Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (2 page)

The
room begins to spin as I fight back the terror that grips me.
“Adela!”

I
push back to my feet, ignoring the flames that seize the hem of my
dress. The floor is unbearably hot on the soles of my feet, yet I
press on, gritting my feet against the blisters that form. Nothing
seems as it should, almost as if I have awoken into a terrific
nightmare. If only I could pinch myself and wake.

My
sister’s golden hair should be easy to spot in the firelight,
yet she is nowhere to be seen. “Adela, answer me!”

I
slip on the blood-slicked floor and crash to my knees before the
altar, jarring my jaw so I nearly bite my tongue in half. Blood seeps
between my teeth. Still, I ignore it as the copious amounts of fabric
from my dress shield my knees from the brunt of the impact.

A
terrible crash from behind sends me scrambling to my feet. I glance
back over my shoulder to find the timbers nearest the door have
collapsed, sealing me inside. I can no longer see my brother upon the
far wall.

“Help!”
I stagger up the steps toward the altar, terrified. Flames eat away
at the wooden crucifix before me. Already half of the Lord’s
body has been destroyed; the other portrays a gruesome reminder of
the eternal torment my mother so loved to preach to me about when I
was headstrong as a child.

Am
I dead? Is this my damnation?

My
gaze lands upon a glint of silver and I lurch forward to retrieve a
bloodied dagger, clutching it tightly to my chest as another memory
envelopes me:
Adela’s
wide eyes latch onto mine. Mewling sounds rise from her throat as she
thrashes against Lucien’s grasp. The muscles along her forearms
pull taut as she fights to touch my outstretched hands.

“
It is
time, brother,” Lucien growls as his gaze focuses on the
moonlight streaming in through the windows.

“
Time for
what?” I whimper as I turn to face my new husband.

Vladimir
smiles down at me, curling his finger along my cheekbone. “Do
not fret. It will all be over soon.”

Adela’s
piercing screams tear at me as Lucien waves the silver blade before
my sister’s eyes. She bucks wildly as his arms snake about her
chest and her cries give way to wailing pleas.

“
No,
please!” I beg as stinging tears blur my vision. “Take me
instead.”

Vladimir’s
hauntingly handsome face shows no emotion. “The pain will only
be for a moment.”

“
Roseli—”
Adela’s cry gurgles in her throat as the blade slices clean
through her flesh. A thin red line appears first, and then a shower
of blood cascades down from her neck, staining her pale-pink dress.
Her eyes bulge as she fights for breath. Delicate fingers attempt to
staunch the outpouring.

I
fall to my knees and the dagger clatters from my hands. My hair falls
in a heavy veil over my face as I bow my head. Salty tears stream
down the curve of my cheeks, pattering against the heated floor.
Small puffs of steam rise from where they fall. My shriek of agony
weaves among the rafters of this desecrated church and up into the
night.

That
is when I smell it. The heady bouquet that clings to my skin is
sweet, delicious. My throat clenches as the scent rolls over me and I
fight the urge to lick my lips. I lower my gaze and notice fresh
sheets of blood staining my bodice for the first time. It trails down
from my throat and oozes into a deep, cleanly edged wound just over
my heart. The hole has already begun to mend, sealing over with a new
layer of pale flesh.

Reaching
up with quivering fingers, I touch the sticky warmth that adheres to
my chest. “No, no, no!”

I
shake my head at the memory of Vladimir plunging the dagger deep into
my chest, tearing flesh and scoring bone. The pain had been
excruciating, although it paled instantly as a new pain surged
through my veins. The fires burned hotter than any mortal flame,
charring everything in its path. The darkness had come… yet
not fast enough.

It
was all real!
I
cannot breathe as mocking laughter draws my gaze upward and I meet
the dark, maniacal eyes of Lucien Enescue perched among the charred
rafters. His long hair drapes about his shoulders, thickly matted
with blood. The flesh of his right cheek is scored deeply with claw
marks, which show rapid signs of healing. His chin is layered red
with fresh blood. As he peels back his lips into a grotesque smile, I
feel faint at the crimson that paints his teeth.

The
scent of death permeates the air around him as he leaps down to the
floor before me in a billow of black silk. There is no sound as his
feet connect with the ground. Only the whisper of air shifting.

“She
remembers.” His words feel like a thousand snakes writhing
across my skin. Goose bumps rise as I flail backward, scuttling away
from his slow, purposeful approach.

My
fingers snag in something moist and stringy as I frantically try to
flee. I turn slowly toward my hand, terrified of what I might
discover. Tears roll unhindered down my grimy cheeks. Lifeless blue
eyes stare back at me as I untangle my fingers from my sister’s
stained golden strands.

“Adela!”
I wail as the room begins to darken about me. My head grows unusually
light as I blink against my shock.

The
wooden floor trembles beneath my hands as something lands beside me,
though I only see my sister. A clean gash is carved into her throat,
cut deep to her spine. I glimpse bone protruding from the wound and
realize her head is only partially attached by a thin layer of
stretched skin. The blood that spilled from her wound has already
begun to congeal against her ashen chest.

It
is not this wound that consumes my attention, but rather the
semi-circle of teeth marks on the tender flesh nestled in the hollow
of her neck. A tremor rises through my body at the taste of Adela’s
blood on my lips.
I
bit her!

“Guard
the door, Lucien.” A husky voice seems to call from a distance.
“I do not want to be disturbed.”

“The
fire—” Lucien’s protest cuts off and I hear him
move away.

My
vision blurs as a dark face appears before me. I try to focus as
strong hands press me roughly back to the floor. I know that I must
fight back, to scream for help as my thoughts splinter.

I can feel my skirts
being lifted and a weight pressed down upon me.

“Congratulations,
my dear.” Cold fingers slide down my inner thigh as the hard
voice of my husband whispers in my ear. “Your first kill.”

Tears
spill down my cheeks as my head rolls to the side. I stare into the
unseeing eyes of my sister as my husband takes me for the first time.

I
bite on my lower lip to keep from crying out as the wagon wheel hits
a deep rut in the well-traveled dirt road that spans ever before me.
The route winds narrowly through patches of angry-looking thorn
bushes capable of shredding cloth and flesh from a distracted
traveler. A tangle of spruce and maple trees fight for survival in
the densely seeded timberland, their roots twined together just below
the surface.

During
the day, I imagine the forest to hold a raw sense of beauty, yet in
the dark of night it is truly fearsome to behold. As a child, my
mother warned me of the evil that lay in wait in this wood.
Nevertheless, I know I have nothing to fear. Glancing at my husband
Vladimir from the corner of my eye, I know there is nothing within
the borders of this land that could hurt me any more than he has.

The
air is cool against my skin and my breath hovers in a weighted vapor
before my lips. I should be perished on a night such as this, wearing
so little, yet the wind that ruffles my skirts feels peculiarly
soothing against my inflamed skin.

Judging
by the descent of the moon, it has been several hours since we
emerged from the gates of Brasov, the fires licking against our backs
as we took to the road. Dawn shall be upon us shortly. Presently I
can see the distant horizon awash with lighter charcoal hues instead
of inky black.

The
stars above shine brightly in the cloudless sky. I glance back over
my shoulder to see great plumes of smoke dotting out the twinkling
lights. The horizon is brilliantly lit as the fires spread from the
church to the clapboard homes nearby, quickly devouring much of my
former home.

I
turn forward and clench my eyes shut as the tears come. I do not want
to cry, yet I cannot find the strength within to cease. The jarring
wagon ride sends pains shooting through my lower abdomen. My nails
rake deep into the lip of the bench as I stifle my cries.

The
shredded remains of my wedding dress are hardly suitable cushion
against the rigidity of the seat. I shift to one side, praying for
relief that does not come.

My
new husband is a vile monster. His brother is far worse.

Lucien
watched with indifference as Vladimir ravaged me long into the night,
first in the church and then several times more in my childhood bed
that I once shared with my sister in our loft. The only time he
showed any emotion was when my screams rose above the ringing of the
bells that peeled through the town, waking Brasov to the peril that
had laid siege to the town. With his eyes closed and his lips
slightly parted, Lucien savored my anguish, as if tasting a fine
wine.

Vladimir
was callous and ferocious as he tore at me. My pleas fell on deaf
ears as I resisted, raking my nails against his arms until blood
spilled down my fingers, and still he did not relent. He gripped me
until I feared my bones would splinter and my flesh became a
patchwork of bruises. My lower lip split, staining my teeth with a
coppery taste that made my stomach roil.

With
each touch, Vladimir made my spirit wither.

When
he was finished with me, he yanked me from the bed and slung me over
his shoulder, carrying me to the wagon Lucien had prepared. I was not
allowed the time to clean away his filth or to reclaim any of my
treasures. No family heirlooms or even the doll my sister slept with
in secret each night. I have nothing to remind me of my childhood nor
the family that I lost, save for the tatters of a soiled wedding
dress that my mother lovingly stitched, though even that has been
contaminated by Vladimir.

Vivid
bruises line my exposed arms. My inner thighs are chafed, my back raw
and leaching blood. An incessant beating plagues my head. My mind is
imprisoned in the desperate attempt to isolate itself from the
ghastly events of the night.

How can one man be
so heinous?

A
near constant tremble has taken possession of my fingers. The
slightest sound sets my heart aflutter. Every movement Vladimir makes
beside me drives me to pure anxiety.

It
is hard to breathe, to focus on anything save the pain. I do not know
how much more I can take.

My
husband made me bleed the first time, far more than I had thought
possible. My mother had told me to expect a small amount of
discomfort on my wedding night, yet that was hardly what I felt.
Tearing. Ripping. Biting. It is almost as if my husband were an
animal instead of a man.

The
throbbing in my fingers is maddening. I look down upon my bloodied
hands and realize that four fingernails have been torn away, no doubt
lost in my desperate attempt to flee Vladimir’s grasp, leaving
only raw flesh behind. The flies will come for me soon enough, drawn
to the scent, and I will not have the heart to swat them away.
Wrapping my hands within the frayed folds of my dress, I shudder at
the thought.

I
am aware of my body in ways that I never have been before. My bosom
is bruised, as if Vladimir had intended to rip them clean from my
chest. My legs ache from being twisted at random. My hips feel as if
they have been repositioned, sitting slightly out of joint. I fear
that I will be unable to walk when I dismount this infernal cart.

Warm
tears slip from the corners of my eyes. I can smell Vladimir upon me,
lingering, burning my eyes. The memory of his hands upon me is both
offensive and terrifying. I pray for refuge, a numbness that might
secret me away, keep me safe.

Has
it really only been a single night? Just yesterday I was picking
flowers in the meadow with Adela for my wedding bouquet, laughing at
her flightful fancy of the farmer boy who lives just beyond the walls
of Brasov. She always did have an eye for beauty, and Gavril, son of
Cosmin, was a sight to see.

My
heart aches at the thought of their love that would never be allowed
to take flight. Not that my father would ever have condoned such an
unfavorable union. Gavril was poor and as such of no use to my
father.

No.
Adela would have been sold to the highest bidder. Someone older and
boasting far more wealth than my father.

I
wipe away the moisture that streams past my lips, falling in errant
drops from the end of my chin as I attempt to press back the image of
the teeth marks along my sister’s neck. How could I have done
such an appalling thing? Did Vladimir force me to bite her just as he
forced me this morning?

Bile
rises high in my throat as I think upon the amount of blood that I
lost throughout the night, soiling the bed sheets. The feel of
Vladimir’s blood upon my lips was thick and vile as he forced
me to drink from his wrist, like ale from a tap in a tavern. He told
me it would staunch the blood flow from his attack. I cannot
comprehend how it worked, only that it did.

My
aches began to recede almost immediately and the profuse bleeding
ceased. However, the horror of thick rivulets of blood sliding down
the back of my tongue has not left me. He was relentless, forcing me
to gag down his blood. I tried to spit it back at him. A backhand to
my cheek sent my mind reeling.