The Dark Rose

by Ramsey, Valentine

  Seeing no other way to please him she agreed. “I will.”

  “I also wanted to talk to you regarding a darker situation that has come to my attention.”

  Could there be such another? Her heart thought other.

  “My spies have heard disturbing whispers of a possible attack on Rose’s. You being my first concern—” Ironically enough, she thought. “I’ve decided to place an extra guard on you. Isaac, I thought, though he is in Europe and—”

  He went rigid in alert. Pan followed his gaze towards the entrance. Andre, Hector and Louis were rushing towards them. Everyone turned in their seats, looking around as it wasn’t exactly a reassuring sight, but one that caused a certain amount of fright.

  Andre came directly to her side, hovering over her. “A sniper has been spotted,” he said quietly to Victor as Hector and Louis’s eyes were in constant motion.

  “An assassination?” Victor said, stunned.

  Andre nodded. “Yes.” He met Pan’s scared eyes.

  Anger blossomed on Victor’s face. “Who would dare? Not even the Gray’s are so bold.”

  “Cylar and Raphael chased him away. Anton has brought your car around.”

  “We need to get you out of here,” Louis said.

  Standing, Victor buttoned his robes, his ruby cufflinks flashing like glittery drops of blood. “Andre, I trust you to take care of my daughter.”

  “With my life.”

  “Sir.” Louis glanced around anxiously.

  Victor glided gracefully away.

  “Andre,” Pan said, as he pulled her up.

  “It’s alright.”

  Stopping in front of the huge windows, Victor looked around, waiting for them to follow. Andre pulled her around the table, his larger body blocking hers when Victor’s wine glass suddenly exploded, spraying her with blood.

  “Pan!” Victor roared, but Louis and Hector grabbed his arms, dragging him away.

  Pan didn’t have time for anything but a gasp as Andre dove over her just as the table was peppered with a barrage of bullets. Screams erupted loud and piercing as people scrambled to get out of the line of fire.

  Pan hit the ground hard as Andre crouched over her, his face contorted in a snarl. “Stay down! There’s a sniper across the street!”

  Shielding her face with her arms, Pan blinked when something wet splashed her cheek. She wiped it as another drop of blood fell. Pan looked up at Andre with huge eyes as it was blossoming on his chest from a bullet wound.

  “Let’s go!” He snatched her up in his arms, holding her to his chest like she was a child.

  Pan clutched him tight as he blurred fast through the restaurant, glass shattering around them as a spray of bullets followed. Hunching over her, Andre leaped through a window, the glass crashing, raining down on them. Running to the car, bullets thudded into the ground, sending up swirling dust and dirt. Pan let out an involuntary scream.

  Reaching the Audi, Andre ran to the driver door and tossed her in. Pan scrambled over the council as he jumped in. Revving the engine, he threw it in reverse and gunned the gas.

  “Hold on!” he yelled as they shot back.

  Bullets slammed into the hood and cracked the bulletproof glass.

  “Keep down!” He grabbed her neck, forcing her to double over as he whipped the car around in a wide circle, tires screeching. Pan hit the door, knocking her head. Crying out, she clutched it.

  Throwing it in drive, Andre had them racing down the street. He blew through the red light, clipping a sedan that made them spin. Pan screamed again, but his firm grip on her neck kept her from slamming into the door again. Giving the peddle a lead foot he sped down the cobblestone street, swerving in and out of traffic.

  The deafening cacophony of gunshots had stopped, replaced by her sobs. Pan hadn’t even realized she was crying. Wiping her face with trembling hands, she sat up, pushing her hair out of her face. She looked at Andre.

  “You’re shot!”

  “It’s already healing.” He ran his hand across her chest, breast, waist, and down her hips. “You’re not hurt.”

  Reaching the Rose Mansion, sentinels were swarming the grounds; their eyes alight with apprehension, the air tense with anticipation. Pulling around to the front of the house where her father stood on the steps, Pan threw open the door and ran up them.

  “My child!” Victor said, rushing to her and catching her up in his arms. Clutching her tight, he let out a relieved breath. “Thank you Andre.”

  “My lord,” Andre said absentmindedly. He had his shirt pulled up revealing his ripped abdomen. His body had already begun rejecting the bullet. Fingers pinching, he extracted it the rest of the way.

  Cylar held out his palm and Andre dropped it on it.

  “I’ll have this analyzed,” Cylar said. “But chances are it will come back untraceable.”

  Pan peeked from her father’s chest to see Raphael staring at her horrorstruck. She was covered in Andre’s blood, her dress probably glittery with shards of glass. She looked away.

  “Did you see anything?” Anton asked.

  Andre shook his head. “No, their perch was high. Whoever you chased away must have been a decoy.”

  “And a good one at that,” Cylar said. “I didn’t recognize their scent, but proof that it was a Gray was left on sight.”

  Pan’s eyes snapped open. A Gray? No way. What proof? It must be a spoof.

  “But I’ll know it from here on out,” Cylar said with promise. His talent was hunting. He didn’t like when people got away from him.

  “You find them!” Victor said, voice shaking with rage. His hold tightened on her. “You question them and then kill them on sight. If you don’t it will be your blight!”

  They bowed their heads. “Yes, reguis.”

  Her body was dead exhausted from the fear, her mind alive with thoughts. Taking a hot shower, Pan didn’t rush the process, but washed slowly making sure she scrubbed away all of the blood and glass. She stood fascinated, watching it swirl down the drain.

  Finished, Pan dried off and lotioned, her skin pink and tender from the scorching water. Towel drying her hair, she sat at her vanity and brushed it out going through the motions of getting ready for bed as she didn’t know what else to do. It all just seemed so unreal.

  Death threats she had grown up with, expected, but she had never been exposed to any of them played out. The culprit had always been caught before they could act.

  Knowing she needed to warn Dom not to come over, Pan fetched her purse for her cell phone. She had dropped it by the door when coming in. Picking it up, glass fell. Not wanting to trail it everywhere, she kneeled and dumped everything on the floor. There wasn’t much. Picking up her lipstick, a spare barrette, a mini lotion and the phone, she left the rest to be cleaned up later.

  Setting the stuff on the bedside table, Pan crawled in bed. Turning her phone on, it played a little song then beeped like crazy. There were seven voicemails. Checking them, she found as she knew she would, they were all from Dom.

  She listened to the last one he left an hour ago. “My love,” he said. “I just wanted to hear your voice on the message again. I know you’re meeting your father, but…I can’t stop calling. It’s an infliction, only the sound of your voice will cure me. I won’t call again, I promise.”

  Smiling, Pan speed dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring.

  “I’m going to make you regret making me wait so long to hear your voice.” Laughter laced his tone.

  “Dom, there was an attack.”

  He was quiet as he absorbed that. Then: “Explain,” he ordered.

  Telling only of the attack and not her father’s reason for the meeting, when she was finished he said intensely, “It wasn’t us Pan. I would know. We didn’t do it, I swear on my life.”

  “I believe you. It was just…so scary.”

  “It’s everything I can do not to come to you right now. You don’t know how hard I’m fighting.”

  “I know,
but you can’t.” Pan looked out into her garden. Sheba slinked in and leaped on the bed. It sunk under her great weight. “The security is tighter than I have ever seen it,” she said, petting her. “Guards are swarming everywhere. It’s too big a risk right now.”

  “But being away from you is like the moon failing to rise. Devastating.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Something that had no place infiltrating my thoughts until the other night: Deacon.” It sounded like the thought anguished him. “I fear I may have created a monster.”

  Pan had considered it as well, but it wasn’t her place to question the loyalty of a friend or…ex-friend. Dom was already grieved enough about what he had done.

  Dom sighed. “I don’t know Pan. He’s very unpredictable, but I don’t think he would do anything so extreme.”

  “Then he didn’t. You trusted him with your life at least give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “This is pitiful,” he said angrily. “You were nearly killed and yet you try to protect those who are at possible fault.” He let out an aggravated breath. “I’ll send Urijah to find and question him.”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  “What I think is best, you refuse to test. I know I could get to you.”

  “Don’t even try it.”

  Dom chuckled. “I like you all protective.”

  Lying back, Pan covered her legs with the blankets. “I’m very territorial over what’s mine.”

  “Ooo, say I’m yours again.”

  Pan laughed. “You’re mine, all mine. But,” her playful mood deflated. “There’s something else I need to tell you—” She rubbed her brow.

  “What?” Dom asked with dark apprehension.

  “My father,” Pan sighed. “He’s put my heart up for sale, staked a sold sign to my chest, talked prices with Raphael and Gaston and now he wants me to sign on the dotted line. I am no longer mine.”

  “You’re right, because you are mine. Don’t panic so. I’ll never let that happen.”

  + Chapter 24 +

  The Hounds of Hell

  Pan was able to sleep in as Victor didn’t want her attending school until the assassin was caught or information of the attack was bought. She was glad for this since she had spent all night and well into the early morning on the phone to Dom.

  Skipping school to be with her, Brighton, Paul, Danna, and Isla came over, crashing in bed with her until late afternoon. Then Magda and Gertrude came in as their usual nuisances, pulling the curtains open, unleashing the beastly sunshine against them, demanding Pan be showered and dressed. The others went down to the kitchens to wait for her.

  Pan stepped into a soft rose colored dress, the material sort of metallic. Gertrude zipped her up as Magda brushed her hair. Pulling the short side of the part back, she pinned it with a jeweled rose barrette.

  “There,” Magda said, looking at Pan in the mirror, smoothing the sides of her dress. “Perfect as ever.”

  Pan saw Magda’s chin begin to quiver, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “Magda,” Pan said worried. “Why are you crying?”

  Magda flapped her hand, turning away. “It is not crying when a tear has yet to be shed.”

  Pan tried to look around her, but Magda blocked her. “You’re about to cry.”

  “Hush now,” Magda said, wiping her eyes. “Don’t make a spectacle out of it.”

  “But—”

  “You’re but a babe! A lamb, and about to be married! So soon it seems a sham!”

  Pan clenched her fist. “I am not—” A knock interrupted her.

  “I’ll get it,” Gertrude said, hustling to answer it as Magda snatched a tissue from the vanity and dabbed her eyes.

  Gritting her teeth, Pan looked to see Gertrude open the door to reveal Andre.

  “Is she decent?” he asked. Gertrude nodded and Andre strode in. “Your father is in the receiving room. Some guests have arrived and he wishes you to join him in greeting them.”

  Pan frowned. She was usually alerted when strangers were coming.

  “What guests?”

  “You’ll see.” His expression was dark. Whoever it was he wasn’t pleased by.

  Grabbing her ballet slippers, Pan followed. Slipping one on, she hopped on the other foot to get the other on then rushed to catch up to him.

  She took his hand, pulling him to slow. “Stop walking so fast. Take pity on me, I’m a lot shorter then you.”

  He chuckled.

  “Pan!”

  Andre growled aggravated, but Pan tugged him to double back. The others were running down a hall in a sneaking sort of manner.

  “What? My father wants to see me.”

  “Wolves are here,” Isla hissed, casting around anxiously.

  Pan’s eyes widen. “Werewolves? You’re not serious?” Her father would never.

  “Yes!” Brighton said. He was supporting Danna who was looking a little green.

  Pan stroked Danna’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I threw up.” She sounded rough. “Second time this morning.”

  “We’re taking her home,” Brighton said.

  “Maybe she’s knocked up,” Paul joked, but Isla gasped and Danna’s eyes widened as she considered it.

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Who have you been sleeping with?” Brighton demanded.

  “None of your business,” she snapped, but smiled to herself.

  Knowing her fate would end in a cold sterile death, Danna had always wanted to experience childbirth in all its glorious mirth. She had begged her parents, but they refused, claiming a human fetus conceived in her would taint her genetic line. She had bitterly given up hope when they threatened to banish her if she defied them.

  “All right,” Andre said, annoyed. “The whore’s pregnant, not surprising. Let’s go.”

  Danna gasped indignantly.

  “Andre!” Pan said, as he pulled her away.

  “Asshole!” Danna yelled and Andre flipped her off.

  The architecture of the receiving room was made to intimidate, shadowed and gothic with a chilling atmosphere of despair. Her father sat in his throne under a pointed structure of black elaborate trim. He stood, offering his hand as she climbed the stairs, but one of her slippers fell off and Pan had to double back and get it. Taking his hand, he led her to the smaller throne next to his. Andre took position behind her.

  Seated again, Victor waved and Hector strode from the shadows, tall, dark and brooding. As he left through the doors, Pan heard voices. She leaned forward, trying to see.

  “Be still,” Victor said. He looked uneasy.

  Pan settled back in her seat.

  Following Hector, three people, two males and a female strode in. Wearing brown leather pants laced up the sides with matching flight boots, the woman led the two men, her head held high, her long black hair adorned with braids and feathers. Her skin a lush gold, tribal dot tattoos decorated her black almond eyes.

  Stopping at the stairs, Hector walked back to stand in the shadows with Raphael, Cylar, Anton and Louis. Hands respectfully behind their backs, the eyes of the two males followed him alertly.

  Features beautiful, sharp, and feline the female looked down her nose at them with a haughty arrogance Pan didn’t feel eradiated completely through her. It felt like she was trying to present herself as a force to be reckoned with, but her visage couldn’t lie as there was a gleam of fear in her eyes.

  “Your majesty,” she said, and all three bowed their heads. She looked up. “I am Princess Neoma Bloodgood of the Lomasi pack. You contacted us for services?”

  Pan looked between the Princess and her father, mouth hanging open. He was doing business with werewolves. He hated them near equal as the Gray’s!

  “Where is your father, Davin Bloodgood?” Victor inquired lightly.

  “For political reasons he cannot show his knowledge of our mercenary command, which I
believe you will understand.”

  Victor inclined his head that he did.

  “I handle the soldiers we hire out,” Neoma Bloodgood said proudly. “And as you expressed a need for the best, I brought them for you to test.” She gestured to the men behind her. They stepped forward bringing their arms around in front of them.

  Pan heard Andre’s clothes rustle as he shifted behind her. The blue eyes of the blond male flickered to him then fell on her. Neither of the men looked Native American like the Princess and werewolves that usually were had long stemming Shaman blood.

  “Khalil Hakim—” the Princess said, and the dark haired one with heavy beard stub nodded. “And Joaquin Buschelle.” The blond grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “They’re rouge wolves that work through our pack as we allow their harboring in our territory—for a percentage of course.”

  Victor scratched his chin, appraising them. “The best you say, better than all the rest?”

  “They have never failed a mission. Strong and determined their minds focus wholeheartedly on it not to be detoured. They will protect your ogin with a fierceness as if she were their own pup.”

  Pan frowned at the unfamiliar Native American word. As if knowing her thoughts, Andre leaned close and translated in a whisper, “It means ‘wild rose’.”

  Well, she was known for her reputation.

  “Show me,” Victor said.

  Neoma Bloodgood snapped her fingers and stepped back. Khalil Hakim took off his coat and folded it, setting it on the stairs. He pulled off his shirt next doing the same. His chest was broad and muscular, covered in black hair. Joaquin Buschelle didn’t take such delicate measures, but yanked off his leather coat, ripped off his top and in a excited burst while struggling to undo his pants, he spasmed and exploded, his pants falling in shreds.

  The force of the change caused him to flip in the air and as he landed he was a sooty white wolf. It happened so fast Pan hadn’t even seen his nudity.

  Khalil shook his head and muttered, “You couldn’t wait.” As he stripped off his pants, Pan startled when Andre’s hand appeared, covering her eyes. She couldn’t help but giggle. Victor glanced at her and Pan covered her mouth, but he took no concern. There was a snort and Andre retracted his arm.