He shook his head. “Her father killed the brute. Ran him through right where he stood, but unfortunately, the count had powerful friends. No amount of money could make the incident go away, so her father was arrested and executed,” he said. “After which, the title passed to her little brother, who was no more than a year old. As long as there was a male heir, the noblewoman’s homes, position, and wealth were safe. She had no need of a husband to smooth her way.
“Which is why the other bastards who desired her and her money schemed to kill her baby brother.”
My jaw dropped. Who knew the oral tale was just as captivating as the written version? “They were so obsessed with this woman and her family’s money they plotted to kill an innocent baby?”
He tipped his head. “They didn’t just plot. They hatched a plan and carried it out. One day, her mother and the nanny took the baby out for his daily stroll through the square, when a carriage driver suddenlylost control of the horsesand crashed the carriage into them.
“The nanny and baby survived, but her mother was killed.”
I swear I gasped.
“Obviously, when the carriage driver took the bribe, he thought he’d get away with it by bleating that it was all an accident, but for the crime of causing the death of someone above his station, he was arrested and tortured. In the midst of this torture, he spilled everything,” Radu said. “He told theauthorities all about the scheming suitors who paid him to kill the young, innocent heir.”
“Were the suitors arrested?” I blurted.
“They were. Again, such a bold and brazen assassination could not be covered up. It all came out, and the young noblewoman learned that her kind mother was killed for the sake of men’s lust and greed,” he said. “After this, she still feared for her little brother’s life, so she sent him and the nanny away to the countryside where he could hopefully grow up in peace and safety.
“By this time, she was only fourteen years old.”
“Fourteen?!” I would’ve clapped my hand over my mouth if I could lift it. “Only fourteen years old, her parents are gone, she’s separated from her only sibling, and she’s under constant threat from pedophilic monsters?”
“It is a childhood plagued with horrific traumas, sweet one,” he said softly. “Which is why, as told by the author, a dark seed takes root in her soul.”
“Dark seed?” I found myself whispering right along with him.
“Just so. The noblewoman not only comes to fear the attention of men, she starts to despise it with a homicidal passion. In the time our noblewoman and painter met, there was an unknown serial killer haunting the streets of Paris, killing men and making it look like an accident.”
My jaw dropped. “So that’s why the author mentioned the blacksmith who fell on his tools, and the docksman whoslippedon the docks and drowned. Wow. He was so subtle about it, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the story.” I dropped back on the pillows. “So it was the noblewoman the whole time?”
He nodded. “In her mind, there was nothing more dangerous than male attention, so any man unwise enough to even whistle in her direction—met a grisly fate,” Radu said to my wide eyes.“So just imagine what she had in mind for the young painter following her around?”
“She was going to kill him.” I had no doubt in my mind. “The day she had her guards drag him to her, she was going to runhimthrough where she stood. But then... she saw the paintings.
“She saw herself as he saw her, and realized that he didn’t view her as an object—as something to be possessed and locked away. She saw something pure and innocent in his love. A pure innocence she once thought didn’t exist.
“But,” I dropped, “our girl’s a serial killer, and I’ve seen enough crime shows to know the kind of obsession that drives a killer to kill. The kind of... dark seed... that takes root. She feared what she’d do to him, so she sent him away to save him from herself.
“But time, and obsession, caught up to him in the end.”
He hummed, smiling at me. “It seems you already know this story. I needn’t have suggested it to you.”
“Oh, I know why you suggested this to me. It’s because”—I peered at him through my lashes—“you wrote this book, didn’t you, Professor? A story of a killer so helpless to their urges, compassion and mercy can’t stand against their bloodlust.” I raised a shaking finger and tapped the pages. “This isn’t the story of a traumatized young woman. It’s the story of a vampire.
“It’s the story of you.”
Firelight danced in his too-bright eyes—captivating me, scaring me, drawing me in, pushing me away. “You are correct,” he hissed, “but only partly so.”
“What?”
“Yes, I did write this book. And yes, this is my story. But no, I am not the noblewoman. I... am the painter.”
“You...? You’re...?” I trailed off, speech failing me.
Closing the book, he set it down on my lap. “Can you picture it, sweet one? Me, a young man of twenty, moving to the cityfor the very first time. My life had been spent in the countryside with my mother and sisters. All I knew of life were chores, playing with my sisters, and doing odd jobs in the village to make enough to buy paint.
“Lust, sex, betrayal, and possession were unfathomable to me, so why should such things overtake my brush when I painted the fair noblewoman I so admired?” he whispered, gazing into the fire. “For it was her kindness that drew me to her in the first place. Every other noble who crossed my path looked at me like the scum at the bottom of the chamber pot, but the first time I saw her, she was treating a group of peasant children to a snack while she sat among them, listening to all their stories.
“After she killed my wife and had me dragged back to her, she told me that was why she tried to spare me,” he said. “She saw something of the innocent, sweet child in me when she looked at my paintings. Because of that, she couldn’t kill me any more than she could kill an innocent child.
