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The quest for youth only leads to death…
The Blood Countess—Elizabeth Bathory, a true monster of history—is one of the most infamous serial killers. Said to have murdered 650 young women for their blood, she believed bathing in it would preserve her vitality and beauty. It’s a story that has always fascinated archaeologist and TV host Annja Creed. Something so fantastic could only be a story. So what is Annja to make of the girl she finds dying on the side of the road…from blood loss?
There’s something eerie in this small Slovakian town, where rumors of vampirism hang unspoken in the air. Yet, out of fear, the locals say nothing. Shut out by the police, Annja only digs deeper into the strange death, uncovering troubling scraps of evidence—and cover-ups. Her one lead is an enigmatic retired police officer who has been investigating the disappearance of more than twenty women. All of them young. All of them beautiful.
The only way Annja can see to uncover the truth is by becoming the Blood Countess’s next victim….
The woman was still alive…
Annja felt her heart leap in her chest. In that instant, everything changed.
Time became the enemy, a crushing weight resting on Annja’s shoulders. Every minute counted now. Annja needed to get the woman covered up and back to the top of the ledge, then to a medical facility as fast as humanly possible.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to try to get you out of here. Don’t struggle. Just lie still and let me do all the work. Understand?”
She leaned in close, but didn’t hear a response.
“All right. Hang on. I’m going to free your arm, then roll you over.”
Annja looked down at the woman she’d come to rescue. Her face was as pale as the rest of her, but even in her present state Annja could see that she was beautiful. Beauty, true beauty, always brought the predators out of the shadows.
One of the woman’s eyes was swollen shut but the other opened.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay,” she told her. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
The woman blinked, then moved her lips slightly. “Krv…Grofka.”
Startled, Annja pulled back. That was one Slovakian phrase she did understand.
Krv Grofka… Blood Countess.
Bathed in Blood
Alex Archer
Table of Contents
Csejte Castle, Upper Hungary December 30, 1610
The castle door stood partially open, as if in invitation.
From his hiding place amid the shrubbery half a dozen yards away, Count György Thurzó eyed the door cautiously.
He