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his hands behind his back, his expression flattening. “We lost that second battle at Plevna, Prime Minister.”
    From where she knelt on the floor, Pettrila saw Ion’s fingers on the armrest flex in a spasm of pain. “The Turks are a formidable enemy, sir.”
    The general pursed his lips, as though giving Ion’s statement careful consideration. “Perhaps. Or perhaps something else is being the problem.” Kridener’s shrewd eyes flicked in Pettrila’s direction, only the barest glance, but she felt it like a drench of icy water.
    She tried to melt into the side of Ion’s chair and disappear.
    “Rumors are reaching my ears, Prime Minster. Of dangerous creatures who drink the blood of men, possess them, bind them in a spell, steal their will.” Kridener exhaled sharply. “We cannot be winning a war with men in such a condition.” His voice lowered an octave, a dark undercurrent running through it. “We must see to the destroying of these creatures.”
    Ion’s hand twitched.
    Near the armoire, Emil’s face went unnaturally blank.
    Something had entered the air…a hovering, calculating stillness.
    Pettrila’s heart broke its rhythm, sweat running between her breasts. The general knows . Her chest heaved on her next breath, her corset biting into her ribs.
    She heard Ion swallow. “Surely you must realize that such rumors are mere nonsense, utter blather soldiers spread to pass the time. I wouldn’t give this any credence whatsoever.”
    “No?” Kridener’s smile was gleaming and narrow. “I look upon your face, Prime Minster, and see that I come to the right man for the answering of this problem.” In three swift strides, the general was upon Pettrila, taking her chin between thumb and forefinger in a pincer-like grip.
    Pettrila gasped, fear compressing her lungs as Kridener jerked hard on her chin to open her mouth. Pain tore through her jawbone and she cried out, wrenching her face from the Russian’s grasp. But it was too late. The general had seen her fangs.
    “Vampire!” Kridener glared at Ion. “And you are doing the harboring of one.”
    Ion’s complexion turned the color of undyed wool. “It isn’t as you think. There are only a very few of us who have…relations with…with…” He cleared his throat. “The Vârcolac cannot be responsible for so many lackluster soldiers, I assure you.”
    The general’s upper lip curled in a preemptive sneer. “These are lies. I see the soldiers’ faces and they are wearing the same look as you. I won’t allow these creatures”—he gestured rigidly at Pettrila—“to be the cause of losing my war, I assure you .”
    A large shadow cut across the room.
    Kridener whirled toward the doorway, his hand going to the hilt of his sabre.
    A lone man stood in the portal, chin down, nostrils flared wide, silver eyes glittering unnaturally bright. Massive shoulders filled the span of doorway. He was the incarnation of pure menace.
    “Saints and Martyrs,” Ion murmured. “Does the cursed butler sleep at his post?”
    Pettrila’s heart stumbled to a halt. Lună şi steluţă . She pressed a hand to her breast. Moon and stars, how had he come to be here? Had he been following her again? A blush crept into her cheeks. Evidently.
    The lone man stepped inside, his chin jutting dangerously beneath a closely cropped black beard. He crossed to their group.
    She flashed him a warning look. Fool ! There’s talk of destroying Vârcolac and you waltz into the lion’s den.
    He heeded her warning not at all. “This woman is under my protection,” he growled, his eyes slits of fierce silver ice.
    One of Kridener’s pale brows rose. Rather than bristling over the blatant hostility, the general appeared intensely curious about their intruder.
    Pettrila’s champion offered her his palm. She looked at it and, after only the barest pause, slipped her hand into his and allowed him to help her to her feet. Perhaps it was not the wisest course of action to encourage this