Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (28 page)

“For what
purpose?”

There have been many
new faces coming and going beneath my tower window. Some have lifted
their gaze to spy me in the window, though many do not seem to care.

“The gathering
has begun,” he says with a frown, and I am instantly reminded
that my time has grown short. What was once months now feels like
only a few short weeks before the hunt. Fane has informed me that
many will come, some sooner than others if they have a greater
distance to travel. “It is safe to assume that Vladimir will be
gone for several days so you can rest easy.”

“And the
others?” I whisper as we pass several closed doors along the
second-floor hall.

I glance at him from
the corner of my eye and notice his grin. “No one will bother
us.”

As if to uphold his
statement, I begin to decipher halting snores and labored breathing,
mingled with other sounds that make my cheeks flush with
embarrassment. Fane appears to take no notice as he confidently leads
me toward the stairs and out into the uncovered courtyard.

The clouds passing
lazily across the sky cast dappled sunlight onto the open space
before me. I stare at the uneven stone paving, marveling at how large
they are up close. My bird’s eye view from above is incapable
of giving justice to the brilliant colors that swirl through the
stones. Pebbles weave between them, creating a patchwork of earthen
tones. The stones rise nearly six inches above the ground, providing
a suitable path to walk unhindered by the muck. I hardly had the mind
to take notice when I walked with Vladimir to the grave. I was far
too nervous, though now, on Fane’s arm, I feel a sense of
wonder.

He leads me past a
well in the center of the courtyard. Its wrought iron arch is
beautifully crafted. I try to peer into its depths as we pass, though
I cannot see the bottom. Fane points to several details about the
castle as we make our way to the far end. Carved holes in the shape
of crosses line the battlements to protect from a siege. Archers
could take aim with diminished risk to their own person as a battle
raged on. Multiple staircases lead up to balconies and beautiful
awnings.

In the light of day,
Castle Bran’s fearsome appearance fades away. I stare wide-eyed
at the splendid architecture all about me as Fane pushes open the
towering double doors that Vladimir brought our wagon through upon
our first arrival to the castle.

“Are you
coming?” he asks as I tug back on his hand, standing with my
head craned back to see the tall arches atop the gates. I smile as I
begin to feel the tightness in my chest fade with each step that
takes me away from the confinement of the castle walls. The cobbled
path leading away from the entrance spills over into sweeping stone
steps, both steep and amazingly liberating.

“I feel as if
I can breathe out here,” I whisper as I stare at the beautiful
spring colors beginning to emerge all around. Vivid reds, fiery
oranges, and brilliant yellows dapple the path ahead as flowers begin
to open their petals. Tall pines boast heavy-laden green boughs,
dipping toward the ground.

The air is crisp and
the winds cool against my skin. I breathe deep and savor the smell of
fresh, untainted air.

“It is all so
wonderful.” I twirl in place, desperate to take in every detail
at once. Fane laughs and motions for me to follow him. I do so, eager
to escape farther into the woods.

I see a bench up
ahead, made of hewn trees that are stripped of their bark and
fashioned into a seat large enough to fit four people. “It is
so beautiful here,” I praise as I duck my head to look at a
bird’s nest in the tree overhead. I can hear them twittering
back and forth among the branches, though the leaves conceal them.

A grove of trees
lies just beyond where I lower myself onto the bench, low hanging and
secluded. I long to go there and hide for hours on end, yet I know
Fane has a plan. I clasp my hands in my lap and release the breath I
have been holding.

All around me I see
vibrant life. Small woodland animals scamper about, collecting nuts
to replenish their food stores after the winter months. Birds swoop
down and collect pine needles and return to the treetops to weave
their nests. Butterflies float on the breeze, their colors vibrant.

“Thank you for
bringing me here,” I whisper. I cannot help but wonder if he
will linger after the hunt, no matter the outcome. A part of me knows
he will leave again. He is a ranger. They never stay in one place for
long.

Perhaps this is the
life Fane chose so he is not forced to be around Vladimir or perhaps
it was a life chosen for him.

Fane leans back with
his fingers wrapped around the back ledge of the bench. His long legs
stretch out before him, crossed at the ankles. He looks at peace
here. I wish I knew his secret to finding it.

I smile at him as I
curl my knees in toward my chest. My long skirts fall about my boots,
draping in a perfect circle about me. “Thank you for showing me
there is still beauty within this cage.”

Fane returns a smile
of his own. “There is much beauty to be found here if you are
willing to search for it.”

The tenderness of
his words surprises me. A single glance in his direction reveals I am
the object of his attention. I turn so my hair veils my rising blush.
The gentle rolling hills before me fade from sight as I close my eyes
and breathe in the rich scent of newly turned soil. I can smell the
moss that clings to the trees nearby. The earth is waking.

“May I ask you
a question?” I inquire, opening my eyes to look at him.

“Certainly.”
Fane draws himself upright and turns slightly so he is facing me.

“Are you
happy?” I almost feel foolish for asking such a thing after his
admission over losing his wife, yet he is still a puzzle to me. How
can someone find peace in a world filled with such cruelty?

Fane’s smile
freezes into something stuck between shock and uncertainty. He clears
his throat and looks beyond me, toward the pond just down from where
we sit. It ripples with life as frogs leap from the bank and dive
beneath its murky depths. Fish come to the surface, feasting on an
array of bugs that skim along the glossy surface. I shudder,
remembering my time spent in the cabin just beyond. Verity may be
dead and buried, though she still haunts my dreams.

“No one has
ever asked me that before.” He brushes back the hair that blows
into his face, recently escaped from the leather thong at the nape of
his neck. I cannot help admire the strength of his jaw and the
stubble that grows there. I can see veins pressing against the skin
of his hands and know there is great strength buried beneath, forged
of granite instead of muscle.

“I am sorry if
that was too forward of me.”

“No. Not at
all. It is just… unexpected.” He reaches out and gently
places his hand upon mine, his gaze searching. A part of me screams
to pull away from him, to flee before anyone spies us, yet I find his
touch to be pleasant.

“I am content
with my life.”

I frown. “How
can this be?”

His hand feels warm
and substantial upon mine. When I spread my fingers, his fall into
place between mine. Not entirely clasped, yet far more intimate than
we have ever been before. I watch as he lowers his gaze to stare at
our entwined fingers. “I know who I am, what I have become, and
I accept that.”

“That sounds
truly depressing.”

Fane laughs and nods
in agreement. “Perhaps, yet I know I cannot change my fate.”

I retrieve my hand
from beneath his and clutch my calves, rocking back so I am
balancing. “I can,” I whisper.

A single eyebrow
lifts, though he does not speak. Instead, he waits. I purse my lips,
wary of speaking the thoughts that plagued me all through the long
night. “I have my own thoughts, my own desires. I cannot live a
life where I am forced to endure pain and confinement. You tell me I
am a survivor, strong enough to endure this hunt, yet I want more
than that. I want to live.”

As I speak the
words, I feel a greater sense of empowerment than any time before. I
feel as if freedom might actually be an attainable thing, not just a
fool’s dream.

“I have lost
count of the bruises that have spread across my body since I arrived
here. Countless broken bones, torn flesh, and branding irons thrust
upon my skin. I have been humiliated, raped publically, and pillaged
in more ways than should be humanly possible.”

My chest rises and
falls rapidly as I surge to my feet, staring down at him with all the
fury that I possess. “I cry for help and all I hear is laughter
in return. Mockery and harassment follow my footsteps. I beg for
mercy and my husband strikes me. I scream and he laughs. He has taken
everything from me. You speak of avenging your wife and son and that
is a noble cause indeed, yet I do this for me. For those who are
incapable of saving themselves.”

Tears slip between
my eyes as I feel my anger begin to abate. I hug my arms about myself
as my trembling lessens. When I look at Fane, I am surprised to see
revulsion marring his handsome features. “Do I disgust you?”

“Not at all.”
His expression shifts, though he does not give me reason for his
revulsion. “This life is a cruel one. Do not expect anyone to
show you mercy. You must take what is yours. You will have no rights.
Only strength and your anger will help you survive.”

He reaches out and
lifts my chin, a smile rooted deeply on his face. It reaches to his
eyes, brightening them. “Do you wish to know how I can be
content with my life, such as it is?”

I nod and hold my
breath, as if he might be about to reveal a secret that could change
everything. “I fight.” That is not the answer I was
expecting. Fane reaches beside him and clasps the hilt of his sword.
“Hold out your hand please.”

My fingers hardly
tremble as he draws his blade and places it across my open palm. It
is lighter than I would have imagined, the silver edge sharp and
deadly. I brush my thumb along the markings etched into the blade,
marveling at them. “Is this a cross?”

“It is…
or rather half of one. The other is in my chambers. These are gifts
from Vladimir for your training.” Fane watches as I carefully
inspect the sword, testing its weight, gripping it in hand as I raise
it into the air before me. It feels good in my hand. “This was
my task that I was sent to retrieve. It is why I was gone.”

My breath hitches as
I turn the blade and catch a glint of blue. I blink, twisting the
blade again, though I cannot make the color reappear. “It is
beautiful.”

“Yes, and
lethal.” He reaches out and gently takes the sword from me,
replacing it into the scabbard at his side. “A sword can be
your greatest weapon, though it can also become a crutch. I will
teach you not to need a blade. To kill with your surroundings. I will
teach you to think quicker, run faster, and leap higher.”

He places a finger
over my heart. His touch feels warm against my bare skin. “I
will teach you to feel. Death is never easy, no matter the cause for
it. Learn to respect death and you will never been tainted by it.”

Next he presses his
finger to my forehead and smiles. “A sword can strike fear in
your opponent if you prove you are worthy of possessing it, though if
you learn to wield your mind, no one will dare to touch you again.
You captured their attention with Atticus’s death, now I will
teach you to claim it.”

A
slow smile stretches along my face as I raise my gaze to meet his. I
sense a fire burning deep within him and feel our souls bind
together.
He
understands me
,
I realize and flush with pleasure.
Not
just my fears and doubts, yet my desire for revenge.

“I want them
to fear me,” I declare without any hesitation.

“Trust me,”
Fane leans in close, capturing my attention. “In time, they
will all cower before you.”

My first training
session with Fane went far better than I could have hoped. We
explored the castle grounds and discussed basic survival skills. He
pointed out knots in the trees that can be used as handholds should I
need to climb, burrows in the ground to duck into if someone follows
too closely, and a trick to diving into a pond without creating a
splash.

He spoke of how to
mask my scent with mud, pine needles, and feces. I cannot say that I
am altogether keen on the idea of wiping manure upon my body, though
I suppose if it were that or facing death, I could set my pride aside
for a time.

On the second day,
the rains returned and we were forced to use the lakeside shack as
our refuge. I tried not to look at the dried blood Verity left
behind. Fane watched me closely for any sign of mounting distress,
though I tried to push aside the memory of that night. He spent most
of the day teaching me how to evade an attack should someone leap
upon me from behind.

When I was weary,
bruised, and in need of a break, Fane scraped his fingers along a
pool of blood from where Lucien crushed in Verity’s head and
held it up for me to see. He spoke of the attraction of blood, how
the scent of newly spilled blood can drive an immortal to
distraction, though also to a lethal frenzy. A fact he warned me to
remember.

By day three, we
began running—sprints at first, then long distances, allowing
my legs to lengthen and my spirit to soar. This was by far my
favorite part of training. It has been too long since I have felt the
wind in my hair.

Duties left unnamed
between us took Fane away for nearly four days. I paced within my
room, my anxiety mounting the longer he was gone. He returned with a
slight limp to his step and a wicked cut over his eye. When I
inquired, he merely shook his head and told me it was nothing.