Roseblood

by Emily Shore

  “Rin…”

  My father’s warning voice hinted for me to return the candle flames. As if he was scolding me for playing with my food. Then again…twiddling my thumbs was a better option than toying with my powers inside our house. If I singed Mom’s thousand-dollar oriental rug, she’d roast me.

  “I was just as surprised as anyone when your daughter’s subconscious led her to me tonight,” Skip opened, winking at me from the side, picking up on the inside training joke.

  “Yes, they’ve begun to escalate.” Dad folded his hands, fingers steepling. “Random and elusive. But the Council is addressing the occurrences. And I believe it’s time to discuss your intentions despite the cliché.”

  I wanted to chuckle, considering my intentions weren’t exactly pure. For weeks, Skip hadn’t crossed any boundaries. He’d hovered on the edge of one tonight, but so had I.

  “Up till quite recently, my only intentions were to help the daughter of a former monarch,” explained Skip. “I understand you’ve been chaperoning our training sessions from a distance.”

  “And she has improved,” my father declared. I wondered how hard that was for him to confess, considering how much older and well-practiced he was. I felt a twinge of guilt because my father’s eraser ability was a perfect contrast to my creator. But Dad would hold back. Skip didn’t.

  “I’d like the opportunity for more. But just the opportunity is all I will ask tonight,” Skip did not hesitate to add.

  My father folded his hands, then gestured to me. “In that case, I will defer to my daughter.”

  I dropped my jaw for a moment but recovered. Given how much my father had monitored me over the years, how much he’d protected me, it almost stunned me. But as he’d pointed out in our recent conversation, I would be eighteen soon. And when it came to this…matter, my answer counted most. My father’s trust in me, his respect marinated my heart. I beamed at him as I felt his respect, prouder than ever of my silver roots.

  I locked eyes with Skip. “I will give you the opportunity,” I granted him, remembering our kiss in his studio. Perhaps I’d even subconsciously taken the opportunity by showing up there. But too much was at stake. My main goal was the throne. My core goal. Whatever else happened, I needed someone who could support that goal. Skip had proven himself worthy of that. But he wasn’t the only one with the opportunity. However, he’d shown he was more likely to take that opportunity. Would I let him? Whoever I chose, I wanted my first to be my forever. It seemed naïve, unrealistic, but no more unrealistic than a human ruling over two supernatural races.

  So, I raised my hand and followed with, “If you take that opportunity, you’ll need to make it count. Something grand enough to prove it.” I straightened and grinned, folding my hands in my lap and sing-songing, “because I’m worth it.”

  Skip didn’t chuckle. Instead he nodded, solemn, eyes catching the candlelight in the background to glow like emeralds in a kiln. “Yes, you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Blood Claim

  Early the next morning, I woke with new images, flashbacks. Another nightmare playing in my head, but they bowed to the wet liquid soaking my hands, the putrid scent of iron, a thousand and one aches all over my body. Coarse grit and brush needled my bare skin. Wait…bare skin.

  When I looked down, seeing nothing but my pale and very naked body curled into a fetal position on the dank forest floor, I repeated the same phrase over and over again: don't panic, don't panic, don't panic! Everything was dark. I was cold. Twigs cracked, brush rustled from random critters. When I raised my wet hands, bits of moss, leaves, and soil cleaved to my palms. I tried to shake them off only to realize the drops I flung weren't water. Much too dark, too thick, and the stench of raw copper overwhelmed my senses. I knew what it was. Blood.

  Frantic, I spun my head but saw no one. The area was familiar. Beyond the trees in the distance was my house. A soft glow from the porch light. Off to my right rested the small lake where my father had attacked me just a few days ago.

  Then, a drop collided with my cheek. More blood. The moon bleeding in my dream. No. That didn’t make sense. I didn't want to look up. I didn't want to see whoever I suspected was dangling from the tree above me. I planted a solid hand to stop my chest from heaving, counted random numbers to slow my breath.

  Then, I looked up. My hands flew to my mouth. I bit down on one, tasting dirt. Better than letting my scream out. I could never un-see her. Her corpse in mid transition, facial bones half-fused into a muzzle, others protruding from her limbs, just the barest fur sprouting on her skin. And blood leaching from the rope-like slit in her neck. I stepped back, my foot impacting with something soft. I looked down and picked up the item-a scrap of fabric. Instantly I recognized the ripped piece of my jeans. Ones I’d worn to bed. I pieced everything together: shreds of my clothes, aches all over my body, and not just the smell but the taste of blood...like fine filaments on my tongue. All my senses heightened. Showing up at the murder scenes…

  Was this me?

  I hurried through the brush, not stopping till I’d crossed the sandy bank and plunged into the shallows of the lake, rinsing off the blood from my hands. Rinsed off everything. Then, I grabbed what was left of my tattered clothing, wrapped it as best as I could around my privates and started running toward the house. I didn’t look back once.

  All the lights in the house were off, so I guessed they were all looking for me. Good. I had to focus. All I wanted was to curl into a little ball in the corner of my closet. But I couldn’t hide from this. I needed to get dressed. Couldn’t let them see me like this. Couldn’t let them know what happened. So, I focused on taking the steps to my room. Once inside, I locked the door and hunted for a new set of clothes. Just as I did, someone knocked.

  “Rin!”

  Brian. I sighed. Thank goodness!

  “Everyone's out looking for you. I was running a perimeter. Heard you come inside.”

  “Hold on a minute!” I tugged at my dresser drawer a little too hard, so it ended up on the floor, dumping out my shirts.

  “Where did you wind up this time?”

  Quick, I jerked a shirt on and shimmied into a pair of sweatpants before opening the door, forgetting that my bare feet were still damp with bits of grass and mud caking them.

  “Somewhere wet, it looks like.” He observed my feet.

  “We have to tell the Council right away,” I insisted. “There's been another murder. Another citizen of Le Couvènte,” I choked out, not able to speak her name.

  An hour later, Guardians had removed Charlotte's body from the tree. Fortunately, I’d managed to get every scrap of clothing and had stuffed the guilty tatters in the back of my closet, intending to dump them somewhere later. Now, I was sitting in my living room with a mug of tea, doing my best to remain calm while Caroline and her husband questioned me. Mom sat next to me; her warm hand on my back seemed to help the most. This was routine for Mom. Emotional and incensed one minute but nurturing and concerned after she'd calmed down. Dad remained in his usual place across from me.

  “Aurora, James…would you mind giving Rin and I a few moments?” requested Caroline before standing and inviting me outside.

  Grateful for the privacy because I was certain she already knew what had happened, I wasted no time in following her. If my family knew what happened, I was sure they'd lock me in my room. More than that, I had my own questions. Like how could Caroline not have seen this? Why couldn’t she have stopped it somehow?

  Shaking my head, I followed Caroline down our long drive, noticing a shifting specter of a Guardian tracking us.

  “Did I do this?” I held my breath, waiting for her to absolve me.

  “No.” Caroline shook her head, giving me relief. “Your body sought transformation. It only halfway made it. Enough to lick up blood but no more.”

  “Is that why I’m so―”

  “Sore, yes. It’s why your muscles and bones are aching.” Caroline focused on me as we r
ounded the corner to the wrought iron gates marking the entrance to my family’s south side property.

  Sighing a weight off my shoulders, I asked, “What else did you see?”

  “Not enough. As I stated before, someone quite powerful has blocked my ability. I can only see what occurs in the present. I’ve foreseen many other shimmers. By now, we've determined the killer is a Le Couvènte citizen. That citizen has had more than his fair share of opportunity to kill you, but they've refrained.” Caroline paused and licked her lips before continuing, voice cautious. We arrived at the gates. “I can’t determine if that refrain will continue, but I know the killer will escalate their behavior. From now on, two Guardians will be posted outside your window and front door, and your family will take extra precautions. For whatever reason, you seem to be at the center of this.”

  “But the last time you had a Guardian posted, it did no good,” I pointed out. “What makes you think anything will change?”

  “Our intentions will be to track you this time.” Caroline gripped one spike, her porcelain skin a sharp contrast to the black iron. “We have assigned Raoul as your main Guardian with a backup he’s not aware of. If Mr. Kelley is behind these attacks as well as your subconscious misadventures, his Guardian counterpart will recognize any attempts made during their time monitoring you.”

  “You said the Rose Killer would escalate his attacks?” I steeled myself, wavering between rage and terror. I could still remember the exact spot on my skin where he’d sliced me with the rose thorn.

  “Yes. And it’s why I have notified your father and will urge you again: file a blood claim. Do not delay. It will change the course of everything.”

  A blood claim was just a formality. But when my father accompanied me to Le Couvènte City Hall later that day, it was still intimidating. To have my blood tested and recorded into the Annals. True to my prediction, the registry picked up accents of my father’s silver blood ancestry, my mother’s wolf ancestry, and of course my own unique human DNA strands. I did not decline a photo. There was no use hiding my blood claim. There was no shame in my action. And in the announcement article titled: Reina Caraway, Human Child of Prophecy Files Blood Claim to the Throne, my family’s seal appeared directly next to my photo.

  Only one question remained: what kind of reaction would follow?

  A blood claim was my surprise, but my father sprung one of his own when Skip arrived at our house just following, ready to drive me to his family’s estate. We could easily fly in half the time if not less, but I wasn’t about to turn down an offer to drive in a McLaren coup, gullwing doors already open. Skip leaned against it dressed in a crisp white polo and ash gray suit jacket. I wrangled my twirling stomach, forced myself to act like a sovereign candidate and not a schoolgirl. I felt caught halfway between the two…Skip and I still attended school after all.

  “Saw your announcement.” He nodded to me just after I climbed out of Dad’s car, eyeing my father from the side. “Looks like it’s going viral judging by the number of views and reactions.”

  Thus far, I’d chosen not to read any of the comments or tune in to any critics, though there were two radio commentators discussing it on the way here before Dad changed the channel. Part of me chastised myself. Whatever they threw at me I could handle. But then again, why should I give a damn what they thought? They didn’t know me…yet.

  Skip did.

  “Is that why you’re here?” I wondered, gesturing to all his finery. Not that I was too shabby myself since I’d dressed to impress for the blood claim. Without Heath’s suggestion on a little black dress and vibrant crimson lip color, I would not have exuded nearly as much queenly confidence.

  “After the announcement, I contacted your father to ask him if I could steal you away for brunch with my family. He agreed.”

  A surprise but a pleasant one. I didn’t delay for two reasons. One, I didn’t want to risk Dad changing his mind. Two, I seriously couldn’t wait to take a drive in that! A thrill with Skip breaking land speed records and windows open! I left my stomach somewhere on Le Couvènte’s border. Still, I preferred flying.

  “Your claim is causing quite a stir,” Skip notified me, turning on the radio.

  I turned it right off, schoolgirl sensation returning when my fingers brushed the back of his hand. I flexed them, then propped my elbow up on the window. “I don’t care.”

  “Liar.”

  I heard the smile in his voice before turning to eye him. Skip took control of my hand, thumbing my wrist. “Your pulse just quickened.” To emphasize his point, his lips nudged the skin there, which only quickened my pulse more. Roused the silver lines in my hands. Denying the urge to gasp, to let my adrenaline roam, and my powers to unleash, I tried to focus on the shifting countryside. The outskirts of Le Couvènte where indulgent vineyards sampled the luxuries of northern California soil and dew while Redwoods guarded their fruitful wares. Until Skip tugged me closer, mouth brushing up the line of my arm. Uncontrollable fire crackled in my opposite palm.

  “I suppose I should be more careful,” Skip mused, releasing me and planted his hand on the steering wheel.

  “We both should,” I breathed, clenching and stretching my fingers, shaking out the silver.

  A few minutes later, Skip turned into the gated Creststone neighborhood, which spanned twenty miles with acreage to spare for each estate. Each one should have been grandiose enough to distract me from the previous event, but I couldn’t stop reflecting on the vampire next to me.

  Save for that night in the studio, all I saw of Skip was a mask. Raoul was certainly no open book, but I’d had years to chip at the layers. Skip was different. I had a feeling it wouldn’t take years. Ever since witnessing his painting, Skip’s mask had begun to peel away. Unlike Christine, I couldn’t force it with Skip. No way for me to tear at the mask; Skip had to show me himself. After this weekend, I sensed it wouldn’t be much longer. From the way he’d captured my form in the painting to our training, his skills and reputation, I knew he could make a great king. But could we burn together or just burn each other?

  The prophecy itself was perhaps the greatest mask clouding my life, my future. Only Queen Caroline and one Le Couvènte Founder had seen behind it.

  My thoughts suddenly shifted to the murderer. Another mask in my life. Thus far, I’d only begun to peel at the edges of that mask thanks to my nightmares. Couldn’t so much as hope to see the face underneath. I was looking through a cracked mirror, frost and fog-kissed. If my dreams didn’t melt the frost soon, I wondered if it would be too late before they caught up with me.

  The Whites were exceedingly wealthy.

  To think of all the times I’d drooled over Raoul’s manor. Compared to that, the White Estate drowned my mouth.

  With their own private drive complete with security guard and fence to the semicircular cobblestone drive and courtyard with nearly a quarter of a mile of perfectly tilled grass, gardens, fountains, and sculptures surrounding the home, the plot alone must have been worth millions.

  After Skip escorted me up a flight of stone steps, a set of French-style double doors greeted us.

  At first, I was surprised no one came to welcome us, but Skip elaborated, “My family isn't known for their promptness. You’ll understand why soon.”

  When I entered the house just after him, my eyes swallowed the spaciousness. Far grander than even the Chateau but without the vintage architecture. Instead, this was more modern Greek temple fitted with stunning white marble pillars along with a matching staircase on the right-hand side of the room that wrapped around far to the left up to the second floor. Just next to the staircase was a bar and three arched entrances to other parts of the house.

  “Fifty thousand square feet if you're wondering,” Skip regaled me while I tilted my head back to gaze in awe at the scenery painted on the domed ceiling. He continued to ramble, his tone mingling on the boundary of playful and proud. “Fifty-foot ceilings, ten bathrooms, library ― two story of course
―, 3D theater, ten car garage, conservatory that literally opens to the pool so you can step onto water…guest house, tennis court, pool hall, gardens―”

  “I think I get it, Skip,” I interrupted him, scolding my insides for melting a little. “You're insanely rich.”

  He placed his hands behind his back and surveyed me. “Is there a problem?”

  No, just the opposite. Heat rose to my cheeks as I eyed him. Between his sharp yet casual suit, silver gold hair graced in a ponytail, Skip looked perfectly calm. He fit the atmosphere, the status. So flawless as if he were the master of the house despite knowing he spent most of his time in his two-story studio in the middle of the woods.

  He stepped toward me, closing the distance between us, and narrowed his liquid emerald eyes, scrutinizing my features. “Why…Reina Caraway, I do believe you're blushing.”

  “That's entirely unfair,” I pointed out and motioned to the beauteous house. “All this and you…it’s so Pemberly. You and I both know you brought me here for more than just meeting your family. I can see your motives no matter how much you charm-wrap them. So, hear this…” I took one step toward him, poured as much sultriness into my royal eyes as I could and dictated, “You cannot buy an opportunity.” He could not buy me.

  Skip leaned over just enough so I could hear his whisper and feel it upon my neck. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  His kiss on my neck was so brief, I could hardly recount the feeling, particularly when two young girls bounded down the stairs, shouting his name. I swayed to the side to give them unfettered access, content to observe. He held out his arms to the youngsters, who raced uninhibited into them, tangling him up in lavender-oiled hugs and kisses. Even as children, they were both extraordinarily beautiful. A long rivulet of gold hair, similar to Skip’s but with less silver, flounced in curls on the youngest one’s head. Her eyes were a darker shade of green than Skip’s ― more fresh basil than scintillating emerald. The older bore little resemblance with her auburn hair around her neck straight as the edges of a fan. In place of green eyes, hers were cove-blue and secretive. I was so distracted with the two girls, I didn't notice the oldest until she attacked Skip from behind, jumping on his back, baring her fangs to playfully poise them above his neck.