Bathed In Blood

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

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

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Copyright

1

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 didn’t like it.

He had planned every detail of this mission, for failure could not only doom his career but bring reprisals the likes of which he’d never seen. Thurzó had informed no one of his intent to visit the castle; the king had merely ordered that he investigate the accusations, a task he could have assigned to one of his own court functionaries. But Thurzó had decided to investigate himself. If the claims proved to be unfounded, he would cull favor with the countess, the widow of his old friend, for having saved her from public embarrassment.

If the accusations proved to be true... Well, then, he would be in a position to handle the situation with the delicate hand it would surely require.

He and his men had traveled from the capital only at night, hiding out in abandoned barns and empty groves each morning so that none might see their approach and send word ahead to the castle’s mistress, Countess Elizabeth Báthory. The success of their venture depended entirely on surprise; the countess might not be cut from the same cloth as her deceased husband, Ferenc Nádasdy—a man whose ruthless ferocity on the battlefield had earned him the moniker the Black Knight of Hungary—but Thurzó knew her to be extraordinarily intelligent and cunning, a combination that was apt to make her dangerous.

His group had reached the village of Csejte just before sundown and hidden in a narrow canyon half a mile outside town until full dark. Then and only then had they passed through town and headed up the narrow road that led to the castle proper, sitting atop a hill that overlooked both the town and the surrounding territory. Nearing the castle, they’d dismounted before the final bend in the road, tied the horses to nearby trees and crept forward to their present position: a clump of shrubbery that allowed them to see the castle without being seen.

That door looked like trouble to Thurzó. He hadn’t come all this way to be ambushed.

Why leave it open?

Thurzó watched the entryway carefully, his gaze returning again and again to the narrow triangle of light spilling across the floor tiles just beyond. If someone was waiting inside the door, they would eventually shift their position, and their shadow would dance across that space, even if only for a second.

But the light on the floor remained steady; no shadow disturbed it, even after waiting several long, tense moments.