by Ranae Rose
“Carrie!” Brendan took her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes as he searched hers, obviously sick with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll heal,” Carrie said, doing her best to ignore the burning pain in her throat and her throbbing head. “What about you?” Brendan stood naked before her, and though his face was calm now, his expression of pain as Isadora had abused him haunted her.
“I’m fine,” he said, drawing her to him and hugging her fiercely. “Let’s get out of here.” He cast a disgusted glance towards the small inferno that had sprung up, and Carrie looked too, unable to resist.
The sight weakened her knees and made her want to vomit, and she wondered vaguely whether vampires were capable of regurgitation.
Isadora thrashed wildly on the floor, enveloped in flame, which rose to lick the ceiling. She screamed as she writhed, and her long hair lashed against her half-nude body in fiery whips. The fire ate away at her dress, and the dark fabric disintegrated before Carrie’s eyes, exposing every inch of Isadora’s bloodless skin to the searing heat. Every curve of Isadora’s body was outlined in vivid, burning orange, and Carrie’s head spun as the disgusting smell of burning flesh met her nostrils. She was only vaguely aware of someone tugging on one of her hands, and scarcely noticed when Brendan scooped her into his arms and began to descend the steps.
Outside, Carrie’s head began to clear as the cool night air replaced the stench of Isadora’s demise. She opened her eyes. Brendan stared down at her, plainly concerned. “Sorry,” she said, “I just…”
“It’s all right,” Brendan said. “Let’s get you home.”
“You’re naked,” Carrie pointed out. It was a twenty minute walk to the apartment, and Brendan would hardly go unnoticed strolling the streets nude.
“So are you,” he replied.
Carrie blinked down at her body, at the soft brown hair that rose from between her bare legs and the sparse scraps of charred fabric that clung immodestly to her breasts. Dark smears of red blood still painted her midriff, though they had begun to flake off. “I forgot,” she said, frowning.
“Here,” a third voice said.
Something soft brushed her cheek and she turned to see Sophia proffering a stack of messily folded garments.
“I grabbed your clothing,” Sophia explained.
“Thank you,” Brendan said.
Carrie received the garments, as Brendan’s arms were still occupied with holding her. “Thanks,” Carrie echoed, then spoke to Brendan. “You can let me down, now.”
Brendan obliged, and she stood on slightly shaky legs, the packed dirt of the alleyway beneath her bare feet.
“I’m afraid I didn’t get your shoes,” Sophia said as Carrie slipped hastily into her pants.
“That’s all right,” Carrie replied. “I’m glad just to have something to wear.”
Brendan nodded as he pulled the hem of his shirt down over the top of his hips. “Don’t worry about it, Sophia,” he said, sounding sincerely appreciative. “We’re grateful for what you did.”
“And not just the clothing,” Carrie added. “For warning us and for stopping Isadora…for everything.”
Sophia nodded curtly. “I did it first and foremost for myself,” she admitted then added more quietly, “and for Jonathan.”
Carrie didn’t have to guess who Jonathan was. Sophia’s sorrowful expression told her he had been her husband, who had been murdered by Isadora. Tears sprang into Carrie’s eyes as Sophia bent her head, and she blinked. Sophia clasped her two small hands together in a fashion that belied the calculating ferocity she had used to defeat Isadora. Carrie rushed forward to embrace her.
Sophia’s first reaction was to stiffen with surprise, but she soon relaxed and laid her fair head softly against Carrie’s shoulder. Carrie hugged her for several moments, murmuring, “Thank you,” when she finally pulled away. Carrie’s charred shirt had smeared Sophia’s white dress with ashy smudges, but Sophia didn’t seem to care.
Brendan extended an arm from where he stood behind Carrie and laid his hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “We owe you a lot,” he said, squeezing lightly before letting his hand fall away. “Thank you.”
Sophia looked to be on the point of tears, but she blinked several times and regained her composure. “You’re both welcome,” she said. “I probably wouldn’t have succeeded without you. Thank you for helping me.”
“Do you need somewhere to stay, come sunrise?” Carrie asked.
Sophia shook her head. “No. I know where I’m going.”
“Well,” Carrie said, “I think we’ll be leaving Charlotte soon, but if we ever meet again, let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
Sophia nodded curtly, turned and began striding down the alleyway into thick shadows that caused her dress to appear grey. It was only because of her keen vampire’s eyes that Carrie was able to see the brief gleam of silver that flashed as Sophia turned the same blade she’d used to cut Isadora on herself.
“Brendan!” Carrie said sharply, gripping his arm.
Brendan turned to exchange a look of horror with her. He had seen, too, and apparently understood.
“Sophia, don’t!” Carrie cried, and they both rushed forward.
Sophia’s knees gave way, and she crumpled to the ground before them. She emitted a small but intense moan of pain, and her hand groped beneath her breast.
“Sophia!” Carrie said urgently, and laid her hand over Sophia’s.
She gasped as she touched something slimy, and withdrew her hand abruptly. Sophia pulled her fist away, too, letting it drop into her lap. Carrie stared at it in horror, for Sophia clutched her own extracted heart.
Sophia’s speech was laboured. “This was my plan all along,” she breathed. “Revenge was all I was living for. P—please don’t try to stop me.” She paused, gasped and shuddered. “I’m not as s—strong as I—Isadora was, but I—I’ll…o—only do it l—later if…”
“Sophia, please…” Carrie begged, grasping Sophia’s slender shoulders. Tendrils of Sophia’s pale hair brushed the back of her hands.
Sophia grimaced as she struggled to rise to her feet, and Brendan swooped in suddenly to help her. She leaned against him, her chest heaving as she drew breath unnecessarily, panting in agony. The blade she had used to open herself lay at her feet, and the hint of a pale, ruined bosom peeked from a slash across the bust of her dress. She placed one foot in front of the other, and Brendan let her lean on him heavily as she walked.
“Brendan, what—?” Carrie began.
“I know what it’s like to live as a vampire without the one you love,” he said quietly. “It really is hell. She’s not exaggerating. I won’t try to force her to suffer, if this is what she wants.”
“Do you really think—?” Carrie began.
“She saved both our lives, Carrie. We can at least help her.”
Carrie watched, dumbfounded, as Sophia halted in front of the door in the side of the old warehouse, relying on Brendan for support. “I—I can make it from here,” Sophia said softly, staring into the building.
Smoke had begun to curl out of the doorway, and Carrie looked up to see it pouring from the hole in the wall of the third storey as well, thick and black. She imagined she could smell the faint tang of Isadora’s ash riding out on a dark cloud to be spread over the city of Charlotte. The warehouse’s brick walls remained firm, but the wooden floors and the assorted detritus of long-abandoned industry were surely aflame inside. The continuous crackle and occasional loud pops of burning wood were the only sounds. Isadora’s shrieks had long since faded and died. Sophia straightened her shoulders and stepped through the doorway, disappearing through a wall of smoke.
* * * *
Carrie had turned the shower knob all the way to the right, and she relished the feeling of water that would have scalded her human skin, so hot she was sure it was washing away every trace of the night’s events.
“Are you going to let me have a turn befo
re all the warm water is gone?” Brendan asked teasingly from behind her.
Carrie looked down at her feet. The water that swirled around them was clear, no longer grey with ash and dust.
“I guess so,” she said, stepping aside so Brendan could stand beneath the shower head. “So you really want to leave tomorrow night?” she asked, admiring his broad shoulders and muscular buttocks, slick with water and surrounded by steam, as she stood behind him.
“If you’re up for it,” Brendan replied.
Carrie twirled a toe in the half an inch of water that filled the bottom of the tub, creating a tiny whirlpool. “I guess I am,” she said.
It was time to get away. Anne had called her several times since Carrie had phoned her to quit the morning after the wedding. Her former employer had sounded increasingly worried with each message—she obviously hadn’t believed Carrie’s excuse that she had taken a different job, one that paid a great deal more. The last message Anne had left had hinted at her stopping by the apartment to check on Carrie. Carrie felt guilty for lying, but she would never be able to explain the truth to Anne, let alone her family members, who would be even more hurt and bewildered.
“Definitely tomorrow,” she affirmed.
“Yeah?” Brendan said, lathering his hair into a white froth of shampoo, which would hopefully banish the odour of smoke from his dark locks. “Does this have anything to do with your sister calling yesterday to invite you to drive down to Raleigh to see her?”
“Yeah,” Carrie replied. “I don’t think it would be a good idea, somehow, do you?”
“Mmmm,” he said to indicate he’d heard as he lifted his face and let the water rain down on it.
Carrie took a drenched lock of Brendan’s dark, faintly reddish hair between her fingers and tugged gently. He turned to face her, and she wrapped her arms around his soap-slicked waist. “Do you think New England will be that different from here?” she asked.
“I don’t think it will be as sunny, thank God,” he replied. “But other than that…no, not too different. Not for a vampire, anyway.”
Carrie squeezed her arms tightly around his ribs, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway,” she said. “I could live anywhere, as long as I was with you.”
“I feel the same way,” Brendan breathed, pressing his mouth against hers and kissing her as water beaded around their lips.
“So we’ll leave at dusk?” Carrie asked when their mouths parted.
“As soon as the sun sets,” he said.
“Then we’d better get some sleep,” she remarked. “I’m tired, aren’t you?” The ordeal in the old warehouse had been taxing, and despite the fact dawn was still a couple of of hours away, Carrie felt exhausted. Sleep promised escape, both from physical demands and the mental images she had accumulated during the course of the night.
“I am,” Brendan said, “but…” He pulled Carrie tight against himself, and the hard swell of his erection pressed between her legs. “We started something earlier tonight, and I’d like to finish it.”
Minutes later, Carrie lay wet and dripping on the bed, her hair splayed across the pillows in damp disarray. Brendan lowered himself between her slick thighs, his wet skin gliding smoothly over hers. Carrie lay tense beneath him.
“Relax,” he said. “If this is the last night we’re going to spend in this bed, we might as well make a mess.”
“It’s not that,” Carrie sighed.
“Then what is it?” Brendan cupped one of her breasts firmly in his hand, sending a little rivulet of water streaming down her side.
“I can’t forget the last time you took me like this…and Isadora appeared. When she kicked you and you hit the wall, it made such a horrible sound, I thought maybe—”
Brendan silenced her with a kiss. “I’m a little tougher than you realise,” he said. “You shouldn’t have worried. I promised you, didn’t I, that I’d be your husband for eternity and a year? Well, I meant it.”
About the Author
Ranae Rose lives on the US East Coast with her husband, child, horses and dog.
Romance is her genre of choice for both reading and writing, and she strives to write passionately.
Email: [email protected]
Ranae loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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