Sleeping Beauty and the Demon (31 page)

After the Woolworth Building spectacle, the public had deemed Dragomir Starkov one of the creatures who’d attacked the girls in Coney Island. Onlookers were stunned when they saw Rose fall without hitting the pavement below.

Had Dragomir the Magnificent dragged his wife to a secretive place in order to kill her, too?
The papers wrote.

Drago grimaced at the outlandish accusation. Little did the public know that he’d sent Rose away to allow one hundred years to pass. That way no one would know who she and Drago were in modern society.

In order to do that, Drago had been forced to escape many things: reporters, the fact that he didn’t show up in photographs, the police, and the Marconis. He’d seen his plan through by obtaining a new identity following Rose’s disappearance. In Europe, he’d chosen a stranger with whom he’d switched bodies. The last Immortal to have the coin gained that rare power.

The unknowing male ended up with Drago’s original body and no memory of the spell. Thankfully, the police never discovered the switch—or the stranger with Drago’s face.

Unfortunately, becoming a new person had been a huge adjustment for Drago. Throughout his 579-year existence, he had never altered his physical appearance except for this one time. In the past, he’d simply taken enough energy from someone to maintain his own.

Drago glanced at the name plate on his desk.
Julian Sloane.
That’s the man he had become.

Julian/Drago heard his cell phone ring in his trouser pocket. Instead of withdrawing it, he ignored the intense vibration and pulled out the lei coin. He was lucky enough to have snatched it from Morvina while she was trying to strangle him. Over the years, the coin had allowed him to continue his necromantic abilities. It also let him check in on Rose at her secret location.

Sighing again, he returned the coin to his pocket and gazed out at the main floor of the investment firm. The other bond traders were leaving for the night. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a journal. He’d always kept a diary. Recording things kept his mind clear.

Lips set in a straight line, he ran his fingertips over the green leather cover. He’d started this particular journal after he departed Château de Maincy. When Rose fled the estate in such a hurry, he had raced off too—leaving his original diary behind.

Opening the journal, he flipped through the pages and located the entry he’d written following the spectacle at the Woolworth Building. Once he became Julian Sloane, he’d traveled to the secret location to confirm that Rose had been teleported safely.

The night he penned the entry, the air had been unsettlingly still . . .

June 20, 1913

Thank God Rose is safe in this sequestered castle.

Its dark furniture and eerie architecture feel familiar to me, yet it seems colder and more ominous than ever here. I’m alone without Rose’s brilliant smile to keep me company and I’m starting to perspire. Maybe it’s because I’m so torn about what I have to do.

Feeling nervous before an illusion is foreign to me. Magic is something I’ve performed for others all my life, but now I must use it for my own purpose. I thought making Rose vanish in front of the spectators at the Woolworth Building was my greatest illusion, but it wasn’t.
This
will be my most important trick—but there isn’t a servant or even a lowly rat in this place to witness it.

I’m all alone. If my magic fails, no one can help me. Or save Rose.

I’m looking at her image inside my pocket-watch. The black-and-white photograph taken for publicity purposes doesn’t do her justice. Even now I can envision her luminous peach skin, violet eyes, and raspberry lips.

I long to embrace her and make love to her, but that will have to wait. She’s fallen into a deep sleep, one that needs to hold fast until it’s safe for her to wake again.

Since the police will try and track Rose, I plan to throw the watch into the fire to erase any trace of her. Then I’ll say goodbye to this castle and perform my illusion.

Hopefully, nothing will stop me from returning here in a hundred years.

Drago slammed the journal shut. It
was
a hundred years later and he missed Rose more than ever. He missed talking to her, confiding in her, and feeling her firm curves beneath him. From where she was, she had no idea what he’d been up to. She didn’t know that he’d lived for years as a recluse inside a home he had purchased in Switzerland. That he’d eventually sold Château de Maincy without ever returning to it. That he had moved to the sunny shores of Australia in 1949.

In Australia, he’d settled into an inexpensive house ten steps from the ocean. For weeks, days, and years, he had lain about like a bum, lost his Romanian accent, got a tan, and watched history pass him by. After a startling new invention called television hit the market, he witnessed the invasion of the Beatles, the Vietnam War, Woodstock, Watergate, the rise and fall of disco, and the tragic death of Lady Diana.

Growing tired of being unproductive, Drago moved to London in 2000 to become a bond trader. The profession suited him perfectly. It challenged him. It used his mind. And he figured that if it brought him astronomical amounts of money, then so be it.

That’s exactly what happened.

Shaking himself, he surveyed his posh office. It was beautiful and state-of-the-art, but today it looked odd because it had been cleaned out.

“Georgina?” he called for his administrative assistant.

“Coming, Mr. Sloane!” came Georgina’s sing-song voice.

As he waited for her to appear, Drago considered that this was the last time he’d be sitting in this chair. Yet he was far from sad.

“Yes, Mr. Sloane?” Charmingly pudgy Georgina stuck her head in.

“Is everything in order for my trip?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Your British Airways flight leaves from Heathrow at ten p.m.”

“Please have my driver pick me up at home in a half hour.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.” Heaving another sigh, Drago pushed his chair away from the desk.

Georgina lingered by the doorframe. “You must be excited to be taking such a long hiatus.”

“Yes,” Drago replied gently. He rose and put on his Zegna jacket.

“Ah”—Georgina cleared her throat—“since you’ll be gone for a while . . .”

He smiled again.

“Would you mind terribly if Lana said goodbye to you? You know how much she admires you. She’s at my desk.”

Drago suppressed a groan. Georgina’s twenty-two-year-old daughter was gorgeous—by any man’s standards. But she was irritatingly unintelligent, not to mention the fact that he’d sworn off women. His heart still belonged to his long-lost Rose.

Still, Georgina had been nothing but wonderful to him. In fact, he had to laugh because they’d practically mastered their computer skills together. That’s why he’d chosen her to be his assistant. For her humility and for the fact that she was unattractive. He had zero interest in forming a relationship.

Confident that he could resist Georgina’s sensual daughter, he nodded. “Very well. Lana may come in.”

The long-legged, high-breasted woman entered his office in no time. Wearing a low-cut blouse and an exceedingly short skirt, she sauntered forward. Mouth curved in a seductive smile, she murmured, “Hello, Mr. Sloane.”

Drago’s glance flitted over her stunning facial features, shining brown hair streaked with honey-colored strands, and glossy mouth. He felt a stirring in his groin. He was still a man, for Christ’s sake. But as soon as Rose’s face flashed in his mind, he was able to dispel his lust.

“Hello, Lana,” he returned the greeting.

She sat on top of his desk and crossed her tanned legs.
What women wore these days! Rather, what women didn’t wear
. Drago may have been old-fashioned—but in his defense he was over five hundred years old. He preferred the days when females didn’t flaunt their skin. It was much sexier.

He gave a little cough. He definitely wasn’t made for this century.

“Mum tells me you’ll be gone for a long time,” Lana said.

“That’s right.” He gathered his wallet and car keys then moved toward the door. “I’ve sold my apartment and I don’t know when I’ll return.”

Lana extracted her smart phone from her purse. She joined him at the doorway. “I thought we could Skype while you’re away.”

This time instead of suppressing a groan, Drago suppressed a laugh. “I don’t think they have Wi-Fi where I’m going.”

Lana frowned. “Will they have the Internet?”

“Wi-Fi
is
the Internet, Lana.”

“Then they have Internet everywhere!” She giggled. “Except maybe at a medieval castle.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m going on a trip to unplug.”

“Oh.” Rejection passed over her pretty face. “I was hoping we could stay in touch.”

To Drago’s surprise, she trailed her hands up the front of his jacket. Then she grasped his lapels and pulled herself closer. “I have a thing for older men, Mr. Sloane. Especially ones who stay in amazing shape. Like you.”

Drago still couldn’t see his reflection. Therefore, he needed to go by what people said as to how he looked.

“Lana, I’m
a lot
older than you.” He responded.

“You don’t look it. What’s your secret?”

You don’t want to know
. “I’m going away, remember?”

She made a face.

“Have no fear,” he added. “You’ll find your true love someday.”

She laughed. “You talk like you’re from a different century, Mr. Sloane.”

There’s a spark of intelligence in there somewhere.
He smiled ruefully. “That’s what a lot of people say.”

“Anyway, what do you know of true love?” Lana raised an etched eyebrow.

“The woman I fell in love with is long gone, but my heart still belongs to her.”

“Mum says you talk about her a lot. Rhonda. Was that her name?”

“It’s Rose.” Drago removed Lana’s hands from his jacket. “I need to go.”

Lana turned cold. “Okay. I can take a hint.”

“Don’t be angry. I see romance in your future, you know.”

“Really?” Her hazel eyes lit up.

“Yes. Predicting the future is a little hobby of mine.”
It’s actually an ability I gained from killing Morvina.

“Oh?”

“When I touched your hand right now, I saw something. A man. Tall, good-looking. A colleague of yours, maybe.”

She thought for a moment. “At the insurance agency?”

“If that’s where you work, then yes.”

“Alistair James,” she said, but promptly dropped her smile. “He’s married. Are you pulling my leg, Mr. Sloane? Just to get me out of your hair?”

“Certainly not.” He paused. “Someday you’ll see that I’ve predicted correctly. Mr. James’s wife will cheat on him. Then he’ll fall in love with you.”

Drago left Lana in the hallway with her mouth agape. After he bid Georgina a long and heartfelt goodbye, he climbed into his Maserati Quattroporte and sped home. Located in affluent Notting Hill, his apartment had been a steal at several million pounds. While it boasted enameled lava countertops, an Archeo copper bathtub, and a Ruijssenaars magnetic floating bed, Drago took little notice of its incredible possessions. He’d hired a designer to furnish the apartment—just as he kept a stylist on the payroll to pick out his clothes because he had no interest in such things.

Truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to be back in his tiny New York apartment with Rose.

Luckily, he’d packed earlier that morning. Now there was nothing to do but wait for his driver to arrive. Drago was thrilled that his reunion with Rose was quickly approaching. In fact, his entire body tingled with anticipation. Although he possessed the power to transport himself instantly to her, the last thing he wanted was to draw media attention. He’d spent years implementing this plan and if it failed, he would never forgive himself.

CHAPTER 34

D
rago was one of the first passengers to get off the plane in Bucharest. It felt incredibly good to be back in his native country. Romania was a place he’d once lived in as an innocent mortal—before he gained his daunting powers. Before black magic tainted his life.

Although the daylight fatigued him, he stood at the airport window and smiled at the familiar city shimmering in the early morning sun.

After he claimed his luggage, he went straight to a cab stand. His nerves had started to build during the flight and now they were buzzing at an all-time high.

Rose. My face is different, but will she remember my voice?

The question made him was as anxious as an eleven-year-old boy about to get his first kiss.

As the taxi transported him through the lively streets of Bucharest, he noticed they’d grown more glamorous over the years. Yet, he was glad the city had maintained a certain degree of old “Romanian” ambience—enough to keep the tourists pouring in anyway.

The cab eventually took him to an exclusive car dealership. Using cash, he bought a black BMW sedan. Once he packed his luggage inside the car and zoomed off, he made a stop in town. Then he drove the high-performance vehicle to the outskirts of Bucharest. The car hummed beautifully along the mountain roads and soon the vibrant city disappeared behind him.

As he found himself in the Carpathian Mountains, the sun had begun to set. And despite the fact that it was June, a chill seized the air. Through the tall fir trees, Drago could see the mountain top that housed his castle. He smiled. The massive thicket of thorns he’d commanded to grow around it was still intact.

If someone didn’t know the castle was there, they’d never find it.