by Caris Roane
Should she ever be captured. The words had a terrible ring to them.
Gerrod pondered all of this. He glanced at Abigail. No smiles right now, just a concern in her eye as she met his gaze.
He turned back to Vojalie. “Can you be more specific about what being a blood rose would mean for Abigail? It is very tempting to think that I might have someone at my side with such an unusual ability. However, it must have ramifications for her.”
He watched Vojalie’s chest rise and fall before she said, “It does which is why I asked earlier what you would be willing to give up for this woman.” Her gaze shifted to Abigail. “I fear your life would change drastically and perhaps not in ways you would wish for. You have come to a crossroads tonight and it won’t be simple. If you choose to stay in Merhaine, to live with Gerrod as his blood rose, you will become a vampire.”
“What?” the word burst from Abigail like a gunshot. “I don’t understand.”
“This makes no sense,” Gerrod added. “She can’t become a vampire. No one can. You have to be born one.”
But Vojalie extended her hand gesturing in Abigail’s direction. “Except, apparently in cases like this.”
Once more she shifted to address Abigail. “You’re already halfway down this road or did you think you were born with your telepathic ability and a frequency that even I can sense?”
“I have a frequency?”
“Abigail has a frequency?”
“The beginnings of one, yes.”
Gerrod stared at the floor. He was caught between two thoughts that held him suspended over a deep chasm. The first thought was that Abigail could become to him something extraordinary, someone who could provide him with endless blood and who could engage in extraordinary sex because she would possess personaly energy waves. Even dwelling on it this little bit set his own frequency to vibrating strongly. This first how-to-benefit Gerrod musing, however, was pathetically selfish and he knew it.
The second thought was that a human should never have to give up her birthright. He would not wish to cease being a vampire. He’d birthed as one, he was long-lived, he enjoyed all the various aspects of his birth genetics.
So this was why Vojalie had asked him the question, ‘What are you to sacrifice for this woman?’ If he understood all the nuances, that if Abigail was to hold onto her humanity, he would have to give up hope of ever having her in his life. That would be his sacrifice.
But it was like being offered a gift, even shown the beauty and breadth of that gift, every unique and desirable facet, then having it snatched away. He could feel his scowl return, heavier, deeper than ever before.
He knew only one thing: For a specie to have to change, well it was as wrong as what the Invictus pairs went through. It was a perversion.
He lifted his gaze to Vojalie. “This is a perversion.”
He had expected Vojalie to protest. Instead, Abigail spoke quickly. “No,” she said, overlaying his arm with her hand. “You’re wrong.”
Gerrod was surprised at the forceful sound in her voice. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do know that what I’ve experienced has felt like a normal progression, something for which I am oddly designed, but I don’t believe for a moment it’s either immoral or unnatural. I also think Vojalie’s concerns are the greater ones anyway.”
Gerrod glanced between the two women. “Which concerns?”
Only then did Abigail frown and sink back into the couch cushions. “I will need to choose between the worlds, to determine to which life I will pledge my greater allegiance, my citizenry, my commitment.”
And the truth is, she added, pathing to him and looking into his eyes once more, we barely know each other, the bonking and shagging notwithstanding.
*** *** ***
Abigail stood in the vast entrance hall of Gerrod’s castle.
So she was a blood rose.
Something so uncommon in Realm history that Gerrod had never heard of it and Vojalie had been forced to search through the old leather tome to find out what she could about the strange condition.
The drive back from the fae’s house had been very quiet. Silent, in fact.
She had no idea what his thoughts were, but during the entire drive, hers had been an internal, mental round robin of weeping, wailing and screaming.
She wanted to stay with Gerrod in his castle and in his arms forever and yet, did she really? What did she know of him, except that he was a lonely, scowling Guard of the Realm, a mastyr vampire who ruled over a million souls of varying species, an admirable man in essentials, a wonderful lover, a good friend, and very hard on himself.
But could any of this, anything really, justify changing biology.
He stood staring at the stone floor, his hands on his hips, the soft leather coat bunched at the waist.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Gerrod turned to face her. She thought it odd that right in this moment he must have been standing in the very center of the massive hall, a large wagon-wheel-like wooden candelabra suspended over his head, though at least some fifteen feet above his tall frame. Was he trying to center himself?
“I honestly do not know what to make of this turn of events. I was looking for an answer more along the lines of, ‘Well, Gerrod, I believe this woman to be your mate, even though she is human.’ That would have been entirely sufficient. The problems would have been more like whether I could persuade you to live in Merhaine at least part of the year or if you would agree to a bodyguard when you worked at the Hollow Tree bakery.
“But this is so much more. This is impossible. You can’t give up your human world. Your connections and involvement with your sister, Megan, alone are paramount.”
Abigail sighed heavily. “That you would say as much, makes this harder still for me.”
“How so?”
“Because I value that you understand how important Megan is in my life.”
“She’s your sister. Of course she’s important. And you have a niece and nephew. Because my birth family lives in one of the European Realms, I think of my castle staff in much the same way. I don’t think I could be asked to give up Gus, for instance.”
“Even with his wide mouth and flappy tongue?”
He smiled just off to one side. Her heart constricted a little more. “He could have a hundred such defects and I would still need him in my home.”
“But would I be able to visit Flagstaff, I mean, if I made this change?”
“You would become vampire and how you perceive the world would change. Your frequencies would grow in strength and it could become uncomfortable to visit at times. You would have blood needs. Your life would be very different from Megan’s, as different as mine is from yours right now.”
And Megan had always relied on her. Always.
But she had a husband now, and yet, it was to Abigail that Megan always turned. When her girls were sick, Abigail had taken shifts caring for them through the night, for several nights in a row.
Besides, Abigail had always seen her Merhaine adventure as just that, a little excitement to while away her days. She just hadn’t counted on falling in love with a vampire.
Gerrod moved close and took her hand. “There is something else I want you to think about. This is a dangerous time in our long history because of the rise of the Invictus. The attack last night was different, which indicates an escalation on the part of the enemy, and we don’t know the direction the attacks will turn. Ethan said that in his realm, the Invictus have also grown more active in the wastelands. He’s checking even now to see if the poorer realm-folk of Bergisson have been disappearing as they have here.
“As for myself, Abigail there is part of me that wants to keep you with me always. I’ve been half in love with you since that first day, when I caught your very sweet rosemary scent. All that Vojalie’s pronouncement meant today is that now I have words for what has happened to me. I’ve found my blood rose and I want to keep you for so
many reasons.
“But I also believe I must let you go. I don’t approve of this arrangement. I can’t abide the thought that you would give up your heritage. That is a perversion to me even if you say it feels natural and good, nothing forced.
“You should go home. At the very least, go home to think about all of this. And if you don’t come back, trust me, with all my heart, I will completely understand.”
He looked forlorn, such an old-fashioned word, but that was what he looked like to her, standing there and making his usual Gerrod-like sacrifice, thinking of others rather than himself.
For that reason alone she wanted to stay. Gerrod deserved to have his life eased and there was no question in her mind that she brought exactly that to his life. The fact that he had almost started smiling while she was with him was an indication all by itself.
But he wasn’t smiling now.
The trouble was, she couldn’t possibly think about making such an enormous decision without talking it over with Megan.
She also had a profound sense that if she left, she would never come back.
This forced her feet to march forward and though he didn’t exactly open his arms, she pressed her chest against his, closed her eyes, and slung her arms yet again around his waist.
She held him fast. After a moment, his powerful arms surrounded her as well, tighter this time than ever before.
“Abigail,” he said softly. She felt his lips on the top of her head, a tender gesture. That defined him exactly, all this brawn, yet underneath so much tenderness and sacrifice.
What on earth, or even in Merhaine, was she going to do?
*** *** ***
Gerrod sat in his fat leather chair in the entrance hall, feeling like he wanted his bottle of whisky for a while, maybe for the rest of the night.
Abigail was gone.
He’d snapped at three of his staff.
Gus, upon hearing the news of her departure, had lifted his chin, his lips set in a grim disapproving line. “You sent her away?”
“None of your business, troll,” he’d growled.
“The Goddess’s nipples it’s not,” he had muttered, heading back to the nether regions. His feet did a strange angry troll march that Gerrod only saw on those occasions when Gus was as mad as fire.
Let them all scowl at him and mutter hard things against his character.
Abigail was gone.
His head fell forward. He planted his elbow on the arm of the chair and with what seemed like monumental effort, supported the weight of his head in his hand.
He felt as though the moment she stepped into his car to go back to Flagstaff, she had sliced his heart from his chest and taken it with her. He had watched from the front of the castle, the door thrown wide. He caught the last glimpse of the car, the last wink of taillights, the last roll of dust and pine needles as the car caught the shoulder then sped down the dark pavement.
Abigail.
He had remained in the doorway, trying to pretend that he would be just fine without her.
Now, as he sat with the door shut on an immediate past that had just cut him off at the knees, he tried to have some perspective. He’d been right to think of her life and her happiness and to send her away. It could never be a bad thing to act in someone else’s best interest, surely.
Except that his chest was a vacant hole and already his body was craving a hit of her blood, that elixir flavored with just a touch of rosemary, the taste which had brought his member to proud attention, and which in turn had given her pleasure.
He wished her back. He would swallow all his words of self-sacrifice.
He wished her back a thousand times.
*** *** ***
Abigail returned to Flagstaff and to her home at the end of a long private road. The two-story house, her pride and joy, backed up to the forest. Her two cats had missed her, Frida and Diego, but looked well-fed from a neighbor’s cat-loving care.
Could she bring her cats to Merhaine? Could they live in the castle? How would a mastyr vampire feel about a cat box?
She laughed, but the sound came out tinny. She poured Fancy Feast into two separate bowls, and watched her tabby and her tuxedo lower their heads and begin the small familiar bobs of chowing down.
Cats had simple lives.
Hers wasn’t.
On the following morning, she called the bakery, but was surprised when a part-time employee, Joy, answered the phone. “Hey, Joy, I didn’t think you worked today.”
A long pause.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “What’s going on?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Oh, God.
“Megan’s in the hospital.”
Abigail’s gaze skittered back and forth over the kitchen island as though hunting for a place to land. “She’s in the hospital? When? What happened?” And why hadn’t anyone called her?
"Last night, late. But I’m not sure why. Megan said not to bother you, that you had a date in Merhaine.”
“Not a date. A wedding.”
“Huh. She called it a date. Said it was with some hot uber-hunk.”
In the distance, Abigail heard the jangle of the hanging silver doorbells of the bakery. A customer. “I’m heading over to the hospital now.”
“Okay. And would you let us know what’s going on? We still haven’t heard from Megan or Joe.”
“Yes, of course.”
She called Megan’s husband first. Joe picked up on the second ring, but he spoke quietly. “Hi, Abigail. I’m so sorry. She wouldn’t let me call. She didn’t want to disturb your date. Everything’s okay. No asthma, I promise. It was her appendix. They took it out. She’s resting.”
Abigail released a very deep breath. “I’m going to get cleaned up and I’ll be over in about an hour.”
“Sounds good. Really, Abigail, no worries here, I promise.”
Abigail hung up then headed upstairs to her bathroom. She stripped, got the water going at just the right temp, then let all that moist warmth beat some of the tension out of her.
Later, at the hospital, Megan lay on her back, her face very white, her red hair splayed out on the pillow. “The drugs are great,” she said, but her smile had one corner turned down.
“You were hurting.”
“It hurt like a bitch.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I wanted that vampire to see you in your beautiful gown.”
He’d seen her all right. Then she’d seen him. All of him. She’d even donated blood. She’d learned she was something so rare in realm-lore that Gerrod had never even heard of it before. And she’d seen the Invictus. Oh, God, it all seemed so unreal or at the very least something that had happened years ago and not hours.
Abigail pulled her chair closer to the bed and took one of Megan’s hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
“Joe was. You don’t have to feel bad. I don’t want you to feel bad.”
Abigail smiled, but she felt so sad, though she wasn’t certain why. “Well, I’m back now. Elena has the bakery well-in-hand in Hollow-Tree.”
“But you’ll go back, right?”
She shook her head. “Not right away. There’s quite a bit of objection to a human opening a business in Hollow County. We’re going to let the dust settle.” It might not have been the complete truth or even a fraction of the truth, but keeping out of sight for a while would not be a bad thing.
“What are you not telling me, sis?”
“Nothing.” Much. She sighed. She stared at the light blanket on the bed and on the clip over Megan’s finger, monitoring her heart rate.
“Okay. I can see that you’re not going to talk, but at least tell me about the wedding. Was it much different than ours?”
*** *** ***
Gerrod shouted up the hall from his private sitting room. “Gus, where the hell are my socks?”
He’d been shouting a lot lately and his scowl was sitting ha
rd these days, low on his brows. Gus told him yesterday he was developing a troll-ridge and that if he wasn’t careful he’d be switching species any day now.
His temper was off the charts. Two weeks, two horrible weeks had passed since he’d last seen Abigail at Vojalie’s. Sweet Goddess but he was irritable and the blood starvation was back. He needed to call one of his doneuses, but the Goddess help him, he couldn’t tap the number on his phone.
He blamed Abigail for this, that he’d gotten a taste of rosemary blood and now nothing else would do.
He returned to pace his bedroom. He couldn’t find his socks, at least not the kind he needed for his boots. He had to have just the right kind. Gus knew that. What the hell was wrong with his castle staff anyway, that his drawers couldn’t be kept full of the socks the Mastyr of Merhaine preferred?
If he had to fight the Invictus now every night and if he had to make sure that one million souls were safe, he should at least have the socks he wanted.
He went to the doorway, and shouted again, “Where are my fucking socks?”
Gus appeared at the top of the hall, the only one that led to his private suite. His expression was grim. He carried a large wicker basket in both hands. His lips had become a thin white line.
“About fucking time.” He moved back into his sitting room, stomped into his bedroom, paced in front of the bed. His boots sat there, waiting. Gerrod had Invictus to face tonight again. Did no one understand that his life had become a nightmare?
The bastards had become active as hell and now he cursed as much as Ethan.
Why the hell hadn’t Abigail even called him? A simple courtesy call was the very least he had expected. ‘No, I can’t become a vampire. So sorry.’ At the very least she should have called and said that to him.
Goddess, he would kill to hear her voice.
Gus appeared in the doorway, lifted the wicker basket to his shoulder, and with the apparent use of all the strength he possessed, he flung it at Gerrod.
The wicker struck him with all the force of a pillow against his right arm. He batted it away and about a hundred socks flew in every direction, some pink, some purple, many embroidered with flowers, none of them his boot socks. The basket landed upside down near the bathroom. “What the hell? What’s going on here. Gus—” His bellows echoed around the stone-walls of the room.
