Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (30 page)

When he appeared at
my door this morning, a wrapped gift in hand, I nearly forgot myself
and embraced him. His lopsided grin sent my heart a flutter and it
took great effort to regain my composure. I am grateful for his
return. With only a few short days remaining, I know I will need his
guidance all the more.

I reach down and
adjust the top of my black leather boots. They cling to my calves,
extending their protection up to my knees. The soles of the shoes
mold to my feet, allowing me to feel the ground beneath far better
than the horrendous heeled shoes I have been forced to endure these
past few months.

As I finish
dressing, I pause to braid my long hair down my back, like my mother
used to. Growing up, I hated this design. It felt old and matronly.
Now, it feels practical.

As
I stare at myself in the mirror, I am determined to force Fane to
teach me something new. Something useful.
I
was given these swords for a reason after all.

I open the door to
my room and step out into the hall without a moment of hesitancy. I
practically skip down the stairs and push through the front doors,
breathing deep the familiar scent of the meadow. If I had my choice,
I would spend an eternity outdoors.

I weave down the
path, humming lightly to myself as I head toward the bench where Fane
and I first spoke, though he is not there. I frown, wrapping my arms
about my waist as I turn and look upon the castle grounds. There are
no foot indentions in the dew-blanketed grass, nor any scent of Fane
on the air. It is not like him to be late.

Trepidation sinks
heavily to the pit of my stomach as my mind flits from one doubt to
another. Has he been sent away yet again?

And then I hear a
faint thud. I turn and lift my nose to the wind. The scent is faint
yet discernibly belonging to Fane. A smile tugs at the corners of my
lips as I take off in a full-on sprint. I nearly whoop with delight
at how freely I can move in my new clothes. Fane was right. The
leather outfit is far better than my dress.

I
pump my arms and leap, pushing off from a large rock and soaring over
the small valley to land atop the next rise with hardly a sound apart
from my laughter.
This
is amazing!

My feet hardly feel
as if they touch the ground as I dash ahead, tracking Fane’s
scent. The winds shift and I pull up to a halt, confused.

I stiffen as I feel
the razor edge of a blade slide lightly across the surface of my
neck, and I know Fane has bested me. “If this were a real hunt,
your head would have rolled down the hill by now.”

“I know.”
My shoulders slump as I turn to face him. I blink, shocked to find a
camouflaged figure standing right behind me. I lean in close as Fane
lowers the blade and sniff deeply. “I cannot smell you.”

“That is the
point.” A potent muck coats his pale skin with such complete
perfection it is hard to discern his skin color amongst the green
pine needles stuck to the mud. He is coated from head to foot, like a
pig lolling in a mud pit.

I scrunch up my nose
as I detect a hint of something less pleasing though still very much
a part of a pig. “Feces? Really?”

Fane nods curtly and
motions for me to follow him. I do so yet make every effort to avoid
being downwind of him. We walk farther into the forest and the
instant we move into the clearing, I discover my mistake. Fane’s
vest hangs from a tree branch, flapping in the wind. I turn to look
at him and realize only now that his chest is bare. I battle with the
urge to stare at the hard planes, though I cast aside my gaze. He has
never done so when I was decidedly less than dressed so I am
determined to give him the same courtesy.

“You must
learn to decipher between a real scent and a residual one. The
hunters will be high on bloodlust, though they are highly skilled.
They will know how to deceive you if they feel the need.”

“If they feel
the need? Why would they not?”

Fane sighs and
snatches down his clothes. He sets off without saying a word. I rush
to catch up, casting furtive glances at him as we head toward the
pond. He pauses on the edge and hands his clothes to me. “Hold
these.”

“You never…”
My words trail off as Fane pushes his pants to the ground.

Oh
God!
I flush furiously as I stare in utter disbelief. He turns and leaps
into the water, hardly disturbing the surface. When he rises to the
water’s edge, he shakes his head and I step back to avoid being
splattered by the wet muck.

“You are
welcome to watch me bathe if you like.” He smirks as he stands
and begins rubbing fresh water across his chest to wash away the
drying filth.

My cheeks flush hot
and I spin around. Fane laughs and splashes about for several
minutes. When I hear him step from the water, I turn and my mouth
gapes open.

I have never seen a
man in such a beautiful state of undress. His skin is slick with
water, his hair dripping about his shoulders. I watch as the droplets
roll down his bare chest. The instant they hit his hips, I clamp my
eyes closed. I realize with a start that my pulse has increased. “I
am sorry. I should not have looked.”

I toss his clothes
toward him and turn away. Even after all of this time spent in
Vladimir’s bed, I have hardly seen him exposed in quite the
same way as I just saw Fane. Vladimir is always in too big of rush to
ever disrobe completely. Nor is he half as stunning as Fane.

A hand falls atop my
arm and I look up, instantly breathing a sigh of relief that he is
fully dressed again. “You are rather beautiful when you blush.”

“You should
not say such things,” I whisper, though I secretly feel pleased
with his compliment.

Fane bends at the
waist and lets his long hair hang free. He ties a leather thong about
the damp strands and rises.

“Are you ready
for your first lesson with a dagger?”

Disappointment jabs
fiercely at me as I frown. “I had hoped to start with something
a little bit bigger.”

Fane laughs and
draws his dagger from the leather holder at his hip. “This
weapon can be far more deadly than you realize. Follow me.”

A few moments later,
I pause beside a row of four trees, each one with an identical barren
patch of flesh exposed, no larger than the palm of my hand. “What
is this?”

“Before you
can learn to wield a full-size blade, you need to learn how to take
down an opponent from a distance.”

“That is
impossible with a knife so small,” I protest.

Fane grins and
produces three more daggers, each one no longer than my forearm. “Do
you see the small circle I have carved in the center of each tree?”
I nod, though thoroughly confused. “Watch closely.”

I am unsure if I am
to watch him or the tree. By the time I make the decision to watch
the tree, all four daggers are quivering from the center of each of
the four circles.

“That is
amazing.” I gasp as I sprint across the clearing. No human
could possibly throw that distance, let alone with such accuracy. I
seize the daggers and pace the steps back to him. “How did you
do that?”

“Practice.”
He collects the daggers from me and motions for me to stand beside
him.

I listen as he
explains how to hold the handle lightly in my grasp, not so hard that
I am clenching, though not so loose that it falls freely from my
fingers. He lightly touches my wrist as he steps around behind me,
raising my arm. I can feel his breath against my neck as he leans in
and runs his fingers along the ridge of my forearm, showing me how to
take aim.

It is hard to
concentrate with him so near. His voice seems deeper than normal, his
touch warm and gentle. I close my eyes and fight to reign in my
errant thoughts of what it might be like to allow myself to sink into
his arms. “Are you ready to try?”

I nod and he steps
back three paces. I can feel his eyes upon me and grow nervous,
clenching when I know I should not. He waits, no doubt knowing my
first throw will be an epic fail, though patient enough to let me
make my own mistakes.

I take a deep breath
and aim, focusing only on the tree across the clearing. A voice
whispers in my mind, reminding me this is foolish, a waste of time,
an impossibility. I shove each of them away.

Drawing my hand
back, I feel the blade between my fingers and release. In the blink
of an eye, the tip buries deep into the flesh of the tree before me.
It strikes on the outer edge of the barren patch yet decidedly within
the target.

“Perfect!”
Fane praises. He approaches and pats me on the shoulder before
awkwardly dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have
thought it possible on your first attempt.”

I smile sheepishly.
“I was aiming for the tree on the far right.”

Fane bursts out
laughing. I missed my target by nearly fifteen feet, though I am
proud that I at least struck one of the four trees.

“Well done
either way.” I look up to see how close he has come. His deeply
masculine scent floods my senses and I realize something in his gaze
has shifted. He no longer looks upon me with admiration, yet with
some emotion far deeper. There is a yearning in his gaze as he
approaches that calls to me. I find myself breathless as he reaches
out to take my hand.

“You should
not look at me like that,” I whisper as I turn away, letting my
bronze ringlets fall like a shield between us. Surely he can smell my
growing desire, hear the pattering of my heart as I consider the feel
of his hand upon my arm.

If only he would
reach out and touch me, really touch me. Not as a mentor or a
trainer, yet as a man longing for a woman, though I know I should not
wish for such things. I long for Fane in ways I had not known
possible.

“Why not?”
he inquires softly, tugging me closer.

“Because it
will only bring evil down upon you.” My breath catches as the
scent of his blood, of his skin and damp hair, ensnares my senses.

“I am not
opposed to a bit of evil in my life,” he smiles. He slides his
hand down my forearm as if testing the silky texture of my arm. I
close my eyes, memorizing every touch: the warmth of his hand, the
steady rhythm of his heart, and the way he seems to hum to himself
when he is lost in thought.

I suck my lower lip
between my teeth, biting down as my fingers curl upon his hand,
attempting to push him out. He slides his fingers between mine,
entwining us together. “How can something such as this be
evil?”

“It is not,”
I breathe as he leans in close. I can see the golden flecks that rise
in his eyes when he is near. They appear to glow in the light, as if
the sun were beckoning the pieces of itself back to the heavens.

How did I ever live
before him? Truly, it was no life at all, though I walked and
breathed and cried. Fane dried my tears and put a sword in my hand.
He showed me not a girl who cowers in her room in terror, yet a
woman, confident and able.

He
saw in me what I was unable to see in myself—a warrior. Though
as with most tales of heroics, death always follows. My hunt weighs
heavily on my mind.
Is
it so wrong to embrace the hope of something more when time is so
precious? Is it wrong for me to allow myself to feel for him just
this once?

I clench his hand
tightly in my own, curling my fingers so I clasp him strongly. I tug
at his arm and pull him near. “Vladimir will not show mercy if
we are discovered.”

Fane nods. The lines
about the corners of his eyes deepen, yet I cannot spy a single ounce
of doubt in his expression. “My life was meaningless before I
met you. My days filled with death, bloodshed, and horror. You have
no idea how many times I pondered taking my own life or provoking a
fight just to be done with it all despite my vow. Rage is not enough
to sustain a life.”

I suck in a breath
at his admission. “Did you ever try?”

“Yes.”
He looks down at our hands and smiles, appearing lost to his
memories. “Many times.”

“And yet you
did not succeed?”

He draws my hand to
his lips and with the utmost of care, kisses each finger in turn. I
wince at the dirt lining the cracks in my nails, burrowed deep into
the nail beds, though he sees none of it. His touch is light, though
weighted with a thousand unspoken words of affection.

“I was not
meant to,” he mutters against my hand. He rolls his head to the
side and presses the back of my hand to his cheek. I can feel the
stubble that ever clings to his strong jaw.

“How do you
know?” I ask softly.

He smiles, looking
up at me from over the crest of my curled fist. “I am here.”

Though simply said,
I wonder if it could it be true. All of the torment I have endured
was simply to allow us to come to this very moment together?

Had Vladimir not
chosen me, I would never have known Fane. Never been given the chance
to fall in love.

Love?
The
word echoes through my mind, resounding in my soul.
Do
I love Fane?

I
slowly withdraw my hand from his grasp, using as much care as I am
able. Fane watches me as I struggle to swallow, clasping my trembling
hands in my lap. I lower my head, clenching my eyes tightly shut.
Lord,
guide me. I believe I am falling for him.

“What are you
thinking?”

A wry smile tugs at
my lips. His touch, although gentle and endearingly sweet, has left
me feeling rattled. “How cruel this life can be.”

I know he can hear
my heart pounding wildly in my chest, though I am a slave to my
rising emotions. Fear. Doubt. Longing. They all mingle in the pit of
my stomach and I am terrified to embrace any of them.

“It does not
have to be,” he murmurs. The tone of his voice deepens as he
reaches out to push aside the thick waves of hair that fall about my
shoulders. His fingers graze the sensitive skin along my neck and a
shiver ripples down my spine, hovering along the rise of my hips.