Vengeance?" I whispered, the word harsh and electrifying on my tongue. It sounded Biblical, apocalyptic, beyond the grasp of human experience. But I wasn't human anymore, and you hadn't been for a long time. I fell silent, ears perking up with newfound sharpness. There was the clanking of armor and the low chatter of men, far enough away that I would never have been able to hear it before, but not so far that we couldn't close to distance between us and them in a matter of minutes.

Seductive, lyrical, and rich with period detail, this daring retelling casts the Harkers' story aside to follow Dracula's medieval bride and her tangled romance with his consorts over the centuries. The horror—pulsing and beautiful—comes as much from Constanta’s insights into her husband’s psychology as it does from bloodlust. A dark triumph.” Vampire Procreation Limit: Vampires are only able to sire new vampires if two methods are used. The vampire in question must be over a thousand years old as it's only than that their blood is mature enough to sire new vampires, and they and the one they're siring into a vampire must exchange blood.They will not hear you coming," you murmured. "I will stand a little ways off to ensure your safety, and to make sure none of them run." I had so many names for you in those days, my cup of devotion overflowing with titles worthy of your station. I used your name, too, the one your mother had given you, but only in our most intimate moments. When I comforted you during your rare displays of weakness or made a vow to you as a woman, as a wife. Suddenly it seized me, and there was no hope of denying it. I felt like I hadn't tasted a drop of water in weeks, like I couldn't even remember the taste of food. I needed the pulsing, salty nourishment streaming from your wrist, more and more of it.

But you found me alone, my lord. Beaten down to a shadow of my former self and very near death. It was as though fate had laid me out for you, an irresistible banquet.I flinched when you knelt at my side, my body using what little strength was left to jerk away. Your face was obscured by the blinding sun, but I bared my teeth all the same. I didn't know who you were. I just knew I would claw out the eyes of the next man who touched me, if my fingers didn't seize up and betray me. I had been beaten and left for dead, and yet it was not death that had come to claim me.

I know you loved us all, in your own way. Magdalena for her brilliance, Alexi for his loveliness. But I was your war bride, your faithful Constanta, and you loved me for my will to survive. You coaxed that tenacity out of me and broke it down in your hands, leaving me on your work table like a desiccated doll until you were ready to repair me.A delectable jewel of a tale, shimmering with dark, beautiful prose’ Tori Bovalino, author of The Devil Makes Three