Roseblood

by Emily Shore

  “Rin,” he breathed, winded from his efforts. “I believe you have some explaining to do.”

  No sooner had he said the words than my wings began a slow and uncontrollable retract. I cranked my back and neck in an arch, screeching from the pain. Skip caught me. Fingers printed on my arms, stationing me, centering me until my body accepted my wings and the edges disappeared beneath the skin of my shoulder blades. No trace but the bruises I could feel blooming. Fresh ones on top of less fresh ones.

  Skip still held me, his nose in line with my neck, tipping just against my jugular. I heard his breath quicken, nostrils flare as he breathed me in.

  “Your blood is sharper than I’ve ever smelled,” he whispered.

  Spent, I had no choice but to sink back to the ground. No doubt, the fire would have alerted others. Perhaps even the Council would investigate.

  “Please…” I gazed up at him, pleading. “Get me away from here, and I’ll…try.”

  There was no one I trusted more in this moment. Not even Heath. So much had changed in one night. And while Skip remained calm and controlled, I didn’t want to deal with my brother’s theatrics.

  As if understanding, Skip scanned the area before gathering me up in his arms. Pressing my forehead into his shoulder, I inhaled the scent of watery cologne and smoke on his clothes and skin. Focusing on the details helped keep my breaths even. Skip charged into the night and didn’t stop until we’d reached the Chateau rooftop. Fitting.

  As soon as he released me, the inertia was enough to cause me to stumble. I didn’t want to stand. Easing down against the stone wall, I raised my naked arms to my face and sobbed. Gasps struggled to get out, breath warred to get in. My adrenaline crash.

  Skip remained patient. Even lowered himself next to me and waited.

  Finally, I rubbed my hands down my damp cheeks, steadied my breath, and summoned up the words, “Thank you.”

  Skip paused, licked his lips, and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  “How?” How did he know?

  “How else? Hunting.” He tipped his head back against the stone. Half expecting his chest to pause for a time to hold breath as my father and brother practiced, I was more than surprised when he flared his nostrils. He didn’t deny his instinct to inhale, to breathe in my blood scent. And if he interrupted his hunting, it must have taken a greater amount of control than I could fathom. Was it possible to underestimate my overestimations of him?

  “I…” I began, searching the fleecy clouds for the right words. “Things have been happening to me.”

  “You don’t say.” I picked up on the joke.

  “This was the second time I’ve woken up in a different place, not in my bed. The first was a vineyard. When I went home, I had bruises on my back. Now, I understand how I got them.”

  “Indeed. And I am the second.”

  Sudden terror engulfed me. “Please don’t―”

  “Our first secret was spoiled.” He cupped my shoulder, eased my nerves. “Why would I want to divulge the second?”

  I could only assume he referred to this same rooftop not two nights ago.

  “What will you do now?” He asked, propping his forearms on his knees.

  “I don’t know. I’m suddenly more. And I don’t know how to cope.” I licked my lips, knees retreating into my chest. “If I tell my family, it will get reported to the Council. And the last thing I want is to be a prisoner in some Le Couvènte safehouse.” Not that I truly believed my family would allow that since my parents were former monarchs. But I still didn’t want to take the chance. If nothing else, they would insist on house arrest. No more school. No more freedom. Just nonstop protection details. Maybe training.

  “I need your help,” I confessed, scooting closer to Skip, my hair brushing against his cheek. It was a cheap tactic but effective.

  “Come again?” I heard him breathe deeper.

  “I saw you on the field, Skip. No one could hold a candle to you. Teach me. Train me. Once I get a better…grip on whatever is happening to me, I can face my family.” Even if I still didn’t know how to hide everything from Heath. Even if there were no guidelines for my developing abilities. Wings and fire thus far. Was I turning vampire? No wolf at all? Or was I some sort of half hybrid between human and vampire?

  Skip rubbed his chin, contemplating. “Demanding, aren’t we?” There was a foreign glint in his eye. Had I misjudged him? My skin prickled at the thought in light of all he’d done tonight.

  Undaunted, I unpacked his eyes, refusing to waver before him. Unlike our first time here. Despite how he’d saved me, despite how protocol suggested I was in his debt and how Le Couvènte tradition took life-debts seriously, Skip and I were on the verge of something new. Determination carved a route fusing with my blood straight into my heart. The determination of a thousand pure bloodlines. Even if they were only half my blood, I would honor them. My abilities wouldn’t go to waste under some petty excuse to protect my human shell. And Skip had proven he was more than capable of protecting me.

  After an eternity of moments, Skip finally blinked, the moon casting just enough light. Clouds blew past―the mask ripped away from the silver eye slit. For just one moment, I studied Skip as his eyes softened. Not even the darkness could eclipse the luster of those eyes.

  “We train my way,” Skip insisted, breaking the silence.

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll push your limits.”

  “I get it.”

  Skip surveyed me before shaking his head. “No, you don’t. But you will.”

  “How do we keep this a secret?” I wondered, my thoughts scrambling. “My brother is a telepath.”

  Skip chortled from deep in his throat. “Surely you’ve had a lifetime’s worth of experience to deal with that. Even Calista has methods of avoiding my persuasion.” He was right. I did have a default. “And unless your random Houdini periods coincide with my hunting excursions, it’s not likely that we shall be alone any time soon.”

  He brought up a good point. But there was one person I could go to. Someone who had a secret of his own. I could only hope Skip would go along with it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pride

  “You want me to do what?!” Brian exclaimed, on the verge of a shout.

  “Shh…”

  I listened for footsteps outside the glass door of the atrium but remembered my parents were currently meeting with Enton Carolton. My father contacted him just after Skip escorted me home. Heath was still reeling from the event, so he’d stayed for the meeting to get peace of mind. I’d wasted no time in grabbing my other brother and heading for the pool area under the ruse of needing a swim. When smoke had become my second skin, it was believable.

  “Something happened tonight,” I whispered just above the sound of the pool. By now, I had enough distance that I could feel awe from everything that had happened. Only I could see the upside from an encounter with death. This was it: all my senses were heightened. I could make out the fine filaments of the bulbs in each twinkle light strung across the atrium, their glow enchanting the water with their reflection, the chlorine overwhelming my nostrils. Even the individual strands of hair on my brother’s head and the hearty yet pungent odor of wolf on his skin.

  I summarized the night to Brian and he rubbed the back of his neck toward the end when I mentioned his own secret. The Sierra Packs. His defeated body language spoke volumes. He’d help me.

  “Two conditions. You tell Heath soon,” he laid out the first.

  “I will. Just not right away.” When he was in a better frame of mind. Not ready to throw down a glove every time he caught Skip and I together.

  “And two, I get to stick around and watch.”

  Skip and I hasn’t discussed a chaperone. But if it was the only way…

  “Deal.”

  Brian offered to escort me to school the next morning. Under the guise of needing to check out some books at Le Couvènte High’s library, we planned to leave early with my tra
ining jumpsuit in my tote. Ever since yesterday, I’d done my best to avoid Heath. But now, he was in the kitchen drinking his morning light roast, his curls unkempt and matching the color of the coffee. Deja vu stirred inside me, remembering how I used to play around with those curls. I knew I couldn’t keep this a secret for long.

  “Keep what a secret?” Heath immediately put down his coffee and stalked toward me.

  Reflexes kicking in from years of practice, I began to recite my second default in my head.

  Heath rolled his eyes. “Phantom of the Opera? Oh, and now Disney? Seriously, we’re back to that?”

  “Can’t you just for once in your life give me a little privacy?” My eyes coasted up to his, a sigh building.

  “And Skip?”

  I’d slipped up. Skip’s name was a recurring echo in my head.

  “Cut him some slack,” I pleaded.

  “I can't afford to cut him any slack.”

  I sighed, relieved he hadn’t seen anything else. “You know how much I look up to you. But what if I don't become a vampire? Are you going to follow me to college? To my first job? You can't protect me forever.”

  “You're right. But I'll be damned if I don't do what I can until then.”

  When I blinked without a response, Heath paused as if debating whether or not to pursue my thoughts. I didn’t flinch. Not this time. If I had to, my mental fortress was ready. Except I’d guard it this time.

  “Fine,” Heath finally relented. “You got your privacy. Don’t wait too long before thanking me.” Code: don’t wait too long before really telling me what’s going on.

  “I won’t.”

  When I arrived at our meeting place― a hollow in the middle of the woods that Skip selected because it would afford the most privacy―, I almost had second doubts. More confident than ever, Skip stood stalwart dressed in simple black pants and a gray long sleeved shirt. A bag at his feet. His eyes pierced mine, intimidating my insides.

  At least Brian was roaming the area, which granted me some measure of support.

  Skip sniffed the air, lip curling, disgusted. “The wolf brother?”

  I tried to grant him some leeway since Skip was an elite vampire, unused to traveling in wolf circles. “He’s good at keeping secrets. I couldn’t do this without him.”

  “Just as long as he leaves us alone,” concluded Skip, almost challenging before he reached into the bag to produce a black jumpsuit. He handed it to me. It was thin, enough to breathe. “Vampire smart fabric,” Skip explained, pinching the material. “It will enable your wings to extend from your shoulders without tearing your clothing. Female vampires use it more than males for obvious reasons,” he hinted, smirking. Was that him flirting?

  How would I change? I gazed at the surroundings. Only a few narrow trees in the hollow. Plenty of rocks and bushes. As if picking up on my wondering thoughts, Skip sighed and turned around.

  “Did you know that a vampire revealing his wings to a human is comparable to catching one in his underwear?” Ironically, Skip’s flirtation was encouraging as I changed out of my jeans and sweater and into the jumpsuit. Casual conversation settled my nerves versus awkward silence. “Did you also know I can persuade that jumpsuit onto you much quicker than your changing takes?”

  “Pass,” I mentioned just before draping my hair to the side and zipping it up. We weren’t there yet.

  Then, Skip turned around. He must have sensed my final movements. “It suits you.” I stood up straight, thankful he didn’t tilt his head to ogle me or grin. But he did look down at my boots. “Your feet should be bare.”

  Before I could reach down, Skip’s ability manifested. A puppet of his persuasion, my foot lifted into the air so the boot slipped off in one smooth motion. The other followed suit until my feet united with the earth, soles sensing prickling evergreen needles and cold soil.

  Then, Skip began to circle me. “Close your eyes,” he commanded with a monarchist authority. “What did you feel when your wings unleashed the other night?”

  Obeying, I responded on instinct, “Panic. Fear.”

  “No,” he refuted. “Those were surface emotions. Dig deeper.”

  Licking my lips, I concentrated and returned to the memory. To the feeling of being hunted. To the endless darkness. To the fear welling up inside me. But also to the safety of the trees. To an instinctual desire to reach those trees, to their safe haven.

  “Longing.” I picked my way through the emotions. “Desire. Hunger.” I finally settled on one. “Need.”

  “Good,” Skip commended me. I could hear him pass in front of me, his own bare feet sweeping the ground lighter than feathers. He was close. Almost too close. “Find that need again.”

  I pressed my eyes harder, but Skip hissed in my ear. “Don’t force it! Breathe,” he directed, tone aggressive, domineering. Breath casting hoarfrost onto my neck, focused on my jugular. I remembered our deal: train his way.

  Biting the inside of my lower lip, I inhaled, concentrating on the bones in my shoulder blades. No, on my flesh and sinew. On my skin sinking to prepare for my wings. I could sense a vibration voyage into my shoulders, but it stopped short. Fizzled out. The sensation shriveled back into some foreign recess in my veins.

  I opened my eyes and confessed, “Nothing.”

  “Try again,” prompted Skip, snarling, “Don’t look at me.”

  Not swaying, I marked him. “I’m just supposed to expect some supernatural sixth sense to happen?”

  Skip closed the distance between us so his nose nearly brushed my cheek, eyes like emeralds in fire. “You are not a vampire. You lack all manner of control. This is the only way. Stop. Wasting. My. Time.” Okay, then.

  Biting on my lower lip, I tried again. And again and again for the next four hours until my knees buckled from the weight of exhaustion. We’d tried everything. My jumpsuit was still damp from my sweat. From running the length of the hollow over and over to see if it could jumpstart my emotions. Skip had even launched me at least a hundred feet in the air and dropped me in the hopes of triggering my wings. Nothing!

  Shaking his head, Skip paced back and forth, panting, on the verge of huffing. “You try my patience, Reina Caraway.” Our eyes met, my fatigued mouth a sharp contrast to his scowl. In this moment, he echoed the Phantom of the Opera and my chest heaved from the rage in his voice. “One last thing.”

  Dread consumed me as Skip’s pupils turned blood red. In one moment, he persuaded the shirt off his back to leave him bare chested just before his wings ripped apart, smashing the air with a furious grace I only hoped I could comprehend. When he opened his mouth to exhibit his fangs, sharpened tiny alabaster icicles, he turned both glorifying and ferocious. At first, fear tampered with my defenses. Left me frozen and trembling…

  Until he advanced toward me. I heard my heartbeat hammering, my breath scrabbling up my throat. The blood in my veins―silver blood and werewolf blood―both vowed to protect the scrap of mortal muscle, my heart. United to protect my humanity. My bones pulsated, humming to life. Skin and flesh bowed before the supernatural shifting. Deep inside me, a righteous stewardship launched my wings to form a shield before Skip, who paused just short. But his chest still brushed the membrane of my wings. One simple touch, but it caused me to shudder, to shiver.

  Now, I understood even more why it was like seeing another vampire naked. Our wings had more nerve receptors, more feeling than anything I’d ever encountered. It was…too much.

  “It’s about time,” commenced Skip right before I crumpled to the ground from exhaustion.

  Panting, gasping, I planted my hands on the ground. In that moment, I could sense the microscopic creatures below the soil. Earthworms awakening to spring. The thin network of veins in the oak leaves scattered in the hollow. My senses picked up on scores of buzzing insects, the subtle flapping of bird wings, the flicking of their heads as they rubbed against branches in trees, the trees cracking in the breeze, the wind cold and sharp against my face. Overwhelmed, I to
ok a few deep breaths until the adrenaline of it all merged into my blood. Allowing me to cope, to find center.

  Then, Skip’s whisper ghosted along the side of my neck. “What do you feel?”

  I breathed, “You. Everything.”

  “Emotionally,” he prompted, pressuring me.

  I burrowed deeper. “Awe. Love. Pride.” Pride that caused protection. But it wasn’t pride in my abilities. It was pride in my humanity. Pride to protect the most vulnerable, the weakest part of me. And the most important. Overjoyed that we’d unearthed the source, I furled my wings back into my shoulders, then summoned that protection once more. Punching the ground, I freed my wings. With abandon, they sliced through the air. And Skip…tilted my chin up, slow and tender, which only stoked the warmth in my blood so I blushed.

  “Hold onto that pride, your highness,” advised Skip. “It’s your key. Well done.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heath’s Admission

  “Reina,” the voice whispered to me.

  I stood before some old ruins. Enclosed by stone walls on each side with a cobblestone path, I followed the stone around a corner. A corner that dead-ended before a staircase descending into darkness.

  “Your highness,” the voice whispered again, somewhere below.

  I hesitated, but when cold air tickled the back of my neck, I knew there was only one way I could go: down. With every step, I sunk into a mire of ink. Soon, it would swallow me whole. But it didn't. Instead, white greeted me at the bottom. Too much white. Her skin matched her dress, pale and transparent as moth wings. Enough to see the veins peeping from beneath the surface ― blue ribbons, frozen and anchored. The cinnamon brown curls were all too recognizable. The angel dress of lace. The aquiline neck. Square jawline. Defined cheekbones. Most of all, the vacant eyes―two frosted grapes, raw and lifeless. I was looking at myself.

  My dead self.