Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (31 page)

“And yet it
is,” I insist, standing a little straighter.

Fane sighs and drops
his hand to his side. “You are afraid.”

“Of course I
am!” I lean back from him so I may stare at him with open
incredulity. “How can you not be?”

His broad shoulders
rise and fall with a shrug that I suspect bears far more concern than
he lets on. “I am a ranger.”

“And that
makes you more brave than I?”

“No,” he
instantly inserts. Fane dips low to grasp a branch. It is knotted and
twisted, overly damp from the rains. No doubt the interior flesh has
already begun to decay. He twists it between his fingers, as if he
needs something to occupy his hands. “I do not begrudge my
job.”

I remain silent as
he pauses for several moments. I see darkness swoop in to steal the
light from his eyes, and I wonder if he will ever truly reveal what
it is that he does beyond the walls of Castle Bran.

“The days all
seem the same. Another horse, another village, another death.”
He clenches his jaw and snaps the twig in half with hardly an ounce
of effort. “Seasons blend into years. After a time, you stop
counting them, for what is the point when eternity stretches before
you with endless bleakness?”

I suppose I had
known he was lying the day he told me he was content. I do not blame
him for this omission. We are hardly more than strangers, yet I
cannot help but think back on how few the days have been since we
first met at the masquerade ball.

Several new moons
have come and gone since that day. A lifetime for some. A blink of an
eye for others. I suppose it is a bit of both for me, depending on
the perspective.

Had my sister
inquired if I believed in such swift affection, I would have called
her a fool and scolded her for such wild notions, yet here I sit,
beside a man who by all intents and purposes should be a stranger to
me, yet I find myself irrevocably drawn to him. Not to his beauty,
although it is difficult to not take notice of it.

Fane
is a man of depth and I know I have only begun to explore the top
layer. He is kind when he should not be, tender when most are cruel.
I find the way he watches me to be both unsettling and thrilling in
the same instant. My savior has become something different…
something so entirely and dangerously
more
.

“What
changed?” I ask as he tosses aside the stick.

Fane smiles. “Must
you ask?”

I nod sheepishly. I
know I should not need to hear the words, though I do. With all my
heart I do.

“You, dearest
Roseline. You have bewitched me, body and soul. I fear you will be my
undoing someday.”

I smile, inwardly
pleased. “I like that.”

“What?”
He leans in close. My skin tingles beneath his delicate touch.

“The way you
speak of me. It is almost as I imagined it to be.” A warm flush
rises in my cheeks as I dart a glance in his direction, then quickly
shift away. I cannot bear the thought of him silently laughing at my
naiveté. Fane had a wife and a child in her womb. He knows
things of this world that I have hardly imagined, let alone
experienced.

My stomach clenches
at the thought of another woman in his arms, sharing his bed during
the long nights of winter. Does he still think of her? Surely he
does. Cosmina was his first love.

His
touch is gentle when he draws my face around to look at him,
capturing my attention. He is hardly a breath away. I stare into his
eyes and nearly weep from the emotion buried within their darkened
depths.
He
loves me.

“May I?”
He waits for permission in silence, neither pushing nor drawing away.
He simply waits.

A
thousand voices scream out their warning in my mind as I stare back.
I
want this,
I shout at the voices.
Please
let me have this one moment.

Though even as I
plead for permission, I know what my answer must be. “I
cannot.”

Fane’s smile
does not harden nor fade as he nods and leans back. “Someday, I
will ask again.”

I
lower my gaze and breathe out the air I had not realized I was
holding.
Someday,
I hope I will have the courage to say yes.

I limp over to my
mirror and turn just enough to see the purple splotch spreading
across my lower back, from hip to hip. I wince, biting down on my lip
as I place a cold cloth over my bare right side.

Fane told me our
training would be trying, though I never imagined just how painful it
would be once we actually started hand-to-hand combat, which
commenced shortly after the dagger throwing since I was in sore need
of a distraction after our near kiss.

Fane was right to
leap to distract me. Without his attack, I would have been a flutter
of nerves. Instead, I spent the remainder of the afternoon fending
off sneak attacks while blindfolded. He kept his touch firm and
demanding, allowing me to think past the moment we shared earlier in
the day.

To be fair, I
believe I did a fairly decent job of combating him, considering this
was my first real attempt at taking down an opponent. At first, Fane
let me fight with all of my senses, though once his movements became
too predictable, he tied a cloth about my eyes and I was plunged into
darkness. This served two purposes. The first and most important was
to learn how to rely on my other senses should I find myself trapped
in the dark with a hunter. The second was to help me deal with my own
terror of being helpless during an attack.

Although Fane never
said a word, I know this part of my training bothered him. Each time
he would strike my skin and I would cry out, mostly from surprise, he
would hesitate. Once I began to see a pattern, I was able to use this
to my advantage.

My proudest moment
came just before the sun began to dip toward the distant tree line
and I managed to best Fane, sending him flying backward into a tree.
He came up spluttering as I ripped off my mask and planted my foot
firmly atop his chest. My smug smile faltered, though, when I
realized I had a dagger pressed to my inner thigh. Fane is good. I
doubt there are many immortals who could take him in an open fight.

After
only a single afternoon, I have earned more bruises from him than I
have from spending a night with Vladimir, though I will wear these
with pride.
You
are improving,
are
the words that kept me going as I limped back up to the castle as the
sun began to set.

He believes in me
when I cannot. When he told me to leap to the top of a tree, I
laughed at him, sure he was jesting. When he wrapped his arms about
my waist and hurled me into the tree, I stopped laughing. I barely
had time to grasp the branch before I crashed back to Earth. I
suppose this will be a skill I will master another day.

I turn away from the
mirror as my door bursts open. My smile vanishes as Vladimir crosses
the threshold. I dash to my bed, covering my nakedness with my hands
and arms. He watches me, his expression a mixture of amusement and
annoyance.

“You are not
hiding anything that has not already been seen, my love.” I can
hear the annoyance seeping through his slurred words. His breath
reeks of blood, his clothes of cheap perfume and horsehair.

I straighten, though
I do not release my hold on my chest. “I was not expecting you
so soon.”

“No?” He
steps inside and closes the door behind him. My stomach rises into my
throat as he slowly begins to remove his gloves. When his hands drift
to his belt, I feel sheer panic grip me. In his current state, he is
not of sound mind to remember his pledge to be gentler with me before
the hunt. There is a savage glint in his eyes as I back away until my
spine is pressed against the cold wall. Vladimir grins. He likes it
when I feel trapped.

His belt buckle
drops at his feet. He never breaks eye contact with me as he pushes
his pants to the floor and removes his shoes. “The hunt is only
a couple days from now,” I say as I press against the wall.

Vladimir’s
teeth peel back from his lips. His steps falter as he approaches. As
my husband begins to unlace the leather thongs that hold the neckline
of his shirt together, my mind races, desperate to grasp onto
anything that might save me from this coming torture.

His approach is slow
and purposeful, that of a hunter who enjoys taunting its prey. I can
see the enjoyment he gets from watching me cower. I want to close my
eyes and trap myself in a safe place within my mind, to hide until he
is finished, yet I cannot. I stare at him, focusing on the black,
soulless eyes that have haunted me every day and night since my
wedding, and something shifts. To some it would seem a miniscule
shift, yet to me… it is life changing.

“No.” I
shake my head and drop my hands.

Never before have I
stood before him completely disrobed. Not like this. Not with
defiance.

“What did you
say to me?” His upper lip curls into a snarl. His fingers
clench into fists at his sides, and I know pain will soon follow so I
do the one thing that might tip the scales in my direction.

I take a step toward
him. Vladimir freezes. “I said no. If you wish me to survive
the hunt, you will leave me be.”

His pale skin
blotches red as he stares at me with unrepentant and crazed anger.
“You dare tell me no?”

In a single leap, he
lands before me, his hands grasping my arms to yank me away from the
wall. I clamp my eyes closed against the tears that threaten to fall
at the feel of his touch against my bare skin.

As his hands drift
down to my bare hips, bending me over, I spin and slap him across the
face. His eyes widen in surprise and he takes a step back. I fight to
keep a smile of triumph from my lips as I stare him down. “I
said no.”

Vladimir’s
mouth opens and closes as he blinks rapidly. I can see his confusion
and beyond that an emotion buried deep, seeking to rise to the
surface. One that makes my blood run cold: approval.

What have I done?

With a swift open
palm punch to my chest, he sends me sprawling back onto the bed. I
claw at the bedding, trying to flee before he is upon me. He flips me
over and traps me between his legs. “Fane told me you were a
fighter, though I had my doubts.”

His grasp on my arms
brings tears to my eyes that I cannot stop. His nails dig into my
flesh as blood trickles from my wrists. Without breaking eye contact,
he raises my right arm and slowly licks at my blood. His moan makes
my stomach convulse, yet he holds tightly to my waist with his knees.

Locking my arms over
my head, he slowly leans down until he is only an inch from my lips.
“I do so hope you win the hunt. I look forward to many more…
experiences with you.”

His hand weaves its
way down my stomach, pausing to grip my hip. I wince as he presses
against my bruise. Vladimir grins. “It looks as if I am not the
only one who has been teaching you a lesson.”

He slaps my hip and
I bite down on my lip to still my cry. I no longer want to fight
back. I just want him to finish and leave me alone, though Vladimir
has no intention of leaving me quickly. I can see the truth of this
glinting in his blackened eyes.

As his fists pound
into my flesh and I bite through my lower lip to hold back my
screams, I wonder if Fane is out there somewhere in the dark. Is he
trying not to listen? Does he feel rage at my abuse?

Minutes turn into
hours as I endure pain and humiliation. Vladimir never tires. He
hardly gives me a chance to breathe between punches or jabs before
his hands tighten around my throat and I am tossed across the room,
bouncing off the corner of a dresser.

As the first hint of
dawn begins to crest the bottom ledge of my window, I close my eyes
and pray for an end.

When a knock sounds
at my door an hour later, I curl into a ball, shivering from the
pain. “Roseline?”

I bury my tears into
the pillow as the latch shifts on the door. I hear the hinges squeak,
followed quickly by the hiss of breath. “Roseline!”

Fane leaps to my
bedside and instantly curls me up into his chest. I let him lift me
into his arms as he turns and sinks back onto the soft surface of my
bed. I feel like a child in his embrace, small and broken.

My hair is matted
against my forehead and cheeks. Sweat and blood mingle along my brow
and seep from both of my ears. My body is a patchwork of bruises,
some bold and wide, others small yet purposeful.

Fane says nothing.
He just rocks me, his head pressed against the top of mine.

I cling to him,
digging my fingers into his arms as the tears come. I do not try to
hide them as my body is wracked with sobs. Never before has Vladimir
broken me quite like this. He loves to mess with my mind, damage my
body, though this time he messed with my soul too. He spoke of my
sister as he beat me, used me. He spoke of the sweet taste of my
mother’s blood, of Lucien’s pleasure over feeding off my
cousins as they pleaded for their lives. He made me relive it all.

“I heard your
screams and tried to come for you. Lucien had me chained in my room
so I would not interfere.” Fane’s voice cracks as his
fingers tighten around me. I can hear the revulsion in his words and
know it has little to do with me. “What happened?”

“I said no,”
I whisper into his chest.

Fane pulls back
until I look up at him. My eyes are puffy, my nose running profusely,
though he notices none of it. A small, pained smile brightens his
face. “That took great courage.”

I shrug. “I
was foolish.”

“No.”
Fane lifts his hand from where he holds my leg to keep me perched
upon his lap and gently grasps my chin. “The girl I met only a
few moons ago would never have stood up to him. I am proud of you.”