Rose’s frustration dissolved into laughter. “You’re trying to seduce me.”
“No,” Kara said with a wolfish smile. “I haven’t even started trying yet.”
Rose turned around to face the desk, her body more relaxed than before. “I want to know what the symbol means,” she said, sending Kara into another fit of alarm. “I just feel like it’s important, you know.” She traced her finger over the cover, where that familiar symbol was engraved into the leather. It was the symbol from her dagger, from Ligeia’s shield, from Princess Myrinne’s tattoo. A circular symbol with two halves—joined by a flame. “I know this part…represents love.”
Rose heard the bed creak, behind her, as Kara hopped off of the bed and came to look at the symbol. She leaned forward, a few blue strands of hair falling forward, as she peered over Rose’s shoulder. Rose pointed at the small, red flame.
Kara’s piercing, ice-blue gaze shifted toward Rose. “How do you know?”
“I asked one of the warriors,” Rose said with a shrug. “I saw the flame—but nothing else—at the wedding in Skotalia. Then, I saw it again on something that belonged to one of the warriors. I asked them what it meant. They told me.” She sighed, clearly not satisfied. “I haven’t figured out the rest of the symbol yet.”
Kara’s eyebrows lifted. “You asked a warrior, and they just…told you?”
“I asked as if it were the first time I’d seen it,” Rose told her, “and I only asked about the flame. I don’t think it occurred to them why I wanted to know.”
A slow smile spread across Kara’s face. “Sneaky,” she purred. “I like it.”
Rose blushed. She leaned back in her chair, flashing a sassy smile at Kara. “Well, someone had to pick up the slack,” she said playfully. “Since you were too busy drinking and getting into sword-fights—for no apparent reason—to help.”
Kara laughed. She straightened and turned, placing herself between Rose and the desk. “I had a reason,” she said, leaning against the desk. She crossed her arms and flashed a guilty smile. “I was just too drunk to remember what it was.”
“Kara,” Rose sighed, “when Hypatia attacked…if I hadn’t been there…”
“Hey,” Kara said. She bent forward, resting her hands on the arms of the chair. Her dark hair fell around her face, as she leaned over Rose. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “She wasn’t able to kill me, and no one else will be able to, either.”
“I just keep thinking about tomorrow,” Rose said, “and all the times I’ve almost lost you.” Her brows creased with worry. “I don’t think I could handle it.”
“No one’s going to kill me, love. Not with you around.” An affectionate smile curled at the edges of her lips. “What would I do without you, Rose Foster?”
Rose rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, I don’t know,” she muttered. “Maybe get a girlfriend who doesn’t attract life-threatening danger everywhere she goes?”
Kara wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Who would want that?”
Rose laughed. She didn’t resist, as Kara took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We could all die tomorrow,” she said sadly, as Kara circled around her.
“You’ve been planning for hours,” Kara said, as she stood behind Rose. Even though they hadn’t touched yet, Rose could already feel the heat of Kara’s body radiating into her. “Trust yourself. Trust your strategy. You need your rest.”
“Rest?” Rose said, shaking her head. “I don’t think rest is going to help.”
Kara slipped her arms around Rose’s waist. “Come to bed,” she purred, pressing her lips against Rose’s neck. “It isn’t comfortable when you’re not in it.”
Rose smiled, shuddering a little, as Kara kissed her neck. She turned to face Kara, lifting her eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure the reason it’s not comfortable,” she teased, “is the sixteen million weapons you have, hidden under the mattress.”
Kara laughed. “Four, actually,” she said with an amused smile. “The rest are in my bag.” She pulled Rose closer, tilting her face, as if she were going to kiss Rose. “Come to bed,” she whispered again, her intense, blue eyes dark with desire.
Rose pushed a strand of blue hair out of Kara’s face and leaned forward, her lips brushing Kara’s—almost kissing her. But then, she leaned back on her heels, making a face, as she remembered, “I’m supposed to be saving the world.”
Kara leaned in again, her lips curving, as she whispered, “Save me first.”
Rose laughed, amusement sparkling in her bright blue eyes. “From what?”
Kara closed the last bit of space between their lips. “From wanting you.”
Rose closed her eyes, moaning at the soft warmth of Kara’s lips. The kiss left Rose feeling even more overheated than before, hunger and desire flaring up inside of her, all at once. She leaned back, a spark of red glowing within her eyes. “Okay,” she sighed, feigning reluctance, “but if the world ends, I’m blaming you.”
Kara smiled. “Works for me.”
23
Beginning of the End
It started the way it always did.
Falling.
Grasping for something. Anything.
Screaming for help.
But of course, no help came.
When she’d given up, accepted her death, Rose hit the ground. She didn’t land easily—not this time. She fell face-first, pain exploding throughout her body, as she collided with the ground. For a few moments, Rose didn’t move. She tried to wiggle her fingers, push herself up onto her hands and knees, but her muscles refused to move. She wondered if she’d broken some bones. Perhaps, she’d died.
But then, her fingers twitched. Her muscles moved—albeit slowly and painfully—but with great effort, she managed to push herself onto her hands and knees. She blinked in darkness, waiting for her eyesight to adjust, as it always did. She was a vampire, after all. Vampires could see better in darkness than in light.
But her eyesight didn’t adjust. She saw only darkness. Only pitch-black.
Rose slowly ran her sore hand over the ground, trying to use her sense of touch to figure out where she was. The ground felt gritty and wet beneath her palm, like mud. She crawled forward, still touching the ground, and froze when her fingers collided with something. She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers against it. Her fingertips found something solid—its texture cold and rough, like concrete. Her heart began to race, as she slid her fingers upward, feeling nothing but solid concrete. It was a wall, she realized, and with that realization, came panic.
She traced the wall, looking for its end, looking for somewhere to escape.
But there was no end.
She felt those rough, concrete walls on every side of her.
She realized, with utter horror, that she was trapped. In a concrete box.
Rose scrambled to her feet, unable to breathe, unable to think, her entire body seized in a panic that she hadn’t known in years. The box wasn’t tall enough for Rose, though, and her head crashed painfully against the concrete above her.
Her head spun from the impact, and blood spilled over her face. She fell forward, too dizzy to hold herself upright, and she fell into a puddle of something.
She lifted herself out of the puddle, spitting the liquid out of her mouth.
She’d assumed, at first, that it was water. But it didn’t taste like water.
It tasted thick and bitter, like fear. Pure fear, dripping from her tongue.
She coughed at the taste, desperately trying to spit out the bitter water.
When she finally got rid of the taste, she leaned back against the concrete wall, looping her arms around her legs, and breathed slowly, trying to calm herself.
Rose had almost come out of the panic attack when her mouth suddenly dried up. It was as if all of her saliva had been drawn out of her, as if every ounce of water in her body had dissolved. Her throat felt swollen and raw, her tongue like sandpaper. She coughed at the dryness, pain spreading through her mouth.
> Suddenly, a woman knelt in front of Rose, her dress brushing Rose’s legs.
“Oh, darling,” a familiar voice murmured. “You have to drink the water.”
“Alana,” Rose tried to say, but with her mouth so dry, no sound came.
Alana slid her fingers over Rose’s face. “You’ll die without the water.”
A desperate thirst filled Rose’s throat. It didn’t make sense. As a vampire, she didn’t need water. Only blood. She should feel hunger, perhaps, but not thirst.
But the thirst compressed her throat, choking her, making her more and more desperate. Before she’d even made the decision to do so, she flung herself onto the ground, desperately scooping up handfuls of water. She drank the water, ignoring its bitterness, ignoring the way it tasted of fear and death, desperate only to survive, to sate that thirst. When she’d finally soothed dryness of her mouth, she felt Alana’s hands on her, soft and gentle, helping her into a seated position.
“There,” Alana whispered. “You feel better now, don’t you?” Her fingers traced Rose’s cheeks, her fingernails long and sharp. “Just breathe. You’re okay.”
Rose didn’t have enough strength left to argue. Between the panic and the dehydration, she’d used what little strength she had. She wondered what kind of Hell she’d fallen into—that an evil sociopath was the only comfort she had.
“Well, not okay, exactly,” Alana amended. “Just…better. For a moment.”
Rose’s eyes widened, and suddenly, her stomach seemed to seize—pain exploding throughout her body in an instant. She began to choke again—but not from the dryness this time. This time, she choked on her own blood. Her body began to convulse, her throat and mouth filling with blood. She struggled to spit out the blood fast enough, bending forward, coughing and gagging, as it filled her mouth—over and over again. She reached out, clutching Alana’s hand, begging wordlessly for help. She knew she’d die soon, and she desperately wanted to live.
Alana bent forward, her sweet, elegant scent swirling around Rose’s head, mixing with the scent of her own poisoned blood. Alana’s breath caressed Rose’s ear, her lips almost kissing the shell of Rose’s ear, as she whispered, “You drank the poison to soothe your thirst. Now, what will you do for the antidote?”
“Save,” Rose choked out, blood gurgling in her throat, “me. Please.”
Alana’s fingers curled around Rose’s face, tilting her head back, and then, Alana’s lips pressed against Rose’s. She breathed a cold wind into Rose’s throat.
The cold air filled Rose’s body, alleviating the heat of the poison, healing her. Rose blinked in the darkness, surprised that she was still alive, surprised that the pain had ended. She felt Alana’s lips leave hers. Then, Alana helped her sit up against the wall, once again. She grasped Alana’s wrist. “Thank you,” she rasped.
Alana laughed softly. “It was just a kiss, darling. Death is awfully lonely,” she said, her lips curving into a smile. “I probably enjoyed it more than you did.”
Rose lifted her hand and placed it against her chest, frowning, as she felt a sudden chill. The cold breath seemed to swirl around inside of her, dropping in temperature by the second, until it felt more like a blizzard, than a breath of air.
“Are you cold, darling?” Alana said, as she watched Rose shiver violently.
Rose felt something spreading beneath her hand—so cold it numbed her palm. She glanced down at her chest, blinking, as her eyes finally began to adjust.
She gasped as she saw the layer of white ice on her chest, frost spreading outward, intricate lines of ice, like a snowflake or shattered glass. Her body shook, and her lips trembled, as the cold spread through her. She crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders, rocking back and forth, trying to warm herself. But the cold seeped deeper, and the ice spread further. She looked at Alana, her eyes wide.
“What have you done to me?” she whispered, shuddering. “I’m so cold.”
“Don’t you get it, Rose?” Alana said with a smile. “There is no escape.”
“P-p-please,” Rose stuttered, her teeth chattering too violently. “Help.”
“I can’t help you,” Alana said, shaking her head. “No one can help you.”
Alana vanished, shadows swirling where she’d been, and Rose wondered if she’d ever been there at all. It was all so difficult, so tiring, discerning what was reality and what was her mind. Her dark, broken mind—that loved to torment her.
Rose grew weaker by the moment, the ice spreading over her body. She could feel her own pulse slowing, each heartbeat weaker than the last. She felt as if she’d waited for an eternity, shivering, feeling each of her organs shut down.
Finally, the ice reached her throat, inching upward like cold fingers.
Rose closed her eyes, as the ice spread over her face, freezing her mouth and nose, leaving her with no way to breathe. Then, the ice covered the rest of her head, as well, turning her hair as bluish-white as her skin. When the painfully cold ice had overtaken her, she felt herself slip into the darkness. Her heart froze, like everything else, unable to beat, unable to pump blood throughout her body.
And she died.
Then, her eyes opened again.
But they weren’t blue.
Or red.
They were black.
Black as shadows.
Black as death.
—
When Rose awoke, she still felt cold. With shaking fingers, she threw off her blankets and stumbled out of bed. The muscles in her body didn’t work quite right, and she found herself falling more than standing, as she scrambled over to the desk, grabbing one of the notebooks she’d written in. Her thoughts processed at a sluggish rate. She couldn’t think past the disorienting haze that blurred her mind. She only knew that she was cold. She only knew that she needed warmth.
She sank to the floor, as another wave of exhaustion poured through her. Cradling her hands around the notebook paper, she set it on fire with her mind.
“Rose!” Kara screamed. Within less than a second, she was beside Rose, snatching Rose’s hands away from the fire. She stared at Rose, her light blue eyes wide with horror. “You’re a vampire, Rose,” she breathed. “You can’t touch fire.”
Rose couldn’t stop shivering. “I,” she said, lips trembling. “S-s-so cold.”
Kara glanced down at Rose’s cold hands, watching the way they trembled in her own. “Let me put out the fire,” she said worriedly. “Are you awake now?”
“I…I d-d-don’t,” Rose said, shivering too intensely to speak, “kn-know.”
Kara’s icy blue gaze shifted up to meet Rose’s. Worry twisted at her face, as she wondered what this was. Night terrors? Was Rose still dreaming somehow?
“Don’t move,” Kara whispered, releasing Rose’s hands. She disappeared just long enough to grab some water. Then, she tossed it on the notebook, putting out the small fire that Rose had started. It hadn’t grown much. It wasn’t even big enough to trigger an alarm—but even a small flame was dangerous to a vampire.
And Rose had nearly touched it.
Kara turned toward Rose, studying her with a worried frown. She didn’t think it had been purposeful. Even if Rose was depressed, she didn’t seem suicidal, at the moment. Just…confused. She’d drawn her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her entire body trembled, as if she were freezing to death.
She looked pale, too.
Deathly pale.
Kara prided herself in being fearless—in being the kind of person who enjoyed what others feared. But in that moment, watching Rose, she was terrified.
Kara stepped closer, her long legs and blue boxers level with Rose’s eyes. Hesitantly, Kara pressed the back of her hand to Rose’s face. “Your skin is cold.”
Rose could still feel the ice around her chest, the fear dripping from her tongue. She stared into the shadows, her eyes haunted. “Like the nightmare.”
Kara knelt and pulled Rose against her, warming Rose’s body with her own
, resting her face against Rose’s head. “Talk to me, love,” she whispered, her heart twisting with worry. “Tell me what this is. Let me help. Please. Let me help.”
Weakness plagued every muscle of Rose’s body, and when she did move her hand, it moved slowly, her fingers trembling. But her hand found Kara’s shirt, her fingers curling around the fabric, holding tightly to Kara. She leaned against Kara’s chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of Kara’s pulse. “You can’t help.”
Kara looped her arms around Rose’s, holding Rose in her lap, as she tried to warm Rose’s skin with her own. She tilted her head, until she could see Rose’s face—which looked so much paler than usual, with a bluish tint. “Why can’t I?”
“It’s what she said,” Rose whispered, still trembling. “No one can help.”
Kara pressed her lips to Rose’s hair, kissing her on the head. Part of her wanted to tell Rose the truth—to warn her of what might happen—but she feared that would backfire. She knew Rose would sacrifice her own life, if it meant saving the world. And Kara couldn’t stand the thought of that. “It’s what who said?”
“Alana,” Rose said. “She was there, in the nightmare. She’s always there.”
Kara frowned at that. She often dreamt of Alana, as well, but so many of her memories included Alana. So, it never struck her as odd, when she dreamt of Alana. But Rose? What did that mean? She traced her fingertips over Rose’s cold, clammy skin. “You’re hypothermic—because of a dream. How is that possible?”
“It was so real,” Rose said. “If it gets worse, I’m afraid I won’t wake up.”
“What?” Kara breathed. She curled her fingers beneath Rose’s chin and tilted her head back, meeting Rose’s bright blue gaze with her own. “Why would you think that?” Her brows creased with worry. “Is that possible, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Rose said, her words slow and lethargic. “All I know is that the darkness in my mind, in those nightmares—it feels like a prison, and each time, escape feels less and less possible.” She shrugged tiredly. “I have this fear—that something bad will happen, and I’ll fall into the darkness and never escape.”
The Reign of Darkness Page 64
