the bed from the earth. Lifting it, he reached down and scooped up a handful of Corin’s native soil and raised it to his nose.
“ Hungary,” he identified the origin with a grunt.
Boldor allowed the grains to sift through his fingers , falling back onto the earth. He dropped the liner and repositioned the linens before turning his attention to the contents of the room.
“What is this?”
He slithered toward a dark-finished antique dresser, aimed for a gold pocket watch lying on its top, along with several other personal items. He picked up the piece and dangled it before him from an affixed chain. Standing there, examining the timepiece, a wicked smile stretched across his face as a beastly idea struck him. All of this could be his. He could become von Vadim and have it all—the wealth, the estate, the ease of life…everything.
Generating a low, malevolent chuckle, he slid the watch, along with a small pewter figurine of an owl in flight, into his pocket. He headed for the stairs, knowing he should depart before the master of the estate returned home and caught him in his lair. Besides, he had a scheme to devise—a plan to get that blasted marshal off his trail once and for all, and at the same time, set himself up in comfort for a long time to come. He pictured it all in his mind, relishing the idea of obtaining a new identity, one where he wouldn’t be prey on the run from the relentless hunter, Jordon Black. Yes, a fiendish plan was developing, and if he played his cards right, he could pull it off…take over Corin von Vadim’s perfect life. Pirate that he was, he had only one motto, Whatever Boldor wants, Boldor takes.
He could see no downfall to his plot, other than having to maintain restraint in feeding on mortals. Unlike von Vadim, he loved the kill, especially the sweet, arousing taste of a woman in her prime. But, he could exercise some control and learn to survive on the blood of beasts, just as von Vadim did, to keep his existence here secure. He could discipline himself…get by with just an occasional splurge of the good stuff. Oh yes, he had a grand plan in the making, and soon, the old timer wouldn’t know what hit him.
* * * *
Angelique leaned against a twisted old oak several feet in front of Louisa’s grave. Something had compelled her to drive to the cemetery at that late hour—nearly midnight—as if Louisa were summoning her from beyond the grave. Not a believer in the supernatural, she discerned it was nothing more than a delayed reaction to her loss. Things had been so chaotic since the murder. She hadn’t had time to just stop and grieve. So in the night, she sat there amid the dead, and cried.
The cemetery glowed under the light of the luminous moon, bringing to mind The Legend of the Midnight Hour —a story pertaining to that very place. She recalled the tale from her childhood. Set during the revolutionary war, it gave the account of a young man who’d been sent out in service of his country, leaving his new wife to await his return. Unfortunately, this brave soldier fell in battle, a casualty of war, his lifeless body returned to her by a fellow soldier.
Devastated and full of misery, the grief-stricken widow couldn’t go on in life without him. At the midnight hour, weeping upon her beloved’s grave, she drank a vial of poison, vowing to reunite with her lost love in death. Taking her last breath at precisely three minutes past twelve, the spirit of the young soldier rose from his grave and took her in a graceful dance, enchanting the cemetery forevermore.
According to the legend, each night at the exact moment of her demise, the inhabitants of the cemetery rise from their graves and dance under the night sky in honor of the lovers. Beyond death, she found life again, proving love really does conquer all.
Angelique didn’t believe the tale, but she loved the romance of it, a sorrowful but beautiful story of two souls fated to be joined forever, never to be
“ Hungary,” he identified the origin with a grunt.
Boldor allowed the grains to sift through his fingers , falling back onto the earth. He dropped the liner and repositioned the linens before turning his attention to the contents of the room.
“What is this?”
He slithered toward a dark-finished antique dresser, aimed for a gold pocket watch lying on its top, along with several other personal items. He picked up the piece and dangled it before him from an affixed chain. Standing there, examining the timepiece, a wicked smile stretched across his face as a beastly idea struck him. All of this could be his. He could become von Vadim and have it all—the wealth, the estate, the ease of life…everything.
Generating a low, malevolent chuckle, he slid the watch, along with a small pewter figurine of an owl in flight, into his pocket. He headed for the stairs, knowing he should depart before the master of the estate returned home and caught him in his lair. Besides, he had a scheme to devise—a plan to get that blasted marshal off his trail once and for all, and at the same time, set himself up in comfort for a long time to come. He pictured it all in his mind, relishing the idea of obtaining a new identity, one where he wouldn’t be prey on the run from the relentless hunter, Jordon Black. Yes, a fiendish plan was developing, and if he played his cards right, he could pull it off…take over Corin von Vadim’s perfect life. Pirate that he was, he had only one motto, Whatever Boldor wants, Boldor takes.
He could see no downfall to his plot, other than having to maintain restraint in feeding on mortals. Unlike von Vadim, he loved the kill, especially the sweet, arousing taste of a woman in her prime. But, he could exercise some control and learn to survive on the blood of beasts, just as von Vadim did, to keep his existence here secure. He could discipline himself…get by with just an occasional splurge of the good stuff. Oh yes, he had a grand plan in the making, and soon, the old timer wouldn’t know what hit him.
* * * *
Angelique leaned against a twisted old oak several feet in front of Louisa’s grave. Something had compelled her to drive to the cemetery at that late hour—nearly midnight—as if Louisa were summoning her from beyond the grave. Not a believer in the supernatural, she discerned it was nothing more than a delayed reaction to her loss. Things had been so chaotic since the murder. She hadn’t had time to just stop and grieve. So in the night, she sat there amid the dead, and cried.
The cemetery glowed under the light of the luminous moon, bringing to mind The Legend of the Midnight Hour —a story pertaining to that very place. She recalled the tale from her childhood. Set during the revolutionary war, it gave the account of a young man who’d been sent out in service of his country, leaving his new wife to await his return. Unfortunately, this brave soldier fell in battle, a casualty of war, his lifeless body returned to her by a fellow soldier.
Devastated and full of misery, the grief-stricken widow couldn’t go on in life without him. At the midnight hour, weeping upon her beloved’s grave, she drank a vial of poison, vowing to reunite with her lost love in death. Taking her last breath at precisely three minutes past twelve, the spirit of the young soldier rose from his grave and took her in a graceful dance, enchanting the cemetery forevermore.
According to the legend, each night at the exact moment of her demise, the inhabitants of the cemetery rise from their graves and dance under the night sky in honor of the lovers. Beyond death, she found life again, proving love really does conquer all.
Angelique didn’t believe the tale, but she loved the romance of it, a sorrowful but beautiful story of two souls fated to be joined forever, never to be
Similar Books
