The Impaled Bride (Vampire Bride 3)

Hope.

I have so little left within my soul, yet I cling to what remains despite my circumstances. Should I find a way to escape, I will be woefully alone. I cannot return to Vlad’s side no matter how much I yearn for him since he will only attempt to subjugate me once again. Therefore, I have lost Cneajna because she will never leave his side. Worse yet, my sister is long gone from this world.

The memory of the first time we met Balázs has stirred long forgotten moments I shared with my sister. They drift upward, like dust stirred by a footfall, filling my mind. Ágota was so bold the day we first faced Balázs’s coven. I had been so proud of her. Little did we understand we were stepping deeper into a snare that would set us on a course that would eventually rip us apart. In spite of my resolve, I weep for my sister, myself, and the choices we made that sealed our fates.

In our innocence we doomed ourselves.

Yet I cannot surrender myself to this existence. My mother never yielded to her enemy and neither did Ágota. Both of them fought against the men that sought to destroy them, and though they lost in the end, it is their defiance that emboldens me. I am not foolish. Should I escape Vlad will follow to kill or enslave me, but I will fight him to the bitter end.

“Oh, sweet memory, come to me and grant me the illusion of freedom,” I call out, hoping I can somehow summon the magic that transports my mind through the ages.

The tendrils of magic arise in the mausoleum.

I feel the call of the past and, elated, surrender to it.

My passage from one reality to another is in the blink of an eye. One moment I am staring at the ceiling of the mausoleum, the next I am standing at my sister’s side. I welcome the breeze on my face, the storm brewing overhead, and the presence of my sister at my side. I am not as keen on the gathering of witches that are glowering at me and my sister. Revisiting the past involves remembering the not so pleasant aspects of my life.

I peer around Ágota at the man embracing her. Gripping her shoulders, the harshness in his face fades into a smile

“My Ágota, all grown and beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” My sister scoffs at him. “I look like you and you are ugly!”

“You wear these features better than I!”

“Truer words have not been spoken this day,” she retorts.

I definitely see the resemblance: the slightly hooked nose, the wide mouth, the slight tilt to their eyes. No one could look at the two and not presume they are related. They even have the same arrogance in the angle of their chins while they regard each other.

Balázs shifts his gaze to me

, and his eyes narrow slightly. “Explain who this is?”

“I told you. My sister, Erzsébet.”

“She is definitely not mine. Far too pretty. The age is all wrong.”

There is hurt in his voice, which I find ironic. He was married to Soffia when my mother gave birth to Ágota. Surely he must have realized my mother was free to find another man should she choose to since they were not wed.

“I am not yours,” I reply. “I am the daughter of—”

“An unknown man,” Ágota says, cutting me off as deftly as a sharp knife.

“A witch according to her power,” Balázs says thoughtfully. “Who would dare sire her?” His gaze flicks to the men in the group gathered around Soffia.

The comment is disquieting and I ponder the meaning of it.

“It does not matter who her father is. She is my sister, and I ask that you take us into your household and treat us as equals.” Ágota’s fingers tighten around the strap of the magical bag hanging across her torso. Would Ágota leave if he denies her request?

“Let us speak of that in...” he glances at his wife and the other witches “... a more private setting.”

Seeing him look her way, Soffia cries out, “These are not witches! They are changelings sent to undermine you. Cannot you see that? Viorica and her daughter are dead.”

“What proof do you have of the Archwitch’s demise?” Balázs shifts on his feet so he can face his wife. “Did you send assassins after her after I forbade you not to?”

Appearing offended, Soffia retorts, “No, of course not! But they have not been seen in years!”

“That’s because mother was in the Kingdom of Germany,” Ágota whispers to Balázs.