Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (4 page)

Tales
become myth and myth becomes legend.

Those
legends were the source of my nightmares, though I fear I will no
longer have to sleep for the darkness to come. It is ever around me.

“I
am no monster,” I spit out with disgust and yank away from his
touch.

Vladimir’s
eyes darken against the predawn sky. “You will be.”

Beside
me, Vladimir’s hands stiffen on the reins and the horses whinny
in protest as he jerks them to a halt. Puffs of dust filter up from
their hooves as they dig into the road to obey their master’s
demand. I tense as he lifts his nose to the air and closes his eyes.
A sweet smell, like fresh honey from a hive, fills my nose and I turn
in search of the source as Lucien leans over my back from the wagon
bed and sniffs deep. His lips peel back over his teeth into a horrid
smile.

“Do
we have time, brother?” Lucien’s throaty voice sends my
skin crawling yet again as I shrink back from his touch. His broad
chest is heavy upon my shoulders. I can feel the muscle that clothes
his body, enabling him to wield his broadsword with such precision
and might.

Vladimir
turns his face up to the moonless sky and watches as wisps of dawn
crawl across the horizon. I too watch, longing for day to come. My
mother always told me that light drives away evil. Surely Vladimir
will run from the rising sun, for there are no men more evil than
these two.

My
hope plummets as Vladimir nods. Lucien whoops as he leaps from the
stalled wagon and sprints toward a small, single-roomed cabin with
smoke spiraling from a crumbling chimney, nestled within a grove of
trees. His feet hardly appear to touch the ground as he weaves among
the old oaks.

Sheep,
pigs, and a dairy cow mill about the fenced yard beyond. Chickens
peck at the sparsely grassed yard in search of a meal. The previous
day’s laundry hangs on the line, billowing in the wind. My gaze
falls upon nightshirts that are far too small to belong to an adult.

Lucien
leaps over the roughly hewn wooden fence and bursts through the front
door. It splinters on impact, though he shows no signs of injury as
he disappears into the darkened room. I turn away, sickened by the
frightened screams that escape through glassless windows.

“There
will be no stopping him now.” Vladimir does not sound the least
bit grieved by this. I flinch as his hand falls atop my forearm.
“Would you care to join us?”

My
mouth gapes in open horror at the thought. I frantically shake my
head and pull back from his touch, tucking my hand under the tattered
folds of my dress.

“A
pity. More for me I suppose.” His sentiment spills from his
lips as he tosses the reins into my lap and races to join his
brother.

The
sounds of children sobbing tear at my heart. I plug my ears and
double over, praying for a merciful end for this poor family.
Is
this really happening? Must I sit here and listen to another family
massacred? To children’s last screams?

Terror
roots me in place for only a heartbeat before I am on the move. I
shove the reins from my lap and scramble to the edge of my seat.

He
will find you
,
my mind whispers frantically as I ball up my bloodied skirts and leap
from the wagon. I land with far less grace than Lucien and Vladimir
and collapse to the ground.

I
hold my breath as I look up through matted strands of hair to see if
Vladimir has appeared in the doorway of the cabin, yet it remains
empty. I close my eyes against a final guttural shriek that emerges
from the cabin. The sudden silence is far less terrifying than the
slurping sounds that follow after.

Scrambling
to my feet, I hesitate as I look to the road before me and the forest
beside. I am unfamiliar with this land. How far can I reach before he
discovers my absence?

The
darkness of the woods terrifies me so I take to the road, careful not
to twist an ankle on the deeply rutted path. The horses whinny softly
behind me. I do not look back. I dare not or lose my nerve
completely.

My
bare feet slap against the hardened earth as I urge myself forward.
The sound reverberates in my ears, drowning out the sounds behind me.

Those
poor children.
My
throat tightens at the thought of the terror they must have endured
in their final moments.
Is
that how my brother and sister felt before they were butchered?

Tears
blur my vision and I angrily swipe them away. There was nothing I
could do to save that family, though knowing this truth and accepting
it are entirely different things. I try to focus on something else,
something tangible.

What
gives Vladimir and Lucien such strength and speed?
I look down at my hands as I run, turning them over.
Do
I possess the same ability now?

I
cry out as my right foot lodges in a rut and spills me to the ground.
Dirt and stones bury into my palms as I attempt to break my fall. The
skin around my foot stretches as a horrible pop rises from my ankle.

“No!”
I beat at the ground. Raising the hem of my dress, I can see that
something is terribly wrong with my ankle. The bone presses too
tightly against the skin. The pressure is maddening, as if at any
moment my flesh will simply give way and bone will spill out onto the
ground.

Pain
lances up my leg as I attempt to pry my foot free from the earth. I
bite down on my lip as fresh tears appear in the corners of my eyes.
Glancing behind to see if I have been pursued, I am startled to see
only an empty road behind me. Squinting against the rising sun, I
realize the cabin and wagon are nowhere to be found.

How
did I travel so far?
I
am not out of breath, nor feel the slightest bit exerted. As I turn
forward, I realize with a start that I am nearly on the outskirts of
the small village.
That
is impossible.

“May I help at
all?”

I
whip around to see a middle-aged man approaching from the edge of the
woods. His clothes are worn and made from animal pelts. A long,
shaggy beard clings to his chin, wafting in the morning breeze. A
faded hat with a wide brim perches atop his head, no doubt concealing
a bald patch befitting his age.

“No,
I…” I pause to glance behind me. I am running out of
time. “I am perfectly fine, though I thank you for your
concern, sir.”

“A
wee bit stubborn, to be sure. However, this road is no fitting place
for a lady.” He adjusts a leather sack slung over his back and
leaves the tall grasses along the side of the road to stoop at my
side. His gaze trails down from my shawl to my soiled wedding dress.
His face visibly pales as his eyes widen with shock. “What has
happened to you, girl?”

“Please…”
I lean forward. “You must leave. If he finds you…”

The
man shakes his head and I notice hints of auburn glinting in his
beard in the newly risen sunlight. It pierces through the forest,
chasing away the shadows that linger. Beneath his weathered wrinkles
and kind eyes I would wager he was a fine-looking man once. “I
shall not be leaving you alone. Not in such a dire state.”

I
fight to still the manic thumping of my heart at the feel of his
hands against my skin. He wraps his arm about my leg and gently works
to release it from the rut, beating at the hardened earth. I close my
eyes against the pain, gritting my teeth on the final tug. My
heartbeat thumps loudly in my ears as I close my eyes to the nausea
that sweeps over me.

“There
you are.”

I
open my eyes as his gently releases my leg and sinks back onto his
knees. “Thank… thank you.” I finish weakly as I
find my gaze rapt on the steady pulse at his throat. The thrumming of
his heart rises in my ears as I instinctively lean closer.

The
man watches me, his deep-set eyes wide with compassion. I realize
with a start that I can smell him. Not the scent of the dried animal
pelts nor the damp grass that clings to his boots nor the scent of
his skin. It is the scent of his blood that calls to me.

It
is a bouquet of cardamom and cinnamon, two scents that I would not
normally have attributed with blood, yet I find it to be disturbingly
pleasing. It reminds me of the pies my mother used to set upon our
windowsill to cool on a winter’s afternoon.

“Are
you well?”

I
blink, surprised to see that his brow is sunken deep with concern.
“Yes.” I offer him a small smile of reassurance as I
clear my throat and draw back from him. “I am quite well now. I
thank you for your assistance. That was very kind of you.”

“‘Twas
nothing, my lady.”

My
smile falters at the term. “I am no lady.”

“Pardon
me. I assumed by the fine linens you wear…” He trails
off with uncertainty.

I
look down at the finely made dress. The silky fabric cost my father
dearly, though his pride would not allow him to wed me in anything
less than the best. My mother would have been delighted to stitch my
dress even if he had not insisted to help with the great expense.

“It
was a gift,” I reply vaguely as I run my fingers across my
soiled skirts. I can only imagine what a state I must look to this
stranger. Covered in blood from head to bare foot. I look as if I
aided in slaughtering a pig instead of being wed.

“Let
us get you up, shall we?” He makes a move to draw close yet
pauses as I throw out my hand in alarm.

“Please,
sir, you have done me a great kindness. Now I must beg of you to
leave.” I can see the determination in his eyes and know that
his honor will not allow him to follow my plea. “If you remain,
you will lose your life. I promise you this.”

His
gaze narrows as he looks beyond me to the empty road. I know he will
not be able to see the abandoned cart. Nevertheless, I know Vladimir
is coming. There is little time. “Please. You must leave me.”

“I cannot,
miss.”

I
reach out with a trembling hand and grasp the furs that drape his
arms. There is muscle beneath the thick layers of pelts, though I
know they will be useless against Vladimir and Lucien. “You
must. Do you not have a family to care for?”

“I
do.” His cap nearly falls from his head as he nods
enthusiastically. “A wife and three wee ones.”

A
pained smile tugs at my lips. Perhaps this man is not as old as I
first assumed. “Think of them.”

“I
am.” He reaches for me and wraps his strong hands about my
waist. “When my daughters are grown, I would like to think a
man would cross their path and aid them just as I am doing for you.”

I
want to protest, to shove him aside, yet the pain in my ankle forces
me to bite down on my screams. My mind grows woozy as I attempt to
hop forward. I nearly collapse as the man strains to hold me upright.

“My
name is Miron. I am afraid I did not catch yours, miss.” His
calloused hands tighten as I attempt another hop. My leg trembles
beneath me. I labor to focus on answering him as darkness begins to
appear along the corners of my vision. I have never been very
tolerant of pain. Mother used to tell me I was too sensitive.

“Roseline…
Dragomir,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Dragomir?”
He pauses, as if attempting to draw up a long-forgotten memory. “The
Dragomirs of Brasov?”

“You
know of my family?” My voice wavers alarmingly.

“I
do.” He scoops a hand under my legs and lifts me into his arms
just before I collapse. “Had dealings with your father a time
or two.”

I
can tell by the sharp edge to his tone that the dealings did not go
well. “I am sorry. My father was not known for his generosity
in business.”

“That
he was not.” Miron offers me a small smile as he shifts me in
his arms and turns toward the town ahead. I have never been to Rasnov
before. My father never let me leave the high walls that surrounded
Brasov. He said it was too dangerous. Adela and I often snuck through
the wall to reach the meadows that grew at the foot of the mountains.
It was there that we discovered flower nectar that was as sweet as
honey and spring fawns who, if given space and time, would learn to
come eat from your palm, yet we were never allowed to explore
farther.

“My
home is just around the bend. My Ileana will be happy to care to your
foot.”

“No!”
Fear floods back in through the haze of pain. Fear of more death,
more blood on my hands. “Please, you mustn't take me there. I
beg of you.”

“I thought we
had settled this, miss.”

Echoes
of the screams from within the cabin I left behind spike my panic and
I lash out at the man. Balling my fingers into a fist, I slam against
his shoulder.

His
eyes widen with pain as I hear a snap and tumble from his arms. I
crash to the earth, gagging as pain roils through my leg. Miron
stumbles back, clutching his shoulder as his face reddens.

“I
am sorry.” I gasp as I clutch my stomach, pleading silently not
to be sick in front of this man.

“You
hit me.” The statement is edged with wild disbelief.

I
stare up at him, knowing I have wounded him far beyond a physical
marring. “Better a broken arm than a body without a head.”

He
staggers back, nearly tripping over his fallen sack of pelts. “You
are mad.”

“No,”
I whisper as my vision swims before me. “However, the one
coming for me is.”

I
watch as Miron stumbles down the path, his sack dragging in the dirt
behind him as he clutches his wounded shoulder. His pace is slow,
much too slow.

I
hurt him,
whispers
through my mind as he turns back when he reaches the crest of the
road. Just over the hill lies the town and beyond that his family.
Please
hurry.

The
look of betrayal in his eyes stings. However, as I place my palm to
the ground, fear sweeps in to steal away my guilt. I can feel the
heavy footfalls echoing up through the packed earth. “Run!”