Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (22 page)

“Indeed,”
I respond tersely.

My husband takes my
hand in his, his fingers trailing a line down my palm and pausing to
circle about my wrist. “We shall be arriving soon. I do so look
forward to showing you off to everyone.”

“For what
purpose?” I ask, drawing back my hand. “So they may place
a wager on whether or not I shall survive my own hunt?”

Vladimir stiffens.
Color seeps from his face, though he holds his composure. “I
see you have been introduced to Fane.”

“Indeed.”
I repeat my earlier sentiment. I turn my face away from the window,
determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear I know
to be rooted deep within my gaze. The eyes are a window to a person’s
soul, and mine is wide open.

Vladimir thrusts
back against his seat in a huff. “I had hoped to spare you that
knowledge a bit longer.”

“Oh, cease
your drivel, brother.” Lucien raises his feet and crosses his
ankles one over the other beside me, hemming me in between him and
Vladimir. “You hired the man to train her. Despite the fact
that I feel this to be a sore waste of money, we both know she was
bound to find out.”

Vladimir sighs,
bobbing his head in agreement. “Yes. I should have known he
would begin his lessons right away. Fane is an upstanding man, I’ll
give him that.”

Lucien snorts and I
turn to look at him. “Is there something funny about that?”

His
smile broadens as he spreads his arms along the top of the seatback.
“Perhaps you should ask your trainer yourself. I am curious as
to how
honest
he
will be this time.”

“This time?”
I close my eyes, hating the inflection of surprise in my voice.

“Oh,”
Lucien crows, uncrossing his feet, and he moves to the edge of his
seat, placing himself so close he nearly touches my knees. “So
he has not told you, then? Interesting.”

I bite my lower lip
and cross my arm over my chest. It irks me that in this position, I
give Vladimir ample view down the neckline of my dress, though I am
incapable of releasing my hold. I feel as if I am on the verge of
unraveling and need the pressure to remain together.

Vladimir leans in
close. I cease the expansion of my lungs so I am not forced to
breathe in the potent scent of blood that lingers upon his breath
from an earlier bloodletting. “Do not trust your trainer, my
dear. He may have the face of an angel and the words of a saint,
though he is far from either. Fane Dalca has a dark past. Listen to
his instructions. Learn from his example. However, never let your
guard down.”

I turn away without
any acknowledgement of his warning. I feel cold despite the fact that
the dismal weather does not affect me severely. Are their words true?
Am I not the first to be trained by Fane? If that is true, what
chance do I have to succeed when they could not?

A few moments later,
I notice lights peering through the trees. I curl my fingers around
the edge of the open window and breathe deep, instantly wishing I had
not. Amongst the scent of pine and earth is a dominant smell of fear.

“We have
arrived,” Lucien crows as our wagon pulls to a stop outside of
town.

It is nearly pitch
dark when I dismount from the carriage. Women in fine dresses and
beautiful jewels cluster together. Men in handsome coats and trousers
laugh and pat each other upon the back. Vladimir and Lucien brush
past to see to the final arrangements.

I stand by myself
only a few short steps away from the carriage. I want to turn and
flee, take to the woods when no one is watching.

“You will not
make it,” a voice calls from the darkness over my right
shoulder.

I do not have to
turn to know it is Fane. “You deceived me,” I whisper,
not turning to face him. I do not want to draw attention to myself
nor him skulking in the shadows.

“To what
specifically do you refer?”

“To the women
you trained before me. How could you fail to mention them?”

His silence draws
out so long the group before me begins to dissipate. The men lead the
way with lit torches toward the village. Women walk arm in arm
together as they follow behind.

Fane emerges from
the shadows and pauses at my side. My head reaches the top of his
shoulder and I am once more reminded of how insignificant I am
compared to him. “Vladimir sought me out with the sole purpose
of preparing you. For reasons beyond my comprehension, he is absolute
in his desire for your survival. He trusts me with your life.”

“As such I
should as well?” I turn to face him, feeling my anger rising.
“Trust is not given. It is earned, and to this point you have
done little to assuage my doubts.”

His face is cast in
shadow as he lifts his hand and motions for me to lead us to the
village. His willingness to allow me to be in control does not sway
my ire. “These doubts you have were placed by the man you
yourself detest. Does this not seem odd to you? For what purpose do
you perceive his motives to be?”

My steps are slow
and measured as we walk beneath naked trees. Air puffs in great
clouds before my lips, cooling upon my cheeks as I step into each
breath. “If he truly wishes for me to win this battle, why
would he pit me against you?”

“Is it not
obvious?” I flinch as he places a hand upon my lower back. I
turn to demand that he move it, but I discover I have begun to head
along the wrong path and he is merely correcting my course. Once I
move to follow his lead, he speaks again. “You and I are alike.
This concerns your husband. The more time we spend in each other’s
company, the better the chance of us growing fond of one another.”

I stifle a snort
behind a gloved hand. “He is jealous?”

“Always.”
His voice comes from beside my ear, his breath warm against my
chilled skin. A shiver ripples down my spine and I straighten.
Perhaps
Vladimir has reason to be concerned
,
I silently muse as I place a body’s width between us.

“Then we shall
endeavor to prove him wrong,” I say, clearing my throat. I tuck
my hands firmly together before me as the rutted road turns into a
smoother path.

“Indeed.”
He leads me past a darkened building, its clapboard sides weathered
and decaying. Two of the windows have lost their covering, allowing
the frigid winds to blow right into the home. Two small hands cling
to the windowsill. A small girl with a little round face, smudged and
covered in freckles, peers out as us.

Fane motions for me
to wait as he steps toward the window. The little girl whimpers and
disappears from sight. “Do not be afraid, little one. I will
not harm you.”

I listen as he coos
at the girl, amazed at the tenderness in his voice. Slowly the girl
rises, her eyes wide with fright, yet I can see her desperation to
trust Fane. She looks to be no older than five or six summers. Too
young to be left alone.

“Do you know
of a safe place to hide?” Fane asks, stepping so close to the
window that he conceals my view of the girl. “Good. I need you
to take a blanket and a small sack of food. Run there as fast as you
can. Stay to the woods. Do not come out for anyone until dawn. Do you
understand?”

Fane reaches through
the window and gently pats the girl on the head. My chest constricts
as the girl offers him a small smile and darts away. He steps away
from the building and rejoins me. When he says nothing, I hold out my
hand to stop him. “You saved that girl.”

His shoulders rise
and fall with a shrug. “She will be safe if she remains hidden.
It is a little thing.”

I clench my fingers
about his arm, waiting for him to look at me. “Vladimir is
mistaken about you. You are a good man.”

Fane’s face
darkens and his gaze glazes over. He shakes his head and pulls out of
my grasp. “I am far from that.”

He sets off before
me at a clipped pace that I could easily keep up with if I so wanted,
yet I do not. I can tell by the hunch of his shoulders that he needs
space so I give it to him, just as he gave me time the day he came to
tend to my wounds.

Watching
him march before me, I realize Fane is a haunted man. His demons
chase after him. He carries them wherever he goes.
Is
this why he rescued me from Lucien’s dungeon? Am I just another
lost soul he is determined to save? Is he trying to atone for
unspoken sins by being kind to me?

Whatever his
reasoning for assisting me, I decide in this moment that he is the
best chance I have of surviving.

Fane’s pace
slows as we near the center of town. A bonfire has been lit, casting
its light upon the wide area. Nearly one hundred humans have been
herded together at the far end of the space, nearest the tanner’s
shop. Men clutch their wives, fighting to show bravery that I know
they do not feel. Women cry as they cling to small children clutched
about their skirts.

Their clothes are
simple and worn. Many of them do not even have shoes to protect them
from the elements. Several of the little girls hardly have more than
a slip of cloth covering their little bodies.

My heart clenches at
the brutality of it all. Six of these townspeople will be taken from
them on this night. Five to their grave and a sixth to endure
immortality. The lone survivor will be lost to this village, just as
the others will. They will be feared, cast out. I am unsure which
fate is worse.

Fane reappears at my
side as I hesitate, my gaze riveted on a small boy and girl who hold
hands and shiver from the cold. “I cannot do this,” I
whimper. “I cannot bear to watch these people slaughter each
other for mere sport.”

“You must. If
you leave, it will send Vladimir into a rage and more innocent people
will die. Consider the children.”

“I am!”
I shout back, blanching as the brother and sister send terrified
glances in our direction. I turn my face aside, unable to look at
them. “I will stay… for them.”

“And I will
remain at your side.”

“You will?”
I lift my gaze to see him standing before me now, blocking my view.
His jaw clenches as he nods. I can see the tension in his own stance
and know that I am not the only one disturbed by these events. I
consider thanking him for his offer, though I find myself unable to
speak the words.

“Roseline.”
Fane turns at the masculine voice that calls from over his shoulder.
He lowers his head in a partial bow and steps aside as Vladimir
sweeps in. He winds an arm around my waist, holding me close.

“I thought for
a moment you had run off.” I release a nervous laugh, knowing
all too well he did not fear this. I can see the glint in his eyes as
he surveys Fane with barely restrained jealousy. “I see you two
have been acquainted.”

Fane dips his head,
though he remains silent. He clasps his hands behind his back. “I
felt it only best to remain at her side for the festivities.”

Vladimir strokes his
beard. “And why, pray tell, do you think that?”

“What better
opportunity to show Roseline the reality of death than with a
demonstration such as this? There is much that can be learned from
watching sheer desperation.”

“Yes, I
suppose you are correct.” My husband’s hand flinches
against my hip. I can tell he is displeased by Fane’s logical
answer. “See to it that she remains safe in your care.”

Vladimir seizes my
chin and lifts my face. Crushing his lips mercilessly upon mine, I
feel my lower lip split. He growls and deepens the kiss, licking his
tongue across my open wound before he thrusts me away and storms off
to see to his guests. My fingers tremble as I touch my bruised lips.

Fane’s
approach is cautious, his gaze guarded. I lower my hand and press
back my shoulders. “Why do you bow to him?”

“Why do you
allow him to assault you?” He counters.

A feeling of
helplessness settles over me as I look toward the well nearby,
longing to wash the vile taste of Vladimir’s tongue from my
mouth. “Because I must,” I whisper.

Fane nods, silently
answering my question in kind. I look to him, noting the tension has
not eased from his shoulders. “You loathe him.”

“No.” He
shakes his head and offers me his arm. I step forward and tentatively
slip my hand through the space provided. He draws his arm toward his
side, sealing me into his grasp. “There is no word strong
enough to describe the wrath I feel toward Vladimir Enescue.”

I walk alongside him
in silence, musing over his words. Fane is a man of mystery. He is
strong, yet I have seen his vulnerability. He is fearless, yet I saw
terror in his eyes when he spoke to the little girl only moments ago.

Someone
was taken from him,
I
surmise, watching him from the corner of my eye.
Someone
very dear to him.

As we approach the
crowd of spectators, Fane easily maneuvers us to the front of the
row. Seats have been removed from the various homes and businesses
surrounding the town center. Those in the front have high backs and
soft cushions. The rows behind are less comfortable, though judging
by the rabid calls and hollering, there will hardly be a time when
these immortals choose to remain seated once the battle begins.

With
a single glare from Fane, a tall man with gaunt cheeks and eyes
sunken deep into his face rushes to vacate his seat for me. I find
that I take great pleasure in assuming my new seat as the man is
forced to the back of the crowd.
One
less person to enjoy the show,
I
think silently.

As
Vladimir raises his arms out to the side, stepping out to turn and
face the crowd, I let my gaze flit back toward the villagers. My
husband’s words blur as I stare into each of their faces.
They
already know what is coming
,
I realize with a start.

“This is not
the first time.” I lean to my right to whisper into Fane’s
ear. He kneels beside me, choosing to remain without a seat. Part of
me knows he could easily scare out the occupant of the chair beside
me, though I suspect he prefers to be in the dirt. Low and prepared,
as a warrior should be.