Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy

by Amy Miles

My legs ache and my chest burns by the time I reach the other side of the lake. It is far wider than I first thought. I drag myself up the shore, pulling myself along with tree roots that sink deep into the water.

  I roll onto my back and breathe, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest. I am weary. I would love nothing more than to find a place to hide, though this is what Fane expects, and if he does, so will the others.

  Determined to do the opposite, I turn and head toward my home. Trees lash against my skin as I sprint ahead, running full out. The moon seems to stop directly overhead as I push myself beyond my limits. I stay clear of the road and villages, terrified of the thought of unleashing a blood-crazed immortal on innocents.

  No. This is my fight.

  The air is cool against my skin, though I still feel as if I am on fire. The soles of my boots warm with friction. Sweat beads in my halter, yet still I run. I pause only for a moment at a stream to moisten my mouth before moving on.

  Finally the moon begins to shift once more. I can feel the change in the forest. The scent is different. The land calls to me.

  I have reached the outer edge of the forests that surround Brasov. Fane expects me to enter the town, to choose my home to hide within. I will not do so. Instead, I skirt the outer walls and head back into the forest, drawing them away from the mortals.

  The terrain here is rough, strewn with rock formations that lead to chasms high enough to send a man to his death should he lose his footing. I know of this place. Heard tales of how you can easily get lost. This is where I will make my stand.

  Crouching atop the mountain face, I survey the land before me. All is quiet, yet I sense they are drawing near. Surely they are as tired as I am from the run.

  Slipping down through a crag in the rock, I drag Barrett’s dagger across my palm once more, reopening the flesh that has begun to slowly seal over. I press my palm to the rock as I run, staining the confined space with my scent.

  They will come and I will be ready.

  I bind my wound and climb into a darkened crevice to wait. Time drags out and my muscles begin to cramp. I dare not shift my position or emerge to see if anyone has arrived. I watch the moonlight against the opposite rock face. It inches forward with maddening indifference.

  My eyelids grow heavy and my head lolls to the side. I can feel the drain of blood loss on my mind. My thoughts grow sluggish and the tug of sleep more insistent.

  The sound of a stone pattering down from above sends me into a silent panic. They have found me.

  I can hear their whispers from above. There are six of them. Do the others come up from below to trap me? Are they working together as a team, or is it every man for himself now? This group is not the type to share glory.

  “Climb down there and flush her out,” I hear Lucien growl. A heated argument breaks out from above. I curl in on myself, clutching my dagger tightly to my chest as I wait for the inevitable. My scent will only throw them off for so long.

  A shrill cry echoes against the rock as a dark shape hurtles past me. He lands with a sickening thud. The sounds of bones snapping make my throat go dry.

  “No!” A clash of swords rings out. I listen to the scuffling of feet and grunting on the rock above. A deep growl makes my skin pimple as Lucien battles with an unseen enemy.

  “Have we forgotten why we are here?” Barrett’s deep voice booms. “We are here for the girl, and here you two are squabbling over nothing.”

  “He is my brother!” a strangled voice cries.

  That must have been Rymus or Cain Lucien shoved off the cliff. I know little of these two, only what I need to. They are here to kill me. At the moment, I am grateful Lucien’s anger has now narrowed the numbers to seven against one.

  “Was your brother,” Barrett mutters. “I would not press him, Cain. Lucien seems to be in a foul mood tonight.”

  “I do not care about his mood. He killed Rymus and the others. How many more of us will you take out before the night is over, Lucien?”

  The others? I silently count the scents that filter down from above. Perhaps it is a trick. Perhaps they speak such things to surprise me, though I doubt Cain is of sound mind at the moment. No. Lucien has killed the others. That means there are only five that remain now. Fane. Lucien. Cain. Barrett. Castor.

  “Enough.” My head whips up at the sound of Fane’s voice. “This is getting us nowhere. She is obviously not here.”

  “Is she not?” The cramp in my leg intensifies as Lucien’s voice calls down into the darkness. It sounds louder in this small space. “You seem so sure of yourself.”

  I hear footsteps overhead, the vibrations felt through the rock. “She tricked us once with shedding blood. Do you not think she would do it again?”

  Bless you, Fane. I wait in agonized silence for Lucien to mull over his words.

  “That is precisely why I know she is here.” My throat rises into my throat. “If you want to live to see another dawn, you will climb down there and flush her out. Is that understood, Cain?”

  A strangled affirmative reaches me a moment before I hear fingernails sliding down the rock face. His boots search for ledges to hold himself aloft. I can smell his sweat and also his fear.

  Good. I wait for him to scramble down the cliff side, his face pressed against the stone. I shift silently in my hovel and wait. I know the instant his hand slides into my blood trail. The scent of his need becomes potent and his heartbeat rises.

  “She is here. I can smell her,” he calls to the men above.

  “Can you see her?” Fane calls down.

  Cain is silent for a moment as he cranes his neck around. The moonlight does not reach the bottom of the crevice. It narrows below him, making it nearly impossible to slip any lower. “No. I smell her though.”

  “Of course you do,” a deep voice drawls from above. Castor has arrived, or perhaps he was there all along and has only now decided to speak. “She smeared blood across the walls. It is another trick.”

  “A clever one,” Lucien muses. I hear him begin to pace. He stops, and I hold my breath. “You are sure she would return to her home?”

  I can almost imagine Fane nodding. “Yes. You know as well as I do how losing her family has tormented her. She is alone and frightened. She will return to the one place she felt safe.”

  I will my heart to stop beating as I strain to hear. For several moments, all is quiet, and then I hear the one thing I hoped for most. “We will return to Brasov. Cain and Timen will remain here in case she returns. She will not see the light of dawn.”

  Pressing my palms to the rock, I feel the men sprint away. I release a small sigh of relief and let my forehead rest upon the stone.

  “Keep watch for me,” Cain calls from somewhere below. I push myself inch by inch toward the exit, straining to see him.

  “Do not do anything foolish. Lucien said to stand guard,” Timen shouts down.

  “I do not obey Lucien. My brother needs me.” I can hear Cain’s boots hit the crevice floor, hear his shirt rip as he struggles to squeeze through the narrow space. None of the hunters are small men. Each boast large chests and sizeable arms.

  An idea strikes me and I realize I have no choice but to act. If Cain reaches Rymus, he can regenerate him and I will have three immortals upon me. I cannot let that happen.

  Peeking out from my hiding place, I see that a wisp of cloud is drawing near to the moon. I clutch my dagger between my teeth and inch my fingers toward the opening, ready to pull myself free the instant this hole falls deep into shadow.

  One. Two. Three. I take a deep breath and latch my fingers around the lip of the hole and thrust myself free. My nails score deep into the rock face as I dig in to slow my descent.

  I see the glint of Cain’s eyes a second before I shove my dagger deep into his chest. His mouth falls slack as I twist, severing his heart.

  “Cain?” Timen calls from above. I duck low as he comes to the edge. “I heard a noise.”

  I search aro
und me for Rymus, though I cannot see him. This bothers me, yet I cannot linger. It will take only a moment of silence to alert Timen. He will either climb down to me to investigate or call for help. I cannot allow him to do that.

  Casting a glance overhead, I see that I am running out of time. The cloud has shifted and the full light of the moon will be upon me in mere moments. I leap to the wall and climb as silently as I am able. Timen calls twice more, though he is met with only silence.

  As I near the mouth of the crevice, I flatten against the wall and breathe deep. I can smell his fear. It tastes sweet on my tongue.

  I flip the dagger in my hand and grasp it between my fingers as Fane taught me. One chance to survive. Aim high.

  I lean back from the wall and wait. The instant Timen’s head appears, I toss the dagger. It lands with a wet thud. I scramble up the remaining few feet and discover Timen lying on his side, the dagger buried through his eye. His bloody hands clasp the hilt as he tugs. I fear his cries will carry on the wind and alert the others.

  Without hesitation, I stomp on his stomach, hard enough to shove my boot straight through his abdomen. His cries turn into gargled gasps. I fight to ignore the squelching sound when I yank my boot free or the bits that dangle from my foot. Instead, I sink down on my knee and shove the dagger through to the back of his head.

  His hands fall still at his sides. I listen as his heart continues to beat and know my job is not done. I pull my dagger free and plunge it into his chest repeatedly. With each strike, tears spill from my eyes. My stomach roils and my hands quake.

  I can feel his blood upon me, warm and sticky. The dagger clatters to the ground beside me as I fall back, exhausted and horrified by my actions.

  A clap from behind me sends me scrambling to my feet. I turn to find Castor mounting the rock, his body half in and half out of the shadows. “Impressive. I did not think you had it in you.”

  I watch him with growing wariness as he approaches. His spiked mace drags along the ground, scoring the surface of the stone. He seems in no hurry, yet rather appears to be savoring the moment.

  “You may have fooled the others. However, I know your tricks, girl. You think you are clever. I know better.”

  He raises his arm and swings his mace to and fro, mere inches above the ground. I look for my dagger just as Castor slams his boot down upon it. He shoves his foot and sends the blade hurtling into the crevice. He tsks, shaking his head. “We cannot have you getting foolish ideas in that pretty little head of yours, now can we?”

  He raises his mace, placing the wooden stick upon his shoulder so the spiked ball rests against his stomach. He shifts his weight onto one side and stares down at me. “I am not a cruel man, though I do enjoy a good hunt. Your death will come with honor, for you have fought with more bravery than any before you. Therefore, I will give you a choice. A swift death or extended.”

  “That is no choice at all.” I turn my head to the side and spit.

  “Perhaps not.” He taps his finger against the mace. “Have you decided?”

  I pause for a moment, watching as he shifts again. The mace swings slightly, nestling between his side and his arm. “Yes.” I hold up my hands in defeat as I slowly rise. He marks my every movement, though he appears unconcerned. “I have.”

  A grin alights along his face. “Well then, shall we end this?”

  The instant his grip tightens upon his mace, I place my weight onto one foot and launch myself at him. My hands land a bit too high, though it is enough to knock him off balance. His eyes are wide with surprise as he tumbles backward. His skull slams into the stone and his eyes roll back into his head.

  I do not hesitate as I slam my boot down upon his mace. Its spikes pierce the flesh of his arm. I lean into it, placing all of my weight upon the ball. I bite through my lower lip to still my cries as the spikes pierce through my boot and up into my foot. I do not relent until the mace severs bone and cuts through flesh. Castor screams as I bury the spikes into the stone. With him staked to the ground, I pull my foot free, stepping tenderly as I glare down at him.

  I see unrepentant rage staring back at me. Spittle flies from his lips as he curses my name. “You wench. I would have given you a clean death!”

  I nod as I limp up next to his side. “You failed to realize there was a third choice.” His eyes narrow as I smile down at him, fighting to think around the stabbing pain in my foot. “I choose to live.”

  Yanking back my wounded foot, I kick his arm with all of my might. His flesh tears free. His cries echo through the mountains as the portion of his arm beneath his elbow disappears into the night, lost to the caverns below.

  I turn my back on his curses and limp away. Three more to go.

  THIRTY-FIVE