Black Magic Rose

by Jordan K. Rose

  “I didn’t take advantage of her.” He snapped a branch from a nearby pine tree. “She attacked me. She told me to attack her, but then she attacked me.”

  He spun around and beat an oak tree to his left, pounding the pine bough against the trunk of the tree until all that was left was a two-foot stick.

  “She was falling. I caught her. That’s all I did. She…” He tossed the stick to the ground. Sap covered his hands, and when he tried to push his hair back from his face, he ended up with sap on his cheeks and forehead and hair stuck to his fingers. “Damn it!”

  He froze and listened. Still the quiet breathing of a pleased woman was all he heard.

  He sniffed his hands, aggravated by the persistent desire to smell her. Now he smelled like pine and flowers and fruit. He still couldn’t figure out which flower, but this was not the time for deciphering what she smelled like. This was the time to practice an explanation. Still, what was that? Hyacinth?

  He shook his head and continued pacing. He hadn’t bitten her. He’d managed to keep his fangs to himself. But he’d wanted to bite her, wanted to sink his fangs into the soft, supple skin of her neck. And she’d wanted it. She’d offered her neck, held his face to her skin, begged for more.

  “Fuck!”

  He had wanted to bite. Wanted to mark her as his own. The pull to mate her was overwhelming. But he’d resisted. He hadn’t crossed that line.

  “I’ll just tell Jankin she’d had too much to drink and she came on to…” He sighed. “I should have known better.” He fell back against a tree and banged his head repeatedly. “Jackass.”

  He licked his lips, still able to taste her. The heady flavor of lust combined with coconut rum. Her lips had been sticky, sticky and sweet. As if she needed to add a little something more to her already unbearably intoxicating scent. And, the flavor of her…

  He hardened just thinking of her. The idea of undressing her, kissing every inch of her, touching her in places no other man should ever touch her, being inside her. His cock throbbed.

  “Fuck!”

  He glanced toward the house. This fucking woman was killing him. His pants were stained and sticky. His hands and hair and face were sticky. His lips were sticky. And he had the most horrible desire to pleasure himself right here in the woods outside her house just because thoughts of her plagued his mind.

  He wanted to sink his fangs into her flesh in so many different spots. Her neck, her breasts, her thighs. His cock strained against his jeans, rubbing on the zipper.

  “What the fuck?”

  He adjusted himself, glaring at his cock as if that could quell his desires. He’d never in more than eight hundred years felt this way for a vampire or a werewolf and certainly not a human, though he’d happily enjoyed all three plenty of times.

  “Fucking Jankin. This is all his doing.” He kicked at a pile of leaves. “Come to Wooddale. I need the most skilled warrior for this assignment.” He did his best Scottish accent. “Bastard. A setup. She’s like the devil. Dressed in her business suits with her hair up and pretty green eyes batting at me. Why not just offer me the damn apple?” He rubbed his temples.

  Dragomir spent the next hour practicing what he’d say, deciding how he’d explain pinning Sofia, possibly his boss’s descendant, against the back of her house, bringing her a level of ecstasy he was sure she’d never experienced with any other man, and then having his own orgasm when he was supposed to be teaching her to disengage herself from compromising situations.

  He groaned and cursed the day he turned vampire. “If I can’t disengage myself, how can I teach her? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” His voice echoed in the woods and his gaze darted toward the house.

  *****

  Six hours later, Osgar arrived to relieve him. “Ever the disheveled mess,” Dragomir said as he rose from the porch steps.

  “Look who’s talking.” Osgar sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “What happened to you?”

  “She sleeps. All night.” Dragomir turned toward the woods and trudged back to Cader, both dreading and needing to speak with Jankin.

  “I like what you’ve done with your hair.” Osgar laughed after him.

  He’d get answers. What woman could upturn a vampire? Only one with special power. Dragomir had managed to convince himself of this during the long night. It was the only possibility.

  After this last event he was absolutely certain she was a descendant of Jankin MacDuff, the vampire. How else could she be so damn beguiling?

  Dragomir couldn’t afford to waste time when he needed answers, but there was no way he’d face Jankin stinking of clumsy, immature sex with Sofia. There’d be no getting a single question out, never mind an answer, if Jankin thought he’d defiled Sofia. In his quarters Dragomir showered and dressed in clean clothes before finding the master.

  Jankin sat at a black oak desk, focused on the computer screen. His main office, the one deep within the Lower Level, was larger than the conference room, holding a giant table that matched the desk at one end, a more comfortable sitting area with sofas and chairs at the other end, and another door, hidden by an oil painting of Scotland. The hidden door led to Jankin’s private chamber.

  The only movement Jankin made came from his right hand as his fingers worked the mouse. He was a man Dragomir admired, strove to be like. Reserved, usually, and naturally pensive and understanding, Jankin was one of the most powerful vampires Dragomir had ever met. A leader among leaders. A friend.

  Dragomir swallowed the lump in his throat. His chest tightened. What have I done?

  Many others sought council from Jankin. Dragomir had witnessed Jankin pardon, even accept men and women he himself would not have thought twice of killing. Could Jankin pardon him for touching Sofia? If he could, would he?

  A low hum of power emanated from Jankin. He was relaxed, not at all bothered by the events of the previous evening. In a state of rest he still gave off a vibe no one could miss. Even humans, dense to any metaphysical energy, felt it. They revered him, were drawn to him, trusted him. And they should. Above all else, Jankin loved humans. He had sworn his life to protect them from Bas Dubh.

  Bas Dubh. The black death.

  It was the reason for all their troubles. The attacks. The threats. The wars breaking out across the globe. It was the excuse Jankin had used to lure Dragomir to Wooddale. Memories of Jankin fighting side by side with him flooded Dragomir’s mind. Swords in hand, covered in blood, dead enemies fallen at their feet. Together they’d fought many a long, miserable battle.

  Jankin stormed many a compound, slaughtering followers of Kiernan. Vampires, wolves, and mind-washed humans alike. He had no tolerance for Bas Dubh. No ability to believe humans should be slaves. As long as he lived, he would never consider wolves second class to vampires or humans to be walking, talking meals. He would not allow any members of The Alliance to simply turn a human for fun or lust or one-sided love.

  Respect was to be given to them or else plan to meet your death.

  Dragomir stood silently in the doorway. Somehow all those hours of practice didn’t seem like enough. He clenched his fists. He was no coward. He would own his actions, tell Jankin everything, or at least an overview of everything. No need to bend his ear with details. Then, if Jankin didn’t kill him, he’d request a transfer back to Rome or out into the field in New England. Hand-to-hand combat was what he needed. It would clear his mind. Help him forget that damn woman.

  Jankin’s green eyes narrowed. “You might as well ask.”

  Dragomir stepped into the room. Jankin had always been a sentimental man. Portraits of his descendants hung about the room, one after another, so many of them with a likeness to Jankin. Strong genes.

  Pictures of Sofia and her mother and father adorned the wall to the left of Jankin’s desk.

  On the bookshelves behind the desk albums of old photos, scrap books of clippings from newspapers hundreds of years old, written works from descendants long dead, trinkets belonging to others and locks of hair from
babies filled the shelves.

  One shelf held framed report cards belonging to Sofia, an original birth certificate, a picture painted for Jankin, marked grade three, prom pictures, announcements regarding her academic and athletic achievements.

  Dragomir groaned.

  “What it is?” Jankin finally looked at him. “Something’s been on your mind for several nights. Now’s the time.” Jankin motioned Dragomir toward a chair.

  Dragomir couldn’t bring himself to look the man in the eye. He’d betrayed his friend. He’d broken his confidence. He’d molested the apple of Jankin’s eye.

  “I…she—”

  Jankin raised his hand. “Before you begin, tell me how the night went. Sofia was rather upset when she left. Called and banned me from the house. Och.” He shook his head. “She needs to understand the dangers we face.”

  Dragomir nodded. “Agreed.” In all honesty he couldn’t have agreed more. She had no idea how dangerous her life had become. Even her guard couldn’t be trusted.

  “I hadn’t anticipated Joachim’s loss of allegiance to The Alliance or to Fergus. We should have known it was coming. The wolf had been sneaking around for months. Commodus’s behavior was no surprise. His boldness knows no bounds, but he is a coward in the end.” Jankin leaned back in his chair. “How did the night go? Did she relax any? I hate for her to be so tense all the time. It’s unhealthy for a human not to find some release.”

  Dragomir’s eyes widened for a flash. “Yes, she did seem to release…” He cleared his throat. “...relax.”

  “She’s wound quite tightly, having to be as restrained as she is. She’s frustrated at not getting what she’s wanted.”

  “I think her frustration might have diminished after last night,” Dragomir mumbled to his feet.

  “Less violence? We’re at war. She doesn’t understand.” Jankin glanced toward the Sofia shelf. “War is violent.” He picked up a framed document. “But you wanted to ask me something.”

  Dragomir finally looked at his boss. As Jankin admired the birth certificate a slight smile tweaked his lips.

  “The Legend. It is true. Isn’t it?” Dragomir studied Jankin’s face, measuring every muscle and the millimeters of movement or lack thereof.

  Jankin replaced the birth certificate on the shelf and turned back to Dragomir. “I wish I knew.” That same smile remained on his face. His eyes were gentle, amused. “I’ve nearly driven myself to madness trying to figure it out.”

  “How could you not know? You were there.” Dragomir’s voice was gruffer than intended, but Jankin’s lack of commitment and foggy answer were unacceptable. Jankin must know the truth.

  Jankin laughed. “I have been a bachelor all these long years including those twenty-eight I lived before the change. I held several women at that time, enjoyed my share, plus, but I never called one my wife, never tied myself to one to protect and cherish ‘til death or vampirism do us part.” His eyebrow ticked upward.

  “Since I was turned, I’ve held hundreds.” His voice lowered. “Ah, more than that. This you know, old friend.” He sighed.

  Dragomir shifted in the chair. He did know. In their younger days they’d caroused together. They knew each other’s histories. For the first time he wished he didn’t know Jankin so well. And God help him, he knew Jankin had far more knowledge about him than a grandfather should have about a man who touched his granddaughter.

  “I left Scotland for a time.” Jankin’s gaze seemed to focus on some far away memory. “Nearly two hundred years later I returned to my lands and found the family living there, clearly mine. Eara was the name of the one woman I bedded before and after the change.” He reached for the whiskey on the corner of his desk, pouring some for himself and some for Dragomir.

  “I could never know for sure if the conception happened before or after.” Jankin sipped his whiskey then stared down at the glass, watching the amber liquid roll around in his hand. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wished it to be true.” He looked at Dragomir. Gone was the laughter from his eyes. Worry now plagued him.

  “She can scent, Jankin.” Dragomir reached for the glass in front of him. “Me and the wolves. She spent yesterday practicing. Can even track me.” He shrugged. “And the wolves as well.”

  “Many who spend time with wolves can scent them. This is nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Bull. We both know it’s odd for her to scent or track them. But let’s give her the ability to scent.” Dragomir drained his glass. “That still does not explain her ability to track me, my energy or the wolves.”

  “I don’t believe her to be anything more than human, Dragomir. As much as I’d like to believe something different she is not my child.” Jankin sat back and sighed. “I’ve traced her bloodline. She is not mine.”

  Dragomir bolted from his chair to pace behind it. “Let’s say she possesses a superior sense of smell than most humans. That does not explain her ability to track. If she was not conceived by a vampire, what explains this phenomena?”

  Jankin poured himself another measure of whiskey. “I should have known you’d come to question me.”

  “You dragged me here from the front. How could I not notice?” Dragomir slid his glass to Jankin and waited for another pour.

  “She’d have died.” Jankin refilled Dragomir’s glass, eyes fixed on the smooth flow of liquid. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  Dragomir listened. Something told him what he was about to hear might be worse than the idea of Sofia being part vampire.

  “Helpless little creature, not even able to cry. It was a few weeks before her lungs were stable enough that she could howl out that first scream, a call to battle, to fight for her own life.” Jankin’s eyes misted. “A warrior from the first. Her father had been one of my best friends. How could I not save her?”

  And there was the truth. Jankin had bound Sofia to him. His blood was probably the first thing she’d ever consumed. Vampire blood. So potent it could bring a dying man back from the brink. Vampires rarely shared. It was one of the laws of their society. Do not play with a human’s fate.

  Only two occasions were considered acceptable for allowing a human to drink from a vampire. The first was simple. The creation of another vampire. Humans couldn’t be transformed without consuming the blood of a vampire.

  The second was the marriage ritual. Vampires bound themselves to their mates. The sharing of blood was considered an intimate exchange, one done only when lovers made the highest commitment to each other—to live for each other and to die with each other.

  “Who else knows?” Dragomir growled. A secret this dark had to be buried, hidden forever. Death was the penalty for such a crime.

  Death for the vampire and the human.

  “Noelle.” Jankin sighed like a burden had been lifted. “Not another soul. Not even Fergus.”

  “Did you bind Noelle?” He knew it was foolish to question Jankin, but he couldn’t stop himself. Something forced him to demand answers, to know who he needed to monitor, who, if the need arose, he’d execute.

  Jankin shifted in his chair, regarding Dragomir through narrowed eyes.

  Dragomir leaned forward. “They would take her. They’ll use her.” He whipped away from Jankin unable to look at his mentor. “If the wolves ever realize she can track them…” He ran his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. “…our wolves would not accept it.” And if that wasn’t bad enough, the idea of Kiernan taking Sofia, torturing and enslaving her entered Dragomir’s mind. “No one else must ever know.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Ever.”

  “As I suspected you’ve come to realize her value. You now understand your importance in maintaining her safety.”

  Value? He’d realized more than her value. For the first time in centuries a woman piqued his interest in ways only his beloved wife had. Sofia intrigued, surprised, beguiled, and befuddled him. She aroused feelings in Dragomir he’d forgotten ever existed.

  She made him excited to r
ise in the evening.

  Dragomir looked deep into Jankin’s eyes. The fleck of hazel slicing through the deep green of his irises glowed.

  “I fully understand. Your life as well as hers would be ended. All our work against Bas Dubh would be for naught. Without you, The Alliance will not survive.”

  “The Alliance would continue, just not as it has.” Jankin inhaled. “You smell of her.”

  Dragomir held Jankin’s gaze. He’d come to confess. “Yes.”

  Jankin’s presence swelled. His power prickled along Dragomir’s skin. His eyes flashed with an angry light and all his attention drilled into Dragomir. He was almost as good an interrogator as Dragomir. Almost, but not quite. Dragomir locked away many of the details of the evening’s events too personal to share with anyone. Many things a man did with a woman were meant to be kept private.

  Jankin searched and Dragomir did not stop him, rather he allowed the master to know his thoughts and feelings for Sofia. It was necessary to ensure Jankin knew Dragomir would defend Sofia to his own death.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at her.” Jankin stood and faced the bookshelf. He picked up a picture of Sofia as a young girl with pigtails. She was dressed like a pumpkin. “Like a man admires his woman.” His fingers traced the smiling face. “And I’ve seen the way she watches you. She would deny it, of course, but I’ve seen. I know she is drawn to you.”

  Jankin replaced the frame, spun to face Dragomir and lunged across the desk, knocking him to the floor, his fist meeting Dragomir’s chin. “I am not ready to give her up.” Jankin’s words ripped through Dragomir’s mind. “She is like my own child.”

  “But are you ready to die for her?” Dragomir withstood the blow and dodged a second, ending up across the room. “Would you give up your work to save her life?” Dragomir swiped away the blood running from the wound on his face. “I would.”

  Jankin glared at Dragomir. His fangs lengthened as he spoke. “Would you?”

  “We both know there is only one way for her to be truly safe.” Dragomir raised his head to look down his nose at Jankin. “There’s only one way to ensure you both remain safe.”