“Only if you can control your thirst.”
Hawthorne stood up. For a moment he appeared as if he meant to dash from the room. I wouldn’t have blamed him for thinking better about what he was about to do. Instead, he held a hand out for me. “Let’s do this, Annabelle. I want to help you. I want to be with you. It sounds crazy, but you’ve captivated me in a way I never thought possible. If I wasn’t so level-headed, I’d say I’d become obsessed.”
I wanted to leap into his arms, but one more thing held me back. “There’s no guarantee my youth will return. I may never look as I did before the curse. This is also a new experience for me.”
Hawthorne narrowed his eyes, his hand still outstretched. “You’re beautiful, Annabelle. Just as you are.”
“What about your career as a writer?” He shouldn’t leave anything unconsidered.
“I can still write after you’ve turned me, Annabelle. Does becoming a vampire cause one to forget how to hold a pen?” He was joking, attempting to quiet my fears for him.
“All right, you asked for it.” I smiled, beckoning him forward.
My weak heart thumped with renewed vigor. For a man to see past my exterior—to love me whether or not I was beautiful. It almost overcame me, this sweeping emotion. I kicked aside the blankets as Hawthorne pulled me to my feet. He was taller than me by a good five inches, so I pushed him back into the chair Alain had occupied. It was important, I have the higher ground. I sat in his lap, his arms moving around my waist. My heart raced in my chest. I slid a hand behind his neck, turning his head to the side. His jugular vein pulsed with life inches from my face. I pressed my mouth to his skin, stubble grazing my lips with a pleasurable tickle. Hawthorne’s oak scent increased my desire.
Hawthorne moved beneath me, his body tensing in expectation. He was nervous and he should be. Everything would be different. I refused to hurt him. As starved as I was, I wouldn’t allow my hunger to overcome, to tear at him like an animal. With slow, deliberate care, I sank my fangs into the soft flesh of his throat. And then, my entire world came into focus.
Chapter Thirteen
Yesterday I was clever,
so I wanted to change the world.
Today I am wise,
so I am changing myself.
-Rumi
Hawthorne
Lightheadedness threatened to send me into unconsciousness. I meant everything I said, still, how could I not tremble with terror at what was to come? My universe was about to change, as Annabelle had already said.
I decided the moment I entered her sick room. I would help her in whatever way possible. Her story was incredible, fantastic. Like the best fiction, I absorbed every word she said, living her story in my head as if I had been there myself. She was flawed, she had made mistakes, but she was also good, pure at heart despite what she had become.
When she moved onto my lap, a momentary regret flared up in my brain. I’m only human, and I was giving up a lot. It would devastate my parents. I would have to come up with something good to help them with letting me go. Perhaps, I would say I’d won a scholarship to study overseas for a while. That would buy me the time I required to get myself under control. And I would have to leave right away or risk losing the tuition money.
Annabelle was light, almost weightless as she sat on my thighs. She wasted no time in moving my head aside, her lips now attached to my neck. I braced myself for the pain to come. I was positive it would be worse than the time I broke my ankle.
When her pointed teeth bit into my skin, I winced, sucking in air. I gripped her, holding on fiercely as she drank from me. The searing jolt of fire as she pierced my skin was enough to make me want to throw her off my lap, but I bore down, focusing on how I cared for this woman to get me through. The pain was momentary, replaced by a pleasure that rocked me to my core. My body was floating, tingling with a million kisses from head to toe. If only this sensation lasted forever.
It was over all too soon. A void of darkness toyed with my mind. No light of any kind surrounded me. Annabelle’s voice reached me as if it were an echo from far away. “Drink, Hawthorne. Please, drink.”
Her voice sounded panicked. She wept. What must have been tears landed hot and wet on my cheeks. I struggled to do as she commanded, swallowing down large mouthfuls of an unappetizing, thick liquid.
“He’ll sleep now. Don’t worry.” The voice was Alain’s, only I didn’t see him. I fell further into the dark tunnel... then nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
I remembered that the real world was wide,
and that a varied field of hopes and fears,
of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had
the courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real
knowledge of life amidst its perils.
Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Annabelle
“He’ll be fine. I believe Hawthorne will join us soon, as a new man.” Alain carried Hawthorne to my bed, depositing him on top of the blankets. I watched his face. When would he wake? Would he regret what I’d done? Would he love me—hate me? “Cherie, have you looked in a mirror?”
“Why?” I asked, terrified that nothing had changed. The lightness with which I moved to the gilt-edged mirror was profound. Before tonight, my limbs had grown so weak, walking was a tedious chore. This was no longer the case. I was powerful as I was long ago in my immortality, before that fateful night changed everything.
With my much-improved eyesight, I could see in the dim light of the area. No longer did I need to squint through cloudy lenses to see better. I stood in front of the mirror; my eyes trained on the ground. But something held me back from peering into the glass. Fear, I supposed.
“What is the matter? Look at yourself, Annabelle.” Alain stood behind me near the foot of the bed. I didn’t need to see him to know he crossed his arms in annoyance.
My shoulders turned away from the mirror. “There’s no need. My appearance matters little. The only thing I care about is how I feel, and I’m alive, Alain. Truly alive for the first time in all these painful years. Hawthorne gifted me a second chance at life.”
Alain hugged me. “A modern sensibility for a woman trapped in time.”
“Not anymore. Time is no longer my captor,” I said into his shoulder. Pushing him back, I looked into his eyes. “I want the two of you to go now. Everything is fine, more than fine. You’ve fulfilled whatever obligation you felt you owed me. It’s time you lived, really lived.”
Alain leaned back, keen black eyes gazing into mine. “I will do as Swann bids me. Our path is up to her. Her happiness is what I strive for. I think you understand this now.” Alain moved his head toward Hawthorne’s figure, sleeping on the bed.
“Swann bids us to remain for a while longer.” Swann leaned on one hip in the doorway. “Once the otherness of what we are settles with Hawthorne, we will see.” She rushed over nudging Alain out of her way to envelop me in her dancers’ arms.
Swann held me in a fierce grasp. “I never gave up.”
“No, you never did.” We embraced; our arms tight around each other’s backs.
Through the veil of Swann’s thick, golden hair, I watched Hawthorne stir on the bed. I released her, taking my place by his side. The vampiric blood now flowing through his veins made this once, young vital man, more so. His muscles flexed with power underneath his clothes. I gripped his hand, pulling it up to my lips. He would make a formidable companion.
“I feel like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Is that how the saying goes? The thirst is wicked awful, though. That I don’t need.” Hawthorne opened his eyes. His gaze flitted from Alain to Swann before falling on me. He pulled back as if startled by the sight. “Annabelle?”
Helpless to hold his gaze, I looked down, and picked imaginary lint off his t-shirt. I hoped he had no reason to regret what he’d done. He left me more vulnerable, more exposed than I’d been even in my weakened state. Love did that, I suppose. It laid us bare in
more ways than one.
Hawthorne pulled his hand out of mine. He had rejected me. Before I moved away, he reached his long arm up and took hold of my waist, pulling me down to sit alongside him on the bed. Hawthorne sat up so we were face to face. The movement was awkward—I couldn’t help but giggle.
Alain cleared his throat. “Four’s a crowd, my love.” Swann laughed her sing-song laugh as their footfalls padded on the hardwood floor. I didn’t turn to see them go. My steady attention fixed on the man who faced me. What a man he was. Had I ever looked at his face with confidence? I think I was too shy before. I looked now. The strong line of his jaw, his full mouth. I had to touch them, tracing them lightly with my index finger. His breath hitched. I was influencing Hawthorne and I longed to jump for joy.
Our faces were so close, his breath warm on my lips. “Those eyes of yours, Annabelle. They can see into my soul. Thank goodness for that broken-down car. A strange thing to be happy about.”
I shuddered to imagine what would have happened had Hawthorne driven past the plantation house that night. Not only would I now be dust, I would never have met him, never would have known what it was like to love with my whole heart.
My pulse quickened, my breath rushing in and out like an uncontrollable tide. This man was my beginning and end. I reached up farther, running the tips of my fingers over his temple and plunging my hand into his nest of thick hair. As I did so, he bit his bottom lip, his eyes languid, his lids half-closed. Hawthorne slid a hand around the small of my back, pressing me closer. When his lips met mine, a dizzy, delicious haze enveloped me. Our mouths pressed together, sending shock waves through my body. Hawthorne parted my lips with his tongue, creating an altogether new and delicious sensation.
Never had a man kissed me like this. Hawthorne kissed me as if he wanted to possess every part of me, and I wanted him to. I loved him before, now love seemed a paltry thing. This man inspired a deeper, more all-consuming emotion.
Before we could explore further, Hawthorne’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. We broke our kiss, breathless and shaken. Our mouths were so close I inhaled his breath as he spoke. “It’s my parents. I have to deal with this, or they’ll be here looking for me.”
I nipped his bottom lip, happier and more playful than I ever had been before. “Come and get me when you’re finished. We must find you some fresh blood, before you run loose on the town.”
To leave the room was a torture worse than my incarceration. But Hawthorne was right, he needed to handle his parents. I hoped they would be okay. He cocooned me in warm bliss. As I stepped into the hallway, I shivered with the cold.
I hadn’t thought to test the perimeter until now. The thirst was abated, and I was back to myself. I was certain I was free of my physical prison. While I waited for Hawthorne, I would change into a fresh dress. Then we would walk outside hand in hand. I wondered how it would feel to leave the house after two centuries. To wait to find out would be a bearable torture.
Thank goodness for Swann and her love of pretty dresses. I pulled open my armoire, throwing the doors wide. Swann packed the interior, near to bursting with silks, velvets, sequins, and feathers. The finery of my wardrobe was a stark contrast to the casualness of Hawthorne’s. Either he needed to dress up, or I needed to dress down.
Most of the beauties in here I had never seen, some still had tags. There wasn’t much of a color palette. Most of the gowns were black, with a spot of burgundy, here and there. Swann loved me in burgundy, she said it brought out the flecks of amber in my eyes and complimented the chestnut of my hair. To me, the color represented the blood rose. I never said so, because hurting Swann’s feelings was the last thing I wanted to do. She went to so much trouble, but I hated the color.
Tonight, called for a change. In the back of the armoire, hung a snow-white gown of burnished silk. I pulled it out, holding it against my body to check the size. It would fit with perfection, they all did. It may have looked like a wedding dress, but the gown spoke of new beginnings.
“I always imagined you in white, walking down the aisle toward me, my Annabelle.”
I whirled around, unable to believe what I’d heard. The voice flooded my mind with images of a young man, proper and sweet. He looked the same, nothing was changed. He stood near the window, fully formed. This was no apparition.
“Edward.” I breathed out the name, afraid if I said it too loud, another curse would fall on my head. I couldn’t bear anymore heartache. I merely wanted to move on. Fate seemed to conspire against me at every turn.
“Yes, my Annabelle. How close to perishing you were. I didn’t think you would ever break my curse. You’ve astounded me. Perhaps I should have cast a stronger spell.” Edward didn’t move, there was nothing to indicate he would hurt me. Fear rolled through me like the curling of a wave.
“You should have cast? I don’t understand. It was your mother who cursed me.” I gripped the dress to my body as if it were a shield. Where were my friends in arms? Their senses had always been sharper than mine, could they not hear this intruder, feel him?
“You would, simple as you are. You were not so easy to seduce, my Annabelle. If I loved you, this Hawthorne would have me rather jealous. You never kissed me like that. And besides, who ever said the witch was my mother?”
I bristled, my blood boiling with anger in my veins. I narrowed my eyes, fixing him in a stare hot with fury. What angered me more than anything was that he wasn’t wrong. I had been simple in the past, led by this man who tried everything in his power to ruin my life. “You courted me with the design to curse me all along? Who was the witch who appeared after I drained you then? Who else could she have been? I drained you—you were dead in my arms when she appeared, tears of grief and fury in her eyes.”
“A trick, my Annabelle. This was the assumption I hoped you would make. She was part of my spell. My mind played a trick on you to make you feel as guilty as possible. I wanted you to wallow in that guilt as you deteriorated. I staged the whole play in three acts. Act one—the meeting. Act two—the courting, this took longer than I would have liked, and Act three—the cursing. I sliced my hand, knowing you could not control yourself. In my weakened state, it was difficult to project the image, but I’m the strongest witch I know, and vampires are the scourge of the earth. I make it my mission to seek them out, hurting them when I can.”
“Why not end me, why the charade, why the curse?”
Edward rolled his eyes. “Covenants bind us witches. One of them being we cannot harm any being, living or dead, without first being provoked. I could have ended you after you drank from me, but curses are so much more fun. You, my Annabelle, are the first vampire to break one. I feared Hawthorne was getting a little too close, that was why I planned to remove him from the playing field with the little shock, my Annabelle.”
The dress I held in my hands was in danger of being torn to bits in my busy hands. What I preferred to be wringing was Edward’s neck. I threw the garment aside. “Stop calling me my Annabelle. I’m not yours. I never was.”
“No, I suppose not. Even before, when it was you and I, I never had your heart. You were never mine. You belong to another now.”
I shook my head, my hands balling into fists at my side. The attempt to keep a level head was becoming more difficult all the time. Spots of rage clouded my vision. Through clenched teeth, I spit out, “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Edward grinned a half-smile that set my teeth more on edge. If I wasn’t careful, I may break them. “Well, look at you. Are you ready to stand on your own two feet? Come at me, I beg you. There will be no curse, this time, only the sweet release you hoped for.”
My fingers ached to wrap themselves around his thin throat. It would be so easy to crush his windpipe with my thumbs. How had I ever found this vile person attractive? In my mind he was pulling out my chairs, holding doors, and offering his handkerchief. He possessed a gentle manner in my memories. It had all been an act, a play as he called it. Now all I saw was a
snake with red beady eyes, and a slippery, sick sheen to his skin. If I attacked him, it would provoke him in the way his kind needed to kill. I had to hold myself back. With my impulses reigned in, I thought through how to proceed. Calm was imperative.
I relaxed my stance, my eyes closed as I took several deep breaths, ridding my mind of the murderous thoughts that swirled.
He seemed to read my mind. “You can try to deny your true nature all you want, my Annabelle. But what if I do this?”
I kept my eyes closed. I knew what he was about to do, but how could I stop him? If I ran at him, he would kill me. If I didn’t run at him, someone else I loved might. Metal scraped against metal as a small hinge released a blade. I opened my eyes to see Edward holding a pocketknife over his wrist, the moonlight streaming in through the window, glinting off the silver.
“I beg you, Edward, don’t do this. You’ve punished me, my sentence was long, painful. I’ve done my time. No one else in this house deserves your brand of justice. We’re not the monsters you think we are.” I held out my hands, as if this gesture would stop Edward from continuing to ruin my life.
“Then you’ll have to sacrifice yourself for them, won’t you, my Annabelle?” His eyes were hard, unforgiving. Edward pressed the tip of the blade into the exposed flesh of his arm. He pierced the skin and pulled the knife upward as blood poured from the gash onto the carpet. Edward smiled, biting his bottom lip as if with pleasure. He was sick, demented in more ways than one.
I didn’t move or scream. The last thing I wanted now was to draw my loved ones to this room. Swann and Alain must have gone out, it was the only thing that made sense. This was both good and bad. They wanted to give us some space, so they left to go into town for a movie or some other diversion. Edward’s wrath would spare my two friends, for this I was grateful.
Blood Rose (The Undying Love Collection Book 1) Page 8
