Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (33 page)

“For what?”
I delight in seeing how out of breath and disheveled he is. His
cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and wide as he stares back
at me. The top buttons of his shirt have come undone, and I spy a
hint of muscle and instantly ache to slip my hand within to explore.

I stumble backward
several steps and out into the rising winds, needing the coming
deluge to quench the fires burning deep within my belly. “For
giving me something to hold on to.”

Fane calls out as I
turn and sprint away. I slide on the grass as the rains overhead
unleash, threatening to upend me on several occasions. My blanket
hangs heavy and thick between my legs as I flee, though I do not turn
back. I cannot.

If I do not leave
now, I may commit an act that I will forever regret… like
confessing my inclination toward him.

Love.
At least be willing to be honest with yourself,
I
scold as I flee over the hills and back toward the castle. It looms
like a monster rising from an eerie fog from upon the hilltop. I have
no right to feel this way, yet, no matter how hard I have tried, I
cannot deny the truth. I have fallen in love with Fane Dalca.

I hear the drums
first, rising from the depths of the darkening woods. I turn my back
on the window as the last few droplets of color fade from the sky.
The stars twinkle high above, though tonight they do not capture my
attention.

My heart thumps
loudly in my ears as I stare at my door, listening to the sound of
footsteps approaching. I know they are coming for me. It is time.

Panic seizes me as I
realize this might be my last night on this earth. How odd it is to
suddenly be fearful of the one thing I have wanted most: death. Maybe
meeting Fane has changed me. Maybe the feel of a blade in my hand has
given me something small to live for.

There is no knock or
pause to request entrance to my room. My door bangs open and half a
dozen immortals stand in the threshold, fighting to peer in. My
candle is diminished so they do not spot me for a few scant seconds,
though it is long enough for me to get a good look at them under
torchlight.

The first I see is a
slender redhead with waves of fire cascading over her shoulders.
Never before have I seen such a vivid color on any other woman. Her
skin is pale as winter snow and her lips the color of blood. I cannot
help but wonder if she has actually painted her lips with it to
celebrate this occasion.

Metal chains wrap
about her long neck and wrists. Her dress is foreign, much fuller
than any I have ever worn. Her feet are bare and her eyes are
amplified by thick bands of black. Alamesia’s grating laugh
sends ripples of unease down my spine.

Beside her is a
tall, dark-haired man with a severe-cut beard and eyes the color of
coal. His hair is unusually short, almost as if it has been shorn so
you can see the strange markings on his neck, leading up to his
scalp. I am tempted to lean in closer to see what design it makes at
the back of his head, though one look at his eyes tells me I want no
part of this man near me. The bloodied blade at his side gives
evidence to the skirmish I heard below only a few minutes ago. I
suppose I now know who won.

Two burly men stand
behind Alamesia, rising nearly a foot taller and double the width.
Their russet beards are unruly, their hair matted with leaves and
dirt. They look as if they have been rolling with the dogs in the
meadow. Judging by their scent, they may have had a time with the
pigs as well. I do not know their names or their scent. These three
men must have been among the newest group to arrive. I have heard
many new voices come and go throughout the day.

I recognize the last
immortal simply by her state of undress: Bellamy. If she were to
speak, I would instantly recognize her accent from being raised by a
small sheepherder in the countryside of France, where Lucien found
her. Her name is on the lips of nearly every male that traipses
through the front doors of Castle Bran, and I would wager she has
shared a bed with most of them as well. She has been absent for some
time, though Lucien seemed rather pleased to see her once more.

I had hoped Fane
would be sent for me. He would have been a familiar face, though
perhaps it is for the best. If Vladimir ever caught one of Fane’s
less-than-guarded glances, he would lose his head and a few other
limbs in the process.

“There she
is,” the dark-haired man says with a gravelly voice as his grip
tightens atop his fancy wooden walking stick. It has the head of a
lion, its teeth sharpened into points. I dare say they appear to be
dripping with blood. A fitting cane for such a beastly man.

“I saw her
first, Barrett.” Bellamy offers him a smile dripping with honey
as she places a hand high to tweak his nose before twirling to face
me. I can see no hint of compassion in her eyes, only excitement as
she digs her nails into my arms to wrench me from the dark.

“You had your
fun during the plagues within the provinces of England. It is only
fair that someone else shall have the honor.” I can see the
ruddy tint still clinging to Barrett’s cheeks from Bellamy’s
touch. He is not fooling anyone with his gruff tone. Men are
essentially all the same.

Bellamy smirks and
waves him off. “We must not keep everyone waiting.” Her
voice is singsong, as if gripped by a dream world, yet laced with a
lethal dose of poison.

“No, we
certainly would not want that,” I spit back. The contents of my
stomach rise in my throat, though I swallow it down, refusing to give
them the satisfaction of sensing my fear.

If my greeting party
is anything to judge by, the hunters should be far more anxious to
begin the hunt. It is a sport to them, as sick as it is sadistic.

When Fane came to
see me at dawn, he informed that I have received my request. Lucien
will be among the hunters and he is eager to take a swing at me. As
are the hulking men clomping behind me down the hall, no doubt. Their
swords look sharp enough to severe bone with a single blow.

The castle is oddly
empty as I am shoved down one corridor to the next. I fight the urge
to drag my feet and force them to carry me. That will only expend
energy I am sure to need before the sun rises… if I can make
it that long.

The great hall is
eerily still and vacant of firelight. Every door has been flung open,
each room we pass unoccupied.

I
am going to have quite the audience,
I muse silently as I am prodded in the back by Barrett’s
walking stick. The desire to beat him over the head with it grips me
suddenly, though I hardly have time to think upon it as I am sent
flying through the exterior door with a violent shove. I tumble end
over end to the bottom of the stairs.

The leather of my
skirt slaps against the stone as I roll to a halt, the edge of the
bottom step digging painfully into my spine. Alamesia and Bellamy
cackle as they leap down beside me. “Watch that top step. It
can prove to be tricky.”

“Enough.”

I tense at the sound
of the stern voice that echoes around the stone courtyard. Blood and
gravel cling to my palms as someone grasps me under my arms and hauls
me to my feet. My black leather halter is dusted white from the
stone, my sword dangling from its sheath at my side thankfully
unharmed.

This
is not exactly how I wanted to present myself: disheveled and
favoring my side. It is a weakness that the hunters will use to their
advantage.
Blast
you, Alamesia!
I
silently curse.

“Why must you
always spoil our sport?” Bellamy pouts. I look up as she steps
around me without a glance and watch as she saunters toward Fane.
Golden waves of fine hair trail behind her in the wind as she glides
her hand across his chest. Rising onto her toes, she licks her
blood-red lips and leans in toward him, sniffing the curve of his
neck. There is a distinct sway to her hips as she moves past with a
smirk, and I notice a muscle along his jaw flinch reflexively.

“Vladimir will
not be pleased if Roseline arrives in a less-than-perfect state for
her hunt.”

Alamesia snorts and
crosses her arms over her chest as she juts out her hip. Her jewelry
tinkles as she sways. “Roseline is it now? Tsk tsk, Fane. I
would be cautious at how familiar you address the girl in front of
Vladimir. He might not take too kindly to that. He seems unusually
fond of her.”

Acid burns my throat
at the thought of Vladimir’s particular form of fondness. Fane
stiffens and appears determined not to glance in my direction as he
turns to address Alamesia. He presses his shoulders back and lifts
his chin with defiance. “I am her trainer, nothing more.”

I try not to let the
lack of emotion in his tone nor the dullness of his eyes bother me,
yet it does. I thought Fane was different than them. Was I mistaken
about his feelings for me? Was it all some sick ploy to win my
affections at my expense?

Judging by
Alamesia’s grating laugh, she does not entirely agree with his
sentiment. “We shall see.”

As she moves past to
join arms with Bellamy, I cannot help but wonder to what she is
referring. Will she see if Fane cares more for me than he is letting
on, or is she referring to his status as my trainer?

Why
do these people always speak in riddles?
I
cry out as Barrett takes another swift stab at my side. I growl and
turn on him. “If I live to see the dawn, I am going to beat you
with that stick.”

Barrett laughs as he
snatches my arm and yanks me close, pressing me so tightly to his
chest that I fear he will crush my lungs. He reaches up and brushes
the back of his hand against my cheek, slowly and with purpose. His
cold eyes lock onto mine as he leers down at me. “I sincerely
hope I am the one to remove your pretty little head.”

“You will have
to catch her first,” Fane says from behind him. Barrett lifts
his head to glare at Fane over my shoulder.

“It will be my
pleasure.” With a shove that steals my breath away, Barrett
stomps past and heads toward the darkened woods.

The torchlight,
spaced every few meters along the stone courtyard walls, casts an
eerie glow upon the ground. I realize with a start that the sun has
completely vanished from the sky. I dart a glance toward the front
gates of the castle. Could I make it? Could I outrun the others and
make it to the village before Vladimir discovers I have fled?

Fane meets my gaze
and gives me a tiny shake of his head. His grip tightens on his sword
hilt as two hands grip me from behind. “He is waiting,” a
gruff voice blasts just above my ear.

The scent of manure
is strong in my nose as I am practically carried onto the castle
grounds. Fane walks ahead of us. I can see his blond hair glowing in
the full moonlight rising just over the distant trees. I lift my gaze
to the sky and realize there is an odd rust hue to the moon. I blink,
sure I am not seeing it correctly.

A numbness drapes
over me as I contemplate how little time I have left. How many will
come after me? Five? Ten? I dread to think what would happen if
Vladimir unleashed all of them upon me.

I
cannot do this. I cannot outthink all of them!
I
can feel hysteria slipping in, smell the scent of fear clinging to my
skin. The men behind me breathe deep, savoring my anxiety.

I crane my head back
to look at them. They stand well over a foot taller than I do, mouths
gaped wide in a grin. Even in the dim light, I can see many of their
teeth are chipped or missing altogether. It looks as if they
attempted to gnaw on rocks. The scent of putrid meat escaping between
their lips turns my stomach.

Did they eat
their last victim? Did they tear flesh from bone before draining them
of blood?

I have heard tale of
such savage men from a distant country somewhere on the continent. I
glance down at their clothes and realize they both wear the skins of
a bear, with a necklace of bone wrapped about their stocky necks.

If
I must die tonight, I vow it will not be by the hands of these men.
Even
as the words sift through my mind, I know I will do whatever it takes
to avoid these two hunters. If I must perish, I do not want it to be
horrific.

“The blood
moon rises,” Barrett calls from the shadow of night up ahead. A
sinister laugh turns my blood cold. “It is time.”

I can hear voices up
ahead in the dark, hundreds of them chattering away with an air of
excitement. It makes my stomach knot painfully, yet I keep my spine
straight and my head tall with a confidence I am sorely lacking.

Fane walks ahead of
me. He has not looked back at me once. This rejection, no matter the
reason, hurts far more than that blasted stick Barrett insists on
prodding me with from time to time.

Why is Fane treating
me so coldly? Is it to protect himself, or is he trying to separate
himself emotionally because he knows I stand little chance tonight?

I pause as we reach
the far wall of the castle grounds. It rises high over my head, far
taller than I had imagined it to be when leaning out my turret
window. A tangle of vines and branches weave across the stone as far
as I can see. Rusted spikes line the top of the wall, some of them
still bearing the blood and feathers from the last foolish pigeon to
land upon it. “We are going out there?”

I loathe the way my
voice cracks with uncertainty. I have never been beyond this point.
It is foreign and terrifying territory for me.

“You did not
think we would spill blood within our own home, did you?”
Barrett laughs. “That is just poor form.”

With a curt nod to
his large companions, beefy hands release my arms only to be replaced
by Barrett’s long, thin fingers. The softness of his hands
makes me shudder. He grips my arm and leaps soundlessly over the
wall.