Immortal Wounds: Book #1 in the Immortal Wounds Vampire Series-Paranormal Romance/Vampire Romance/Romantic Fantasy (22 page)

“Charlotte! It isn’t your place to speak about Mr. Marcus like that.” Sarah’s eyes flickered to me.

“Don’t mind me,” I raised up one hand.

“Thank you dear but Sarah’s right; I shouldn’t speak ill of Mr. Marcus, especially in front of a guest. He’s really a lovely man. Frustrating as can be,” she thundered. “Hardly an appetite that one. Can’t get him to take a single bite of meat! But a lovely man.”

I tried to hide the smirk on my face. Charlotte had no idea what Marcus was? How had he managed to hide that one?

“Well now, you’ve outdone yourself again, Charlotte,” Richard complemented as he rose from his chair. “I’ll just show Miss Rose to her room now.”

“Thank you for dinner.” I smiled at the both of them.

“We’ll see you in the morning dear,” Charlotte called after me.

“They seem like lovely ladies,” I remarked to Richard as we climbed the giant stairway in the entry hall.

“The very best, Miss.”

“So, you and Sarah . . .” I teased, nudging his elbow playfully.

“You noticed?” His face went pale. “Oh, Miss, please don’t say anything to Lord Ashworth. I know it isn’t proper.” Richard had stopped walking and was standing in front of me with large pleading eyes.

“Richard, what’s wrong with it?”

“Sarah and I are employed by Lord Ashworth. It wouldn’t be proper for the two of us to be carrying on while in his home.”

“Surely Marcus wouldn’t care if the two of you are in love.”

“No, he wouldn’t. But, that’s just not how one conducts themselves . . . especially when one is a werewolf and the other isn’t.”

“Does Sarah know you’re a werewolf?” I whispered the question, guessing the answer.

“No! I’d rather protect her from that as long as I can. I don’t want to frighten her.”

If Sarah didn’t know Richard was a werewolf, than I doubted she knew Marcus was a vampire. How were they keeping that from the staff?

“Well, she won’t hear it from me. But Richard, you should tell her.”

“Not everyone is as accepting as you, Miss. I’d rather not send Sarah screaming from her home.”

We continued up the stairs and down a magnificent hall decorated with priceless paintings and medieval armor—things that should be in a museum.

“Richard! Is that an original Monet?” I knew it had to be, I was ecstatic.

“You’re familiar with his work, Miss?”

“Yes, he’s who inspired me to start oil painting in the first place.” I admitted, not taking my eyes off the painting. “Although I haven’t painted for some time, my work keeps me busy.”

“Then you should enjoy exploring tomorrow, Miss. The castle halls are filled with such paintings.” He motioned to a Renoir across the hall.

My mouth gaped open as I walked over to the painting. I stared at it for a moment longer before I reluctantly tore myself away to follow Richard.

“I could have Sarah relocate the painting to your room, Miss, if you’d like. I’m sure we can find something else to decorate the hall with. I heard Mr. Marcus mention that he’d just acquired a rare Matisse the other day.

“Really? I’d love that!” I exclaimed, as I followed Richard through a door. “I know this room,” I whispered to myself as I stepped inside.

The room alone seemed larger than my little house, but not quite as large as the entry below. The giant four-poster bed that stood in the center of the room was adorned with ornate detail. A trail of old vine roses was carved into the headboard. The quilt that was spread across the top of the bed was white, and embroidered with little pink and red roses. It had to have been hand stitched. I’d never seen such intricate work before, or had I? The bedding looked so soft and billowy; I’d be sleeping on a cloud tonight. I was beyond tired and longed to jump into that bed and sleep for days.

Richard set my bags down by an elegant armoire that took up a quarter of the wall to the right of the doorway. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Mr. Marcus has kept it just as you’d liked it.”

That was it. The rest of my heart officially broke. I hadn’t heard of anything more sad or romantic in my entire life.

“It’s perfect Richard,” I spoke softly. I didn’t want to wake myself if this was indeed a dream. I wandered the room, touching the familiar objects, smiling as I remembered . . .

“I’m not sure when Mr. Marcus will join us again. I think it best that you keep close to the castle until his return.” I nodded while Richard spoke, my thoughts too far away to speak.

“There are horse stables to the east, and the kitchen is open whenever you need it.”

“Thank you Richard, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Something shiny caught the corner of my eye. Above the fireplace, hung on the wall was a brilliantly polished long sword.

“Oh Richard its lovely!” I went over to the fireplace to admire the sword closer.

“Do you know how to use it, Miss?” he asked hesitantly.

“I used to . . .” I muttered under my breath. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I was mesmerized.

“If there won’t be anything else, I’ll take my leave now, Miss.”

“Thank you, Richard. I’ll be fine.” I gave him a small smile and resumed staring at the sword. I heard the door close a moment later.

Eventually, I pulled myself away from the gleaming weapon and went to my bag, looking for pajamas. I found a nightdress, black satin. I hoped Marcus would like it. Oh well, there’ll be other nights, I thought to myself.

I turned out the light and climbed into bed. I lay there in the dark for several minutes deliberating.

I’m just going to hold it, I thought as I clicked the light back on. I walked over to the fireplace and took the sword from the wall. An instant flood of memories came rushing to me. I glided my fingers over the filigree handle, remembering the delicate design. I recalled its swiftness as I swung it around. The swooshing sound as it sliced through the air. I smiled at the memory of my father giving it to me when I turned thirty-five—it was a gift, marking my immortality. I sighed. I remembered practicing with Raymose for countless hours as he trained me. This
was
my sword.

I hung it back on the wall. With one hand on the handle and the other stupidly holding the tip, the blade sliced my hand across the palm as easily as if it were cutting through butter. It was as sharp as ever.

The sword slipped from my grasp, landing at my feet with a loud clatter. I stared at the blood that was gushing from my hand and fell to the floor. My eyes could barely focus. The ringing in my ears was deafening. I brought my hand up to my face—the blood flowed steadily out the wound.

I could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. The soft clunking of boots as they moved over the stone floor.

“Help!” I breathed.

The door flung open almost instantaneously.

“Phoebe!”

My head rolled to the side, looking toward the door. “Marcus, stay away!” My voice was weak; I could feel my eyes rolling back in my head as Marcus's cool fingers gently held my face.

“What have you done to yourself?” he hissed.

“I’m sorry. Please, leave me . . .”

“Never,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “RICHARD!”

More footsteps came quickly up the hall. “Miss Phoebe! What happened?” Richard asked as he entered the room, forgetting all formality. “I just left her not moments ago,” he added frantically.

“It seems that she was playing with the sword and has sliced her hand open,” Marcus explained angrily. His eyes met mine. They were as red as I’d ever seen them. The blood had to be driving him crazy.

“I’ll have her fixed in no time, Sir.” I heard Richard promise. “Let’s get her off the floor.”

“Richard, I can’t . . . ” Marcus's voice was strange, almost pained.

I didn’t understand what they were talking about. The room was spinning. I had to close my eyes to stop the whirling.

“Of course Sir, I understand. Forgive me Miss . . .”

Arms moved under my neck and legs. I felt myself being lifted up. I opened my eyes. Bright yellow eyes stared back at me. I screamed, thrashing to get away, then felt myself suddenly back on the cold floor.

“Forgive me, Miss. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s alright Phoebe, I’ve got you.” I felt Marcus's arms around me now, lifting me up off the floor and bringing me to him. I relaxed, taking a deep breath, and breathing in his sweet smell. “Richard was only trying to help you,” Marcus spoke softly in my ear.

“Richard? I’m sorry Richard. I didn’t realize—I thought it was—”

“It’s alright, Miss,” he interrupted.

I tried to bring my arm up around Marcus's neck, but couldn’t.

“Let me help you with that hand, Miss.” Richard held my wrist firmly to the side as Marcus carried me to the bed and laid me down.

“She’s pale as a ghost, Richard. Do you think she’s lost too much blood?” Marcus spoke through gritted teeth. His cool hand smoothed my hair off my forehead.

“Perhaps you should leave, Sir, I’ll take care of her.”

“I won’t leave her like this . . . I have to learn to ignore the smell of her blood. It’s the only way.”

“She’ll be fine, Sir. We heal rather quickly.”

“She’s not like you,” Marcus snapped.

“Of course not, Sir . . . but they’re traces in her blood none the less.” Richard spoke carefully.

“I’ll need to go get my bag . . . you’ll have to put pressure on her hand for me . . . you’ll have to hold it like this.”

I felt a sharp pain in the palm of my hand, squeezing my skin back together. I cried out.

“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you,” Marcus said in a strained voice. He looked beside himself. As if my pain was physically hurting him as well.

“Will you be alright, Sir?”

“Yes Richard . . . please, hurry.”

Richard stepped out of the room.

“You’ll be fine,” Marcus assured me.

“I’m sorry. I was just looking at it; I didn’t think it would be so sharp.”

“It’s alright darling. Richard will stitch you up. Please. Try to stay awake.”

His image blurred a little. “It was Phoebe’s sword, wasn’t it?” I asked, trying to keep my mind moving.

“How did you know that?” he asked incredulously.

“I recognized it the moment I saw it. I remembered its feel as I swung it around,” I admitted reluctantly. Marcus shot me a disapproving look but said nothing.

Richard came back through the door with a black doctor style bag in his hand.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked nervously.

“Yes Miss.”

“Richard is somewhat of a medic. He has to be able to take care of himself when he needs repairing,” Marcus interjected as he held my arm down.

I felt a small prick as a needle punctured my hand. “Ow!” I cried.

Marcus pressed his lips hard against my forehead, as if the very act would take away the pain.

“That’s just a pain killer Miss. We’ll just wait a few minutes and then I’ll stitch you up.” Richard spoke like this was routine surgery.