The Tomb of Blood

by Britney Jackson

  Kara moaned, her eyes sliding closed, her hands tracing the curve of Rose’s hips. She kissed Rose’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she breathed.

  Rose shifted beneath her, moving her hands to the sides of Kara’s face, Kara’s dark, silky hair sliding through her fingers, and then, their lips met in the slowest, gentlest, most emotional kiss that Rose had ever felt. Rose tasted salt in their kiss before she realized that there were tears pouring down Kara’s cheeks.

  Kara pulled back quickly and turned away from Rose, running her hands over her face, as she tried to regain control of her emotions. She stared, her lips parted, her breath coming quickly, at the blood-soaked, lifeless body of Alana.

  Rose raised herself into a sitting position and hesitantly placed her hand on Kara’s shoulder. “Kara,” she breathed, her heart breaking with sympathy.

  “Don’t look at me,” Kara pleaded, turning her face away, “not like this.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Rose whispered, her brows furrowing.

  Kara felt another tear slide down her cheek, and she stood up suddenly. Her wet, tear-filled eyes shifted toward Alana again. “Just…give me a minute.”

  Rose nodded, desperately wishing that she could lessen Kara’s pain.

  As Erik sensed Kara’s grief, he lifted his face to look up at her. The tears had left his green eyes red and swollen. “I was the only one she trusted, the only person she assumed would never kill her. I was the only one who could do it.”

  Kara stared down at him with empathy and understanding. “I know.”

  “We were losing the battle,” Erik mumbled. “Everyone was dying.”

  Rose felt warm, salty tears pouring down her own face. Whether it was her blood bond with Kara or the deep sympathy she felt for them that caused the pain, Rose wasn’t sure. But her heart shattered, as she saw the brokenness in their faces, in their eyes, in their tears. And then, as she watched Erik break down in tears again, weeping loudly, his entire body shaking, she sighed, “Oh, Erik.”

  She crawled over to him and curled against his side, ignoring the blood that soaked them both. “Come here,” she whispered to her friend as she pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed.

  He squeezed her tightly, sobbing against her shoulder. For a while, they stayed like that, Rose holding him as he wept, and then, finally, he unfurled his arms from around her and leaned back. “You need to go find Kallias,” he sighed, staring at the blood on his hands with tear-soaked eyes. “Make sure he’s okay.”

  “Erik,” Rose objected, her chest tightening in sympathy, as she watched the broken person beside her, “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

  “He won’t be,” Kara said suddenly. “I will stay with him.”

  That breathy, lilting voice drew Rose like a beacon—the effects of the blood bond, Rose assumed. She looked up at the wounded and dirty—yet somehow still gorgeous—woman who leaned against the wall, watching them. Kara had moved to the other side of the room, as if she were trying to stay as far away from Alana’s body as possible, and she stood against the wall, blood drenching her clothes. Thin, watery blood flowed freely from a deep, sword wound in her bicep that hadn’t begun to heal yet, pouring down her arm and dripping onto the floor. She clutched her blood-soaked battle-axe in the other hand, the giant weapon dangling from her hand, as if it weighed nothing. Her black, leather pants were caked with mud, and her neck and shirt were soaked in blood from where Rose had fed from her. Her cornflower-blue eyes lacked their normal sparkle. They looked dead and emotionless now, as they stared past Erik and Rose, to what was left of Alana’s lifeless body. Rose felt that buzz of energy between them—the blood bond—pulling her toward Kara, and without making the conscious decision to do so, she climbed to her feet and walked toward Kara.

  “Kara,” Rose said again, a sob catching in her throat, “I’m so sorry.”

  Kara tore her gaze from the blood-drenched corpse—all that was left of the woman she’d once loved—and looked at Rose. “For what?” she asked.

  “For what you’re feeling right now,” Rose answered. “The pain.”

  Kara shrugged. “This was how it always had to end. I knew that.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Rose said, stepping closer. She tilted her head to the side, her long, red hair falling over her shoulder, as she stared into Kara’s icy blue eyes. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Not with me.”

  A quiet, choked sob broke through Kara’s lips, and before even the first tear fell from her eyes, Rose was already stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Kara. The heavy battle-axe in Kara’s hand hit the marble floor with a loud thud as Kara dropped it and clutched Rose tightly, her arms sliding around Rose’s lower back. She buried her face in Rose’s soft, thick hair, and warm tears began to stream down her cheeks, mixing with the blood and dirt on her face. As she cried silently on Rose’s shoulder, she could hear Rose’s quiet, gentle voice in her ear, whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over, as if it were a chant or prayer.

  “She was such a monster, but…” Kara trailed off, unable to finish.

  “But you loved her, still,” Rose murmured, her fingers gently rubbing Kara’s back. It was the gentlest, most comforting touch Kara had ever felt, and Kara felt as if the suffocating pain and grief that she felt now might melt away under Rose’s touch, if she could just stay there, in Rose’s arms, long enough.

  “I was so worried about you,” Kara whispered into Rose’s hair. It wasn’t the kind of thing that she would normally admit, but she’d voiced the thought before she even realized it. “I knew you’d go after Alana by yourself. I knew it.”

  Rose pulled back to look at Kara. Her hands lingered on Kara’s back, still, and their faces remained close, Kara’s soft, pale lips close enough to kiss.

  “Are you okay?” Kara asked breathlessly. “Do you need more blood?”

  “I’m fine,” Rose said. She glanced down at the blood on Kara’s body, her nostrils flaring at the sweet, appealing scent. Rose gently traced her finger beneath the deep, jagged gash in Kara’s arm. “What about you? Are you okay?”

  Kara glanced down at the wound. “It’ll heal. It looks worse than it is.”

  “I was worried about you, too,” Rose admitted quietly, her heart racing.

  Kara’s light blue eyes widened slightly, and then, her features softened with affection, the hardness of her face, jaw, and eyes melting away, leaving a woman who looked much softer and gentler than the playful, mischievous Kara that Rose had grown so accustomed to seeing. “Rose,” she breathed as she lifted her hand and touched Rose’s face, brushing her thumb over Rose’s soft skin.

  Rose’s eyes fluttered closed at Kara’s featherlight, affectionate touch, and she leaned forward, as if Kara were a source of gravity, pulling her into her warm, strong arms. Hunger burned through Rose’s veins, clenching in her stomach, as the scent of Kara’s blood surrounded her. Then, she felt Kara’s breath on her lips, Kara’s soft lips brushing hers. Rose craved this kiss as intensely as she craved blood. She needed this kiss. She needed the emotions that would wash over her, melting away the sorrow and pain of everything that had just happened. She needed the fierce desire that would wake the strength and fire inside of her. She needed the pleasure that would burn through her, leaving her craving that feeling again and again. There was something in Kara that called to Rose, that made her crave things that she shouldn’t crave, things that she felt so guilty for craving.

  “I need,” Rose breathed against Kara’s lips. “I need…”

  Kara threaded her fingers into Rose’s long, red hair. “You need what?”

  Rose opened her eyes, pain flashing within their bright, azure blue depths. “I need to find Kallias,” she sighed. “I need to make sure he’s all right.”

  Kara dropped her hand, and a soft, disappointed yet understanding smile turned up at the edges of her thin, pale lips. “Of c
ourse you do,” she said in that breathy, lilting voice of hers. “Go ahead. I’ll stay with Erik.” She cast a sympathetic look toward Erik, her brows creasing with concern as she noticed him curled up against the wall, his head on his knees, his entire body shaking with sobs. “He and I…” she sighed. “We’ve gotten each other through Alana-related pain hundreds of times before. This time should be no different, I think.”

  Rose stared at Kara, admiration pouring through her as she watched Kara straighten her shoulders and prepare to face this with the same enduring strength that had allowed Kara to face every other painful event in her life.

  Rose knew that she needed to leave, that she needed to check on Kallias, but her feet felt frozen in place. The blood bond held her there, connecting her to Kara, creating a longing inside of her that was more severe than anything she had ever felt. “I need to go,” she said as she lifted her hand to touch Kara’s arm.

  Kara’s lips twitched. “You said that already.”

  “Right,” Rose squeaked, dropping her hand. “I…I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Kara smiled. “You’ve said that, too.”

  Rose blushed. She turned around and forced her feet to move away from Kara, even though they clearly disagreed with her. She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Once she stepped out of that room, the walls and events that had distracted her so thoroughly from what was taking place throughout the rest of the colony were gone, and suddenly, Rose could no longer ignore the sounds of weeping or the scents of blood and death that filled her senses and left her queasy. She could no longer ignore the apprehensive eyes of wounded and exhausted vampires who worried that she might be another traitor, there to finish the job. She sucked in a deep breath and started walking down the hall, in the direction of the bar, where she hoped to find Kallias.

  She’d only taken a few steps, however, when she saw him.

  He raced toward her and scooped her up into his arms, enclosing her in such a strong, tight embrace that Rose worried that her bones might shatter. He pressed her against the wall—his blood-soaked body pressing against hers—and kissed her. His lips pressed harshly against hers, leaving her own lips tender and sensitive, and his breath felt uneven and ragged, as if he were in pain. There was a softness to the kiss—relief and love—but there was also anger and frustration in it. He pulled back, staring down at her. “I hate you sometimes,” he sobbed.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Rose began “I knew you would stop me, if I…”

  “Of course I would’ve stopped you,” he growled, cutting her off before she could finish the sentence. “Why would you go after Alana by yourself?”

  Rose shrugged sadly. “I thought it was the only way.”

  The emotion strangled him, leaving his voice hoarse. “I felt you dying, Rose, and I couldn’t come to save you. No one would let me leave that bar.”

  Rose lifted her hand and touched his face, feeling the roughness of his unshaven jaw beneath her palm. Her chest tightened with sympathy as she heard the pain in his voice. “I’m sorry. I thought I could stop her, but I was wrong.”

  He clutched her tightly, pressing his face against her neck, allowing the sweet scents that clung to her skin—honey and vanilla—to comfort him. “I was terrified,” he sighed, his mouth against her skin. “I thought I’d lost you. Again.”

  Rose clutched the back of his black, button-down shirt, the fabric wet beneath her fingers, drenched with blood. “I’m fine. Erik…” she trailed off with a soft, broken sob as she remembered the betrayed look on Alana’s face when Erik killed her, and even worse, the look on Erik’s face. “Erik killed her.”

  He pulled back, frowning at the tears in her eyes. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Is it?” Rose asked. “Because all I see is a bunch of people hurting.”

  “She was insane, Rose,” Kallias reminded her. “She has killed thousands of people, just in the last few weeks alone. She doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

  “You didn’t see her the way I did,” Rose insisted, remembering the way Alana had doubled over in pain when she realized that she’d lost Erik, too. “She was so broken. She didn’t choose to lose her mind. People did that to her.”

  “She had a choice, just like you did,” Kallias argued, “just like we all do.”

  “It shouldn’t have been Erik,” Rose sighed. “He shouldn’t have been the one to kill her. He’s hurting so much. How will he ever recover from this?”

  Kallias sighed, bewildered by her sadness. “We won, Rose.”

  Rose looked up at him. “Then, why does it feel like we lost?”

  “Because everyone loses in war,” said a familiar, thickly-accented voice.

  An eerie, hushed silence fell over the halls of the Tomb of Blood, all of the sudden, as everyone, including Rose and Kallias, recognized that voice. The squeak of his tennis shoes echoed through the silent halls as he walked past the other vampires, toward Rose and Kallias. As his eerily familiar, appealing scent reached Rose’s senses, she turned, her brows creasing in concern as she watched Aaron walk toward them. Splatters of blood covered his white T-shirt in so many different shades of red that it looked as if the T-shirt had been tie-dyed with blood. Blood poured from one side of his body, drenching his shirt and jeans, from a deep, sword wound in his right side. His dark eyes seemed cold and dead.

  “Most of Alana’s army stopped fighting,” Aaron said. He sounded so exhausted and depressed. He sighed, “I assume that means that Alana is dead?”

  Rose nodded sadly. “She is,” she said quietly. “Erik killed her.”

  Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Surprising,” he said in a bored tone.

  “You wouldn’t think so, if you knew how much Erik cared about his friends,” Rose argued, her eyes narrowing, “but you never bothered to find out.”

  Aaron just stared at her, as if he didn’t have the energy to feel offended. “Well, it’s a good thing he picked up the slack…since you failed so thoroughly.”

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Kallias snarled at him.

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “Back off, Greek. I’m not in the mood.”

  Kallias growled, “I don’t care what you’re in the mood for, you…”

  “Kallias!” Rose interrupted, her eyes widening. “Calm down. I’m fine.”

  Kallias scowled at her. “I don’t like the way he talks to you.”

  “What happened to the other vampires?” Aaron asked. “The traitors?”

  “Most of them surrendered after she died,” Kallias said. “And the ones that didn’t—the ones that fought of their own accord—have been taken care of.”

  Aaron nodded tiredly. “Good.”

  “Are you all right?” Rose asked, eyeing the wound in his side.

  “Perfect,” he grunted. Then, he hobbled over to the wall and sunk down against it, resting his head on his knees. He breathed out a long, exhausted sigh.

  “Sir?” asked a gruff, male voice, the voice of someone who, unlike every other vampire in the Tomb of Blood, lacked a European accent of any kind.

  “What is it, Tom?” Aaron mumbled, his voice muffled by his knees.

  The friendly bartender lacked that bright, good-natured smile that he’d worn a few days earlier, when Rose had first met him. Instead, he seemed weary and dejected from the battle. Splatters of bright, red blood sparkled against his dark skin, and the collar of his once white shirt now looked crimson from the blood that had poured from the wounds in his stomach and shoulder. “We only have an hour until sunrise. What do you want us to do with all of these corpses?”

  Aaron still didn’t lift his head. “How many did we lose?”

  Tom sighed, sadness softening his dark eyes, “Too many to count.”

  Aaron rephrased the question, “How many survived?”

  “Maybe two hundred,” Tom answered hesitantly.

  Aaron looked up at him, his dark eyes wide. He looked as if he’d just been punched in the gut. “Two hundred?” he sai
d. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

  Tom grimaced. “I’m afraid I’m very serious.”

  Aaron leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling with a tired, resigned look. “Burn as many of them as you can in the cemetery, but be careful not to draw attention to yourselves,” he sighed, “and when you run out of time, store the rest in the empty tombs and crypts outside…until tomorrow.”

  Tom nodded. “Of course,” he sighed. “May I ask one more question?”

  “Stop being so polite,” Aaron said. “There’s no need for it right now.”

  “Right,” Tom said, frowning. “Everyone is so distraught right now, and I just wanted to ask: What should we tell them? Where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue,” Aaron muttered under his breath.

  —

  Audrey sprawled across the wooden bench that set right outside of the classroom for her next class, preparing to take an afternoon nap while she waited for her next class to start. The sun burned so brightly in the cloudless sky that she could see the light behind her eyelids even while her eyes were closed.

  She also saw the silhouette of the man standing over her.

  Startled, Audrey opened her eyes and sat up. She held her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight as she stared at the man standing over her bench. He looked familiar, for some reason—short, muscular, dark-skinned, wild, curly, black hair—but Audrey couldn’t quite remember where she had seen him before. “Do I know you?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

  His eyes looked so cold and dark. “We’ve met…through Rose Foster.”

  Her frown deepened. “Rose? Huh. Did you work at the café with her?”