Blood Rose (The Undying Love Collection Book 1) Page 5

  “This house is huge. Much larger than I thought.” Hawthorne had redirected his attention from the singing of the insects and now looked up at the house as we strolled. We had been walking for twenty minutes and weren’t even halfway around.

  “It’s gigantic. Too much for us. Alain calls it a relic—I suppose it is.” The house was as much a curiosity as me. Other than in a museum, artifacts didn’t have a place in modern society. Even if Hawthorne did save me, what would I do with myself once freed? I lived locked away here so long, the world would be a shock. Would I be strong enough to acclimate to the modern world? To have someone like Hawthorne at my side would be helpful. He could explain all the strange wonders I would no doubt encounter.

  “Relic or not, this is a spectacular place, Annabelle. Few people live in grand old homes like this one, anymore.”

  I tried to smile. Instead, I stared off into the distance, at the place in the woods I had lost my mortality. Would I be prepared to do such a thing to Hawthorne, knowing what he would face? He had a family, he had hopes, dreams for the future. To save myself, I would condemn him to a half-life of endless blood thirst. That was, if I didn’t kill him.

  We walked the long way around the house in relative silence. There wasn’t much to say. We were monsters here and Hawthorne needed to go. This made up my mind. I would send the young man on his way, back to his future, far away from the madness of this place. I wouldn’t even let him back inside. If we risked his getting comfortable, he may fall asleep. Alain would walk him to the road and assist him. To hitchhike would be a safer solution than remaining in this nightmare with us. My companions could protest all they liked; I would not be the death of Hawthorne. He was too special, his future too bright. The universe did not mean for us to be together.

  Our footsteps echoed up the porch steps, determination burning in my eyes. They would attempt to sway me, but it would do no good. Hawthorne set my course.

  I had every intention of calling for Alain, when Hawthorne moved off to the side. “What’s this?”

  Idle strolling did not take place on that side of the porch. Swann and I avoided it like the plague, preferring to sit on the opposite side when outside. Alain checked on the rose every night, reporting any new developments back to us. Only when a drastic change occurred did he ever call me over.

  Whatever ran through my veins turned to ice. Hawthorne neared the blood rose. I wasn’t sure why a chill ran down my spine. Why should the rose harm Hawthorne? We touched it without consequence. Still, something pulled at me. Before I opened my mouth, he reached for the changing bloom. A spark illuminated the dark porch, the stench of rotting flowers filling the air. Hawthorne gasped as he flew backward.

  “Alain!” I picked up the skirt of my dress, rushing forward to where Hawthorne lay.

  He crumpled into a pile of arms and legs. The bad fall stretched his head and turned his neck at an alarming angle. I thought how unnatural he looked, bent as he was, and feared he had died. In my mind’s eye, I saw the once bright future of this smart, sensitive man, winking out on the horizon. If only he hadn’t come here.

  I placed a careful hand on his shoulder. If he was alive, I didn’t wish to hurt him by moving him. My hand slid from his shoulder to his neck. He had a pulse, steady and strong. I exhaled the air I held in one long breath, as relief flooded through my body.

  The front door opened with a bang—footsteps sounded behind me. “What’s happened?” Alain nudged me aside, leaning over Hawthorne to check his breathing.

  “He’s alive,” I said. “He touched the blood rose.”

  “The dreaded bloom did this?”

  “It knocked him backward and into the railing. There was a loud bang right before he flew back.” I stood over Hawthorne as Alain took over.

  Alain looked back at the rose, as if it could answer for itself. “Well, as long as nothing’s broken, he should be fine. He’s breathing, that’s the important part.”

  Alain straightened Hawthorne’s limbs, palpitating each one to check for breaks. Satisfied with his probing, Alain scooped Hawthorne up in his arms. “Hold open the door. We’ll put him to bed upstairs. I’m willing to bet he has a minor concussion. There’s a good knot where he whacked his head on the banister.”

  “What’s a concussion?” I jumped up to do as he asked, holding the door back to allow Alain space to enter with our guest.

  “A brain injury, but he’ll be ok if it’s minor. Especially if he will be immortal, soon.” Alain angled Hawthorne’s long legs through the door, then proceeded up the winding stairs.

  A brain injury sounded like a bigger deal than Alain was making it out to be. Thinking about Hawthorne’s career as a writer made me worry, we had damaged his ability to think and concentrate. I bit my tongue, not wanting to argue in this moment over Hawthorne’s fate. Alain could fight with me after I knew Hawthorne would be okay.

  Our footfalls landed with soft thuds on the carpeted stairs. I walked close behind, peering over Alain’s shoulder to watch Hawthorne’s face. We wound our way up to the second floor, Alain in the lead. A single candle flickered on the hallway sideboard, casting hostile looking shadows over every wall. Everything appeared so dark; the end threatened, and it was teasing me.

  Swann waited in the best of the guest rooms, fresh sheets already on the bed. Swann, as usual, one step ahead of everyone else. As often as I wanted them to be free of me, I never would have survived without these two in my life. Alain laid Hawthorne on the crisp, white linen sheets. I untied his tennis shoes, pulling them from his feet.

  Swann moved behind me, taking the shoes from my hands. She placed them by the door, then looked back at me. “What do we do, now? If he wakes during the day, we will be asleep. It won’t be easy to wake us. I can’t imagine all the ways this may unravel.”

  “Unravel? What is there to unravel? You overestimate what’s been taking place here, Swann.” I leaned against the bedpost, tired to the bottom of my soul.

  “You, Miss., are underestimating what’s happening.” Swann could have worn holes through my head with her sharp, hard stare.

  I rocked my head, at a loss for what to do or say. Alain spoke. “We still have five hours of darkness. It’s dangerous for us to wake him. He needs to rest. Remember that movie we saw Swann? About the athletes and head injuries? Perhaps the gods will have mercy on us, and he will wake before daybreak. If not, we can do nothing but figure it out as we go.”

  This seemed a very reasonable course of action. Alain and Swann knew more about these things than I did, having been able to be out in public. He was right, nothing could be done for the moment. Although, Alain’s reasoning was sound, it did nothing to ease the anxiety brewing in my stomach.

  “Alain, how did you cancel Hawthorne’s car? Have you learned magic through the boredom of the years?”

  Alain smirked, tossing his head in all directions. “I handled this easily—no tricks required. Swann played lookout as I snuck into the library while you were dancing and pilfered the phone from the sofa. I sprinted out beyond the barrier and canceled the service. Lucky for me, your gentleman does not have a lock on his phone.”

  What Alain meant by a lock on his phone was another conundrum. How did one lock a device of that nature? “What you did was dangerous, impulsive. I wish you hadn’t.”

  Alain narrowed his eyes, his mouth a straight line. “You may have given up, but we have not.”

  His words stung me, but he wasn’t wrong. I had given up. “You two go. I’ll stay here until he wakes, or until I have to retire.”

  My depleting energy affected me as my vigil over the sleeping figure of Hawthorne began. The others left the room, closing the door behind them with care. I should have made things right with Swann before she left. She knew what my heart held, how much I loved her. The stress of our current predicament pressed too far down on me. This was a mess that would only lead to disaster. The sooner Hawthorne woke and went on his way, the better.

  Aside from the bed, the
only comfortable seating in the suite was a chaise lounge by the large picture window. Moisture stuck the pane fast; no one had opened it in decades. I fidgeted and pushed until the wooden frame released with a crunch of old, dried paint, to let in the scents and sounds of summer. I settled onto the chaise feeling nothing but bone wearying exhaustion.

  The apartment was lovely, wallpapered in an English rose pattern, the furnishings simple, but fine. My grandmother’s favorite room, she spent many nights here. She wouldn’t sleep anywhere else in the house when she came for a visit. I thought with a smile of the fiery woman who never took no for an answer. In a time when husbands ruled their wives, Grandma Odette had ruled everyone. I was glad she had gone before she saw what I became.

  Sleep threatened to overtake me. My mind tried to fight it, but it did no good. I wasn’t strong enough to keep my eyes open. Dreams of events past would haunt me, snapshots I wished would remain dead and buried. Those memories hurt too much. To stay awake seemed imperative. However, when death loomed, what could we do but yield?

  My parents died. It had been four months since they left to travel back home to France. My grandmother lay ill on her deathbed, and they went to be with her at the end. But they never made it—their ship was lost at sea. I was alone with my brother and our servants.

  I never had to fear the woods before, often walking for miles on my own with nothing other than a stick for protection. One fiend changed my entire life in the span of five minutes.

  The warmth of the kitchen welcomed me after the cool of the wet, unrelenting ground.

  “Mademoiselle, you’re hurt.” Swann reached for me as I collapsed on the hard, tile floor. A zing of pain moved through my knees up my thighs.

  Swann pulled me into her arms, cradling my face against her soft, warm neck. A vein, ripe with flowing blood, pulsed against my cheek. My mouth opened. Before I stopped myself, I bit into her flesh, the sweet blood pouring down my throat. I hated to be doing this, yet I found myself unable to pull away.

  I heard Swann scream. The scream seemed so far away in my delicious haze. I ignored it. All I did was gulp down her delicious sweetness by the mouthful. Strong arms wrenched me back, it was Alain. I tried to focus on him. His face aghast, his lips moving. Try as I might, I couldn’t hear what he said. The blood dulled my senses, we all seemed to be moving at half-speed.

  I lunged at him and caught his arm, latching on with my teeth as I had done to Swann. Alain fell, unconscious to the floor as another set of arms looped around my waist. Our cook, Mary, stood there. As I spun to face her, she fell, shocked by what she saw. Mary, crouched next to Swann, holding onto her with both hands. Her body shook with fear, her eyes wide, mouth open in another scream. The pounding of her heart echoed loudly, so loud it filled the room. Time sped up. I moved so fast, drank so deep, the room spun around me like a top.

  When next I woke, I was lying face down in the hallway. Night was still upon us, the house dark as a tomb. The baby, James, screamed from his room upstairs. I crawled backward to the kitchen. What I saw there forever branded in my mind. Mary, Swann and Alain all lay in a heap. I blinked my eyes, rubbing them hard with balled up fists as if this would clear away what I’d done.

  James screamed, again, the thirst burning in the back of my throat. “Someone must get the baby out.” I said this more to myself, than anyone else.

  I ran up the stairs two at a time. The sweet odor of his blood almost did me in. I locked my mind against it. This task was the hardest I ever set myself. Without thinking, I pulled him from his crib and jumped from the window. How I knew to do this was a mystery. I landed on my feet, crushing Swann’s bed of geraniums. We had no neighbors, no one who lived closer than sixty miles. I left the bodies and flew with the one-year-old baby through the woods, toward the city. I ran fast, faster than any animal I had ever seen or heard of.

  It wasn’t long before I came upon a small house on the outskirts of Charleston. A light from inside streamed out onto a well-swept porch. A doll lay alongside a pile of blocks. A child lived here. I left my brother on the braided mat, knowing he was far safer here than with me, and knocked on the door. Then, I sped off into the night, back to a house that held horrors within.

  When I returned, Swann and Alain were stirring. I kneeled alongside Swann and pulled her head in my lap. Her pulse slowed and became slower the longer I held her. The creature in the woods had made me drink his blood. Perhaps, if I fed my friends in this way, they would live. Moments later, Alain sat, rubbing his head, no evidence I ever injured him. Swann moved to her feet, swaying as she tried to stand.

  I woke with a start, the screaming of my baby brother echoing through my head. I rubbed at my eyes, focusing on the sounds coming through the wide window. My hands gripped the sides of the chaise, grounding me in the present. That night was long ago, one of many nightmarish moments that marred my immortality. Most evenings I dreamed of the night the witch cursed me. Now, at the end, I thought of my family night and day. Perhaps they waited for me. I hoped if they did, they did so with forgiveness. I never forgave myself for Mary’s death, nor for leaving James as I did.

  Murmurs from the hallway drew my attention. Swann and Alain stood outside the door, speaking in hushed tones. Waves of guilt rippled through my stomach as I eavesdropped, but I had to hear what they said. After I crept to the door, I dropped on my knees to listen. My preternatural hearing had gone the way of everything else. I had to press my ear to the keyhole to understand them.

  Alain’s soft whisper sounded agitated, upset. “We owe it to ourselves, Swann. The curse trapped us here, in the past, like bugs preserved in amber, for far too long. I love her, too, but we deserve to have a life of our own. Just as Annabelle didn’t choose this, neither did we.”

  “Hush, my love. I understand you. I, too, long to travel the world with you at my side. It won’t be long now. How can we leave her at the end? You would never do it. I know you, no matter what you say. Whichever way this goes, it’s almost over.”

  A sigh, from Alain. “You’re right. I would never leave her to die alone. I’m only frustrated. We’ve spent all this time with her, hoping, waiting. Hawthorne is her last chance. Watching her throw it away is infuriating. What can we do to speed this along, to press them more together?”

  “We can do nothing. This is all up to Annabelle. She alone can break the curse. If she doesn’t, and Hawthorne leaves, then we will hold her hands until she has gone. Only then, will I ever leave her.”

  They said nothing more, although they continued to stand in the hallway. They were also listening, waiting to see if Hawthorne would wake and what I would do when he did.

  To listen to my friends, made me seem like a sneak. The worse crime was keeping them here with me. If only this process sped up, sending us all on our way sooner. They deserved so much happiness for all their loving loyalty. The creature in the forest turned my life upside down. I killed Mary, turned my other servants against their will, and yet they still loved me. I slunk against the wall, not bothering to move back to the chaise, thoughts wandering to events long past.

  After I returned to the plantation on that horrible night and turned them, Swann and Alain had fed themselves and me from wandering wildlife. They had cleaned the kitchen, with no evidence remaining of my blood lust. After we set everything to rights, we wept together. The next night, we picked up the pieces. Practical to the end, those two. If this was our life, then so be it. We would carry on.

  Our life had been a simple one, living isolated as we were. A blessing we never denied. We hibernated, giving ourselves the time, we needed to master our control. After a while, we went into the city for the theater, walking among mortals as if human. We were careful about feeding, choosing only those who had taken life, themselves. Alain called them the wicked wanderers and had a knack for seeking them out. We became skilled at feeding from these men without spilling a drop. The swamp became the perfect place to dispose of our leftovers.

  Then, one night, our lives
changed for a second time. A young man watched me as we sat in our box at the theater. I noticed him but tried to avoid returning his stare. There was no point in flirting, I knew I could never have a normal relationship with a human male. I kept my gaze trained on the stage. During intermission, Swann and Alain left me to roam through the crowd. They loved to blend in with high society, observe without being observed. Swann in her silks and feathers, Alain in his top hat and tails. They looked splendid.

  We often wondered if others like us lived in the world. There had to be more, but how would we ever find out, and would we want to? The creature who had stolen my life on that cold night in the forest oozed with hatred and fear. He slithered like a reptile, the reek of him dank and putrid. Was that what it was like for some of us or all of us? We shuddered to find out.

  Not knowing where to begin, we purchased every occult book we found around the city of Charleston. Money was no object as my parents’ deaths left me well-off. The looks we received leaving a store with our arms piled high with strange looking tomes would have stopped any human dead in their tracks. Alain smiled and moved on, Swann and I giggling behind him. We didn’t find much beyond the current myths and tales of our time, and of times long past. In the end we gave up.

  The grotesque creatures we read about, the strigoi of Romania and the revenants of England, didn’t resemble us at all. Were we singular and alone in this life? We seemed unique. Perhaps this man who watched me now might have secrets to share.

  When someone knocked on the little door of the box, I knew trouble stood outside. I allowed him entry, anyway. He was subtly handsome. His eyeglasses obscured green eyes flecked with patches of brown. Hair, a little too long for my taste, fell about his face in a foppish way. His features were angular, reminding me of the face of a crow.

  “May I join you until your friends return?” His quiet voice spoke in an unassuming manner. I suspected if I turned him away, he would have thought nothing of my words, exiting the way he’d come. This man seemed in every way a loner. I could relate.