Roseblood

by Emily Shore

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.” I picked up on the tension in her voice. What did she know? Would something happen to me tonight? Tomorrow?

  “Please, Lady Caroline,” I pleaded, “I don’t want to sleep tonight. Can you―?” Every time I shut my eyes, I woke in another place where a body turned up. How long would it take before I became that next body? Before I met the murderer face to face? I didn't want to be some supernatural Sherlock Holmes. I didn’t want to track murderers. Sentence them to a fitting death, yes. Carry out that sentence myself once I became vampire or werewolf, yes…even that. But all these shadow games were too much. Never knowing the ghost behind the machinations.

  The Queen paused. I almost double-checked to see if she was still on the other line, but I could hear her breathing.

  “Be brave, Reina. As I know you are.”

  It was as much a confirmation as any.

  When I hung up, I noticed the book on my dresser. The one that mirrored my life right down to two men vying for my attention, though they were the least of my concerns compared to everything else.

  “Masquerade.” I considered the one scene. How everyone wore a disguise. Beyond the Phantom mask, we each had our own. How fitting for the present circumstances.

  As much as I tried to defy the surgeon general, my eyes finally shut, knowing my warm lids would not protect me from the masqueraded hunter.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Rose Killer

  By the absence of the moon and the milky tint to the sky, I knew dawn wasn’t far. Queen Caroline’s words resounded in my mind. Be brave as I know you are.

  A vineyard again. But an active one. I spun my head around, feeling a bitter chill overwhelming me. No one would come to rescue me this time. I didn’t need rescue. Before bed, I’d changed into a sleeveless nightgown with a low backline. Prepared for a flight. The silver blood hearkened in my veins, triggering all my other senses. I smelled blood. To the east!

  Breaking into a run, I hastened down the vineyard row, rounding its corner, almost tripping over the corpse. A vampire this time. Lifeless. Drained. Only a few droplets of silver blood desecrating the ground next to her throat. I recognized her. A Council member. This kill would hit home. Another fragrance drifted into the air. Floral and sweet. Sure enough, there was the rose in her hair. Last time, he’d discarded it close to the body.

  And then, my skin prickled at the low growl behind me. Spinning around, I braced my fists, earmarking the shadowy figure at the opposite end of the vineyard. A hood and cape concealed his identity. I gritted my teeth, feeling silver blood quicken, my fire straining for release. I’d had enough of his games.

  “What do you want with me?!” I screamed and lodged a fireball for the Rose Killer.

  He sidestepped, evading my attempt with ease, so the earth damp from the sprinklers and morning dew sucked up my fire. He stalked toward me but only a few steps. Playing with me like the other times.

  I bristled but remembered Caroline’s words, breathing out courage. “Who are you?”

  I summoned another ball of fire. He advanced toward me. I let my fire fly, but the row caught fire this time. Startled by the vines and grapes kindled, I stepped back, inhaling the rich aroma laced with smoke as the fire grew closer.

  And the hunter progressed.

  “Try again, Your Highness.”

  The voice was unfamiliar, but the threat was not. He was challenging me. Had he spent all these nights stalking me? I felt my cheeks flush beyond the fire’s glow as lightning cracked in my heart from my suspicion.

  The hunter took one step, one moment’s whirlwind till he was before me. Too fast. Deadly enough to force me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. I’d never witnessed any vampire move with that speed or force.

  “No human will take the throne,” he threatened, voice deep and low, and as he leaned in closer, fingers chaining my wrist to the ground, all I could see was a black eye mask and a sash tied across his face. He raised a single red rose, placed a thorn to my arm, and drew one red line into the flesh. I defied the urge to shriek, winced instead, closing my eyes, and repeated the calming mechanism so I could summon my defenses. If I panicked now, I would be dead in another few seconds.

  Once the hunter lowered the sash to reveal his fangs, I attacked. Fire projected all over my skin to form a shield, smoldering hot and with enough power to force him into a retreat. Getting to my feet, I didn’t bother wondering whether the vampire would try again. Instead, I unleashed my wings and flew in the direction of my house, spent by the time I arrived on the acreage or so of woods that bordered my parent’s property. I stopped dead in my tracks…right before the wooden fence near our small wooded lake. It seemed the Rose Killer had decided not to pursue. But why?

  I looked up, understanding. On the other side of the lake was another vampire. The opposite of the Rose Killer but no less deadly. Wings spread, body neatly arched in a crouch just before he sprung, hands with the grace of a lace shawl but the strength of a vice around the neck of a giant bear. In one solid move, he’d cracked the neck before plunging his face into the bear’s throat. I sucked back a gasp. It was the first time I'd ever seen my father hunt and feed. Tiptoeing curious footsteps, I crept closer, pondering. No wonder he'd looked so stressed the past few days. If he was draining a bear now, it meant he hadn't fed in weeks. It wasn't like Dad to gorge himself between feedings. It meant Council demands had been more excessive.

  Just then, his head snapped to attention, and I froze. I could hear him sniff the air before he flicked his head in my direction. Even at this distance, I could see his dilated pupils and the hurricane’s eye of bloodlust — two tiny garnets targeting me. My encounter with the hunter had left me sapped.

  My own father crouched, prepared to launch into vampire speed.

  Frozen, I held my breath and waited.

  A sudden gust of sharp wind swept one side of my body. I opened my eyes to Raoul acting as a barrier, palm flattened on my father’s chest to disrupt my father’s hunt.

  Then, Raoul cautioned, “Compose yourself, sir.” Raoul’s voice was firm and held such practice that echoed of an era long before my father’s.

  The currants in Dad’s eyes shrunk, though his pupils remained dilated. “Rin?” He appraised the situation before he addressed Raoul, commanding tone familiar, “Get her out of here.”

  Raoul nodded and took my arm, but I paused to apologize, “I'm sorry, Dad. It was another dream. I couldn’t—”

  “Just go, Rin, please. I understand. We’ll talk about it later.”

  At least home wasn’t far. This time, no one was waiting up, and my guess was that I hadn’t been gone long enough. Oddly enough, the house was quiet.

  “They pulled the Guardian from our house,” I explained to Raoul, still winded from the early morning as we stepped inside. “Their main concern is protecting the border if the murderer is a stranger to Le Couvènte.”

  Raoul nodded and escorted me inside. “Makes sense. Reina…” he snatched up my arm and rolled up the sleeve of my shirt to my arm, twisting it so I could see the laceration there. “You’re bleeding.”

  Where the vampire cut me with the thorns.

  “Okay, Rin, I’m giving up now,” another voice interjected from midway up the stairs.

  Raoul and I both turned to Heath.

  “Really, this isn’t what it looks like,” Raoul joked where I was going to explain. I restrained my laughter at my brother’s appearance. For once in his life, he looked disheveled, his hair a chocolate bird’s nest. I felt a twinge in my heart. Between his bare chest and plaid flannel pants, he was the brother from my childhood and not the fashionable and charismatic vampire of my teen years interested in diplomacy and a seat on the Council.

  “I’ll get a first aid kit,” pronounced Raoul while surveying me just before whirring past Heath to retrieve it from our hall closet. We were probably the only family in Le Couvènte to have a first aid kit.

  “I’m going bac
k to bed,” Heath said, irritated.

  “You’re not interested in where I’ve been?”

  “Fill me in later. Even vampires need their sleep.”

  “I don’t,” retorted Raoul at the top of the stairs.

  “Born vampire problems.” Heath glared, his gaze sharp as a lance to pin Raoul to the wall. “See you in the morning, Rin.”

  Joining me, Raoul beckoned me into the kitchen so he could clean the laceration. No one else interrupted us. Mom was sleeping heavy and Brian was probably with his trial pack.

  “Ouch!” I almost pulled back when Raoul poured antiseptic over the cut as I sat on my countertop, my legs dangling.

  “How did this happen?” He leaned over to wipe the blood, not pausing once to flare his nostrils or inhale my scent as I imagined Skip would. Why would I consider Skip at this time?

  “I saw him.”

  He paused, understanding who I meant.

  “I…I fought him.” I cringed at the memory, at the closeness of the hunter, of the feeling of his breath on my face. “And there was another body,” I added, not wanting to think of the corpse but knowing I should recall all details possible. “She was a Council member.”

  “Your father should be here soon. Tell him immediately. He’ll do the right thing.” Raoul closed the topic and tugged at my sleeve, rolling it back down to my wrist.

  “Just like you always do. Just like you are now.” I hinted. “Even with―”

  “Your blood is different, Reina. It doesn’t affect me like it used to. It’s changed.”

  My fingers traced the cold, marble-top surface of the counter. “I don’t follow.”

  Raoul touched two fingers to my pulse and reflected, “It doesn’t tempt me the same anymore. Yes, I’ve considered what your blood would taste like, but I would never act on it. Your scent is soothing.”

  I tilted my head to the side, pressing my lips together to challenge him. “Even during my…?”

  If Raoul could blush, I was certain he would, but he just crooked one corner of his mouth into a grin. “Yes, even then.”

  Heath and Dad always made themselves scarce for a few days out of each month. Brian, too. And Mom and I got to bond over girl problems and ice cream.

  Raoul lifted the inside of my wrist to his mouth and rubbed his lips across the skin. Just after his mouth departed, I held onto its echo. He didn’t trail his hands down either side of me like I thought he might. He didn’t straighten to meet my eyes or so much as glance at my neck. No, instead he pulled away and recommended, “You should get some sleep. School day.”

  “Thank you, Raoul.”

  “You never need to thank me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Skip’s Father

  Practicing helped. With each training, it became simpler to release my wings. No, I couldn’t manage to discharge them in one split moment as Skip, but I was only human. Apparently, not only. I still asked him every time while pressing my hand to my chest.

  “Yes,” Skip replied, verifying that my own heightened senses did not lie. “Your heart is still human.”

  As if my experience with the Rose Killer had left anything to suspicion.

  My blood still pumped red. But even as I panted from my best time yet of unleashing my wings, Skip approached, reaching for my hands. Turning them over, he traced the lines in my palm. Not the creamy rouge of before. These were silver. Either I hadn’t noticed them before…or they’d manifested recently.

  “What is it?” I wondered, shivering a little, my wings shaking when Skip rubbed his thumb down the longest line in my hand. My skin could read his print, every line in his fingertips. Since it had only been a couple weeks, heightened senses were still overwhelming. Particularly touch.

  “Your silver blood has risen to the surface. It’s as if it lies dormant when you do not release your wings. And yet…” I winced when he used his nail to pierce a tiny slit in my hand. Enough for a little line of blood to run. Red blood. Except there was a faint underline clinging to the red. Silver as mist and moonbeams. It didn’t overwhelm my human blood. Instead, it hung onto it, protected it. My insides warmed at the revelation.

  Skip coaxed my hand closer. Near enough for him to breathe in my fresh blood. His pupils turned crimson, dilated. I held my breath, wondering if he would cross this boundary. How one single drop of human blood, however cuddled by silver, could cost him everything. And me.

  So, I stoked the heat in my blood until flames ignited in my hand, stunning Skip out of his stupor. As I grew the fire, he stepped back and raised his own hands. A familiar rhythm we’d since so much of my elemental ability was still out of my control. Skip had to harness it so I wouldn’t start another forest fire.

  Just then, a hawk swooped low in the hollow, charging for a nearby rodent. I cringed. With my human senses, all these sounds wouldn’t distract me, ones I probably wouldn’t even notice. On impulse, fire shot from my hands, launching full blast toward Skip. No!

  Before the flames could find their target, Skip’s eyes narrowed. But this time, he didn’t automatically persuade the fire to ebb. Instead, he pirouetted it, changing its direction over and over. Admiring the exhibit, I smiled and raised my hands, supplying him more. Skip twirled the flames upward until they formed shapes. Out of breath, I finally managed to end the inferno in my hands. Free to marvel at Skip’s creation. At the fiery figures dancing in the air above our heads. Curls of fire for her, long ponytail for him. It didn’t take too much interpretation. I couldn’t help my eyes straying to him. How focused he was. Not once did his concentration stray.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathed at the waltzing couple, gold mirrored images of us.

  One lift of his hand and the fire paused. At first, I was confused until Skip approached me, snatching up my hand and motioning it to the air.

  “Your turn,” he encouraged me.

  My turn to create. Inhaling deep, I closed my eyes. Imagined. Exhaled slow and even. Then opened my eyes.

  “Impressive,” Skip complimented the twirling crown complete with fireball gems. “A bit presumptuous, are we?”

  Sweat cleaved to my brow at the concentration this required. “You tell me,” I grinned, my heart burning to mimic the regal fire.

  Even if I couldn’t read his expression, I could feel Skip’s gaze on me. Extinguishing the fire took more work. Pinching my eyes, I gathered wind to snuff the crown flames one by one until all that was left was one last image no bigger than my hand, my subconscious parading itself, reminding me of a threat.

  “A rose?” Questioned Skip right before I smothered it, forcing a growl back down my throat from the memory of the Rose Killer.

  “It’s too much…” I gasped, legs trembling from the weight of training, “…to tell,” I finished. The silver lines in my palms faded. Adrenaline depleted. My humanity ached and moaned from energy loss. Tonight had left me winded more than ever before. Skip made his way to my side. Not to catch me, but he allowed me to lean on him for support. Then, he proceeded to escort me to the car.

  “We haven’t had the chance to speak since the catacombs.” Skip referenced the events of just the previous afternoon, pausing before unlocking the door.

  At first, Skip licked his lips, forming the right words to say before he pressed one hand on the door above my head ― a repeated gesture I'd grown to notice but one that didn't cause me any discomfort. No, it did just the opposite. Still, I tried to focus on his words instead of his body language, which could rival an invasive species.

  “Other than yesterday in the tunnel, your blood is richest during training. Difficult to maintain control.” Skip fingers lingered upon my hair. He drew one of my curls into the space between his index and middle finger, caressed the thick strands. The action warmed my blood. I knew I was blushing. But I reminded myself of all the techniques Heath and my father used. How they never once blamed me for what I couldn’t possibly control.

  So, I harnessed my breath. Refusing to melt before Skip, I instead
jerked my hair away and raised my chin, “I won’t be changing my blood anytime soon. Your bloodlust, your responsibility.”

  Skip predictably stiffened. “How very progressive of you…”

  I touched the back of his hand, soft, and suggested, “You could try to be a little less intense. We do seem to feed off each other.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt I’ll feed from you anytime soon, Reina Caraway,” he quipped.

  “Touché.” I thought back to the night when I tasted his silver blood, blushing more at the memory. “I suppose we'll just have to find some way of “working it out” then.”

  “I suppose we will.” He dropped his hand inside his pocket while his thumb tapped the outer fabric.

  “Skip, what happened to your father?” As soon as I spoke the dauntless words, I wished I could take them back. My mind was a street urchin, wading through obstacles to try and steal a few precious coins from pockets.

  But Skip was too cautious, and he caught me like the street mouse I was. “My father was a great man. I remember that every day despite all the squalor surrounding his death. It's how others should remember him, too.”

  I should've let it go, but my curiosity got the better of me. All I could think about was Shaw White’s death along with the imaginary scene of a traumatized little boy with frosted gold hair curled up in the corner of his room.

  So far, all I'd gleaned from any of the Le Couvènte’s chronicles in our library was the date of Shaw White’s death — Skip was only eight years old — and that it occurred in what used to be the Redwood Hills Vineyard before all the negative publicity forced them to close. Details were sketchy, but it was a pack-style hit during some unrest between several wolf packs and vampire clans. Nearly ten years ago. Caroline would have just begun her reign. During my parents’ rule, the wolves and vampires had signed a peace treaty. It should have continued, but some of the Sierra packs were visiting at the time, causing increased hunting traffic and unrest. More packs than clans.