Authors: Amy Miles
Chapter 11
Roseline’s hand strokes the crimson leather corset, her fingers trailing along the elaborate black scrollwork that spreads like angel’s wings along her abdomen.
The boning along her sides is firm, molding her slender waist into perfection.
Twisting at her waist, the sweeping neckline accentuates her curves while still allowing ease of movement.
Her bared chest, pale as a winter’s moon, and hair pinned up off her neck seems to elongate her graceful neck.
The leather shoulder straps curl around the bodice, woven with intricate black ribbon.
Lace edges the waistline, hovering just above her bellybutton, revealing chiseled abs.
Bronze curls, piled atop her head, coil around Roseline’s cheek.
Dark eyeliner and metallic eye shadow makes her look alluring, fierce.
“Perfect,” she whispers, turning her attention lower in the mirror.
Skintight black leather pants hug her long legs, licking the curve of her hips.
They plunge into knee-high boots.
She turns her back on the mirror, chewing on her nails as she urges the clock to wind faster.
Perhaps she should have tried to sleep, but she knew it is hopeless.
More than likely they will both be dead before the night is out.
She cannot bring herself to waste one moment.
Guilt gnaws at Roseline’s stomach.
She knows she should warn Nicolae of the danger they face or, better yet, refuse to let him come, but she will need him to retrieve Fane.
She shifts to peer through the blackout curtains.
Moonlight filters through the gap, bathing the room in silvery light.
It is time.
Her heels sink into the plush carpet as she crosses to the bedroom.
She pushes open the door, rolling her eyes at the foghorn buried under a mountain of pillows.
She kicks the bed.
“Wake up.”
A groan emerges.
The mound quakes as a landslide of cotton slides to the floor.
“Go away.”
“We don’t have time for this, Nicolae.
Get up.”
“Just five more minutes.”
He turns over, burying his head under the blanket.
Exasperated, Roseline reaches the sitting area in two graceful leaps.
She grabs a small circular bin, its contents barely shift as she returns to his side.
“Last chance.”
“Whatever.”
With a smirk, Roseline upturns the canister.
Nicolae roars, landing on the floor in a waterfall of partially melted ice.
“What the heck?”
Roseline crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark.
“It’s midnight.”
Droplets of water patter onto the bridge of his nose from his disheveled hair.
Nicolae yawns, sinking back to the floor.
“So?
Can’t you give me a few more…” his mouth falls open as his eyes adjust to the moonlight.
Heat floods his cheeks as he spies her new outfit.
“Again?
Why can’t you warn me when you’re going to put on something like…like that,” he finishes lamely, flapping his hand at her outfit.
“You don’t warn me about
your
wardrobe choices,” she responds, tossing him a towel.
He hangs it over his neck, rubbing the excess water from his dark hair.
“That’s different, and you know it.”
She ignores his comment and hooks her foot around a silver hard-shelled case hidden beneath the bed.
Roseline tosses it onto the mattress.
With two clicks, she opens the mystery case.
Nicolae rises, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Where did you get that?”
“A store,” she responds vaguely.
There is no need for him to be aware of the intricate network of immortals residing in London’s underbelly.
It had been effortless to sneak out while his snores rattled the room.
When she returned, less than an hour after sundown, he had barely shifted position.
Looking inside the case only piques his interest.
The scent of leather hovers strongly over the small interior, but it barely masks the aroma leeching from Roseline’s ivory skin.
Nicolae steps back, but the further he retreats, the better view he has of Roseline’s backside.
“You have got to stop doing this.”
Roseline sighs heavily.
“You act as if I’m doing this for your benefit.
I told you I can’t help it.”
“Well,” he gulps, wafting fresh air from the heater into his face, “try.”
She smirks, admitting that she rather enjoys his discomfort.
“I would think a trained hunter, such as yourself, would understand the need for certain…tactical advantages.”
Nicolae blinks, fighting to tear his eyes away from her shapely figure.
Judging by his slack jaw, Roseline can only imagine that he is considering just what those advantages might entail.
Roseline naturally oozes sensuality.
Each movement she makes is gracefully animalistic and executed with deadly poise.
Her presence is bold and tantalizingly unforgettable.
Her essence, since the day she was born into immortality, was created to attract humans.
It is not something she can just switch off, although right now she wouldn’t mind finding a lower setting!
Nicolae runs his hands through his hair, blowing out a breath.
“Roll up that tongue, Big Boy.
We have work to do.”
Her arm blurs as a glint of metal slices through the air.
Nicolae’s hand reacts instinctively, rising just in time to grasp the handle of a dagger before it buries into his cheek.
It’s curved blade and spiked cross-guard betray its maker - a Brules dagger.
“Oh wow,” he whispers, turning the blade over in his hands, “where did you find one of these?”
His irritation appears to vanish as his fingers encircle the handle, testing its weight.
It is a perfect fit for his calloused palm.
“It’s a gift.”
Nicolae’s hand stills the blade in a mid-air down cut.
Roseline smirks.
“You gave me something valuable.
I am simply returning the favor.”
His eyes widen as he stares down at the priceless weapon in his hands.
“No way!
Do you have any idea how much this thing is worth?”
She rolls her eyes at his stupid remark.
“Of course I do.
It’s mine, isn’t it?”
Nicolae gapes at the brilliant piece of history resting in his hands.
“I didn’t know any of these remained.”
Roseline shrugs and turns back to the case, sorting through its depths.
“It was a gift from Vladimir on my hundredth birthday.
I spent the next two hundred years training with it.”
Her expression sours.
Twisting the blade against his finger, it slices easily through his skin.
He winces, placing the knife back in its cover.
“How did he come by it?”
Roseline’s eyebrows furrow as she watches Nicolae’s blood bead up on his fingertip.
Her throat burns as she forces herself to look away, to force her mind back on the story.
“Don’t you know?”
Nicolae stares down at the sheathed weapon.
“Sorin used to speak reverently of the craftsmanship.
Brules made the finest blades in all of Romania until his death.”
He gasps, leaping to his feet.
“Brules’ death wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“No.”
Roseline draws up the memory, relaying it to Nicolae.
Henric Brules had been the best sword maker of his time.
His forgery was a small, family owned business that produced exquisite weaponry.
The nobles paid handsomely for his services.
That is, until Vladimir threatened them.
Vladimir’s lust for power came at a steep price for Henric.
His first refusal was met with the disembowelment of his entire family, save one.
His eldest son, Davros, was Henric’s apprentice and successor.
Family blood stained the forgery floor, a gruesome reminder of Vladimir’s rage.
Henric Brules lived nearly twenty years under Vladimir’s thumb before taking his own life.
His son, Davros, had not been so fortunate.
“Vladimir took great pleasure in breaking Davros’ mind, turning him into one of the most sadistic killers know to the immortal world,” Roseline whispers through gritted teeth.
“Now, Davros shows no remorse when skinning Vladimir’s victims alive.”
She pauses, clearing her throat.
“The blade was purchased with human blood. It is only fitting to be given to one who will use it to repay that debt.
It is yours now.”
She turns, plunging her hands into the box.
“I’m sure Vladimir will be furious when he learns that it is now in your possession.”
A joyful glint flashes in Nicolae eyes.
“Then I think it’s only fitting that I extend my gratitude in person.”
“Indeed,” she smiles.
Her hands emerge from the box, tossing a pile onto the bed beside Nicolae.
“These will probably be a bit snug on you, but they should still work.”
The scent of leather invades his nose as he ruffles through the items.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Nicolae drops the dagger onto the bed to lift a black leather vest with intricate scrollwork, which pairs with Roseline’s.
“What’s wrong?” she smirks, enjoying Nicolae’s boisterous swearing.
“Not your style?”
“Of course not,” he spits, holding the vest with the tips of his fingers, as if it might spontaneously combust and burn him.
“I’ll look like-” he lets his voice fade, averting his gaze.
“Like an immortal.”
He nods.
“That’s the point.”
By donning the warrior’s uniform, Nicolae is proclaiming his allegiance with immortals.
As long as he keeps his mouth shut and his weapons hidden, he just might live through the night.
“I’ll look like a fool,” he complains.
Roseline rolls her eyes.
“Your pride is not my concern, Nicolae.
Where we are going, you need to look the part.
I assume you prefer leather to death.”
She turns to face the wall, her eyes focusing on the golden fleur-de-lis patterned wallpaper.
“I promise I won’t look.”