Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (12 page)

Her
brother Cassius is deeply protective of her. A protection that I
sense stems deeper than brotherly affection, although I would never
dare to say so. Two nights ago I heard the wailing pleas of a blood
slave as Cassius staked him to the floor of the great hall and set
him alight for touching Verity. It took hours for the man’s
screams to fade. He was obviously no longer a human, yet something
caught in between. Cassius turned him only to see his suffering
lengthened.

I
rocked in the corner of my room, humming to drown out the screams.
Vladimir did not come to me that night. As punishment for killing
without permission, Vladimir took Verity to his bed in the room
beside me. Instead of screams, I heard laughter. Her love of
depravity seems to have no end, nor does her plot for power. After
she cast Marcus aside, she set her sights on a loftier target: my
husband. If only he would choose her over me.

After
that night, Vladimir’s demeanor changed when he came for me. He
became more aggressive, although I did not think it possible. He was
more animalistic, growling and snarling as he ravaged me over and
over.

Some
days I can hardly walk to my privy and back. Others I lie in bed and
dread the sun dipping below the horizon. I do not know how much more
I can take.

I
handled the loneliness well at first. As time passed, it became
smothering. I have no one to speak to, no one to share my grief with.
No one to care.

It
is in these moments that I miss my sister most. There were no secrets
between us. At night we would lie awake in the loft until long after
our parents were asleep and talk about silly things and the future.
Who we would marry, what our children might look like, what our first
kiss might be like.

I
rub my hands along my arms and feel a chill that I know has nothing
to do with the cool draft seeping beneath my door. I could never have
imagined a future such as this.

Staring
unseeingly toward the mirror, I realize my torment will never end. I
have seen enough to know that Lucien did not lie about my being
immortal. I have seen limbs reattached and severed abdomens sealed
with new flesh. Gruesome, horrible wounds all healed by human blood.

I
have attempted to smother myself in my down pillow to no avail.
Apparently, I no longer have a need to breathe either. I have
considered setting my skirts alight, yet after listening to Cassius’s
torture, I could never have the heart to attempt it.

I
long for a swift, clean death. However, I know no one would aid me
with it. Verity might be willing to lop off my head if provoked, but
even she is not fool enough to come near me and risk Vladimir’s
wrath.

I
am untouchable. He made sure of that.

Men
stare at me from time to time, though none dare approach. I am a
leper among my brethren and for this I am grateful. They are all
wicked. I am nothing like them.

Fading
sunlight streams in from the window behind me, warming my shoulders.
I shift, comforted by its presence. It is nice to see the sun again,
even if only for a few brief moments. Fall shifted abruptly into
winter only days past, and I have scarcely seen the sun through the
constant gloom.

I
can hear Vladimir still snoring in the room beside mine. I suppose I
should be grateful that he does not wish to sleep in the same bed. I
do not know if I could be forced to endure that level of intimacy,
nor could I give up these sparse hours of freedom.

The
castle is still. All remain asleep apart from me, though they will
wake soon.

I
turn to look back at the window over my shoulder, knowing the time
has come. I rise slowly and draw open the glass, breathing deep the
fresh air.

My
hair lashes against my cheeks as I lean out of the window to stare
down from my turret. The ground below is moist after the drenching
rain that fell through the night. Trampled leaves are strewn about
the courtyard, buried amid several inches of muck and straw. The
scent of manure and urine rising from the stables below burns in my
nose as I cling to the window frame. The glass beside me is warped
and dingy, rattling in its frame as the winds gust.

Vladimir
told me that I am to call Castle Bran my home now, yet it has proven
to be nothing more than a prison built of wood, stone, and a vile
appetite for degradation.

It
took every ounce of willpower, and no small amount of threats on my
father’s part, for me to speak the words that bound myself to
Vladimir Enescue. I had thought it was only for one lifetime. Now,
with an eternity spread out before me, I realize I may never be free
from this prison.

Roseline
Dragomir is dead. Now I am nothing more than a hollow shell of the
girl I once was, young and foolish. I have learned much since the day
I died.

My
nails pierce into the flesh of the wooden frame as I lift up into the
sill. I perch atop the uneven ledge and take a calming breath.
It
will all be over soon,
I
silently vow as I close my eyes.
This
will work.

I
can hear the rustling of leaves in the trees and the rippling of the
waters that feed into a lake just beyond the castle walls. Cows and
sheep mill about in their pens, sniffing along the ground for stray
bits of hay. An owl hoots and calls forth the night, eager to spread
its wings and soar on the cool winter currents.

The
horses seem uneasy. Perhaps they too realize the sun is about to set
and their unsavory owners will soon wake.

A
part of me has come to accept that my fate was sealed the moment
Vladimir set his sights on me. I could not have turned away, no
matter how desperately I desired to.

I
am his. His claim on my life and my body is absolute.

I
live in fear every moment of every day. My nights are filled with
pain when Vladimir comes to me, my days filled with anguish as I
nurse my wounds.

I
must escape this torment. I must be free.

Time
seems to slow as I release the window frame and lean forward. I do
not open my eyes as the winds buffet my descent. My skirts flap
against my legs as I plummet from the third-story room. A hint of a
smile curves across my lips as I anxiously await my death.

Pain
consumes my world, ensnaring my thoughts and then shattering them
into thousands of shards. I had thought darkness would be a comfort,
though it only feels like a prison. I am aware of my body in ways I
have never known before. My toes feel as if they are nothing more
than bits of bone rattling in my boots. My legs are curled backward,
my heel touching my hip in such a manner that it makes me nauseous.

My
ribs are on fire. My arm is out of socket and lying uselessly beside
me. My nose feels as if it has shifted to the side, my cheekbone
smashed in.

I
groan, my throat too raw to allow a scream, as a boot slams into my
side. Warmth spreads along my ribs as I gasp for breath, gagging as
something sharp digs into my stomach.

“Is
she not precious, brother?” The crooning voice sends shivers
trickling down my spine.

“Verity?”
Blood bubbles burst between my lips as her name gurgles in my throat.

A
wisp of dark hair fills my vision just before she sends her backhand
against my cheek.

“She
knows my name,” Verity hisses as she rises. Through my
partially swollen eye, I watch as she wipes her hands upon her dress,
as if touching me left something offensive on her skin.

Blood
spills within my stomach and out through a hole in my side. As I try
to curl inward to inspect my wounds, I feel warmth seeping from
several openings along my chest and abdomen.
What
have they done to me?

Death
was stolen from me once again. The taste of blood at the back of my
throat is rank, as if drained from a rotten corpse instead of a
living being.
Perhaps
it was.
I
shudder at the thought, knowing that human blood would have aided me
in healing.

I
shift and cry out as I feel my flesh tear. I rise up just enough to
see a splintered board rising from my right side, impaling me. It has
been driven deep into the earthen floor. Another has been thrust
through my wrist, just above my shattered arm. Two metal stakes have
been driven through the tops of my feet.

My
cries of mounting terror come out in rasping coughs that leave me
lightheaded and wearied.

“Do
you know what it is that you have done, sister?” Cassius
hisses. I recognize his voice. It has plagued my dreams since the
night of the fire, taunting me as if it had been me he set alight
instead of that blood slave.

I
can just spy the toe of his black boot as he paces to and fro a few
feet away. I can smell his anxiety, his fear. Despite my pain, I curl
my lip in an attempt to smile and find it to be split and swollen. I
am unsure if it is delirium from the pain or just the realization
that despite the horrors I have experienced at Vladimir’s hand,
no one is allowed to touch me. No one.

Verity and Cassius
will pay for this. I take great comfort in that knowledge.

“It
will be our heads on a pike if we do not return her where you found
her,” he calls as she bustles past him.

“Peace,
brother,” she soothes, her voice as silky as a fine pastry.
“Vladimir is gone.”

Gone?
A
silent scream catches in my throat as I attempt to discern my
surroundings.

The
walls are made of thick wooden planks, darkened with age and soot.
The roof is peaked and the building appears to be a single floor.
Leather harnesses hang from pegs along the wall. Branding tools and
stonemasons’ hammers lean against a long table with a wooden
bench pushed beneath it.

Hay
litters the floor, although it seems mostly undisturbed.
This
must be the small hut that I spied from my window
,
I muse sorrowfully. It is well outside of screaming distance, even
for an immortal. Not with the rippling waters of the lake, the lowing
of the animals, and the usual hustle and bustle of the castle to
interfere with my pathetic attempts.

No
one will look for me here. And why should they? If Vladimir is gone,
there is no one to care for my wellbeing.

Despair
seeps into me like a slow-killing disease. I can feel the weight of
it paralyzing me.

“You
overestimate the girl’s worth to Vlad,” Verity calls from
somewhere to my right. I try to turn and look in her direction, but
the wound in my stomach catches and I hiss through the stabbing pain.

“You
are a fool and I will have no part of this!” Cassius stomps
past me and snatches open the door. He turns back as the cold wind
whips through the small cabin. It unsettles my hair. I breathe deep,
searching for any other scent in the area.

“He
will have your head for this. Mark my words.” He slams the door
behind him. I listen as his boots crunch on the stone walk as he
attacks the steep climb back up toward the castle.

Will
Cassius’s fear for his sister’s life prod him into
revealing my location? Surely by doing so he would betray her trust,
yet it might save her life.
I
cling to this thought, praying for salvation as Verity approaches,
her skirts swaying against the floor.

“Why
am I here?” My throat allows nothing more than a croak, to
which Verity’s high-pitch laughter responds. She sinks down
beside me. Her long black hair tickles my nose as she shakes her
head.

“We
both know you do not belong here, Roseline. You are weak, pathetic.
You obviously wish to move on to a… a better place.”

“And
I suppose you want to assist me.” I grunt as I try to shift,
yet pain stabs at me from five different directions. I suck in a
breath and hold it until the agony eases to bearable limits.

“I
am not as cruel as you would think me to be.” She runs a finger
down my cheek, pausing over my lips.

At
first I think there is a hint of tenderness to her touch, though when
she draws back her finger, I see my blood dripping from her sharpened
nail. Her lips part and she sucks her finger into her mouth, closing
her eyes at the taste of my blood.

“You
drink from immortals too?” My lips curl with disgust and she
laughs, slapping me across my cheek, leaving an identical palm print
to the one she already gifted me with.

“I
like blood. It does not matter from whom it comes.”

The
floor is cold against my back and a chill hangs heavy in the air.
Moonlight drifts brokenly through the grimy glass windows. There is
no fire to light the space, making it nearly impossible to see beyond
the scant splinters of moonlight that paint the floor.

I
cannot see what lurks within the shadows on the other side of the
cabin. Does it go on for several feet or come to an abrupt halt? What
fiendish tools might that side offer Verity?

“Why
do you loath me so?” I ask, straining to lift my chin so I can
see her as she moves about in the shadows. Her steps are nearly
silent. The swish of her plum skirts against the strewn hay is the
only hint as to where she has gone.

I
hear a clang of metal and tense. Although I have never seen Verity in
battle, her affection for a broad axe is commonly known. Her affinity
for decapitation gives me reason to pause.
Perhaps
if I knew why she captured me, I could bargain with her?

As
she drags a silver double-edge axe into the moonlight, I swallow
roughly. The sharpened blade is stained with the blood of a previous
victim. Her eyes are wide and appear to glow silver in the light. Her
long tangled strands drape to her waist, a stark contrast to her
nearly transparent skin.

Some
would call her beautiful. I would call her ghastly.

Her
eyebrows dip severely, making her look menacing instead of sultry
like Alamesia or Emeline. Her nose is broader than most and her lips
so pale they hardly have any color to them at all. Her fingernails
are long and chiseled to a severe point. She reminds me of a lynx
that hunts in the mountains nearby. She moves with grace and ease,
yet there is something altogether animalistic about her mannerisms.