Even as she fought Ursula off, Fiona kept turning to face Rose. "Rose, I love you! Can't you see that?"
The words were a plea, but Ursula only heard determination in Fiona's tone, an insistence and assertion that she would take what she wanted.
As Ursula reached to grab the dagger from her boot, Fiona pushed her, throwing her off violently. But this time, Ursula held on to the ruffles on Fiona's V-neck collar. There was a ripping sound and Ursula thought she'd lost her grip on her, but when she landed on her back again, Fiona landed squarely on top of her, the ruffles still in Ursula's fist.
"I don't wish to hurt you," Fiona said looking down at Ursula.
"Too late." Ursula wrapped her right arm around Fiona's neck and tried to flip her onto her back again. She got Fiona onto her side when Fiona knocked Ursula's arm away and pulled herself free. Ursula's grip loosened, but still held the ruffles. Fiona threw herself back on top of her.
Struggling with Fiona on the damp grass, Ursula fought down the fear that she would not survive, or that Rose wouldn't. No. They had to see this through. And succeed. Neither one of them would be safe until Fiona was dead.
Fiona's head jerked back and Rose appeared behind her. The hawthorn rope was around Fiona's neck, pulling her backward. Rose seemed to be putting all her might into tightening the noose around the vampire's neck. She was biting down on her lower lip with the effort.
Fiona gripped the rope with her fingers, trying to loosen its hold. She was not choking--that much was evident. Rather, she seemed to be struggling against some kind of paralysis. Her facial features didn't move and rigidity appeared to take over her limbs.
Ursula was still pinned beneath Fiona's legs. She needed to get into a different position. With Fiona temporarily disabled, she gritted her teeth once more and put all her might into one last push. More pain shot through her but she succeeded in rolling Fiona over. Rose flew back, hitting the ground hard. But Ursula couldn't see to her. She brought one knee up, freed her right hand, and pulled the dagger from her boot. In this position, there was one place she had a good chance of piercing and she brought the knife to it. The tip of the blade made a dimple in Fiona's neck.
They had landed under one of the lighted lamps at the outer edge of the park and Ursula noticed how Fiona's skin looked very much like mother-of-pearl...white and shiny with little strands of iridescent pink and blue running through it. Veins and arteries glowing through clear tissue.
Fiona latched onto her wrist and pushed the knife away from her neck. It now hovered above Fiona's head. Ursula's strength was no match for Fiona's and as hard as she pushed down, she found herself unable to move, frozen like a photograph, with her arm held in place by Fiona's superhuman strength.
Fiona turned to face Rose again. "I wanted you--" She stopped, her eyes grew wide, and Ursula thought she saw a tear forming in each one. Still holding Ursula's arm aloft, Fiona closed her eyes. "Oh, god," she said softly, as if to herself. "I'm so sorry. I did the one thing I vowed never to do...be like her. Damn you, Susanna." This last came out as a choked whisper.
Fiona opened her eyes. Remorse had softened her features and tamed her voice. "I just wanted you to love me," Fiona said, her voice hoarse. "And I knew I couldn't have you any other way. I am truly sorry, Rose."
She blinked, sorrow etching her face. "You will come to understand the need that drives us to do the things we do. Don't hate me. Please."
Upon uttering that last word, she released Ursula's hand. The knife came down and slid smoothly across the mother-of-pearl. Blood spurted up into Ursula's face and she quickly turned her face from the gory stream. She realized that cutting off Fiona's head would be more difficult than she'd anticipated and so, with Fiona momentarily disadvantaged, Ursula plunged the knife into her heart. Fiona's eyes became wide, terror-filled orbs and her body arched sharply before relaxing again, still and lifeless.
Ursula got up and went to Rose and tried to turn her face away from the gruesome scene. But as Fiona's body drained of life, they were both transfixed.
Fiona lay perfectly still and her eyes were fixed. The blood, a fountain at first, was now a babbling brook. The bubbling stopped altogether when her skin began tightening. It shrank against her bones like sun-parched leather. Then, it began shriveling and rotting. Finally, skin and bones turned to ashes, collecting into a long chain of mounds on the ground, like the Great Pyramids dotting the Arabian landscape.
The only thing left was Fiona's clothing, her dress ripped and crumpled. Into the dusty piles, an object slipped out of one of the dress's pockets, a rectangular book covered in sludge, a mixture of
Fiona's blood and cindered flesh. Rose gasped
Ursula put her hand on her shoulder. "What is it?"
"That. It's my journal. It all makes sense now. That's how she knew everything about me." She looked away. "I'm a fool."
"No, darling, you're not. She was conniving and she tricked you." Rose looked at Ursula, gratitude in her eyes, then turned back to the ground.
A puddle of blood, suddenly free of a vessel, absorbed the ashes until all began to disappear as it soaked into the ground, taking the ashes with it, dissolving it.
Rose and Ursula didn't move as they watched Fiona disappear. All that was left of her was a stain on the dirt and grass. For all the years Fiona had probably lived, it took a short amount of time for her to die. Mere minutes.
Ursula pulled a handkerchief out of her breast pocket and wiped her face, then lifted the dagger and held it straight up in front of her. Blood dripped down the blade and she wondered where she'd gotten the gumption to do what she'd just done. Papa would be proud. And Damen. She flipped the knife point-down just before the blood reached the hilt, and watched it travel down toward the point and finally drip off. As each drop hit the ground, it too, disappeared. She knelt to wipe the blade and handle on Fiona's dress, then picked up the journal with the handkerchief. Ursula stood up, slid the dagger back into her boot, and held the book out to Rose so that Rose could take it with the handkerchief. "You can burn it. But don't leave it here." Rose nodded and took the book with two fingers, distaste curling her mouth.
Rose stared at the spot where Fiona had been, barely visible now on the dark ground.
"Are you all right?"
It took a moment for Rose to respond. It was as if she were in a trance and they were both waiting for it to wear off. She blinked and nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."
Ursula picked up her hat, mentally apologizing to Damen. Then she walked over to where she'd dropped her father's pepperbox, picked it up, wiped the wet dirt off on her trousers, and put it back into her waistband. Damen would be furious with me for doing that. But still proud. She smiled.
There was sadness on Rose's face. "She was lonely," she said.
"Seems that way."
"I feel sorry for her."
Ursula hesitated. "I do, too."
Rose hesitantly picked up Fiona's things and rolled them up into a ball. She bent near the massive tree that moments ago had bolstered Ursula and picked a dandelion blossom, the closest thing to a flower there was. She went back to the dark patch that had once been a sentient being and placed it in the center. She stood reverently at the edge for a moment.
In the distance, the sound of horse hoofs and carriage wheels filled the night air, punctuated with the high-pitched shriek of police whistles.
Ursula took the clothing from Rose. They would burn these along with the journal. With her arm around Rose's waist, she guided her to the park's exit. They walked away silently.
Chapter Twenty-Six
URSULA RAN HER fingers through Rose's fine black hair. In the seven months since they had killed Fiona, neither could claim to have experienced anything unusual. They went about their daily routines and no one suspected the life-altering experience they'd been through.
Except Bridget. Bridget had been loyally silent about the matter and made it clear--in her own stoic way--that she liked Ursula. What's more, she'd begun treatin
g Rose more like an adult, rather than a child who needed looking after. It was obvious that her respect for her mistress had grown substantially.
Ursula and Rose began attending Society functions together and various cultural events about the city. Much to Marianne Godwyn's chagrin, people came to accept that these ladies were old maids who'd become one another's companion. Marianne had tried hard to match Rose with someone suitable, but Rose refused every one. It seemed that every young man had some fault that Rose simply couldn't abide. Marianne and Rose argued, Marianne alternately pleaded, commanded, and attempted what she considered reason with Rose, but in the end, she finally resigned herself to the fact that she'd have a spinster daughter and left Rose alone.
As they sat in front of the fire in her room, Ursula thought about Fiona. As if reading her mind, Rose spoke. "I wonder what happened to her. I mean, the circumstances behind her becoming what she became."
There was never a need to explain who she was. When one spoke of Fiona, the other instinctively knew.
"I haven't heard you utter a word about her in weeks. What brought her to mind?"
Rose put down the tea she'd been sipping. "Sometimes, during the night, I get this feeling that she's calling me. I know it's not possible, and yet that's what happens." Her brows came together. "Do you think her spirit is haunting me?"
Ursula also put down her tea and thought a moment. She'd worried so over Rose's state since that incredible night. Fiona had managed to bite her that night. Sort of. Her teeth may not have fully penetrated Rose's skin, but she'd grazed her. Could that have had any effect? She had noticed Rose's eyes glaze over once in a while, as if her mind was working in a new way, even now in front of the flames.
"No," she said finally. "Creatures like Fiona don't have spirits. They just die and that's that."
"But what did she mean when she said, '˜You will come to understand the need that drives us to do the things we do'?"
Ursula hadn't been able to come to any conclusions about that one. But, so far, there had been no real sign that Rose was transitioning into a vampire. Still, doubt plagued her. She debated whether to be honest or keep her blissfully ignorant of her condition. She opted for a middle ground. No sense in worrying her unnecessarily. "She probably believed she had sired you."
Rose got up and walked to the fireplace, blazing with a warm winter fire, and still adorned with remnants of Christmas, over for a month now. She twisted her hand around her scarred wrist. Ursula surreptitiously checked the puncture wounds once in a while, under the pretense of wanting to kiss Rose's palm. They were two maroon-colored dots, puckered in the center, where they'd closed. Fiona hadn't drunk any of Rose's blood that last time, nor had she transferred any of her own to Rose. And Rose had said that she'd not gotten that dazed, stupefied feeling she'd gotten the previous two times. As soon as Fiona had bitten down this time, Ursula had pulled her away. Fiona hadn't even had the chance to close her mouth around Rose's flesh.
Although Rose's long, ruffled sleeves managed to hide the scars, Ursula knew that they still ached. She would look at Rose sometimes to find her rubbing her wrist and wincing.
Rose sat down again, slowly, next to her. Gazing at the fire, she absent-mindedly squeezed Ursula's hand.
"What if she did?"
The fire crackled loudly, popping now and then. Ursula looked into the flames, hoping to find an answer that they both could live with. While Rose questioned what was happening to her, for Ursula, the question of why was what hounded her. Why Rose?
And why me? It seemed unfathomable that a person should lose two people she loved in such a short span of time. She'd lost Emily--why would God take Rose away from her? She tried to push the thought from her mind, as she had done almost every day since Fiona's destruction. If Rose continued to survive, the questions would nevertheless remain: What would make the final transition for Rose? A bite from another vampire? Or something simpler?
She'd helped Rose just in time, but had she really?
She ran her hand over Rose's hair again. It felt as soft as the blooms of the lavender that made up Rose's scent. Then she trailed gently along her temple and down her cheek, and felt a tear on her fingertip. Her own chest tightened. "I'll always be there to help you. You'll never be alone. No matter what."
There were more lines creasing Rose's face than there should be on a twenty-three-year-old, and her eyes held a depth that only came from tragedy and travails and that for most people didn't settle into their features until a more advanced age. Perhaps it was the stark light of the fire that was doing it, but Ursula didn't think so. Not really. It was the worry, the constant worry, of what the future might hold for her.
None of Ursula's father's books said anything about what happens to a person who has been bitten by a vampire twice and punctured a third time but not fully sired. What kind of limbo was Rose going to live in? Would she die? And if she did, what would happen to her soul?
Ursula narrowed her eyes and looked hard at the woman she loved. Does she even have a soul anymore? A shudder ran the length of her body.
Rose turned her gaze away from the fire, and the sadness seemed to dissipate a little. She reached for Ursula's hand and squeezed. "I would understand if it becomes too unbearable for you," she said, unspoken fears and possibilities transmitting silently through their fingers. "If it does, I will release you with a full heart."
Ursula got up and knelt in front of Rose and took both her hands in her own. "No, Rose. It will never be too unbearable. I love you, and I always will."
"I know." Rose leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, but unease filled her mind. "I love you, too."
She pulled Ursula against her chest and stroked her hair, hoping that the love she held for her was strong enough to counteract whatever now coursed through her veins. Perhaps it was simply a matter of time, and the ache in her wrist would fade, as would the dreams she had in which Fiona called to her. She sighed.
How she hated Fiona. She turned to look at the woman she loved, the woman who had saved her life, rescued her from the unthinkable. The firelight made Ursula's Scandinavian features sharp, but no less beautiful than usual. A blond strand of hair hung down at her temple and Rose gazed contemplatively at the highlight of gold shine. She did have Fiona to thank for bringing her and Ursula together, but at what price?
Whatever was to happen and whatever state of corruption her soul was in, she just prayed that she would always have Ursula to protect her.
And that she would never hurt her.
About the Author
R.G. Emanuelle is a writer and editor living in New York City. She is co-editor of Skulls and Crossbones, an anthology of female pirate stories, and her short stories can be found in various anthologies, including Best Lesbian Erotica 2010, Lesbian Lust: Red Hot Erotica, Women in Uniform, Lesbian Cops, Uniforms Optional, Khimairal Ink, and Read These Lips Volumes 4 and 5. Along with a
B.A. in Writing & Literature, R.G. has a culinary degree and dreams of one day being in the pantheon of culinary geniuses on Iron Chef, right next to Cat Cora. You can find R.G. a www.rgemanuelle.com.
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
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Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
Twice Bitten Page 18