Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy, page 24
He rises and steps back from me. I turn, surprised by his sudden departure. “You are leaving?”
“Only for a while. I assumed you would rather disrobe when I am not around, though I am willing if you are.” A tiny smirk appears at the corner of his lips before he turns and heads back up the gentle incline. I watch until he disappears over the crest.
I slowly turn back toward the water’s edge and a shiver seizes me. I have never been a fan of water. As a young girl, I nearly fell through a thin sheet of ice that covered the small duck pond at the back of our property. My mother had been furious, my father coolly indifferent. The fever nearly took me.
I remember my sister’s constant prayers as I lay shivering in my bed. My mother sat beside the fire, her knitting needles clicking with maddening speeds. She always did turn to her knitting when she was worried.
Since that day I have not stepped within a few feet of water’s edge and here I sit, desperate for relief from my aches and pains, though too terrified to move. I look back in the direction Fane went and realize he has not left me at all. He is simply waiting.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself as I gently tug the blanket from my shoulders. Instead of the anticipated chill from disrobing outdoors, I find myself smiling at the wind’s gentle caress against my skin.
Is that how the water will feel? I wonder as I gingerly rise to my feet. I waver unsteadily for a moment before taking a hesitant step forward. The soles of my feet sink into the damp soil as I near the edge. It crumbles beneath me, threatening to tumble me face first into the water.
“Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” I call over my shoulder toward Fane. He has begun to pace and I fear he will turn to check on my progress before I have dipped beneath the concealing waters.
“I suppose it is not as if water can harm me anymore,” I muse as I dip my toe into the water, thinking of how Fane promises I could spend an entire night in its depths without need to breathe.
The water feels deliciously cool against my foot as I step in, my arms spread wide for balance as I sink deep into the bank. The mud rises between my toes and I release a small squeal. A deep laugh from behind makes me purse my lips. “It is not amusing.”
“Perhaps not, though you most certainly are.”
I grit my teeth and fling myself into the pond, choking and pawing at the water as I poorly attempt to keep my head afloat. Within seconds, Fane is standing along the shore, his arms crossed over his chest and his smile broad. “Why did you not tell me you could not swim?”
“It is not that I cannot,” I splutter as I pick a leaf from the side of my face. My legs pedal beneath me to keep my chin just above the surface. “I just prefer dry land.”
“And yet you still entered…” He cocks his head to the side and watches me with that intense gaze that I have come to recognize. It is almost as if he is trying to peer into my mind.
“Do not look at me as if you think this decision was based on bravery.” I sweep my arms back and forth, treading water to remain in place. There is a current within this small space. I should have realized it sooner when I watched the leaves floating toward the far shore.
It will not take long for me to tire, yet even as I realize how weary I should be, I also begin to notice that my muscles no longer hold the same ache. I stare up at Fane and know my thoughts are clearly written across my face.”
“You may thank me at your earliest convenience.” He grins.
“Are you always this haughty?” I shake my head and laugh as droplets of water from my hair splatter against his pristine pants. He does not back away. Instead, he drops into a crouch. His nearness makes me sink a bit lower beneath the surface.
“It was either this or blood. I assumed this would be far more preferable to you.”
I curl my lower lip with disgust. “I will never drink blood again.”
His knowing smile makes the tips of my ears burn. “Never is a very long time for our kind, Roseline.”
He rises to his full height, taking my blanket with him. He holds it out and turns his head to the side. “We should return you to the castle before someone begins to wonder where you have gotten off to.”
My stomach clenches at the thought. “No one ever looks for me.”
He tilts his head to the side yet does not look in my direction. The water laps about my chest as I slowly swim back toward the shore. “Perhaps not normally, though this is not a normal time.”
The hairs along my body rise as I step out of the pond and into the waiting blanket. Fane gently wraps it securely around me before he lowers his gaze to discover my curiosity. “Tomorrow night is the Avangor, the blood moon. They will come for you at sundown.”
“I do not understand. I still have three more days.
Fane nods solemnly. “Vladimir has chosen not to wait.”
I feel the familiar quake begin to rise within me. “I need more time.”
“There is none.” He raises his hands to hold me upright as I waver. “Time runs short.”
I stare up at him, knowing my fear is laid bare before him. Water droplets fall from my hair, pattering against my nose, and trail down my chin. I am warm and revived, yet an icy chill has seized me.
His lips part as his gaze shifts from my eyes to the quivering of my lips. “I told you I would ask again.”
I stiffen in his arms, terrified and filled with utter longing. It curls my toes and seeks to push back against the numbness. “This cannot be,” I whisper.
“Why can it not?” Fane steps near. I can feel the heat of his body beneath his leather vest. “Why can fate not give us this single moment of happiness?”
“Because it will never be enough. Do you not see this?” I shove my hair back from my face, swiping away the moisture that clings to my lashes. I am soaked through, yet I hardly feel a chill.
“If I allow myself to feel for you, it will be torture when you are gone and even more so when you are near. Lucien watches me like a hawk, and Vladimir…” I fight to suppress a shudder. “He will know.”
Fane steps closer, pressing the length of his body against mine. I can smell the scent of his longing pouring off him in rhythmic waves. “I am not the one who is blind, Roseline,” he murmurs as he stares down at me from his great height. His smile broadens as he leans down and whispers in my ear. “You do not need to allow yourself to feel for me. You already do.”
I stiffen as he presses his cheek against the side of my face. I wish to lean into his touch, to accept his embrace, yet I am terrified.
What do I know of love? Of real love?
My father used me to further his fortune. My mother did nothing to stop him. Vladimir has been nothing short of atrocious. How am I to know if what I feel truly is love or a mere infatuation?
“I can see it in your eyes,” he whispers into my ear. I tremble in his grasp.
“See what?” I breathe out as he nudges the hair back from my neck and presses his lips to the side of my throat. I clench my fists tightly against my sides, desperate not to reveal my desire.
“You want me.” I bite my lower lip as he smiles against my neck. “I can smell it.”
Blast his sense of smell! I feel weak in the knees as his hands lace about my waist, molding our bodies together as if we were one. His hands are strong against my back, kneading through the sodden folds of my blanket. As I roll my head back to allow him access to the base of my neck, I vaguely realize how easily it would be to bare myself to him.
His fingers dig deep into my flesh as he presses me back against a spruce tree. We disappear among its drooping branches, sealing out the world and all of its cares. The sun is lost behind clouds that seek to cloak the castle grounds in coming darkness. I can feel the change in the wind as I press against the bark of the tree and lift my eyes to the sky, feeling as turbulent as the tempest building above.
My heart thrums with maddening intensity as Fane’s hands roam the breadth of my waist, tugging me close, then pushing me back with measured control, almost as if he comes to his senses and then refuses to acknowledge them all over again.
I can feel the battle waging within him. It is evident in the strength of his hands and the press of his body. He wants me. His scent envelops me with turbulent intensity. A low growl rises in his throat as he nips at my neck, nearly tumbling me into a careless abandon.
I dig my nails deep into the flesh of the tree as I attempt to resist, yet as Fane’s lips trace a burning trail toward my mouth, I find I no longer care.
“May I?” he whispers hoarsely.
With a growl that surprises both of us, I yank him about and shove him against the tree in answer. Chunks of bark jar loose and fall about our feet as I wrap my arms around his neck and rise up to meet his lips. Adela was wrong. There is nothing sweet or romantic about a first kiss.
Raw passion makes my mind hazy with desire as I grip Fane, needing to feel every part of him against me. I claw at his back as I crush against his lips until my own are bruised and swollen. I plunge my hands into his hair as he wraps his arms about my waist and lifts me so my feet are nearly a foot off the ground.
If only I had known a kiss could be like this.
Fane slowly lowers me to the ground, severing our connection. My chest heaves as I step back, fighting to regain my composure. My fingers tremble as I press them to my lips, clutching my blanket with my free hand. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?” I delight in seeing how out of breath and disheveled he is. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and wide as he stares back at me. The top buttons of his shirt have come undone, and I spy a hint of muscle and instantly ache to slip my hand within to explore.
I stumble backward several steps and out into the rising winds, needing the coming deluge to quench the fires burning deep within my belly. “For giving me something to hold on to.”
Fane calls out as I turn and sprint away. I slide on the grass as the rains overhead unleash, threatening to upend me on several occasions. My blanket hangs heavy and thick between my legs as I flee, though I do not turn back. I cannot.
If I do not leave now, I may commit an act that I will forever regret… like confessing my inclination toward him.
Love. At least be willing to be honest with yourself, I scold as I flee over the hills and back toward the castle. It looms like a monster rising from an eerie fog from upon the hilltop. I have no right to feel this way, yet, no matter how hard I have tried, I cannot deny the truth. I have fallen in love with Fane Dalca.
THIRTY-ONE
I hear the drums first, rising from the depths of the darkening woods. I turn my back on the window as the last few droplets of color fade from the sky. The stars twinkle high above, though tonight they do not capture my attention.
My heart thumps loudly in my ears as I stare at my door, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching. I know they are coming for me. It is time.
Panic seizes me as I realize this might be my last night on this earth. How odd it is to suddenly be fearful of the one thing I have wanted most: death. Maybe meeting Fane has changed me. Maybe the feel of a blade in my hand has given me something small to live for.
There is no knock or pause to request entrance to my room. My door bangs open and half a dozen immortals stand in the threshold, fighting to peer in. My candle is diminished so they do not spot me for a few scant seconds, though it is long enough for me to get a good look at them under torchlight.
The first I see is a slender redhead with waves of fire cascading over her shoulders. Never before have I seen such a vivid color on any other woman. Her skin is pale as winter snow and her lips the color of blood. I cannot help but wonder if she has actually painted her lips with it to celebrate this occasion.
Metal chains wrap about her long neck and wrists. Her dress is foreign, much fuller than any I have ever worn. Her feet are bare and her eyes are amplified by thick bands of black. Alamesia’s grating laugh sends ripples of unease down my spine.
Beside her is a tall, dark-haired man with a severe-cut beard and eyes the color of coal. His hair is unusually short, almost as if it has been shorn so you can see the strange markings on his neck, leading up to his scalp. I am tempted to lean in closer to see what design it makes at the back of his head, though one look at his eyes tells me I want no part of this man near me. The bloodied blade at his side gives evidence to the skirmish I heard below only a few minutes ago. I suppose I now know who won.
Two burly men stand behind Alamesia, rising nearly a foot taller and double the width. Their russet beards are unruly, their hair matted with leaves and dirt. They look as if they have been rolling with the dogs in the meadow. Judging by their scent, they may have had a time with the pigs as well. I do not know their names or their scent. These three men must have been among the newest group to arrive. I have heard many new voices come and go throughout the day.
I recognize the last immortal simply by her state of undress: Bellamy. If she were to speak, I would instantly recognize her accent from being raised by a small sheepherder in the countryside of France, where Lucien found her. Her name is on the lips of nearly every male that traipses through the front doors of Castle Bran, and I would wager she has shared a bed with most of them as well. She has been absent for some time, though Lucien seemed rather pleased to see her once more.
I had hoped Fane would be sent for me. He would have been a familiar face, though perhaps it is for the best. If Vladimir ever caught one of Fane’s less-than-guarded glances, he would lose his head and a few other limbs in the process.
“There she is,” the dark-haired man says with a gravelly voice as his grip tightens atop his fancy wooden walking stick. It has the head of a lion, its teeth sharpened into points. I dare say they appear to be dripping with blood. A fitting cane for such a beastly man.
“I saw her first, Barrett.” Bellamy offers him a smile dripping with honey as she places a hand high to tweak his nose before twirling to face me. I can see no hint of compassion in her eyes, only excitement as she digs her nails into my arms to wrench me from the dark.
“You had your fun during the plagues within the provinces of England. It is only fair that someone else shall have the honor.” I can see the ruddy tint still clinging to Barrett’s cheeks from Bellamy’s touch. He is not fooling anyone with his gruff tone. Men are essentially all the same.
Bellamy smirks and waves him off. “We must not keep everyone waiting.” Her voice is singsong, as if gripped by a dream world, yet laced with a lethal dose of poison.
“No, we certainly would not want that,” I spit back. The contents of my stomach rise in my throat, though I swallow it down, refusing to give them the satisfaction of sensing my fear.
If my greeting party is anything to judge by, the hunters should be far more anxious to begin the hunt. It is a sport to them, as sick as it is sadistic.
When Fane came to see me at dawn, he informed that I have received my request. Lucien will be among the hunters and he is eager to take a swing at me. As are the hulking men clomping behind me down the hall, no doubt. Their swords look sharp enough to severe bone with a single blow.
The castle is oddly empty as I am shoved down one corridor to the next. I fight the urge to drag my feet and force them to carry me. That will only expend energy I am sure to need before the sun rises… if I can make it that long.
The great hall is eerily still and vacant of firelight. Every door has been flung open, each room we pass unoccupied.
I am going to have quite the audience, I muse silently as I am prodded in the back by Barrett’s walking stick. The desire to beat him over the head with it grips me suddenly, though I hardly have time to think upon it as I am sent flying through the exterior door with a violent shove. I tumble end over end to the bottom of the stairs.
The leather of my skirt slaps against the stone as I roll to a halt, the edge of the bottom step digging painfully into my spine. Alamesia and Bellamy cackle as they leap down beside me. “Watch that top step. It can prove to be tricky.”
“Enough.”
I tense at the sound of the stern voice that echoes around the stone courtyard. Blood and gravel cling to my palms as someone grasps me under my arms and hauls me to my feet. My black leather halter is dusted white from the stone, my sword dangling from its sheath at my side thankfully unharmed.
This is not exactly how I wanted to present myself: disheveled and favoring my side. It is a weakness that the hunters will use to their advantage. Blast you, Alamesia! I silently curse.
“Why must you always spoil our sport?” Bellamy pouts. I look up as she steps around me without a glance and watch as she saunters toward Fane. Golden waves of fine hair trail behind her in the wind as she glides her hand across his chest. Rising onto her toes, she licks her blood-red lips and leans in toward him, sniffing the curve of his neck. There is a distinct sway to her hips as she moves past with a smirk, and I notice a muscle along his jaw flinch reflexively.
“Vladimir will not be pleased if Roseline arrives in a less-than-perfect state for her hunt.”
Alamesia snorts and crosses her arms over her chest as she juts out her hip. Her jewelry tinkles as she sways. “Roseline is it now? Tsk tsk, Fane. I would be cautious at how familiar you address the girl in front of Vladimir. He might not take too kindly to that. He seems unusually fond of her.”
Acid burns my throat at the thought of Vladimir’s particular form of fondness. Fane stiffens and appears determined not to glance in my direction as he turns to address Alamesia. He presses his shoulders back and lifts his chin with defiance. “I am her trainer, nothing more.”
I try not to let the lack of emotion in his tone nor the dullness of his eyes bother me, yet it does. I thought Fane was different than them. Was I mistaken about his feelings for me? Was it all some sick ploy to win my affections at my expense?
Judging by Alamesia’s grating laugh, she does not entirely agree with his sentiment. “We shall see.”
