Heiress to a Curse. Zandria Munson
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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 comb. Nearly two years had passed since the accident. She missed them sorely. Tears welled in her eyes and she exhaled a shuddering breath. She wasn’t going to do this to herself again. Her parents wouldn’t want her moping over their untimely deaths. They would want her to move on and find happiness.
She switched off the television, stepped out of her robe, climbed into bed and turned off the lamp. The room was completely enveloped in darkness except for a narrow bar of light that spilled in through the window. She stared at it for a moment, feeling the hairs rise at her nape. She had the oddest sense that she was being watched.
She sat up slowly and glared through the glass door. A few seconds skipped by and she sighed. She really had to stop getting herself worked up.
She returned to her pillow and gazed at the ceiling as she tried to banish the thoughts she’d awakened. It wasn’t long before her lids grew heavy and her eyes closed as she slipped into a restless sleep.
Marius Drakon perched on the metal rail of the small balcony outside the seventh-story window, his attention fixed on the form of the woman on the bed. He’d been following her for several days, and if all his father had said was true, then she was the last of the Dancescu bloodline. As his family had come to learn, the witch Necesar had been reincarnated throughout the centuries within the bodies of her descendants. There had been occurrences when her abilities had manifested within them when confronted by members of his clan, but Necesar had never gone out of her way to make her presence known. With the death of this final descendant—which he’d come to deliver—his family would be set free of their five-hundred-year-old curse.
He shifted his weight, his massive wings spreading to beat against the night air. He’d gladly volunteered to leave his Romanian castle and venture into the West to seek out the one woman who stood between him and freedom. He yearned to taste her blood on his lips. It would be sweet, like fresh air drawn into drowning lungs. No more would the shadows be his home at night and stone his prison by day. No more would he be damned—a gargoyle cursed to walk the earth for eternity.
From his vantage point, his gaze raked her body. She lay on her back and slept soundly. The pale sheets clung to every curve, outlining her femininity.
For months he’d envisioned killing her, a faceless descendant of the witch Necesar who’d cursed his family so many years ago. He’d never expected her to be so lovely. He remembered the softness of her face. She was young, too. It was a pity she had to die.
Years ago his parents had gone to every sorcerer and witch on every continent and had learned the true nature of the curse and what was necessary to end it. Every descendant of the witch Necesar had to be dead, and the last must die on the equinox and within the restrictions of a sacred ritual. It was imperative that the curse end this year, on the equinox, for the end of the Spring Equinox would mark the end of Necesar’s five-hundred-year possession of her descendants’ bodies—and another spirit would be allowed to take her place. The spirit of Lady Vivian Dancescu.
That could never be allowed to happen. From his father, Marius had learned that the deviant and malicious Lady Vivian wouldn’t be so idle with Necesar’s power at her disposal. His family—and perhaps, the world—would be damned as she exacted her revenge on the Drakon family and acted upon her greed for wealth and power.
Tonight, beneath the new moon, the Spring Equinox had begun and so, tomorrow, for the first time in one year, Marius would walk the daylight as a man instead of hardening into stone. He had twenty-eight days to carry out the ritual. Guided by the lunar sequence, each step would have to be completed individually before the next new moon. Before the first quarter, she would have to extend to him an invitation of trust, welcoming him into her home. By the full moon, a lock of her hair would be required. Before the waning crescent, a drop of her blood must be drawn. And finally, on the eve of the new moon, he would be permitted to slay her.
The fire raged on. The cries within the castle had ceased long ago, yet she stood there in the saffron light of the holocaust that lit the early morning. Villagers raced about with pails of water drawn from the lake as they fought to extinguish the flames.
She’d lost someone this night. She wasn’t certain who, but there was a throbbing pang in her heart and she was consumed by grief.
Something slipped from her fingers and fell to the soft earth beneath her. She bent to retrieve it, then held it up to the light. It was a silver amulet much like the one she owned: the one that had been passed down through her family for generations.
Her fist clenched the object and anger seeped into her heart to replace the grief. Smoke burned her eyes and swept into her lungs with each ragged breath she inhaled. She would have her revenge! His name hovered before her in a haze of scattered thoughts. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to recall it.
Lord Victor D—
Alexandra’s eyes flew open. Sweat beaded her forehead and her breathing came in short gasps. She’d been dreaming again—the same nightmare that had plagued her for years. Every time, the dream was the same: a beautiful woman, garbed in a velvet gown, walking calmly into a castle that was completely engulfed by flames. Alexandra could always hear herself screaming, trying desperately to stop her, but each time she’d failed. The woman’s cries were always the last thing that filled her subconscious before she woke up.
The torturous dream had been the first manifestation of her gift. When she was younger, she used to try to stay awake to avoid the mayhem that might await her at sleep’s threshold.
As her gift progressed, she’d begun to have difficulty venturing into crowded places, as she would be bombarded by images and emotions from those around her. Her parents had done a fair enough job of making life easier for her. She’d been tutored at home and provided with therapists and prescription medication, which had served to diminish her experiences for a time. Her mother had always tried to comfort her, telling her that her gift was something to be cherished and embraced. She’d told stories of women within their family who’d also had this talent. But considering the countless psychiatrists who’d described her condition as a rare case of psychosis and the fact that her own mother hadn’t possessed any of the psychic traits, Alexandra had always been skeptical.
As she’d gotten older, she’d gained better mental control and could block out the imagery and emotions enough to fully function in everyday life, though she’d always been reluctant to date. There was no way to get close to someone without revealing some degree of her talent, and being rejected for being weird was painful. But she was tired of being alone, and a virgin.
Ring! Ring!
The sound startled her and she groaned, pulling the sheet over her head. Today was Sunday. Who the hell was disturbing her at this hour? The ring chimed again and she reached onto her night table, feeling around until she found the phone then bringing the receiver to her ear.
“Hello?” The dial tone greeted her.
She sat up as she realized it was her doorbell ringing. Tossing the receiver aside, she slipped into her robe and hurried to the door. The bell sounded two more times before she spied through the peephole. Her best friend, April, stood on the other side, looking quite impatient.
Alexandra unbolted the door and swung it open. Before she had a chance to say anything, the other woman swept in.
“Do