As we drew closer to Romania, my tension increased. I bulked when we finally reached Bucharest and refused to travel any further. Ranulf coaxed me to finish the journey, but I adamantly refused. The idea of returning to von Helfin castle frightened me.

Resigned to remain close to the Romanian capital, Ranulf escorted me to a charming country inn on the city's outskirts. Our hosts greeted us profusely when he introduced us as Monsieur and Madame Zamphir. They went out of their way to ensure our privacy.

"A short repast will do us a world of good," my husband exclaimed, wrapping his arms around my waist. "You would not have wished to forego a honeymoon on any account, would you, my dear?"

"This is a lovely setting for a romantic holiday," I claimed, leaning my elbows on the balcony parapet.

A vast vineyard spread before me. Dotted here and there, I noticed men and women gathering the harvest into large woven baskets. The orange sun sank deeper toward the horizon, sending shafts of light toward our loggia. Ranulf threw his arms up to cover his face and howled with pain. Hurriedly, he scurried into the bedroom, slamming the doors behind him.

I rushed after him, hastily drawing the curtains. Soaking a washcloth in the water ewer, I dabbed his eyes soothingly.

"It will take a long time to adjust," my soulmate stated, stretching across the bed. "I'm sure you didn't marry me to play nursemaid."

"I'll play at whatever suits you best, my love," I remarked, placing butterfly kisses on his eyelids.

Ranulf reached for me in the darkened room and caressed my cheeks lovingly. I fell into his embrace and shivered slightly when his cold body pressed against mine. He recoiled, knowing his touch shocked me. Gently, I drew him closer, and my lips found his over-moist mouth.

I longed to make love to my husband. Despite our many attempts, we failed each time. Ranulf remained placid regardless of my passion-filled effort to arouse him. Anguish filled his face, and he turned away from me.

"It will take time, my love," I assured him. "The trauma will pass, and you will grow away from your past."

"Will it, Norah?" Ranulf snapped, angry and frustrated with himself. "I wish to please you, to love you, and yet..."

"I wish to please you too."

I reclined on the bed and pulled at my negligee's silken ribbon. The flimsy garment fell away from my exposed body. Ranulf knelt above me, his sanguine eyes traveling from my face to my breasts. He reached out to touch them, then hastily withdrew.

"Nothing," my husband muttered, shaking his head dolefully. Turning abruptly on his heels, he marched from the room.

Hours passed. I anxiously awaited Ranulf's return and finally fell into a fitful sleep. Dawn awakened me, and still, he did not appear. Filled with despair, I paced the room until the door cracked open, and my husband stepped in.

"Where were you?" I cried accusingly.

"Walking and walking and walking," my husband muttered, pacing the room. "I...oh, I feel humiliated." He covered his face and sank onto the bed. I perched beside him.

"What has happened?" Placing my arm across his shoulders, I pulled him to my breast.

"Blood! There was much blood!"

I drew back aghast. The word 'blood' alarmed me, frightened me.

"Blood?" I exclaimed, horrified. "What kind of blood? Human?"

"Pigs," Ranulf muttered, lowering his eyes. "In a pigsty several miles from here. I...I slaughtered them and drank their blood. I could not control myself.

I regarded him solemnly. Ranulf had fallen back into his vampire desires overnight. Anxiously, I rose and, throwing open the French windows, stepped onto the balcony. I gripped the parapet and gazed into the distant vineyard.

"We must leave immediately," my husband stated, stepping behind me. "It is time to return to von Helfin."

Von Helfin! The words screamed inside my head.

******

I vividly recall my first sight of the foreboding castle. Perched high upon its cragged mountain, it hung precariously upon the apex. Covering my face with sweaty palms, I pressed close against Ranulf's side. My new husband squeezed my shoulders reassuringly and kissed my forehead. Fleetingly, I wondered if I made a mistake in returning.

The high iron gate creaked ominously when Ranulf swung it open. Returning to the trap we hired in a nearby village, he urged the timid horses forward. As though sensing the sinister atmosphere, the bay bulked, and his pied partner reared in fright. I grasped the edge of the seat, expecting our conveyance to topple. Skillfully, my husband steadied the beasts, and we entered the castle precincts.

As I stepped into the courtyard, I recollected the night Mama and I first arrived. The one-eyed coachman dumped our baggage off his carriage and departed as though the devil were on his heels. Left alone, we entered and faced our ominous host.

Ranulf took my arm gently and led me toward the sturdy oaken double doors. We entered the dilapidated great hall and stared at our surroundings. Hesitantly, I gazed around the vast chamber. At any moment, I expected the Baron to appear and bow at the waist.

"I feel the Baron's presence strongly," I whispered, my eyes roaming the ample space. "I expect him to step stealthily behind us at any moment."

"Uncle is not here, my love," my husband assured me. "He is gone and will not return. I am sure of it."

"Please, Ranulf, I...I want to make sure," I stated tentatively. "The horror... it's returning in full force. I...I shouldn't have come here. It is too much, too soon."

"Let me prove it to you, Norah, my sweet," he remarked, strengthening his grip on my arm.

Slowly, he drew me toward the cellar door. I bulked when he pushed it open. Nevertheless, I accompanied him down the narrow stairwell and the mossy corridor. I glanced into the abandoned nursery as we passed. My ears strained for the sound of children's voices and Mama's low tone as she read a story aloud. However, the room remained silent.

I hesitated at the iron gate when Ranulf pushed it open. I halted, ready to flee at the slightest sound.

"No one is here, Norah," Ranulf confirmed soothingly. "The illusion dissipated upon Uncle's demise. When you annihilated his spirit, those he called back from the dead vanished with him."

"Mrs. Balan, Helga, and Godoired Cazacu," I muttered the servants' names.

"The one-eyed coachman, the villagers," Ranulf continued the list. "And the gypsy caravan you visited with Helga."

I shrank back against the mildewed wall in horror. The people he listed were all too real to me. They became an intricate part of my life while I resided in the castle. I could not believe they were all the walking dead. Hastily, I covered my mouth but could not suppress my screams.

"Norah, Norah!"

Ranulf's anxious voice came from a far distance. Slowly, I regained consciousness. His dearly beloved face came back into focus after I blinked rapidly. I stammered, my words tripping on my tongue. I could not put my thoughts into a coherent conversation.

"Please, take me away from here," I finally sputtered. "I don't want to see anymore."

"Of course, my love."

I awoke several hours later in my old turret bedroom. Ranulf tended the blazing fire, his back to me. Sitting up, I softly called his name. He approached and knelt beside the large bed. Tenderly, he grasped my hands.

"There is nothing to fear, love," he briskly stated. "Uncle is gone. Everything he left behind has turned to dust."

"I am considering the poor children," I exclaimed, considering the awful fate of Vlad, Luiza, and Vanda. "Poor, poor children."

"Indeed," my husband muttered dolefully. "I loved my nephew and nieces dearly. Our tragic lives destroyed all that was good in them."

"I do not know if I will ever recover from centuries of vampirism." Ranulf continued, grasping my hands and staring deeply into my wide blue eyes. "Sometimes..." he hesitated momentarily and sighed. "Sometimes, I still feel the urge..."

Yes, I pondered, he still felt the urge, poor Ranulf. He had a ravenous hunger for raw meat, and his canines still protruded from his overly moist red lips. At night, he sat in the window gazing at the full blood moon. His body strained under the pressure of transforming into a bat. Balling his fists, he fought against the conversion. Little by little, he overcame those old habits, but many of them remained with him.