Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy Page 3

Beside me, Vladimir’s hands stiffen on the reins and the horses whinny in protest as he jerks them to a halt. Puffs of dust filter up from their hooves as they dig into the road to obey their master’s demand. I tense as he lifts his nose to the air and closes his eyes. A sweet smell, like fresh honey from a hive, fills my nose and I turn in search of the source as Lucien leans over my back from the wagon bed and sniffs deep. His lips peel back over his teeth into a horrid smile.

  “Do we have time, brother?” Lucien’s throaty voice sends my skin crawling yet again as I shrink back from his touch. His broad chest is heavy upon my shoulders. I can feel the muscle that clothes his body, enabling him to wield his broadsword with such precision and might.

  Vladimir turns his face up to the moonless sky and watches as wisps of dawn crawl across the horizon. I too watch, longing for day to come. My mother always told me that light drives away evil. Surely Vladimir will run from the rising sun, for there are no men more evil than these two.

  My hope plummets as Vladimir nods. Lucien whoops as he leaps from the stalled wagon and sprints toward a small, single-roomed cabin with smoke spiraling from a crumbling chimney, nestled within a grove of trees. His feet hardly appear to touch the ground as he weaves among the old oaks.

  Sheep, pigs, and a dairy cow mill about the fenced yard beyond. Chickens peck at the sparsely grassed yard in search of a meal. The previous day’s laundry hangs on the line, billowing in the wind. My gaze falls upon nightshirts that are far too small to belong to an adult.

  Lucien leaps over the roughly hewn wooden fence and bursts through the front door. It splinters on impact, though he shows no signs of injury as he disappears into the darkened room. I turn away, sickened by the frightened screams that escape through glassless windows.

  “There will be no stopping him now.” Vladimir does not sound the least bit grieved by this. I flinch as his hand falls atop my forearm. “Would you care to join us?”

  My mouth gapes in open horror at the thought. I frantically shake my head and pull back from his touch, tucking my hand under the tattered folds of my dress.

  “A pity. More for me I suppose.” His sentiment spills from his lips as he tosses the reins into my lap and races to join his brother.

  The sounds of children sobbing tear at my heart. I plug my ears and double over, praying for a merciful end for this poor family. Is this really happening? Must I sit here and listen to another family massacred? To children’s last screams?

  Terror roots me in place for only a heartbeat before I am on the move. I shove the reins from my lap and scramble to the edge of my seat.

  He will find you, my mind whispers frantically as I ball up my bloodied skirts and leap from the wagon. I land with far less grace than Lucien and Vladimir and collapse to the ground.

  I hold my breath as I look up through matted strands of hair to see if Vladimir has appeared in the doorway of the cabin, yet it remains empty. I close my eyes against a final guttural shriek that emerges from the cabin. The sudden silence is far less terrifying than the slurping sounds that follow after.

  Scrambling to my feet, I hesitate as I look to the road before me and the forest beside. I am unfamiliar with this land. How far can I reach before he discovers my absence?

  The darkness of the woods terrifies me so I take to the road, careful not to twist an ankle on the deeply rutted path. The horses whinny softly behind me. I do not look back. I dare not or lose my nerve completely.

  My bare feet slap against the hardened earth as I urge myself forward. The sound reverberates in my ears, drowning out the sounds behind me.

  Those poor children. My throat tightens at the thought of the terror they must have endured in their final moments. Is that how my brother and sister felt before they were butchered?

  Tears blur my vision and I angrily swipe them away. There was nothing I could do to save that family, though knowing this truth and accepting it are entirely different things. I try to focus on something else, something tangible.

  What gives Vladimir and Lucien such strength and speed? I look down at my hands as I run, turning them over. Do I possess the same ability now?

  I cry out as my right foot lodges in a rut and spills me to the ground. Dirt and stones bury into my palms as I attempt to break my fall. The skin around my foot stretches as a horrible pop rises from my ankle.

  “No!” I beat at the ground. Raising the hem of my dress, I can see that something is terribly wrong with my ankle. The bone presses too tightly against the skin. The pressure is maddening, as if at any moment my flesh will simply give way and bone will spill out onto the ground.

  Pain lances up my leg as I attempt to pry my foot free from the earth. I bite down on my lip as fresh tears appear in the corners of my eyes. Glancing behind to see if I have been pursued, I am startled to see only an empty road behind me. Squinting against the rising sun, I realize the cabin and wagon are nowhere to be found.

  How did I travel so far? I am not out of breath, nor feel the slightest bit exerted. As I turn forward, I realize with a start that I am nearly on the outskirts of the small village. That is impossible.

  “May I help at all?”

  I whip around to see a middle-aged man approaching from the edge of the woods. His clothes are worn and made from animal pelts. A long, shaggy beard clings to his chin, wafting in the morning breeze. A faded hat with a wide brim perches atop his head, no doubt concealing a bald patch befitting his age.

  “No, I…” I pause to glance behind me. I am running out of time. “I am perfectly fine, though I thank you for your concern, sir.”

  “A wee bit stubborn, to be sure. However, this road is no fitting place for a lady.” He adjusts a leather sack slung over his back and leaves the tall grasses along the side of the road to stoop at my side. His gaze trails down from my shawl to my soiled wedding dress. His face visibly pales as his eyes widen with shock. “What has happened to you, girl?”

  “Please…” I lean forward. “You must leave. If he finds you…”

  The man shakes his head and I notice hints of auburn glinting in his beard in the newly risen sunlight. It pierces through the forest, chasing away the shadows that linger. Beneath his weathered wrinkles and kind eyes I would wager he was a fine-looking man once. “I shall not be leaving you alone. Not in such a dire state.”

  I fight to still the manic thumping of my heart at the feel of his hands against my skin. He wraps his arm about my leg and gently works to release it from the rut, beating at the hardened earth. I close my eyes against the pain, gritting my teeth on the final tug. My heartbeat thumps loudly in my ears as I close my eyes to the nausea that sweeps over me.

  “There you are.”

  I open my eyes as his gently releases my leg and sinks back onto his knees. “Thank… thank you.” I finish weakly as I find my gaze rapt on the steady pulse at his throat. The thrumming of his heart rises in my ears as I instinctively lean closer.

  The man watches me, his deep-set eyes wide with compassion. I realize with a start that I can smell him. Not the scent of the dried animal pelts nor the damp grass that clings to his boots nor the scent of his skin. It is the scent of his blood that calls to me.

  It is a bouquet of cardamom and cinnamon, two scents that I would not normally have attributed with blood, yet I find it to be disturbingly pleasing. It reminds me of the pies my mother used to set upon our windowsill to cool on a winter’s afternoon.

  “Are you well?”

  I blink, surprised to see that his brow is sunken deep with concern. “Yes.” I offer him a small smile of reassurance as I clear my throat and draw back from him. “I am quite well now. I thank you for your assistance. That was very kind of you.”

  “‘Twas nothing, my lady.”

  My smile falters at the term. “I am no lady.”

  “Pardon me. I assumed by the fine linens you wear…” He trails off with uncertainty.

  I look down at the finely made dress. The silky fabric cost my father dearly,
though his pride would not allow him to wed me in anything less than the best. My mother would have been delighted to stitch my dress even if he had not insisted to help with the great expense.

  “It was a gift,” I reply vaguely as I run my fingers across my soiled skirts. I can only imagine what a state I must look to this stranger. Covered in blood from head to bare foot. I look as if I aided in slaughtering a pig instead of being wed.

  “Let us get you up, shall we?” He makes a move to draw close yet pauses as I throw out my hand in alarm.

  “Please, sir, you have done me a great kindness. Now I must beg of you to leave.” I can see the determination in his eyes and know that his honor will not allow him to follow my plea. “If you remain, you will lose your life. I promise you this.”

  His gaze narrows as he looks beyond me to the empty road. I know he will not be able to see the abandoned cart. Nevertheless, I know Vladimir is coming. There is little time. “Please. You must leave me.”

  “I cannot, miss.”

  I reach out with a trembling hand and grasp the furs that drape his arms. There is muscle beneath the thick layers of pelts, though I know they will be useless against Vladimir and Lucien. “You must. Do you not have a family to care for?”

  “I do.” His cap nearly falls from his head as he nods enthusiastically. “A wife and three wee ones.”

  A pained smile tugs at my lips. Perhaps this man is not as old as I first assumed. “Think of them.”

  “I am.” He reaches for me and wraps his strong hands about my waist. “When my daughters are grown, I would like to think a man would cross their path and aid them just as I am doing for you.”

  I want to protest, to shove him aside, yet the pain in my ankle forces me to bite down on my screams. My mind grows woozy as I attempt to hop forward. I nearly collapse as the man strains to hold me upright.

  “My name is Miron. I am afraid I did not catch yours, miss.” His calloused hands tighten as I attempt another hop. My leg trembles beneath me. I labor to focus on answering him as darkness begins to appear along the corners of my vision. I have never been very tolerant of pain. Mother used to tell me I was too sensitive.

  “Roseline… Dragomir,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

  “Dragomir?” He pauses, as if attempting to draw up a long-forgotten memory. “The Dragomirs of Brasov?”

  “You know of my family?” My voice wavers alarmingly.

  “I do.” He scoops a hand under my legs and lifts me into his arms just before I collapse. “Had dealings with your father a time or two.”

  I can tell by the sharp edge to his tone that the dealings did not go well. “I am sorry. My father was not known for his generosity in business.”

  “That he was not.” Miron offers me a small smile as he shifts me in his arms and turns toward the town ahead. I have never been to Rasnov before. My father never let me leave the high walls that surrounded Brasov. He said it was too dangerous. Adela and I often snuck through the wall to reach the meadows that grew at the foot of the mountains. It was there that we discovered flower nectar that was as sweet as honey and spring fawns who, if given space and time, would learn to come eat from your palm, yet we were never allowed to explore farther.

  “My home is just around the bend. My Ileana will be happy to care to your foot.”

  “No!” Fear floods back in through the haze of pain. Fear of more death, more blood on my hands. “Please, you mustn't take me there. I beg of you.”

  “I thought we had settled this, miss.”

  Echoes of the screams from within the cabin I left behind spike my panic and I lash out at the man. Balling my fingers into a fist, I slam against his shoulder.

  His eyes widen with pain as I hear a snap and tumble from his arms. I crash to the earth, gagging as pain roils through my leg. Miron stumbles back, clutching his shoulder as his face reddens.

  “I am sorry.” I gasp as I clutch my stomach, pleading silently not to be sick in front of this man.

  “You hit me.” The statement is edged with wild disbelief.

  I stare up at him, knowing I have wounded him far beyond a physical marring. “Better a broken arm than a body without a head.”

  He staggers back, nearly tripping over his fallen sack of pelts. “You are mad.”

  “No,” I whisper as my vision swims before me. “However, the one coming for me is.”

  FOUR