Blood Rose (The Undying Love Collection Book 1) Page 2

  Swann dropped into the seat next to me. “What if he’s the one we’ve been waiting for?”

  I looked down at my ruined hands, the skin hanging off in folds. “It doesn’t matter if he is. I’ll never seduce him as I am.”

  Swann placed her pink-hued, spotless hand over mine. “Stop trying to give up, Annabelle. This isn’t over until it’s over. You needn’t seduce, only get him to like you, to look at you for who you are.”

  I wanted to be as optimistic as my friend. To break this curse, a mortal would have to give me their blood of their own free will, without coercion or force. I couldn’t see how such a thing was possible. Who would give their lives for someone who appeared as old as a crone?

  A wooden board creaked out front. I locked eyes with Alain, Swann gripping my hand so tight I feared she may twist it off my wrist. Alain stepped forward. “He’s on the porch,” he said. “He’s moved past the boundary.”

  Chapter Two

  “But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.

  “Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

  “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.

  “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

  Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

  Hawthorne

  The attempt to shave a few minutes off my drive time had been a mistake of epic proportions. I took a back road I only ever traveled once before, rather than stay on the interstate that would take me into Charleston. What an idiot. My reliable car would have been the last thing I expected to break down.

  All human life had deserted this country road, as dark as the sky above me. It had been a lengthy time since I’d passed a street light. Were there even power lines out here? I gripped the steering wheel and peered into the dark space ahead of me. Oak trees lined the road on both sides. Thick Spanish moss dripped from the limbs in heavy ropes, obscuring any homes that may be in the vicinity.

  I pulled out my phone, scrolling until I reached the contact for the tow company my mom had added. I thought she was being overprotective. Now, I needed to thank her.

  “Turner’s Towing Service, how may I be of service?” asked the toneless voice of a man ready to end his shift.

  “Hi, I need a tow.”

  “Location?” If possible, the guy sounded even more disinterested than before.

  “I’m not sure. About 45 miles from Charleston on Old Camp Road.”

  Clicking on the other end as the office worker typed. “It will be about two hours. I’ll need a credit card, then you can text this number with your GPS location.”

  “Two hours? It’s a hundred degrees out here, and I can’t turn my car on.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s the best we can do.”

  I hung up with the towing company, sweat already trickling down my cheek. After sending them my exact location, I pulled up a car service app. There was one driver willing to pick me up. To find someone who would come out this far left me eternally grateful. No need to wake my parents.

  Even with the windows down, it was impossible to stay in the vehicle. I remembered seeing a road that looked like a driveway not far back. A house with air conditioning and a cold drink was much preferable to the sauna of this sweltering car.

  I stepped out of the car, a little fearful of the dark. Several venomous snakes stalked these parts, some of which were nocturnal. A gator or two may also be lurking, depending on how close we were to any bodies of water. I remembered a swamp being nearby. To walk down the middle of the street avoiding the shoulders, seemed a good plan. I wanted to keep all my limbs intact from snapping jaws.

  The night was alive with a cacophony, all of it animal and insect. The loud, insistent song of crickets and katydids chirped all around. This was the voice of summer. As I walked, I smelled the swamp. The decaying vegetation produced an unmistakable, unpleasant odor. Good plan sticking to the middle.

  With my phone’s flashlight trained on the ground, I made my way to the small road. I didn’t see a mailbox, but that meant nothing. It was possible they had their mail delivered to the house. I shined the light as far up the road as I could. The trees and dense moss obscured the way.

  I looked around, unsure of what to do. The image of ice melting into a cold drink, condensation running down the side of the glass, spurred me on.

  The long road wound to the left, then to the right, and back again. Angel Oak trees bent their long untended branches into the road, reaching out as if to grab hold and pull me into the blackness beyond their trunks. The scene looked straight out of a horror film. Everything inside me screamed to turn around and run back to the car. Something else, some small, unnamable desire kept me on my course, destined for a strange adventure.

  There was likely nothing at the end of this drive except an ancient, haunted, plantation house. As the photographer of the high school yearbook, my job had been to take pictures of the smiling faces of my senior class. My real passion had been photographing these dilapidated, old homes. I found beauty in their abandon. Too bad I didn’t have my camera with me now.

  At last, the road opened to reveal an image I had a hard time focusing on. The round drive, littered with the debris of dead leaves and fallen branches, had not been tended to in years. The thick mist made it difficult to see. At the focus of the drive hovered the statue of an angel, sitting in what must have been, at one time, a pool of water. The brick which once formed a wall around the divine lady had fallen away, only fragments of it remained. The marble treasure, still lovely, sat with outstretched wings, her face and eyes gazing down in a manner that seemed almost mournful. Green moss grew in her crevices, a gray film lay over her wings. If rescued and restored, this piece would be valuable.

  Beyond the angel stood an old plantation house, just as I’d thought. The place must have been spectacular in its day, around two hundred years ago. Its current state was one of complete disrepair. The second-story porch looked ready to fall. Paint had long chipped away. The wood shutters, compromised by rot, hung at dangerous angles, threatening to snap off at any moment. It was like watching any beautiful building deteriorate with age, you wanted to help—nail and glue the broken bits back together—but at some point, nothing would work except a bulldozer.

  I should have headed back to the car, thoughts of cool beverages long past, but an urge to explore the decrepit home overwhelmed me. One quick poke around wouldn’t do any harm. No one lived here anymore.

  I kept my light focused on the exterior of the house and moved forward. Something strange happened about five feet past the angel. The house changed. I blinked my eyes, opening them to take another hard look. The exterior differed from how it had appeared only a moment ago. The place went from looking like a near cave-in situation to pristine in a second. Had I imagined the crumbling facade? The walk tired me, and the deadly heat out here was known to cause a fair share of hallucinations. Maybe cramming for finals and the long drive had driven me crazy.

  Now, a light appeared on inside. Someone was home. I hoped this someone may offer me shelter in an air-conditioned living room, along with a cold drink. My instinct to check out the road had been correct.

  Chapter Three

  Hold fast to dreams,

  For if dreams die

  Life is a broken-winged bird,

  That cannot fly.

  Langston Hughes

  Annabelle

  “If he’s moved through the barrier, he’s seen the house change.” I wondered what must be going through the mind of the mortal man now standing on the porch out front. Tension knotted in the narrow of my back, reaching its way up the nape of my neck.

  Alain moved toward the salon door.

  “No, wait.” I stood, bringing Swann up with me. We continued holding hands. I clung to her like a lifeline in this terrifying moment. “Let’s see if he knocks. We’ll startle him if we open the door.”

  Alain nodded, the three of us fr
ozen like blocks of ice. It was a good thing we didn’t have to breathe. We made no sound as we stood in the heart of the room, waiting out the man outside. More creaks reverberated. To my ears it sounded as if our visitor now walked up and down the length of the porch.

  Swann dropped my hand and flew to the window with the speed of a blood drinker; faster than any other creature on earth. She pulled the curtains closed with a snap; hands clutched to the heavy damask. She dared not move, fearful if she did, the curtains would part far enough to allow a peak at the occupants, standing inside.

  The footsteps reached the window. We saw nothing, not a shadow or silhouette. I wondered what he looked like. Then chided me for caring. His appearance mattered little. If he was the one, he would have to see past what I had become, so I would do the same. Hope bloomed in my heart for the first time in over two centuries. I didn’t want joy to spring forth in my mind. This story would end as desolately as it began. How could it be any other way? I smoothed down the front of my beautiful gown, my shoulders squaring into a more proper posture. I resigned my fate; this small interlude didn’t matter.

  The steps retraced their way back toward the door. Contradictory thoughts swirled through my mind. One moment, my heart skipped, fearful he would retreat. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying to all the gods ever written of for a miracle. The moment after, all I wanted was for him to leave us in peace.

  A firm rap on the door sent a wave of shock through my body. I rocked on my feet, almost toppling over from equal measures of fear and excitement. Swann rushed back to my side, reaching out to steady me. I pulled her hand toward me, holding on like a scared child. I hadn’t acted as hostess since my days as a living girl.

  My mind pushed those things away, forgetting them as I had so many other social niceties. The times in which the outside world now lived were as foreign as an alien from another planet. My roommates brought me bits of current events, but the truth remained; I knew nothing of a modern way of life.

  “Alain answer the door, please,” I said, my voice quaking. It was crucial I get through the next few moments. I could worry later about what comes next. If I had any chance, I would have to make this visitor feel welcome, unafraid. The rest seemed impossible; get the man to consent to give me his blood, even though I look like I’ve crawled from my grave. A stone settled in the pit of my stomach. Why even try at all?

  “I’ll make drinks. You sit here,” Swann moved me onto the settee, the deep azure of the silk, soft and cold underneath me. She straightened the neck of my dress, then smoothed back a stray hair, as if these things would help to make me less monstrous.

  “Please stop fussing.” I shooed her hands away. “It should be you sitting here, not me.”

  “You know it must be you. Besides, if he has a heart, he will see you for who you are.”

  “A fiend who drinks blood and looks like death.”

  “No. An immortal who drinks the blood of the wicked, and who is beautiful on the inside.” She bustled off, her words falling on deaf ears.

  I grabbed for Swann’s hand as she walked away. “I didn’t always drink the blood of the wicked. It’s been so long, what if I can’t control myself? I’ve been out of control before, remember?”

  Swann’s head dipped down. “You will master it, you must, and stop punishing yourself.”

  “Here we go, ladies.” Alain smiled, our conversation not perturbing him, then moved out into the hall. I heard the door open with an overzealous whoosh of air. Every muscle in my body tensed as I strained to hear the exchange.

  The overpowering scent of fresh blood drifted over me. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. The hot, thick blood flowing through his veins reminded me of honey. My tongue darted past lips as dry as the rest of me. A sharp pinch brought me back to myself. “Ouch.”

  Swann stood in my way, her finger wagging as if chastising a child acting up. I did my best to pull myself together, closing off my vampiric nature to the best of my abilities. Many years had passed since I last had to control my appetites.

  “Good evening, sir. May I be of help?” Alain’s measured; well-bred voice echoed through the room. His voice boomed for my benefit. He too, surged with excitement.

  The stranger met Alain’s query with silence. It took every ounce of willpower I had to remain still when all I wished to do was dart into the foyer. Swann swept out of the salon and down the hall. I wondered if she craned her long, graceful neck to glimpse the newcomer as she went.

  After several beats, the man outside answered. “It’s so strange,” he said, his deep voice echoing through the house sounded strong. “At first, I swore I dreamed the whole thing, but the house seemed to change from a broken-down ruin into a glorious, pre-revolutionary plantation house the closer I moved up the walk.”

  Alain laughed. Both he and Swann spoke with deep, French accents. Their laughter musically floated on the air like a tangible thing. I saw Alain’s laugh dancing around me, now. “I don’t see what you mean, sir. There are the gases from a nearby swamp that sometimes shroud the house in a strange fog. Would you like to come in?” I heard movement in the hall.

  “Yes, thank you.” That masculine voice, again. “My car broke down near here. I finished my freshman year at Duke this week. On my way home for the summer, car refused to make it forty more damn miles. I never even knew anyone still lived in places like these.” The man’s stream of consciousness tumbled out in sentences that barely made sense.

  Alain laughed, again. “We’ve been here for a long time, sir. Please, come into the salon. The mistress will receive you.”

  “Receive me? You sound as old as this house.”

  I squirmed on the settee. Wait until our newcomer clapped eyes on me. I was as ancient as the home in my immortality, only I shouldn’t have looked it.

  Alain walked into the room ahead of our guest. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. I wondered what he meant to convey until I saw the young man who walked in behind him. He was beautiful. The shimmering hope taking form within me died in my rib cage.

  The tall, young man seemed molded into his clothes. His fit form bulged beneath slim fitting jeans, and a button-down shirt open at the collar. This afforded a peak at a toned, smooth chest. Dark hair, cut short, accented the lightness of his eyes. They were a blue the color of a cloudless sky at midday, something I would never see again. He walked with confidence. This man had an identity, he knew where his path lay.

  He followed Alain, a tentative smile playing on his lips. A cautious gaze darted about the room as he walked. This man wasn’t too sure of his surroundings, nor should he be. He came to a stop at the edge of the room, his wandering gaze falling onto me. I deflated like a parade balloon; once firm and colorful, now sad and sallow.

  “Miss. Annabelle, Mr....” Alain paused, turning back to our guest. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t ask your name.”

  “No need to be so formal. I’m Hawthorne, Hawthorne Reed.” The gorgeous man grinned a smile that would have made me weak in the knees had I been standing.

  “As in Nathaniel?” I spoke for the first moment, intrigued even further by our mysterious new friend.

  “Yeah, my parents are English teachers. I grew up around books. Guess it stuck, cause now I’m majoring in Literature.” His smile shined as he spoke, addressing himself to both Alain and me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss. Annabelle.” His hand shot down toward me.

  I grasped fingers that were warm and soft and made me think of a puppy’s belly. The muscles in his hands flexed and I sensed the blood pumping through his veins. Hunger rose within me. I clenched my jaw shut tight, releasing his hand and trying to focus on something else. I took slow, measured breaths as I counted to ten in my head. The thirst would not be my master. My gaze found the stack of books on the coffee table.

  If he loved literature, as he said, then a trip to our library would be in order before the evening ended. While Alain and Swann could not bring me fresh blood, they instead brought me inani
mate objects, books being my favorite. My friends kept me well versed in many literary works published during my incarceration. Sometimes my books felt like my only tether, outside of my friends, to the outside world.

  I took a deep breath, looking back at Hawthorne Reed. “It’s nice to meet you. Please, sit. Alain will see to your car.”

  “Oh, no bother there.” Hawthorne plopped on the settee next to me. “I called a tow truck, already. Shouldn’t be in your hair long. It’s just so dang hot out there.” His gaze ran to the fireplace, roaring and cackling like a wicked witch.

  “Alain, please put that out. We don’t want to overheat our guest.”

  Alain half-bowed, turning on his heel to put out the blaze. If Hawthorne didn’t already think us strange, he surely would now. What sort of beings lit a fire with the outdoor temperature so high?

  As Alain worked, Swann entered the room with a tray of fresh squeezed lemonade. The bright citrus scent was fresh. Swann knew what any human would want on a hot, summer night. The lemons had come from a tree out by the back door. Swann must have gathered, sliced, and squeezed like the wind. Although we had no use for the fruit, Swann still tended the tree, using the lemon oils to polish the furniture and placing the dried rinds in fresh bowls of potpourri.

  “Thank you, Swann.” I leaned forward to hand a drink to Hawthorne. As I did so, I noticed his gaze on her. It wasn’t rude, his gaze didn’t wander anywhere it shouldn’t. He only did what any young man would do. I told myself this was only natural, why should he look at me when I appeared to be much older than he?

  I stared down at my hands, the sooner we got Hawthorne on his course, the better.

  “Hawthorne, you will expect a car service, yes?” asked Alain, his eyes glinting with an idea taking shape. I wished the young man would leave and end my misery.

  Hawthorne nodded. “Should be here around the same time as my tow.” He leaned back, throwing one arm over the back of the settee.