An hour passed, then Arany made the announcement. “The exhibition is closed.” Protests from those gathered, but he remained firm. “You’ve seen the art. I’ve shown you the artist. Now you shall leave.”

“Come now, Stefan, you mustn’t be selfish,” Claudia said. “Share with us.”

“Really, Stefan, when will you learn the value of hospitality?” The man who spoke was tall, with chestnut hair and very handsome. Princely in his bearing. Inclining his head, he took her hand in his. More ice. Why was everyone so cold?

Arany’s words were short and clipped “Dracula. I did not invite you.”

The man ignored him, giving her his undivided attention. “I feel we’ve met before. Surely, I’d remember.”

Remember . . . the hollow sound of it echoed through her ears.

Arany growled. Claudia moved closer. Power hung heavy in the air in the sense of communion shared.

Memory pierced her thoughts like a sharp wooden pike. She knew this man. She’d dreamt of him, too. He was the one she never dared paint--to do so might bring him to life. Now he stood before her, arms crossed, his smile smug on his lips as he watched her reaction.

She’d been drawn to Arany, but she had loved this man. Memories flooded her consciousness, dissolving the years like an acid bath. Stefan Arany – she’d been his wife. But he never appealed to the darker side of her soul. She’d sought another and found all the danger she could ever desire in the form of the man now standing at her side.

Vlad Dracula – the Son of the Dragon.

He’d made her his lover. Said he would change her, make her one of his own. For a price. She gave him her husband. But instead of killing him, the vampire changed him into a creature like himself. Fierce and worthy of her love.

Vlad laughed when she demanded her reward. He said it pleased him more to deny her. Then he dismissed her.

Stefan had seen to her future. The art was not from dreams. It came from a previous life.

Now Stefan’s voice was low and empty of emotion. “You are the one.”

Vlad chuckled. Claudia watched them like an anxious cat.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Selena whispered.

As it had all those years ago, Stefan’s hand closed on her throat. He raised her into the air. His fangs lowered in a grimace of triumph. “You’re right, Claudia. It’s time I shared.”

Windpipe constricted, she fought to breathe. Releasing her neck, he lowered her to the ground as, one by one, they moved in for the kill. Taloned hands reached out to rip white lace from her throat. Hungry maws closed on her flesh.

Selena smiled. Once again, she had the danger she desired.