Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (17 page)

Lucien snarls and
sends his elbow barreling into Vladimir’s thigh. It is enough
to rock him off balance. Lucien scrambles to his feet, crouched low.
His lips peel back as he growls. “She makes you weak, brother.
Let me have her for a time. I will break her and then unleash her.
Once we have her as we want, then you may delve into your
debauchery.”

“You have
already had your time with her and look what it has done.” He
circles Lucien, keeping his dagger firmly gripped in his hand. “She
is a mass of scars!”

“She will
heal,” Lucien inserts quickly. He stays low, his movements
carefully measured. I draw my legs up into the chair, afraid to
hinder their skirmish. I lift my prayers heavenward that one of them
will die this night, though I am unsure which death I long for most.
“She was broken. Can you not see it in her eyes?”

The instant Vladimir
shifts his gaze toward me, Lucien lunges. The sound of the two men
clashing together is like a catapult launching stone against a
castle’s battlements. They tumble end over end, rolling and
scrabbling for purchase.

Furniture smashes
into slivers of wood as they slam into tables and chairs, fighting
for the advantage. Lucien grabs a small table and brings it down over
Vladimir’s back. I turn away as jagged shards explode into the
air. My husband cries out as he slams to the floor. For a moment I
think him defeated, though as Lucien approaches, he grabs a dresser
drawer and rolls onto his side, slamming the corner of the wood into
Lucien’s thigh.

The two men tussle,
their grunts and growls surely heard in the far reaches of the
castle, though no one would dare enter to stop the fight. I lift my
feet from the floor as they roll under me. My chair shudders as they
slam into the wall.

I look to the floor
in frantic search of the fallen dagger. I spy a glint of silver a
second before Lucien cries out. I glance over my shoulder to find
Lucien staggering to his feet, a wide gash pouring with blood over
his right eye. A broken stool lies at his feet. Vladimir crouches
low, preparing for his attack, though his movement is slightly slower
than usual.

I lick my lips,
feeling parched yet buzzing with new energy from my earlier healing.
The effects of the blood will not last long, though for now I have an
advantage. The dagger sticks out from beneath the smashed armoire
nearest the door. It would take two bounds to reach it, though
Vladimir and Lucien are locked into a fierce battle before me.

The four-poster bed
groans as Lucien slams his brother’s head into the wide wooden
frame. The instant Vladimir’s eyes roll back into his head, I
leap from my chair and sprint for the dagger.

Neither of them
notices as I rise with the blade in hand. Vladimir grunts upon the
floor. He takes a deep breath and flips onto his back, raising his
leg to kick Lucien in the stomach. Lucien stumbles backward,
surprised by the attack.

I hear a guttural
cry of alarm escape his lips as I bury the dagger deep into the back
of his chest. I push until the four-inch blade is buried to the hilt.
Blood pools over my hand as I twist the blade, snarling, as Lucien
collapses to the ground, rolling onto his side with a pained groan.

“What have you
done?” Vladimir lurches to his hands and knees and crawls to
Lucien’s side. He places a hand on his brother’s chest,
closing his eyes as he listens.

Lucien’s mouth
opens and closes, mimicking speech, yet only strangled air passes
through his lips. I smile and clutch the dagger tightly in my hand,
enjoying the weight of the blade. Vengeance is sweeter than any blood
I have tasted.

“You’ve
punctured his heart.” I watch as Vladimir hastily tears off his
coat, sending golden buttons rolling across the floor. He rips the
sleeves of his shirt back and bites deep into his wrist. With his
teeth, he peels back the flesh and blood pours from the wound
directly into Lucien’s mouth.

Vladimir grunts as
Lucien greedily sucks at his wrist. He grimaces as he pushes back
against Lucien. I take a step back as my husband turns a look of
unrepentant rage upon me. “You will pay for this.”

A hiss passes
through my clenched teeth as I shift on the straw mattress of my
canopy bed. The wooden frame creaks loudly as I grip the bedding. My
knuckles are white with pain.

It has been three
days since my husband last came to be with me. Three days since he
scourged my flesh with a glass-tipped whip after I dared to attack
Lucien in his room. I knew a severe punishment was coming. Although
Lucien survived my attack, with the help of Vladimir’s blood,
my husband took great delight in seeking his vengeance upon me.

The first day, I
could hardly breathe through the pain. I counted the passing hours by
the throbbing in my flesh. Embers from the blazing fire Vladimir lit
beside my bed landed atop my open wounds, flitting over my raw flesh,
driving me to the brink of insanity. The heat was unbearable, the
pain severe enough for me to struggle to disconnect my thoughts from
the agony.

I had thought that I
had grown strong while imprisoned within Lucien’s torture
chamber, yet when Vladimir split my skin over and over again, I
learned I was wrong. Pain breaks you no matter how strong you are. In
the end, everyone will succumb to it.

I pleaded for death
on the second day yet knew it was well out of my reach. The pain had
shifted from agonizing to maddening as my wounds slowly began to heal
on their own. Vladimir sent Emeline and Clement to tend to my fire.
They only darted glances in my direction before hurrying from the
room, as if they themselves might receive the same treatment for
lingering too long.

Tears were my
companions as the sun pranced across the sky. No one spoke to me. No
one tended to my wounds. I was alone.

Today, I am angry.
No, I am something beyond anger now, although there is no word known
to man or the undead to describe it.

My skin crawls at
the thought of Vladimir’s hands upon me, his bare flesh against
mine. I would take a thousand lashes of his whip to avoid another
night in his arms. He sought to ruin me, emotionally and physically.

In the first few
days after my transformation, I would simply turn my face away and
pray that he would finish with me quickly. However, his needs were
insatiable. Night after night he would visit me, though he quickly
grew weary of my catatonic state.

My body is no longer
good enough for him. He wants my mind now too. He wants me to look at
him as he ravages me, to scream when he strikes me. I do my best not
to give in, though at times I am unable to stave off my cries.

I have lost track of
how many times he has come to me. A part of me does not wish to know.
As I lie here, immobilized by pain, I have realized a new truth.
Vladimir wants me for himself. This he made very clear, though I feel
his desire for me runs far deeper than mere flesh. No. He wants to
contort me into something like him. A monster he can control and
unleash at his bidding. I am not a wife for him. I am a tool.

He does not just
want a whore to warm his bed each night. He wants a savage that will
give in to his whims, enjoy his sadism. An equal that he has never
had before.

I watched as his
eyes grew alight with fervor when he saw the pain in mine the day I
attacked Lucien. The moment I came alive, fighting to protect myself
from his whip, he knew he had me.

The forms of torment
steadily increased through that long night, although my pain
threshold did not. I tried not to cry out, biting my tongue so hard I
feared it might severe completely from my mouth, yet his patience was
better than my own. His ability to inflict pain is an art in which he
and his brother seem expertly mastered.

I lost count of the
number of dislocated joints, purple bruises, or burns that marred my
flesh. He shattered bones one at a time, leering down at me as I
fought against my screams. Lucien watched from the shadows. I could
see the gleeful glint in his eyes.

Escaping the dungeon
was not enough. Now, I have two men to fear.

I close my eyes
briefly to the memories, desperate to lock them away with all of the
others. I wince as I twist at my waist on the bed, praying for relief
to come in a different position. Warm blood seeps from my wounds as
my movement tears through the thin layer of new flesh that has begun
to grow.

Salty tears sting my
eyes as I listen to laughter from across the castle. My brethren are
high in spirits this night. The attack on a local village must have
gone well. More innocents slaughtered for sport.

The ice storm broke
against the walls of this castle as I stared into the flames, praying
for an end. I lost count of how many times Vladimir ravaged me that
night, in between lashes with the whip. My blood clings to each of
the walls, splattered and smeared as he tossed me about like a doll.

All the while Lucien
smiled in the corner, taunting Vladimir, urging him on. He spoke in
whispers, spreading lies about my plans to escape. He chose Rasnov as
my destination, weaving tales of the men who would bed me. His words
drove Vladimir to greater levels of agitation.

No doubt this is the
town that was plundered last night. My throat clenches at the thought
as guilt swells in my chest. Blood spilled. Families left in ruin for
one twisted man’s whim.

I was wrong about
Lucien. He is not just a demon. He is the father of all evil.

I know this raid was
not of my own doing, though I still feel the shame of such heinous
deeds, as if their blood were upon my hands instead of theirs.

Vladimir must be
pleased.

Will he come to my
bed to celebrate this night? I pray he remains with one of the
wenches below instead. Let them pleasure him for once.

I turn my head and
bury my face into the feather pillow. It smells of sweat and blood, a
scent I have called my own since arriving in this horrid place. I
know suffocation will not kill me. I have tried it more times than I
care to count. Leaping from my tower window earned me nothing more
than shattered bones and a respite in the dungeons that I have yet to
fully recover from. I wish I had the willpower to drag myself to the
fire and set the room alight, yet I know the pain that will come from
the flames as they melt away my skin. Vladimir would never allow me
to die by any hand other than his own.

Knife wounds heal,
as do burns and scars. Death is no longer an option. At least not an
easy one. This has become a way of life for me. Pain, hunger,
loneliness… I can see no end to my suffering.

I have mourned over
my fallen family these past few days, clinging to my pillow as if
embracing my beloved sister. Yet as the ice storm lets up and the
rains return, I have come to realize that she was the lucky one.
Adela died swiftly while I die a little more with each passing day.

The frost upon my
window melted long ago, although I cannot tell if it is from the
rising temperature outside or the sweltering heat within the confines
of my room. The apparent shift in weather brings me little relief.
What lies beyond the castle walls is not for me. I am a prisoner. My
room is my domain. Though small and insignificant, at least I can
call it my own.

Eternity is
something I never really thought about until my wedding night when I
was murdered and brought back to life. A half-life. A cursed life.
Now, I cannot stop thinking upon it… nor of my guilt.

Lucien
may have wielded the blade that severed my sister’s throat, but
I tasted her blood. I sank my teeth into her flesh. I saw the terror
in her eyes.
Perhaps
I am already the monster that Vladimir seeks,
I ponder grimly as I lift my blurry gaze toward the window. The stars
are trapped behind wisps of gray cloud, the edges beginning to
lighten. The rains have let up for the moment, though I sense they
are not done with us yet.

My sister’s
blood is upon my hands. How many more will suffer her fate because of
me?

I close my eyes to
the thought. With each lash, each droplet of blood spilled, I have
learned how precious blood truly is. It is not just a heartbeat,
though rather the essence of life itself. It sustains. It heals. It
destroys.

A knock sounds at my
door. I close my eyes, praying Vladimir has not come.

I cast a glance at
the window and notice the first hints of dawn piercing through the
low-hanging clouds. It is late for a visit from him. Usually he
finishes with me by now and slumps off to bed. After a night of
butchering, he will hopefully pass out amongst my brethren in the
hall below and leave me in peace.

“Roseline?”
A voice calls through the wooden door. The man’s accent is
thick and bears hint of a foreign lilt. I stiffen, biting down upon
my cry as my exposed flesh contracts. Warm blood begins to pool along
my back.

It is the stranger
from the dungeon.

“I have
nothing to say to you,” I reply in a whisper.

There is silence
from the other side of the door. I hear him brush his hand against
the rough grain of the wood. His stance shifts and I imagine him
leaning to one side, placing all of his weight onto one foot as he
did while speaking to me in the dungeon. “Will you allow me to
enter?”

Why has he returned?
Did Vladimir send him to toy with me further?

I inhale, attempting
to define the scent on the other side of the door. I catch a whiff of
leather, mud, and smoke, though that could describe many of my
brethren who live beyond the castle walls.

I do not answer. I
cannot. Tears squeeze out from between my closed eyes as I feel his
betrayal far more deeply than that of my husband. I was a fool to
think an immortal could be kind. Foolish thoughts of a foolish girl.