved; I felt cheated, as if I had been forced to lose something very precious and dear - which I had. 

She knelt down beside me. Through my tears, I could see that she had wiped the blood - my blood! - from her face. "My darling, my dearest love, my own," she said, gathering me into her arms and holding me tightly. 

After she had soothed me for a little while and my wild storm of tears diminished, she said softly, "We can be together, Gabriella." 

I hiccuped, swiping at my wet face with the sleeve of my gown. "What is that?" I asked; hope warred with cynical disappointment in my breast. 

"I must be the one who dies," she replied simply. 

I gasped in horror. I reeled. Irina dead? 

No!! Never!! 

Not while I still had life and breath! 

For I knew that I could not live without my beloved Irina. 
 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
 

I was immediately galvanized by sheer, desperate terror; grasping her shoulders, I exclaimed wildly, "No! No! I will never consent to that! Irina... tell me you don't mean it! Please!" 

"I do." She kissed me lightly and stroked stray locks of hair from my forehead. "It is the only way, Gabriella." 

She shook her head sadly against my denials and continued, "Listen to me... listen!" 

I muttered, "We could still go away together... I would live anywhere so long as it was by your side." 

"No, my love," Irina said. "You would eventually grow to hate me; for you, time marches in an inexorable beat, bringing with him the promise of old age. I am eternally young; that is part of my curse. I cannot grow old with you; you would eventually envy my youth and become bitter." 

"But why?" I asked, already feeling bitterness and some anger warming my veins. "Why must you die?" 

"It is the only way we can be together. Gabriella... I cannot endure another century or more waiting endlessly for you and having to bear this agony again. I hate this unrestful half life of mine!" 

She rubbed her temples and sighed. "All this time, I have carried on, enduring the endless round of slaughter and blood, the never ending hunger that drives me to kill. Yes, kill! I am a foul murderer, a creature that brings nothing but horror and death in her wake. I have endured a waking nightmare, only remaining in this horrible existence in the hope of finding you. Well, to make you as I am is impossible; I will not do it! Our only recourse now is if I die... then I will be released, free at last from my nightmare, free to be reborn with you in the fullness of time... free to reunite with you in some other, happier life." 

Some other life? Abruptly, I remembered what she had told me before; that we were two separate souls with but one destiny, and that our fate was to be together in life after life, time and time again, in a never ceasing cycle of death and rebirth. 

To Irina, the solution to our problem was simple. To me, however, it was appalling. 

I could not accept it. I pleaded and begged; I abased myself shamelessly. But she was stronger than I; Irina was crafted of pure cut-steel, inflexible and adamantine in the face of my tears. At last, when my childish outburst had ceased, she said, "You must decide, Gabriella. Quickly. There is not much time. I can hear them already..." 

"Whatever do you mean?" 

"Listen." 

I strained my ears; all I could hear at first was the faint moaning of some chill breeze, the skittering of rat's claws down the dark stone corridor. But all at once, I made out something else. Faint and high, barely discernible, the sound filtered down into the crypt from the ruins of the castle above. I shivered when I recognized that call: "Gabriella! Gabriella!" 

It was my father's voice. 

I looked at Irina in pure panic. "They have missed me and come searching!" I cried. "Oh, what will we do?" 

"You have a difficult choice," she replied calmly. "They will come here looking for us, you know that. There is no place for me to flee, no escape. They have come in force with many men; I can defend myself against them but they will eventually overpower me. You know what they will do to me... you heard them yourself." 

"Yes," I acknowledged miserably. "They want to kill you. I won't let them!" 

"You cannot fight them all," Irina said reasonably. 

Even now, I marvel at her strength, her calm acceptance. I think she welcomed that unexpected threat; if I could not perform the action to release her soul, these determined men would take the decision out of my hands and end it once and for all. 

"Either you do it or they will!" she said fiercely, gripping my shoulders and shaking me a little. "I will either die by the hand of love or by the hand of hate, but I will die this night! Gabriella... release me, I beg you! If you truly love me, give me peace!" 

I was shaken; I did not know what to do. I sat there, listening as the men's agitated voices grew clearer; I heard the distinct crunching as they battered on the barred crypt door. 

Irina gazed at me as I sat in frozen silence. Then, she kissed me once more and murmured, "Very well. Let them do what you cannot. I'm sure they come prepared for the worst. For your sake, I will not fight them; there has been enough death and ruin. I will go quietly and die as befitting a Dragomir." 

Even through my daze, I recognized the quiet pride in her voice. I think it was this more than anything else that finally shook me free from the grip of paralyzed inaction. 

"No," I said, at last accepting the inevitability of our situation. The maelstrom of doubt, anger and denial was finally gone; in its place was a sort of icy calm that muffled my wilder emotions. I would do as she asked; there was no other choice. I, too, was descended from the House of Dragomir, though that connection was feeble at best. Still, something of their nobility and pride must have been sleeping in my blood, for I roused myself and discovered the steel in my spine, the martial warrior spirit that throbbed in rhythm with my heart. 

"I will do it," I continued, kissing her. "Come; tell me what is to be done." 

"Are you strong enough?" she asked. 

I could hear the crypt door giving way beneath the men's frantic battering. My father called, "Gabriella! Hold on, my child! We are coming!" 

I looked at Irina. "I will be strong enough!" I insisted fiercely. "I must!" 

She scrabbled in the folds of her gown and withdrew a wooden statuette from a hidden pocket. It was carved into my likeness; the lines of my face were so clear and distinct that I was momentarily astonished. "It is Tereza," Irina explained. She touched the lips of the figure reverently. "I have kept it with me all these years... to remind me of what I lost and what I hoped to regain." 

The men's voices were getting louder; the clattering of their boots upon the stone staircase seemed like angry thunderclaps. 

Sudden determination swept across her features and Irina slapped the statuette down upon the stone floor; it split in half with a sharp crack. She was now left with two horizontal pieces, one of which came to a wicked point. 

Handing me the sharp stake she had made, Irina said, "You must drive it into my heart. It is the only way." 

She draped herself across my lap, her long dark hair spilling around my legs. I placed the sharp point of the stake on her breast, above her heart. She clasped her hands over mine in encouragement. 

I sweated; it seemed like I was bleeding inside from a mortal wound. My stomach cramped, my heart hurt with such bitter agonies that I felt faint. But I steeled myself by looking into her marvelous eyes and seeing love and quiet acceptance reflected in those pale depths. 

Honey-gold beams of torchlight intruded into the darkness of the crypt; the men shouted, "We are almost there! Hurry!" 

We were out of time. 

I bent my head and kissed Irina one last time, savoring the coppery taste of her crimson lips, wishing I could merge my soul with hers and never be without her again. "No love without sacrifice," I said, kissing the corner of her mouth, feeling her body tremble. 

Her hands wrapped themselves more tightly about mine. She whispered, "No sacrifice without blood. I love you, Gabriella. Always." 

I could feel warm tears cascading down my face but my voice was firm. "I love you, Irina. Now and forever. Wait for me; it will only be a little while until we meet again." 

She nodded; a single dark and bloody tear slid across her perfect cheek. "Release me," she choked. "Give me peace." 

"You will live in my heart; I will never forget you. Be free, my beloved," I sobbed, "Be free at last..." 

And with all my strength plunged the makeshift stake straight into her heart. 

Irina gasped; her body spasmed and I held her. Her eyes dimmed, the light slowly fading and turning to darkness. With her last breath, she said, "Thank... you..." and then after a pause, "Oh! it's so beautiful..." 

Then she went limp, the unnatural forces that had kept her alive were blown away, leaving only a husk behind. My beloved Irina was gone; she had finally found the peace she had sought for so long. 

And she left me alone - so very terribly alone! - with only the remembrance of love to sustain me in the dark years to come. 

I closed her eyes and held her, rocking back and forth, weeping with desperation and loss, as the men flooded the crypt with torchlight and confused shouting, scattering all the shadows away. 

They had to pry me away from her body; I numbly watched them desecrate her, striking off her head and burning the remains, scattering the ashes into the river. 

I stood there, allowing the ashes and embers to swirl around me, breathing in the smoke as if I could somehow recapture the magic that was my lost Irina. 

I wept and they did not understand why. 

I grieved and they called it "hysteria." 

Oh, those foolish, foolish men... 

They could never comprehend the beauty, the majesty, the nobility and pride... the sheer breadth and depth of melancholy tragedy and heartbreaking loss that was my Irina. 
 

EPILOGUE
 

Twelve years have passed since the night I killed the woman I love. 

I love her still; I will never recover from that loss. 

To the peasants hereabouts, I am a hero. To the men who came to rescue me that night - Father, Baron Grosskopf, Uncle Alexandru and the others - the tableaux they had seen had but one explanation. Having fallen beneath the vampyr's spell, I had made my way to her crypt in a sort of trance. Coming to my senses at the moment of her attack, I somehow found the strength and courage to beat her off and kill her before she could complete her bloody deed. My reactions afterward were the result of shock and horror at the trauma I had been forced to endure. 

They called me a brave girl; they toasted me with champagne and showered me with congratulations and compliments. 

I told you they could never understand. 

The true nature of the events I have kept to myself; although it hurt me beyond measure to hear my love described as a "monster" and a "damned creature from Hell," I remained silent. Let them believe what they wished; in my heart, the truth lived and sang with every breath I took. 

The fools.

It does not matter any longer. For twelve years I have lived a solitary and lonely existence, here in the schloss where I was born. Father died a few months after Irina; his poor heart never recovered from the exertions of that night. I refused the many offers of friends to come and stay with them; I would rather live here, where the stone walls have absorbed Irina's memory, where I can sit in the garden beneath the lightning blasted oak and dream of her. 

But, as I said, it does not matter. The doctors have told me that it will not be long now; the growth they detected months ago will surely kill me before the year is out. 

I once lived for life; now I live for death, waiting patiently for the moment when I draw my final, feeble breath and sink down into the welcome embrace of oblivion. 

For I know that when death does come, it will not be an angel whose soft footsteps I hear coming ever closer; it will not be a croaking raven or the shade of some departed relative who will guide my sleeping soul to what lies beyond. No... when that moment comes, I know that I will look up with eyes that are already hazed and dimming... 

I will look up and see the beautiful face of my beloved Irina smiling down on me, her hand outstretched and waiting for a glorious embrace that will at last reunite two lost souls into the destiny of perfect, everlasting love that should have been theirs all along. 
 

THE END

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