Blood Rose (The Undying Love Collection Book 1) Page 4

  As often as they tried, nothing electrical would work within the invisible walls surrounding the house. Even with the small cylindrical objects they called batteries. A movie is what I wished to see more than anything else; a real movie on the giant screens of the cinema. Swann would tell me the plots of films I would love. She was always right; I would love them if only the curse released me. Swann thought she brought a bit of the outside world in with her descriptions, in truth her stories were another form of torture.

  I knew Hawthorne’s phone wouldn’t function here. “I do, but I don’t think you’ll be able to work that inside. We don’t have...” The word for the invisible network that made these devices function eluded me.

  Hawthorne slid his finger around the front of his device. “Wi-Fi. That doesn’t matter, I should still be capable of...” He continued moving his finger over the screen. When nothing happened, he grunted, looking up at me. “You’re right, how odd.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Alain calls this area a dead zone. There isn’t much I can do about it.”

  “Well, we can dance without music. My parents raised a southern gentleman, so they forced me to attend cotillion. Let me tell you how embarrassing that is for a sixteen-year-old kid.” Hawthorne tossed his phone on the cushion next to him as he sprang to his feet. He stepped in front of me, holding out his hand. “My lady, may I have this dance?”

  I laughed, staring at his hand as if I didn’t know what to do with it. Hawthorne wanted to dance with me. The shock was clear in the wideness of my eyes. “I suppose.”

  Hawthorne reached down, taking my hand in his. I stood up, moving with him away from the furniture in to the center of the area. He slipped an arm around my lower back, pulling me into a half-embrace. “Is this okay? I don’t wish to hurt you.”

  I placed my free hand on his shoulder, the hardness I felt underneath, not lost on me. I swallowed my fear and said, “I’m not made of glass. Don’t worry.”

  Without meaning to, I looked up into his eyes. The world melted away as he moved us around in small, rhythmic circles.

  Chapter Six

  Let us read, and let us dance;

  these two amusements will

  never do any harm in the world.

  Voltaire

  Annabelle

  I wanted to lose myself in this moment, forget my past, forget what awaited in the darkness of death. What awaited me seemed a mystery. Would there be nothing – no awareness, a simple unknowing, or would the fires of Hell greet me? I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking off these dark thoughts. The only thing I needed to do was enjoy the here and now.

  I tilted my head back, breathing in the light oak and bergamot clinging to the collar of Hawthorne’s shirt. This must be his cologne. It reminded me of the fresh outdoors. As I forgot what I looked like, my gaze met his. His eyes, as he looked down at me, made me forget myself further. They shined bright in the candlelight. I could have stared into those sea glass blue eyes forever. A spark of delight ran from my toes to the top of my skull.

  We twirled around the library, life attempting to course through my dry veins. To be carefree, once again, would be a dream. I almost saw a different life, like a delicate veil I didn’t dare grasp. If I reached for it, it would dissolve before I grabbed hold. I even smiled, the first genuine smile to cross my face in decades.

  “I can see the young woman in you when you smile. Your whole face lights up.” Hawthorne held me tighter, whirling me around until my head spun as fast as the room. I never wanted our dance to end.

  My mind wandered to thoughts of kissing; our lips pressed one against the other. A tingle thrilled its way through my belly. I had only ever kissed one man before. I remembered the sensation, which lasted only a few moments, and a warmth spread through my limbs. For a mad second, I thought of pressing myself until my lips connected with his. Was this madness? Would he return my kiss with his own?

  Without warning, Hawthorne released me, stepping away. “You’re light on your feet.” His comment sounded awkward, out of place. He shoved his hands in his pockets, gaze sliding toward the door. He plotted his escape, the moment lost. “I should go now. The car will be here any minute, I would hate to miss it.”

  I clasped my hands. How could I have thought it would be any different? “You should. Good luck to you, Hawthorne. I hope you have a lovely summer at home.” The comments were made in a light fashion; afraid my voice would betray the bitterness in my heart. Love at first sight was a fantasy. Still, something told me under different circumstances this man and I may have been more than friends.

  “Thanks, again. Maybe I’ll see you around.” He smiled at me, his feet already moving him out and on his way.

  I waved to his back. The sheepish gesture made me retreat to the sofa to sit alone with my sorrow. The family portrait hung in my direct line of sight. I gazed at it, unwanted memories crowding in. Something had given me the vampiric blood against my will. I didn’t choose such an existence for myself. Why me? A child’s voice whined in my head.

  It all happened so fast. There was no explaining the occurrence. Why had he chosen me—why did he leave me without so much as a word? These questions I had asked myself a hundred times.

  As I strolled one night, too late to be out alone, through the back woods behind the plantation, a twig snapped behind me. Before I turned to see what hid there, he pounced on me. Somehow, I knew he was male—that was all I knew. Teeth tore into my throat, pulling me down to the wet, cold ground. I fought and fought, but whatever held me in its grasp would not let go. All I saw was the top of a head, and a gnarled hand that held my shoulder pinned to the ground. Bits of dirt and leaves matted to the strands of his unwashed hair.

  My head slammed back onto the hard ground, eyelids falling as I swooned. The pain ended with a swiftness that left me reeling. Then another sensation began. A hot, thick liquid poured into my mouth. At first, I choked, my instinct to reject the metallic sludge. Then, almost against my will, I swallowed. I swallowed again and again.

  After I drank my fill, the beast moved off me and back out into the night. I lay for hours in the moss. Tangled roots dug in my back. I was too weak to move, too weak to cry out. When my eyes closed, unable to strain any longer, I thought I would die, slip away without ever seeing my family, again.

  Only I didn’t die. When I woke the sun peeked through the Spanish moss hanging around me. I watched the beams move across the trees until the first ray touched my foot. Even with my shoe on, a burning like fire engulfed my toes. I jerked my foot back into the shadow and sprang up. My gait was lighter, faster than it had been before.

  I bolted into the house. My body slammed through the back door. Swann stood in the kitchen, helping the cook prepare breakfast. Both women spun around, startled by my sudden appearance. They smelled so sweet, so delectable. A different burning took hold of me. A thirst unlike anything I had ever experienced ached my throat.

  “Annabelle, where is your beau?” Swann walked into the library, startling me out of the past.

  My gaze never left the painting. “He isn’t my beau, and he’s where he should be, heading back to his life.”

  “You let him leave?” My beautiful Swann turned on her heel and ran out the door. I wasn’t sure what she planned to do, but whatever she did wouldn’t help. I no longer wished to delude myself. They were deluding themselves, most of all.

  Chapter Seven

  How did I escape?

  with difficulty.

  Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

  Hawthorne

  The car service would still be about thirty minutes out. If I missed the driver I would be trapped in this house. Trapped was not something I wished to be. Better to break away now. I’d be lying if I said this place didn’t give me the creeps.

  Unease poked at my mind, causing me more and more discomfort. Annabelle seemed sweet, but I wasn’t sure if she enjoyed the company or simply humored me until I left her in peace. She seemed so tired, so frail.
My heart went out to her. What a terrible affliction. She had such a gentle spirit. When I wasn’t thinking about what she must suffer, I found myself soothed by her presence. Still, I had to go.

  I walked back out the front, no one there to send me on my way. The night air blasted me in the face like heat from a furnace, as I stepped out onto the porch. The heat smothered my breath, no doubt about that. The weather would only become more oppressive the further into summer we progressed. The mosquitos... those were always what got me.

  As I moved onto the drive, I stopped to regard the forlorn angel, once more. Her posture and expression seemed to match the atmosphere. Her sad face mirrored the sorrow taking place within the walls of the plantation house.

  The path loomed as dark as before, so I took out my phone and flipped the light on. I was dangerously low on battery life, but once the car came for me, all would be well. My phone illuminated the way ahead. It didn’t help much. The menace of shadows sprang to life around me. For a moment, they scared me, and I had to remind myself that Alain stood nearby, flashlight in hand.

  It seemed to take twice as long to reach the road as it did for me to reach the house. Nervous butterflies that I would miss the car flew around my belly. I hated to spend any more time here.

  As I walked along the side of Old Camp Road, the silence struck me. Before, the night had been alive with the usual country sounds of summer. Now, the land around me fell as silent as a grave. I shuddered, a chill running up my arms. The absence of everything I found familiar spooked me. What made me think of a grave? The sooner I got out of here, the better.

  After several minutes, I stopped, shining my light up and down the road. It was desolate. My car should be around here somewhere. I hadn’t walked this far to the plantation house’s drive, had I?

  “Alain,” I called out. If the truck had already come, I would’ve passed Alain on my way. My initial thought was that I turned to the right when I should have turned left. But that was wrong. Feeling muddled, I attempted walking down the other side of the road.

  A rustling in the foliage opposite me, startled me into freezing. I held my breath; fearful a gator would soon waddle onto the road. Instead of a hungry reptile, it was Alain. The tension knotting my muscles eased.

  “Oh, hello, monsieur.” Alain grinned from ear to ear.

  I shined my light on him. “What were you doing out there? You scared the life out of me.”

  “I apologize. After the tow truck came, I heard a sound, and thought to investigate.” Alain affected an attitude of nonchalance, brushing leaves from the sleeves of his button-down shirt as if wandering into the brush in the dead of night was an everyday occurrence.

  “You walked out in the brush to investigate a sound in the middle of the night?”

  “I thought I heard crying, but non. One often hears strange things out here.” He said this in a commonplace way as if mysterious wailing was normal. Who or what would cry out there?

  This freaked me out even more. It was vital I get out of this place and go home. I looked around, nervous about what I might see. “You said the truck came? They already took my car?”

  “It moved away, yes.” Alain continued to smile so big, he creeped me out.

  “Okay. Well, the car service should be here any minute. I’ll check.” I turned off the light and opened the app. The app indicated my car had been canceled. “What the hell?”

  “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “Hold on. It says I canceled my car.” I pressed the customer service number. Just as the phone rang, the line went dead. I yanked the phone away from my ear to look at a black screen. “Damn it. My phone died. I left my charger in the car, and you don’t have electricity anyway, so I’m screwed.” The irritation snapped in my voice. I was more than screwed, but I drew the line at saying the F-Word in the presence of strangers.

  Alain frowned, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “We’ll get you home, Mr. Reed. You can count on that. Why don’t we go to the house, there’s nothing we can do at this time of night. Tomorrow, we will get you on your way.”

  I kicked at the ground like a spoiled child. Alain was right, walking home on this street at night would be stupid. But, if forced to walk, as soon as the sun rose, I would walk the entire forty miles.

  Chapter Eight

  Deep into that darkness peering, long I

  stood there wondering, fearing,

  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever

  dared to dream before;

  Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

  Annabelle

  I stretched out on the sofa. If my existence would end, I wanted it to be in this room surrounded by my books, the faces of my family smiling down at me. My eyes closed. Instead of thinking of the past, of all the mistakes, of the future that could never be, I willed myself to think nothing at all.

  The old crone stood over me. I saw the tips of her black boots peeking beneath her long dress. She wailed, sobbing in loud exclamations of grief. I looked up, the blood dripping off my chin. It happened again. I thought I was in control; I had been for so long—fifty years.

  I fell through the air. My belly flopped, and it startled me awake. Hawthorne stood over me, pulling a quilt over my body. “I hope I didn’t wake you. You seemed so comfortable, I covered you up in case you were cold.” He smiled and my insides shattered. I didn’t deserve his kindness.

  Instead of reaching for him, as I so wished to do, I dragged the quilt up to my chin, gripping it tight in both hands. If only it would cover my face. “I expected you to leave. What has delayed you?”

  “Strangest thing. My tow came, but not the car service. Alain said he never saw it and the app says I canceled it. I tried to call again, but my phone died out on the way. Since you don’t have electricity, I guess I’m stuck for the time being.” He chuckled, perching himself on the side of the table next to where I lay.

  “That is strange. Please don’t worry, though. Alain will get you home, somehow.” I didn’t know much about these things, but I couldn’t figure for the life of me how Alain had canceled Hawthorne’s car.

  “It may force me to walk, seeing as how you guys don’t have a car, either. It must be so weird to live like you do. No offense.”

  I lay still under my blanket. Hawthorne’s comment struck me as funnier than it should. If he only knew how we lived. “None taken. With my condition, I prefer people leave me alone.”

  He nodded, his gaze traveling the length of my body. Goosebumps ran along the skin of my arms as he looked me over. My thoughts ran to dancing, of being held in his strong arms, our forms pressed hard together. A stuttering in my heart reminded me to remain calm. I kept my breathing in check, not wanting to betray what I felt.

  “You must be so tired. Let me call for Swann and she’ll see you to the guest room.” I moved to get up, but Hawthorne held up a hand.

  He then clapped his hands on his knees. “Nope, I’m wide awake. These late hours cramming for finals have reset my clock, so I guess I’m used to it. If Alain would lend me his flashlight, I would take a walk around the grounds. I bet there are some interesting things around here. It might be fun to explore in the dark. A little dangerous, but fun. Want to join me...if you’re not too tired?”

  He wanted to walk with me. The hope that died when he left bloomed within like a budding flower in the warm Spring air. A walk with this man would have been heaven. Only, I couldn’t walk the grounds in their entirety. My path extended less than twenty feet from the house in any direction. If I tread carefully, I may make this work.

  “Weeds and vines have overgrown the grounds. They’ve been impassable for many years. To traverse them without light would be impossible. It’s sad as we had such beautiful gardens at one time. But I would be happy to turn around the house with you. I’ve a well-worn path, we can see it by the brightness of the night sky.”

  “I’ll take it.” Hawthorne bounced to his feet, holding his hand toward me.

  I flung bac
k the quilt, springing up with a surprising youthfulness of spirit.

  Summer nights in the south never cooled down. As we descended the porch, the warm air greeted us, wrapping around us like a thick blanket. Honeysuckle and jasmine wafted in the breeze. I inhaled a deep breath.

  Although, the larger areas of the gardens were let go long ago, Swann kept the flowers and plants in the immediate vicinity of the house. Red and white camelias, roses, and a magnolia tree, all began to unfurl their blossoms. My favorite sounds of crickets and katydids filled the night air. This may have been a perfect evening under different circumstances.

  “I love that sound,” said Hawthorne.

  I craned my neck to stare at his profile. We seemed to have more and more in common. “So, do I. It isn’t summer without them.” Hawthorne smiled down at me. All I desired to do was throw my arms around him. I checked myself.

  We walked side by side, my hand tucked in the crook of Hawthorne’s arm. He reached down, plucked a white camelia and passed it into my hands. “Was this a working plantation back in the day?”

  “No. We ran a family home. No crops were grown here. My parents... I mean my great-great grandparents, came from France. They didn’t believe in slavery of any kind. We only used servants, brought with us from home.” I cringed, realizing I had made a few mistakes in my explanation. I covered the flub of saying my parents, but then I’d said we and us. Hopefully, Hawthorne wouldn’t notice.

  “Cool. I noticed you had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it. The other two are unmistakably French. You must go back and forth?”

  I pushed the camelia into my face to breathe in its soft scent, and to buy some time for an answer. My accent was once as strong as my friends’. The cadence of my native land had weakened along with my body. I smiled, deciding to go with a demure “hm-hmm,” by answer. No need to get too descriptive.