Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (5 page)

He
glances back over his shoulder at me and I watch as terror roots him
in place. I do not have to look to know that Vladimir stands behind
me. I can smell the blood that stains his skin, moist and fresh.
Closing my eyes, I pray Miron will be granted a reprieve. However, in
the pit of my stomach I know I am about to witness another death.

Please
spare his family,
I
silently pray as Vladimir stoops beside me. His blackened eyes are
wide and unblinking as he looks me over. My lip begins to tremble and
my hands quake as he reaches out for me. I shy away and a soft mewing
sound escapes my lips as he lays his hand upon my knee. The muscle
along his jaw flinches as he stares down at my broken ankle. “The
human did this to you?”

“No.
He came to my aid…” I trail off as my husband’s
eyes narrow.

“He
dared to touch you?” He rages, ignoring my pleas as he blurs
from sight. Vladimir reappears a second later beside Miron. I turn
away at the older man’s cry of alarm.

The
snapping of his spine echoes through the early morning calm. I
shudder at the sound of his lifeless body slumping to the ground,
feeling a numbness sweep over me. Tears spill freely down my cheeks,
pattering against my bloody bodice. My head feels light, though my
body feels weighted to the ground.

Strong
hands wrap about my arms and hoist me into the air. I blink against
the tears and come face to face with Lucien. His clipped beard is
moist and the spaces between his teeth are filled with thick blood.
His lips peel back into a crimson sneer. “You weep for the
human.”

“He
was innocent,” I whimper as his fingers dig into my bruised
flesh. My ankle throbs terribly as he shakes me. My teeth pierce the
flesh of my lip and blood seeps from the corner of my lip.

“Release her,”
Vladimir calls from just over my shoulder.

Lucien’s
gaze shifts as I cower in his grasp, grateful to no longer be the
center of his attention. “She cries for the man,” he
spits out.

“Let
her cry. It is her human weakness leaving her.” Vladimir pats
him on the shoulder, and I cringe as they both shift to stare down at
me. I feel so small, so insignificant before them. “She is
still young yet, brother. Give her time to adjust to our ways.”

Livid
eyes drill into me as Lucien draws me close. I turn my face away,
holding my breath so as not to ingest the scent of death clinging to
him. “Perhaps we were in error in selecting her.”

“No.”
Vladimir’s face is void of emotion, though his eyes are not.
They roam down my exposed neck and linger at the low cut of my
bodice. I tug at my shawl, desperate to hide from his gaze. “She
is perfect.”

Lucien’s
growl is low and threatening as he turns to glare at my husband.
“This is about far more than your lusts, Vladimir.”

“Peace,
brother. I know what is at stake. You were correct from the
beginning. She is the one.”

Blood
trickles from my arms where Lucien’s nails bury into my flesh.
I whimper though I do not pull away, knowing that by doing so it will
only be worse. Lucien has proven that he likes inflicting pain. “We
shall see.”

He
tosses me aside without a second thought. I cry out as I slam to the
ground. My vision darkens as I collapse to the dirt, pressing my
cheek to the cool earth. Strong hands grasp my arms and I shriek,
clawing to be free. “Peace, my dear,” Vladimir croons as
he lifts me effortlessly. I tremble at the feel of his arms around
me. Tears slip from my eyes at the memories of the pain those arms
inflicted only a few hours ago.

“You
are injured.” It is not a question, rather a statement, one
spoken with swift reproach. He tugs my chin so I am forced to
acknowledge him.

“I fell,”
I whisper.

“While
trying to escape.”

I
lower my gaze and remain silent. Vladimir laughs and tightens his
grip about me as he carries me toward the wagon. His grasp is firm
though less painful than Lucien’s, almost as if he were
carrying a child for whom he felt affection.

The
thought is laughable. A monster does not care for its prey. It toys
with it until there is nothing left, save a shattered soul too weary
to fight back.

Vladimir
walks at a human’s pace as Lucien races on ahead. It takes only
a couple seconds for him to disappear from sight.

“How does
Lucien move so swiftly?” I inquire, desperate to think upon
something other than being in Vladimir’s arms.

“There
are many things about our kind that you have yet to discover,
Roseline. We are superior in every way to mortals.”

“Is that the
reason you slaughter them?”

Vladimir’s
grip tightens ever so slightly at my words. “No. I do that for
pleasure.”

Goose
bumps rise along my arms as I fall silent. I was a fool to ask such a
question. I should have known I would not like the answer.

As
we begin to ascend the hill at the curve of the road I realize I
hardly feel discomfort in my ankle from his long gait. Vladimir holds
me snug against his broad chest as he walks, poised on the balls of
his feet instead of flat footed like a normal man.

He
is attempting to ease my pain.
This
realization gives me no sense of gratitude. Rather it is the
opposite. I stare at the man that I am now bound to, pondering what
mind game he seeks to play.

Vladimir
is a visually stunning man, with a tapered waist, broad shoulders,
and a strong jawline that would give any woman reason to pause.
However, that hesitation would be her downfall. I know from
experience that he needs only a mere second to rip out your throat.

His
skin is nearly white against the black clothes he wears. His hair
unbound and spilling over his shoulders. His forearms are clothed in
lean muscles, as are his legs and back. He has the body of a day
laborer, though I have my suspicions he does little labor.

I
have noticed changes within myself since I awoke last night. My hair
seems longer and fuller, my waist narrower, and my hips flared in an
appealing manner. My chest has blossomed in proper proportion for a
young woman and my legs have lengthened, molded with graceful muscle.
The hem of my dress now falls about the tops of my ankles instead of
brushing my toes.

I
long to know why I have changed, what I would look like in a mirror,
though I dare not ask. Instead, I bite my tongue and wait for the
wagon to appear on the road before us. I would rather live of a
lifetime without answers than to ask anything of this vile man.

The
sun has begun its rapid ascent in the sky. The horizon is splashed
with hues of blues and purples as the moon is driven back to its
slumber. I close my eyes as I embrace the new warmth that seeks to
drive away the fear encasing my heart.

“We
can walk in the day,” Vladimir says. I open my eyes to see him
watching me. “The rumors of vampyres are flawed. Ludicrous in
their falsehood. Mortals do not know what we are, so they let their
fears run rampant with wild tales.”

“I was told
that your flesh burns when it touches the light of day.”

“Do
not sound so hopeful.” Vladimir laughs as he waves Lucien
forward. The horses rear back as they draw near to us, stomping
nervously at the ground as Vladimir approaches. Even they must smell
death on him. “Do you feel as if you might burst into flame?”

“No.”
I admit as I glance back toward the sun. “I have no sins to
atone for though.”

“Do
you not?” He mocks as Lucien whips the horses into submission
and they settle so we may pass beside them. As he lifts me into the
back of the wagon, I can see his amused smile. “We shall have
to remedy that.”

I
drag myself away from him as he trails his fingers down my arm with a
smile infused with growing lust. I draw my filthy shawl about my
shoulders and drape it across my chest as a tremor of fear ripples
through me. His lips peel back into a knowing grin. “We shall
arrive at Castle Bran by nightfall. We have much to celebrate, my
dear.”

I
raise my good leg to my chest and bury my forehead into my knee. Warm
tears come before I can stop them. Vladimir’s chuckle makes my
stomach roil as he leaves me to join Lucien. The wagon hardly jostles
as he leaps up onto the bench seat.

“Oh,
I nearly forgot.” Vladimir turns. I look up, wiping away my
tears. He tosses a bundle of cloth over his shoulder at me and I am
forced to lunge forward to retrieve it. I cry out as pain lances
through my leg. The bundle nearly slips through my fingers. It is
heavier than it appears.

I
draw it into my lap and slowly unfold the rags. My breath catches as
I reveal a tiny baby, hardly past its first season change. Blood is
splattered across its face, though it appears unharmed, albeit it
eerily still and silent.

I
look up at Vladimir in horror. “What is this?”

His
grin widens as he looks down at the innocent babe. “A snack.”

I
clutch the babe to my chest as we jostle down the road, passing
through deserted villages. Has word spread that the lord of Castle
Bran is passing through? Perhaps that would explain the closed
shutters and overturned baskets of wares left rolling in the streets.

The
babe hardly moves in my arms, hardly makes a sound. Its chest rises
and falls in halting, labored breaths. Its skin is pale, tinged
slightly blue. There is something terribly wrong with this child.

Drawing
back the clothes, I search along the babe’s neck for any signs
of teeth marks yet find none. I gaze along its legs and arms, turning
it gently to inspect its back. There is not a wound to be found.

As
I gently wrap the child against the blustery winds, I find Vladimir
turned in his seat, watching me. “Can you not smell it?”

I
instinctively draw back from his gaze, curling my shoulders inward to
protect myself and the innocent child. Several moments pass and I
realize that he demands an answer. With my focus fixed on the babe’s
colorless lips, I respond, “I can smell the blood.”

From
the corner of my eye I see Vladimir shake his head. He turns his body
so his knee presses into Lucien’s side in the narrow seat. I
cringe, loathing the feeling of his rapt attention.
Leave
me alone. Leave me in peace!
I
silently scream as I cower against the wooden wall of the wagon.

“The child is
marked for death.”

My
eyes close against the tears I feel brimming along my lower lashes. I
knew, though I did not want to see. “How do you know this?”
I cling to the innocent child, praying that Vladimir is wrong.

“Breathe
deep and tell me what you find.” It is not a request. We both
know this.

My
fingers tremble as I clutch the babe close to my nose and take a
breath. I smell nothing, save the coppery scent of the blood that
clings to its cheeks and forehead, no doubt splattered from its
mother as he was torn from her bosom. “I smell nothing.”

“Death
smells rotten. It reeks of decay. Try again.”

Like
you
,
I surmise silently. His gaze is intense, demanding. I release a
shuddery breath and close my eyes as I draw the child close once
more. This time I detect new scents: the soiled linen that cocoons
the child, the smell of his mother’s fear that lingers, and the
scent of something dank and overripe, like an unseen wound festering
with infection.

I
open my eyes and see Vladimir nodding with approval. “You will
learn to recognize this scent well, Roseline. It will help you choose
your victims.”

“Do
you only kill those who are already dying?” Did this family
have some sort of illness, a plague perhaps, that I did not detect
before? Is that why Lucien chose them?

“No.”
His grin sharpens with cruelty. “I am partial to children in
their prime. Lucien is not so fastidious. He merely relishes the
hunt.”

Lucien
chuckles. “You always did prefer youth… and beauty.”
He glances back over his shoulder at me and I shudder. The holes in
my shawl and dress make me feel as naked to his gaze as when Vladimir
ravaged me before Lucien.

The
child does not protest to my tight grip as I press it against my
bosom. I would give anything to save this life, yet I have nothing to
offer. “Why spare this babe?” I whisper.

“Spare
it?” Vladimir’s expression freezes somewhere between
incredulity and mockery. “Every immortal has to start
somewhere. I assumed with the manner in which you fed from your
sister that you would be hungry again.”

“Adela?”
I whisper. A tiny movement of protest in my arms makes me realize
just how tightly I was clutching the child.
Perhaps
it still has a chance.

Lucien
sniggers as he tugs on the reins to steer us around a bend. The trees
tower high overhead on either side of the road, blocking out the
noonday sun. I do not know how much farther we have to travel.
Nevertheless, a part of me despairs that we shall arrive much sooner
than I am ready.

“You
were the fastest I have ever witnessed turn. I was sure we would have
to drag your body from the ashes, yet you awoke while the moon was
still high.” Lucien glances back over his shoulder at me. “You
were ravenous when you awoke. I enjoyed the way you tore at your
sister’s throat. You were delightfully animalistic.”

A
ball of acid forms in my stomach at the thought. How could I have
done such a thing? Surely he is distorting the truth. I am no
butcher. I could never mutilate my own flesh and blood.

“You lie,”
I spit back.

“Do
I?” Lucien scoffs, though Vladimir places a hand atop his
brother’s arm. Lucien falls silent, yet as I lower my gaze, I
can still feel his belittling smirk.

A
sickness begins to spread through my chest and settle around my
heart.
What
if he is not wrong? Why can I not recall what happened to me?