Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (14 page)

A
clanging from above makes me press back against the cold stone wall.
A small whimper passes between my lips as goose bumps rise against
the bare flesh of my back. A flickering of light spills down from
above and I know he has returned.

Terror
seizes me. I know pain will soon follow. This knowledge is maddening
in its inevitability, in my complete failure to stop it from
occurring.

In
the beginning, I was mortified by my nakedness, though I quickly
realized it was merely another form of torture. Lucien took no notice
of my state of undress. It simply made his task easier. He is slow
and methodical with is administrations, a soulless butcher.

I
do not know how long I have been hidden away down here. A few days? A
full moon cycle? Longer?

Why
has Vladimir not come for me? Surely he has noticed my absence by
now.

I
have been driven mad!
I
think as my chains rattle when the light appears at the base of the
tunnel overhead.
Vladimir
is no hero. He is a monster. No one is coming to save me.

I
squint against the lantern as it swings to and fro. Lucien descends a
set of crumbling stone steps with a lazy stride. I glimpse black
leather boots stained with mud first, followed by long legs and a
tapered waist. I close my eyes, unable to bear looking upon his pale
face.

Lucien’s
beauty is deceiving. A demon wearing the face of an angel. Immortals
are all like this… even me. Rare, intoxicating beauty created
to ensnare the unknowing passerby. I have been transformed into a
predator with every advantage on my side, and the thought of it
sickens me.

“Ah,
you are awake. Excellent.” Lucien slowly moves along the wall,
lighting each torch with his lantern. I watch him with heightened
wariness. We both know I cannot endure much more of his attentions.

I
can smell the blood in a pouch tied by a leather thong at his side.
He has forced it upon me several times, holding my tongue with clamps
so the cold, congealed liquid slips down the back of my throat. I
loathe the feel of it against my lips, though the aftereffects of the
blood are what truly terrify me.

I
have come to a personal knowledge that blood is life, though in ways
far different than to mortals. One taste fuels an instant addiction.
The need never fades. It lingers, taunting me in the long hours of
night.

The
more I drink, the more I crave.

I
despise what I have become, driven by a thirst that I refuse to
quench. I do not wish to be like my husband, like Lucien or my
brethren. I was human only a short time ago. How can I now be forced
to consider them a source of food?

Without
blood, I would die in this dungeon. Lucien is too cunning to allow
that to happen. He keeps me teetering on the brink of death, only to
revive me when it suits him best. It is the epitome of cruelty.

“Please,”
I whisper in a hoarse voice.

“Please?”
He turns slowly, his long fingers clenching the lantern as he raises
it to shoulder height so he may see me.

I
cringe back from the light and bite my lip against my screams. My
body trembles with fear and exhaustion. Blood gushes from my abdomen,
warm and sticky as it oozes down my thighs, pattering against the
floor.

“It
has been days since you pleaded for mercy.” He tsks, shaking
his head with disapproval. “I had thought you were past this
weakness, Roseline. Is this not why we are here? To carve out the
fear and weakness from your flesh?”

“I thought you
were forcing me to pay a blood debt for Verity,” I croak.

“Oh,
that was paid long ago. This is something more. It is…”
He pauses, contemplating, “An experiment, if you will.”

My
eyes roll back into my head as I dangle freely. I am too tired to
hold on, to resist. “What is the point?”

His
footsteps are marked with utmost control as he approaches. I can
smell his eagerness even as he restrains himself. He is methodical,
never allowing his emotion to take control. “The point, my dear
Roseline, is to unleash you. I have seen the timid girl lash out in
the briefest of moments. There is more to you, buried under that
flesh and meekness. I plan to release it.”

I
lift my head and stare at him through locks of greasy hair. “You
want me to kill?”

“Oh
no.” He chuckles as he clasps his hands behind his back. “I
do not want you to kill once. I want you to slaughter thousands. To
crave the scent of death, just as you long for a fresh fountain of
blood to spill from the neck of a young girl. I want you to yearn for
it.”

My
arms tremble as I fight to pull against my chains. “I shall
never be like you.”

A
slow, knowing smile darkens his face as he steps closer. “You
already are. You just do not know it yet.”

I
watch his approach, fighting to think lucidly beyond the pain. There
is something different in his eyes today: caution.

Someone
knows!
My
heart skips a beat at the realization that a scent of fear has begun
to leak from his skin, mingling with my own, though his is far more
overpowering than mine. Who is it that he fears?

“Do
you ask for mercy?” He sets his lantern atop the table. In its
warm glow I spy an array of blunt and serrated tools. Many of them
have been used on me. Others I am sure it is only a matter of time
before they are introduced. Each has been cleaned of any trace of my
blood.

“Yes,”
I whisper, dropping my gaze. My body slumps with false submission.

Think,
Roseline!
I
silently scold.
Discover
a way to deter him.

My
body does not hold sway over Lucien as it does Vladimir. My husband
would be wildly affected to see me in such a state. His love of
pleasure mingled with pain became obvious on my wedding night as he
took me behind the burning alter while I stared into the lifeless
eyes of my beloved sister and each night after. He revels in my
screams, indulges in his wildest fantasies. Lucien enjoys screaming,
though it is a different sort.

“Is
it nearly night?” I ask, squinting my eyes to see past the
lantern light. Neither sunlight nor the glow of the moon has ever
filtered down into this prison, yet I stare up at the tunnel as if
filled with longing.

“It
is.” I hear the clanging of metal and fight to still my rising
panic. He has begun to stoke a fire in the sunken space at the end of
the room. A great hollow pit has been carved from the castle’s
foundation. A metal grate runs the length of the man-sized hollow,
allowing a sizeable fire.

Lucien
dips low and blows on the embers. He rises as the flames flicker to
life, feeble though present. Dipping a ladle into a wooden bucket, he
pours black pitch over the flames and they instantly ignite. I fear
the fire, not just for the flames however, but for the intense heat
it releases. It is suffocating, even in this cavernous room where the
heat trails up the walls and escapes through the tunnel overhead.

Lucien
begins to unbuckle his cloak and lays it over the top of a
three-legged stool beside his worktable. Rats skitter along the base
of the walls as they flee the heat roiling from the pit. I turn away
my face, pressing hard against the cold stone to steal some of its
coolness. I close my eyes as I hear metal shifting not far away. I
begin to quiver as I realize that today will not be cutting. He is
sorting through his branding irons.

“Where is my
husband?”

The
clanging stops. There is a long pause as I feel Lucien’s gaze
piercing the dim light to search my face as he walks around the table
to face me. “You seek Vladimir?”

“I…
I would like to see him.” The words feel like treason upon my
tongue. Surely, Lucien can see through my lie.

He
lifts a spear-tipped branding iron and runs it along his cheek. It is
dark and still cool to the touch, though I remember the agony of
having it thrust upon my stomach, cauterizing my wounds. The memory
of my own burning flesh makes the room spin about me.

His
skin feels unbearably warm to the touch as he snatches my chin with
his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Would
you?”

Callous
eyes ensnare me as he searches my face. My chin aches under the
intensity of his grip, though I dare not scream. Tears sting my eyes
as I fight to evade the pain. “You are a clever one, are you
not? Vladimir has underestimated you, though he always was a fool
when it came to beauty. He thinks with what resides in his pants
rather than the mind he was gifted with.”

He
shoves me back into the wall as he releases me. My head slams into
the stone with enough force to split the skin along the back of my
head. Warm blood seeps from the wound, oozing slowly down the nape of
my neck.

“Your
husband
would not approve of my actions.” He pauses as he turns to look
at me. My throat clenches at the rabid look in his eyes. He stretches
out his hand and grasps the end of a wooden-handled dagger, its blade
serrated and deadly sharp. I close my eyes as the tears come. I
cannot stop them.

I
whimper at the feel of the steel gently gliding down my cheek. His
breath is hot against my ear as he leans in close. “I suppose I
shall have to remain discreet.”

I
bite down on my tongue as the blade digs into the base of my throat,
sealing off my scream. The tears fall hot and fresh down the curves
of my cheeks, dampening my split lips. My head lolls to the side and
my chest rises in halting, wheezing breaths.

I
cannot take any more of this. I have begged for death to find me
countless times, yet my pleas fall on deaf ears. I am utterly broken…
desolate.

A
poison has begun to seep into my soul, snatching away every hint of
hope that I held fast. The darkness is mine. I claim it, cling to it.
The light only brings pain now. There is nothing left, save torture,
mocking laughter in the shadows, and anger.

Someday
I will make Lucien Enescue pay for this. I do not know how, though I
vow he will die by my hand.

I
whimper at the creaking groan of the door opening above, though I am
too weak to look up. As a lantern begins to descend toward me, I
discover that my vision is heavily blurred. It takes far too much
effort to breathe so I still my lungs and wait, conserving energy.

It
has not been long since Lucien left me. I spat out most of the blood
that he tried to force-feed me, silently basking in his fury over
having wasted blood. The effects of what little blood I did ingest
have begun to take the edge off the pain, though not enough to do
permanent healing.

The
gaping wound in my stomach has been cauterized, as have the flaps of
skin along my legs and back. The bones in my arm have begun to
reconnect, the sinew and flesh growing back together. Blood can heal
most wounds, though nothing can remove the scent of charred flesh
lingering in my nose.

Lucien’s
torture on this day was mild compared to what I have grown accustomed
to. It was almost as if he were trying to mend my wounds instead of
create new ones.
Someone
knows
,
chants repeatedly through my mind. The statement becoming more of a
desperate plea rather than a fact as time ticks past with mocking
leisure in the dark.

My
head hangs low, my chin resting atop the breastbone that protrudes
from my chest. I have lost weight in this pit. Food has been scarce.
What little Lucien left for me was stolen by the rats long before I
could recover enough to consider eating.

My
hair drapes over my eyes, shielding me from the approaching person.
My arms tremble in the manacles as I risk a small inhale, dreading
the familiar scent of blood that clings to Lucien, although this time
it is absent.

I
slowly lift my head and blink against the blurred light. A cloaked
figure moves toward me. I can tell he is a male by the breadth of his
chest, yet his outline is dark and muddied in my vision. His approach
is slow and cautious as he sets the lantern down on the tabletop. I
flinch at the tinkling of metal.

“No,”
a gentle voice says as I press back against the wall. “I have
not come here to hurt you.”

If
only I could curl in upon myself and hide. I feel barren and exposed
before his hooded eyes. His scent is unfamiliar to me. I have never
met him before, though his voice sounds vaguely familiar.

“Who
are you?” I ask with a voice that quivers like a newly birthed
fawn attempting to find its footing for the first time. I am deeply
shamed however too weary to do more than hang before him, naked and
soiled.

“A friend.”

A
bark of bitterness leaves me in a fit of wracking coughs. Blood
bubbles from my lips, escaping from what I fear to be a tear in my
lungs. I spit to the side, repulsed by the metallic taste upon my
lips. “I have no friends.”

“That is only
because we have yet to be properly introduced.”

I
hang heavily in my chains, feeling woozy. The floor rises up to meet
me as he steps forward. There is nothing I can do to stop him from
touching me. I do not even have the strength left in me to scream.
“Your voice…” I trail off as his face swims before
my eyes.

Darkness
encroaches along the edges of my vision, and when I blink again, I am
sure I have lost several moments of time as he is now touching me. He
gently pushes my chin up so my head lolls back against the stone
wall.

His
touch is firm yet tender as he cradles my head and unlocks the
manacle about my neck. The instant the restraints are gone, my head
snaps back to my chest, crushing my nose.

“My
apologies.” He grunts as he fights to support my weight with
one arm while battling with the chains with the other. He balances me
awkwardly in his arms as he works to free my wrists.