Anabelle inherited a crumbling castle. She didn't expect it to come with a devastatingly handsome vampire who thinks she's his dead fiancée.
Vladislaus Dracul appeared in her office like he owned the place—which he had for three centuries. Impossibly beautiful, infuriatingly knowledgeable about every flaw in her building, and insisting he work only at night.
Red flags everywhere.
But when he saved a guest with superhuman speed, when she felt fangs during a kiss that left her breathless, denial became impossible. Her night caretaker was the original Count Dracul, and she wore the face of the woman whose death had driven him to centuries of guilt-ridden slumber.
Every touch awakened memories that weren't hers. Every glance carried the weight of a love story that ended in flames.
But was he seeing Anabelle, or mourning Elenora's ghost?
She should run. Should call the police, or a priest, or an exorcist.
