by Amy Miles
“I wasn’t,” he shoots back, keeping his gaze low, focusing on the beige carpet instead of her legs. “I didn’t see anything. I swear.”
“How could you not? I was practically naked!”
Nicolae grimaces. He swallows hard. “I know. I’m really sorry.”
Roseline grinds her teeth. She wants to rant, to rave about how stupid he was to walk into the bathroom in the first place. And seeing her naked…Roseline groans. She will never live this down.
Instead of giving in to her need to vent, she sighs. How can she fault him for his intrusion when she is just as much to blame?
Guilt forces her to snuff out the anger burning in her chest. “Look, I understand that you are mad at me,” Roseline sinks down onto the low bench at the end of the bed, clenching her damp towel in her hands, “but I didn’t mean to drag you into all of that. I didn’t think you would fall for my pull so quickly.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a hunter. I thought you were trained to resist this sort of thing. You weren’t exactly attracted to me back in Chicago.”
“That’s not entirely true.” An embarrassed flush stains his neck pink. He averts his gaze. “I was so focused on hating you that I guess it just didn’t work the same way”
“And now?” she asks.
The deep blush clings to his cheeks as he shrugs. “I guess you’re not all that bad, after all.”
Roseline laughs. “Wow, I never thought I would hear you say that.”
“Me either.” He smirks, shaking his head. “I’d guess that even my Uncle Sorin would’ve struggled to resist you.”
Roseline offers a tiny smile. The thought of being that close to Nicolae’s fallen uncle gives her the creeps. “Well, I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”
A queer look crosses his face. “Did you really just apologize to me?”
She chuckles, shaking her head in amazement. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Nicolae cracks his knuckles, shaking out his hands. He surges to his feet and crosses to the other side of the room, leaving a safe distance between them. “I shouldn’t have stormed into the bathroom like that. You just made me so…crazy.”
“Hormone warfare is a tricky art to master, but when done right can be very useful.” She blushes. “I’ll admit that I’m not very good at it.”
“Could’ve surprised me.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Sorin used to warn me about getting closer than a sword length to an immortal. He told me Vladimir trains his female warriors to lure in men. I guess I can see why now.”
His gaze flickers over her bare legs and her plunging neckline. The belt of Roseline’s robe has begun to slip, allowing far more skin to be laid bare than Nicolae can handle. “Why can’t you control it?” he asks, darting his gaze away before his blush betrays him. Nicolae shoves his hands deeps into his pockets.
“I was never trained by Vladimir…at least not in that way,” she sneers. Her fingertips burn at the thought of his particular style of torture training. Each lash against her back, each nail driven through her palms, each broken bone was made worse by the knowledge that Vladimir’s punishments were not done out of malice, but out of some sick twisted form of love. Yes, she knows Vladimir loves her. He always has, and that love is what drove him to try to break her spirit.
His methods were simple. She spent night after night caged in her tower, forced into solitude from Fane. Nightly bloodlettings were used to taunt her into killing Vladimir’s victims. Her personal training sessions with Davros, Vladimir’s go-to guy for torture was meant to break her mind.
She stares fixedly at Nicolae. “I was not trained to seduce. Vladimir never allowed me to be touched by anyone but himself.” Her expression turns bitter as she fights to keep those memories at bay. She shakes herself mentally. “I was trained to massacre.”
He blanches slightly. “Is there a difference?”
Roseline gives a bitter laugh. “If you had ever seen me fight, you would not need to ask that question.”
“I sort of did back at the dungeon. When you nearly killed Vladimir.”
Her face darkens. “I was only trying to save your life. I have other plans for his end.”
She clenches her towel tightly in her fists, oblivious to the water that streams from the damp cloth. Nicolae peers at her. “But you’ve been on the front lines before, right? Sorin told me you were here, in London, during the Blitz.”
“Yes,” she nods, her throat clenching. “Humans blamed the fires and deaths on the war. Over 100,000 bombs dropped on London that night, but immortals were the ones who caused the most destruction.”
She can easily remember the rancid smoke billowing around St. Paul’s cathedral. Amongst the chaos of world war, a supernatural blood feud spilled into the streets. Lives were slashed down and fires erupted across the city as hunter’s homes were ferreted out.
Roseline had been held back, perched at Vladimir’s side atop the cathedral. Away from the fighting. Away from danger. Forced to watch Fane fight for his life on the church steps. Unable to call out a warning. Utterly helpless.
It was done on purpose of course. Vladimir eagerly watched her face as the hours drug by but Roseline refused to show any emotion, even when Fane took a hard blow to his head and was knocked unconscious. Disgusted by Roseline’s control over her anger, Vladimir called off the fight, but that would not be the last time he tried to break her spirit. Or discover the truth behind her relationship with Fane.
No doubt, if his lust for blood had not slightly overshadowed his lust for Roseline, Vladimir might have found them out centuries ago. Although he had sent spies to follow their movements, Roseline was too smart to be discovered in a compromising relationship with Fane. She learned early on how to cover her tracks and Vladimir’s training backfired on him.
Nicolae clears his throat, recapturing her attention. She smiles. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”
“I can tell. You look awful.”
She chuckles. “That night and many others are not memories I like to dredge up. They are best left to the past.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known.” She brushes her fingers through her tangled hair, needing to do something that grounds her to this reality. “I was there, but I did not fight. Vladimir would not let me out of his sight.”
“Why not?”
Her face pinches with disgust. “All of his efforts, for over three hundred years, have been for one purpose…to break me. To turn me into the cold-blooded killer he thinks I should be. He trained me so that then when I finally did break, he could unleash me on the world.”
“A vicious, terrible beast to rule by his side. I think some part of Vladimir thought that if I could become like him, I might actually be able to love him.”
She begins to pace, her fingers needing the muscles in her crossed arms through the soft robe. “Perhaps it was more than that though.”
“What do you mean?”
“This global army you speak of, maybe he did involve me and I never knew.”
Nicolae purses his lips. “It is possible. You said yourself he wanted you to rule by his side. That would be the ultimate chance for you to lose control.”
She snorts, tossing the towel into the bathroom. “He has waited for centuries for me to find my inner evil. I will not give him the satisfaction. At least not until I bury my sword in his chest and watch him slowly bleed out.”
Nicolae grins. “So you’re kinda badass then, huh?”
A tortured smile crosses her face. “Something like that.”
Chapter 9
Gabriel groans, cradling his inflamed abdomen. His intestines are the charred remains of their former self, burned from within by his rising body temperature. His blood boils as his cells rupture and fuse back together. His stomach is a distended balloon filled with useless air.
Willful starvation.
Time is his enemy. How long has he been a prisoner? A
day? Four days? A full week? How much longer can he endure?
Till death, his mind answers. Is that even possible for him now?
Gabriel sighs heavily, at the reminder of his transition into the supernatural world. When he first awoke, he tried to reason out the changes within human parameters. That quickly became impossible.
No. There is no denying the fact that his humanity is gone. Perhaps his mind will linger in that world, but his body has left it entirely.
He can no longer return to the art studio he built over his parent’s house, or fight with his stepfather over his football scholarship to Notre Dame. Graduation is certainly out of the picture.
Gabriel knows he can never go back to his human life. He is something more now…but what? A vampire? No. He refuses to consider that option. Sorin may have believed the lies, but not Gabriel. There must be another explanation.
He is certain his captors know. They speak, in hushed voices, of his transition. Judging by the reinforced cage that they have built to control him, they have the answers that he seeks.
Gabriel’s cravings have long since passed into manic obsession. The packet of blood threatens to consume his thoughts, shoving Rose and his questions to the side. Still he fights the urge to drink.
His thirst gnaws at him, day and night. It is getting harder to resist. His mind plays tricks with him, imagining what it would feel like for the thick plasma to slide down his throat. How the burning will ease, his shrunken stomach will expand and the pain will be gone. Wouldn’t that fact alone be worth giving in?
No. He cannot let himself be tricked. It is a trap. It must be.
Gabriel groans, cradling his abdomen. His bladder is screaming for release. The pressure of holding it in has begun to swell, affecting his inflamed intestines. The agony of waiting now outweighs the pain of movement.
The hope that this effort might relieve even an ounce of his pain is enough to get him moving. Casting a disparaging glance at the blood, Gabriel pushes up off his cot. He teeters, using the wall as he shuffles forward.
The privy is a small hole carved from the floor. The stone opening spirals into the ground, disappearing into the depths of the earth. Gabriel strains to hear the splash, but none rises to meet him.
How deep is that hole?, he wonders as he pushes back from the wall. His arms pinwheel as he overcompensates. Catching himself on the edge of the table, Gabriel comes face to face with his new self for the first time.
A small mirror, warped with age and dusty from disuse hangs on the wall. The planes of his face are familiar, but more refined. His blond hair hangs into his eyes and shaggy stubble lines his jaw. A light tan seems etched into his new skin, accentuating his gaunt cheeks. Deep bruises form crescent moons under dull ice-blue eyes, void of their usual iridescent quality. He turns away, too weary to fully examine his new body.
Six feet separate him from the cot. Much too far. Gabriel slides his foot forward. The muscles in his thighs quiver, sending spasms down to his toes. His right leg twitches violently, tangling with the table leg and spilling him to the floor.
His cry brings instant response. Hard-soled sandals slap against the rock floor of the hall beyond. A fist pounds frantically on the door. “Gabriel? Are you ok?” The fear edging the man’s voice surprises him.
Keys, fumbled from within folds of clothing, jingle. Gruff protests slide under the door. “You can’t go in there, Sias.”
That name. It sounds familiar, Gabriel frowns, digging through his hazy memories. He does not have a chance to grasp it before the arguing continues.
“Step aside, Ordin. This does not concern you.”
“It’s suicide!”
A slight hesitation. “I am aware of the consequences. Now please, return to your tasks.”
The unseen companion sucks in a breath. “And leave you alone with him?” Gabriel glances up as the key clangs against the metal lock. The door groans open. A tall man stands silhouetted in the doorway, flickering candlelight veils his features. A hulking figure hovers just over his shoulder.
“He will not harm me,” Sias replies, unbothered by Ordin’s concern. His toe inches toward the threshold into Gabriel’s cage, his neck cranes for a better view into the dim room. Surprise registers on his face as he is yanked back toward the shadow.
Sias’ unruly beard trembles as he grinds his teeth. Gabriel can smell his rising anger as he pulls out of Ordin’s grasp. “I asked you to leave once. I will not repeat myself again.”
The shadow stiffens, rising to its full height. With a grunt of disgust, the man retreats, his heavy footfalls rapidly receding. Sias, pausing to wait for the door slam at the end of the corridor, crosses into the room. “Are you ok?”
Gabriel squints up at the stranger, fighting to angle his body away. The man’s movements are slow, purposeful, as he steps into the room. Gabriel’s anger at his captor wages war against the compassion seeping from the man. Gentle eyes stare down at him. Gabriel had not expected any compassion.
The scent of the stranger’s blood penetrates Gabriel’s nose. His face contorts. “Don’t come any closer,” he howls, curling inward on the floor. He buries his nose into his arm, praying for an escape from the acid thrashing in his gut. The man’s spicy scent is everywhere, clinging to his damp skin and sweat-slicked hair.
“Dear God, you still haven’t eaten.” Sias rushes forward, carelessly tossing his fate into Gabriel’s hands. He snatches the blood packet from the floor and holds it out. “You must drink this.”
“No!” Gabriel cries, shoving the table between them. “Stay back.”
Sias easily dodges to side and drops next to him. He shoves the bag of blood into Gabriel’s face. “You must drink this. It’s the only way to stop the pain.”
Gabriel crescendos into a chorus of raspy weeping as he fights to still his lungs. Tears trail down his cheeks. The muscles along his neck cord as his stomach spasms. His resistance is slipping.
Sias’ calloused hands grasp his shoulders, stilling Gabriel’s convulsion. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” As if a serrated blade has spilled his intestines to the floor, Gabriel wails, clutching his stomach. His vision plummets into shadow. His stomach twists with need as his mouth salivates at the scent of Sias’ blood. So close. So delicious.
Gabriel’s nerve endings alight with desire. His breathing becomes haggard as he struggles to keep his hands locked around his stomach. His fingers dig into his flesh, securing them in place.
Sias moves closer, reaching out for Gabriel. “Let me help you.”
Wild eyes pop open, fixating on the steady thrumming pulse at Sias’ neck. The thought of sinking his teeth into this man’s throat nearly releases Gabriel’s savage desires. “Please. Leave.”
Coherent thoughts form but are slippery to grasp. He desperately clings to the remaining shreds of his control.
“You must listen to me!” Sias pleads.
A snarl breaks through Gabriel’s grimace. His hands clutch Sias’ shirt. With a tremendous shout, Gabriel tosses him out of the door, draining the last of his energy.
“Stay out,” he orders. His eyes roll back into his head.
Rose, help me, his mind calls as darkness sweeps in.
Chapter 10
Hired companionship is a poor exchange for happiness. Or false love for that matter. Apparently, it sucks at erasing memories too.
Fane’s stomach churns with self-loathing. The young girl writhing on his lap disgusts him. He turns his face away from her frantic kisses.
Glitter globs on the end of her fake eyelashes. Her blood red lipstick smears from her swollen lips. Thick clumps of foundation appear along the sweat line of her brow.
The girl cannot be much older than seventeen, perhaps even younger. Fane curses his youthful appearance, wishing he had not allowed this street urchin to seduce her way into his hotel room.
“What’s wrong?” she pouts, splaying her fingers across his bare chest.
He winces, snatching her hands away from his skin. “You need to leave.”
Her hormone glazed eyes blink. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted me.” She leans in to snuggle his neck. Her second-hand red sequined dress pulls low, spilling out ample amounts of her chest. Her long slender legs, clothed in black fishnet tights, shift to encircle his waist.
It is not her touch that he craves. Not her lips that he yearns for. He closes his eyes as his heart calls to her-Roseline.