Heiress to a Curse. Zandria Munson
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and sullied your family’s name. Tell me, when you lay with your peasant bride, do you see Vivian’s face? Do you feel her pain?”
“Go home, woman!” he barked. “The hour is late and my patience runs low.”
“I do not fear you,” she snarled. “My beloved cousin bestowed a task upon me and I shall not fail her. You and your house shall suffer as she has. Your souls shall be stripped from your flesh and even the sun will betray you. Curse upon you, Lord Drakon, and curse upon your kin.”
“Silence!” he shouted, consumed by rage now. “Leave this place, you wretched witch.”
She stripped the hood of her cloak from her head, revealing a mass of silver hair. “My death will not end your torment. You and your generations to follow shall bear the same fate. Darkness will be your prison and you shall pray for death, but it will flee from you.”
Lord Drakon turned to the man at his side. “Go below and cease this heresy. Give her a horse and send her on her way.”
The messenger nodded and left to do his bidding. Lord Drakon maintained his post at the window as the woman continued her ranting. Deep within him, fear kindled, for he’d heard of the power of the witch Necesar. Her spoken word was potent, like the venom of a serpent.
Yet could one possess such power that she could curse an innocent man and his entire house? Would God allow such a thing?
Amelia appeared at his side, her beautiful features ashen. “Why does she speak so?”
He draped an arm about her, drawing her to him. “Lady Vivian has taken her life. The Elburich Castle has burned to the ground and everyone inside has perished.”
“Oh, dear God,” she gasped.
Beneath them, the sound of hooves emerged as three armed men on horseback, one with a mare in tow, moved to circle the witch.
Necesar continued as if they’d never come upon her. “For an eternity you and your children will be feared by all men and you will be hunted like beasts! The world will change, and as the vines come creeping to shroud the walls of your castle and the trees grow so dense that you cannot see beyond them, you will remember this night and what was lost in it.”
One of the men advanced upon her. “Be silent, sorceress!”
She continued. “Five were those who perished, and in five winters darkness will be brought upon you. From thence, for five centuries will I be your constant torment. And when this time is spent, the one whose love you rejected will claim the body of my descendant and gain her vengeance.”
With an angry growl, the horseman dismounted and drew his sword. “Be silent!”
She fixed the horseman with an unblinking stare. “Your wife is only two moons from giving birth,” she stated.
Slightly taken aback, the horseman halted his advance.
“You will have a son. He will be born beneath the sign of Aquarius. He will be in your image, but his eyes will be taken from him. Born into darkness, he will never see your face.”
“I am warning you, witch,” the horseman growled.
“Your young wife, in her grief, will fall into madness.”
“Silence!”
“For an eternity you shall dwell in this castle….”
Her words were cut short as he thrust his blade into her abdomen just as Lord Drakon’s protest echoed over the courtyard.
“No!” he shouted. But it was too late. The blade passed through her slender frame.
Necesar gasped, her eyes turning to the balcony. “Remember this night well, Lord Drakon, for it marks the beginning of your eternal torment.” With that she collapsed to her knees.
Lord Drakon turned from the window and raced down to the courtyard. He pushed aside the horseman who remained above Necesar, staring in disbelief at what he’d just done.
It seemed that time slowed as Necesar’s gaze roamed the faces of each individual present. She fell onto the dirt, her breathing slow and labored.
Lord Drakon moved to her side, stripping his cloak from his shoulders and draping it over her. He eased her head from the cold ground. The last thing he’d wanted was to see her slain, witch or no witch. The night had already claimed too many souls. He hung his head. To think that something as pure and simple as love could brew such a tragedy saddened his heart.
A flash of silver toppled from beneath the cloak and onto the hand he had positioned beneath her head. Necesar’s amulet, with the Dancescu crest. He reached out to retrieve it, for she should die with the symbol of her family near her heart. Necesar suddenly snatched his arm in a painful grip. She held on to him, her eyes deep and penetrating. He could only return her unnerving stare, for he found no words to appease the pain he saw there. Then, as silent as the drifting of ashes, her eyes closed and she breathed no more.
Chapter 1
New York City, Present Day
Alexandra Barret tilted up her head toward the warm water that streamed in steady waves down her naked body. She ran her hands along her wet hair, smoothing the long and heavy mass against her scalp. Over the sound of the shower, she could hear the television in the background. It was 8:00 p.m. The familiar voice of the news reporter beamed with excitement as he relayed the latest development on the Central Park sightings.
With her eyes closed, she reached down and shut off the water. Her pink terry robe, which had been draped over the towel rack, was quickly donned, then she wrapped a towel around her hair and padded out of the bathroom. A single lamp on her bedside table cast a dull glow about her New York apartment. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to towel dry her hair.
“The eyewitnesses state that the creature resembled a pterodactyl with a reported wingspan of about twelve feet,” the reporter continued. “This new sighting brings the count to five during the last month. Authorities have been hard-pressed to find any clues to aid in their investigation. I’m Anthony Newman with KB1 News.”
The corny tune of a car insurance commercial filled the room. She stood and walked toward a small table in one corner of her room. Notes and photographs lay scattered upon it. She often brought her work home and her latest assignment was a story about the people affected by a series of mysterious fires in the Hyde Park community. At twenty-eight she was a successful features writer at one of the biggest heralds in New York, the Daily Sun. But where others relied on their interrogation skills to complete a task, she depended on a more mysterious talent.
Ever since she was a child she’d been gifted with a rare sight. At first it had been limited to her dreams, in which images had appeared to her, often seemingly meaningless. A few days later, she’d realize they were glimpses of events that had occurred. She’d never been able to predict the future, but with the added ability of tapping into others’ emotions, she was often able to make accurate guesses, enabling her to complete assignments with uncanny insight. This ability propelled her to the top of her field.
Briefly, she skimmed through the photos then moved toward her dresser. She shook her hair out and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She picked up her comb, a fancy silver and ivory family heirloom, and ran it through her long dark curls.
My gypsy.
That’s what her father had always called her. Michael had been American and her mother, Marciela, Romanian. Her father had been a journalist. He’d met her mother thirty years ago while doing a story on Romanian folklore. It had been love at first sight. Within three weeks of their meeting, Marciela and Michael were wed. They’d remained in Romania for a year, but after Marciela’s father had died Marciela and Michael decided to emigrate to the U.S. As her parents’ only heir and the last of the Dancescu bloodline, Alexandra had inherited the entirety of her family’s estate.
Alexandra put down the