The Dark Rose

by Ramsey, Valentine

  Reaching the end, he pushed opened the metal door that led into a small stretch of woods. Trees rustling in the wind, Raphael tilted his face up, the cool air feeling good on his skin.

  He hadn’t walked far when a feminine giggle sang her signal. Head whipping around, Raphael honed in on the direction as the predator he was anticipated easy prey. Scanning the darkness, he heard it again.

  Unlikely it would seem and dangerous it would definitely be for a female to wander alone in his world of night, when he could stumble upon her, a creature she could not fight.

  Listening for multiple voices that would ruin his plans, Raphael picked up the unpleasant scent of vomit laced with liquor and sushi.

  Rounding the corner, a flash in the shadows caught his attention as a musical male voice chuckled. Striding to a tree, Raphael leaned against it, hidden under the umbrella of its darkness. Sharp eyes piercing the night, he spied—his eyes narrowed—oh he should die!

  A Gray!

  In Rose territory he dare stray!

  Raphael chuckled as it was too priceless. He looked up at the moon, thanking the Gods for his good fortune.

  A dazed blond wearing a mini-skirt and heels that could only be described as stripper-esque stumbled out of the shadows with a dopey smile on her face and puncture wounds on her neck that would heal in a matter of minutes.

  Appearing after her was the Gray. He wore a t-shirt with the Crown Royal whisky insignia on it. Zipping his jeans, he then wiped the blood from his lips and headed in the opposite direction towards the forest. The vampire’s hair was as red as the blood Raphael would shed.

  Deacon, Raphael believed his name to be, one of the Prince’s main men. Stubbing out the cigarette on his tongue, he flicked the butt away and followed. A hollow evening he had thought it would be, but now he could see fate had a way of satisfying his rage of late. Staying out of sight, Raphael watched the Gray vanish into the trees then charged in after him, looking to ambush, but the Gray was gone.

  Or was he wrong?

  Looking about, nostrils flaring for trail, there was a rustle. Raphael whirled around, but a force slammed into him so hard they both flew into the air. Crashing to the ground, dirt exploded up, raining down on them. Raphael somersaulted backwards, landing in a crouch, snarling.

  The Gray’s eyes glowed like amber orbs as he snarled back. “You lookin’ for something following me?”

  “Free game.”

  They rushed each other. The Gray fought with no skill, but was good enough to kill. Warring, getting the upper hand, Raphael flipped him over his shoulder, throwing him to the ground. As he made to strike his face, the Gray said quickly, “Guess someone’s a little sour over the Princess choosing a Gray rather than a heartless Stone.”

  Raphael was made to fight; nothing detour him from one, but this—did. He paused, arm raised, fist clenched ready to beat him to a juicy bloody pulp.

  “Repeat that last part,” Raphael said.

  Deacon laughed. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  Deacon laughed harder. Yanking him up, Raphael punched him then grabbed his shoulders and yanked him forward, kneeing him in the gut.

  Clutching his stomach, doubled over still laughing, Deacon said in a raspy voice, “Princess Pandora and my Prince have been—” he paused wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand.

  “Have been what?!” Raphael demanded. He kicked him in the chest, making him stagger back and fall.

  This humiliation still didn’t wipe the smirk from the Gray’s face. “Have been secretly romancing each other.”

  Raphael’s contorted face went blank. But then he saw it for what it was.

  “You lie! How dare you taint her name by mingling it with your Gray scum you have the audacity to call royalty. It is a monstrosity what you suggest!”

  Deacon laughed, rolling on his back. “I don’t. They’re in L.O.V.E,” he sang. “Love.”

  Raphael stared at him astonished then snarled, “You risk your life—”

  The Gray flipped to his feet surprising him with an uppercut. Raphael staggered back, clutching his jaw. It was a blow that would have decapitated a mortal, him it merely stunned.

  “I’m not lying and you know it,” the Gray said with heavy satisfaction as he licked the blood running down his lip. “The question is…are you going to do something about it, or am I?”

  Giving a wink, he vanished in a blur. Raphael glared after the trail of leaves he stirred in his wake, the only sign he hadn’t been fake.

  + Chapter 20 +

  Self-Devouring Hungers

  Pan loved shopping. Loved buying dresses and shoes and dropping by the jewelers to have barrettes custom made. What she would love even more was showing off her new dresses to Dom and watching his admiring eyes taking her in as he just couldn’t resist to touch…and taste.

  So there was no time to waste. Hurrying to her room, having gotten back from shopping with Danna and Isla, a hand shot out from a dark hall, painfully seized her arm and yanking her in the shadows.

  Stumbling, Pan gave a startled gasp, dropping the bags and almost falling. Seeing the hand belonged to Raphael, she scowled.

  “You’re hurting my arm,” she snapped, and he dropped his grip. Just seeing him vaporized her light mood.

  “I need a word.”

  Hearing the edge in his voice, studying his strained face and tight jaw, Pan decided it was a word she didn’t want to hear.

  “I’m not in the mood,” she said, haughty. Picking up her stuff, she pushed him aside.

  Raphael flashed in front of her making her take a step back or collide into him. Pan looked into his furious face, a little frightened by it now. Glancing down the hall she became nervous knowing no one else was around because of the time of day.

  “What do you want?” she demanded, glad to keep the tremor from her voice.

  “You.”

  She rolled her eyes. Nothing to fear, it was only his queer games as usual. She turned away.

  “But it seems someone already has you.”

  Pan froze, a chill of terror crawling up her spine. He couldn’t possibly know. No one knew, but…a memory flashed to mind so fast she had to rewind. Dom’s people had recognized her in the field. Dom swore their secrecy, but the fact was upon them that someone knew and possibly told.

  Pan took a deep shuddering breath to hide her fear and glanced at Raphael over her shoulder. He wore an evil smirk that said the snake had cornered the rabbit.

  Out of habit, deciding to remain ignorant as it was time to deny, deny, deny and later rectify, Pan challenged snootily, turning to face him, “What are you talking about?”

  “You know of what I speak,” he growled.

  Pan shivered, but still said, “Clearly not if I ask to seek.”

  Raphael’s lips peeled back. He knew. Oh god, he knew. Swallowing hard, her throat suddenly dry, it took a moment of effort but she managed to say, “It’s none of your business.”

  “Don’t pull that condescending bullshit on me baby, I’m not your daddy.”

  His arrogant façade was gone, his face now transformed into something more demonic, the nature he fought to hide.

  Not knowing what else to do, self-preservation kicking in, Pan turned, walking fast. Raphael grabbed her shoulder and yanked her around, slamming her into the wall.

  Wincing from the pain, Pan gasped, but instinct made her snarl. Raphael grabbed her neck, his grip light but tight as he didn’t want to leave any bruising in sight to cause question.

  “Let’s see those fangs.” He used his thumb to push her top lip up to examine her incisors.

  “Nope,” he said. “Not fully grown yet especially for such a big snarl coming from such a little kitten.”

  His fingers tightened around her neck. Grimacing, Pan knew her eyes were huge as he could crush her windpipe with a twitch of his muscles. She would never be able to draw her last breath, never be able to scream or call her lovers name.

  “
You are going to stop seeing him,” Raphael said. “Whether you do it willingly or I kill him.” Lowering so his face was inches from hers he said softly, “Victor is going to be furious of your indiscretion and betrayal to your coven. It will be all I can do to protect you from his wrath.”

  Panicking, Pan tried to pry Raphael’s hand from her neck, but it was useless. Seeing her terror, the rage in his eyes died a little.

  “Do you see what you do to me?” he said passionately, resting his head against hers.

  Pan’s lower half felt weak and cold as he pressed against her, his other hand sliding down her hip. He kissed her cheek and her knees trembled.

  “It’s torture,” he breathed and suddenly kissed her, mashing his mouth hard against hers.

  Pan pushed against his brick wall of a chest, her squeal of protested muffled against his mouth as she fought, struggling to break it. She shoved his face away.

  “I will have you!” he snarled, then laughed at his small triumph.

  A wildness surging in her, Pan tried to claw his face. Raphael jerked back, holding her pinned against the wall.

  “You won’t tell him,” Pan said, glad for this rush of anger as her voice was laden with confidence.

  His eyebrows shot up in amusement. “I won’t?”

  “No, because if you do I’ll tell my father about Lorna.”

  Raphael’s face fell at her threat.

  Lorna had been a woman he had gotten a little rough with as he was prone to do with his food. Panicked, as she lay dying he was forced to change her illegally without his coven’s permission, as she was a senator’s daughter. Heat that the vampire community wouldn’t have been able to escape had she simply disappeared would have fallen heavy and hard on the state.

  For two years Raphael had fought to hide his dirty little secret, keeping her under lock and key so he could stay free. But Lorna was wild and vicious, regularly killing humans and making messes he was forced to clean up.

  Eye’s narrowing, Raphael’s nostrils flared. “You’re playing a dangerous game Pan. You sure you’re ready to play in the big leagues just yet?”

  Pan knew defiance was in her eyes as her loathing of him would make it astonishingly easy to rat him out and he knew it. This secret of his would end any chance he had at her hand and any royal ruling. Raphael’s jaw clenched as he knew she had him.

  “Don’t give him anything that’s mine,” he said, pushing his pelvis into hers making his warning clear. “This treasure, by all measures, is mine.”

  And just like that he was gone, her hair slightly stirred from his self-created wind.

  Swallowing hard, Pan slumped back against the wall. Tears filled her eyes, one leaked over, rolling hot down her cheek as cold hopelessness descended.

  Her worst enemy, more than the name that she would soon wear as her own, knew of her forbidden love. Her childish and clouded belief that hiding their illegal romance and escaping their names would be easy had been so fanciful she now saw it for the fantasy it was.

  How would they ever escape the titles that held them captive when it was by their own hand to which they were doomed? Pan looked up at the ceiling, searching for a sign that all would end well, or else…what would she do?

  Rolling her head from side to side, a sob escaped her throat. Sliding down the wall, she sat on the floor. Everything had been so mystique, now it all appeared so bleak.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked the ghosts of generations past. “Passion being the assassin, all self-devouring hungers demands me to wonder at the tragedies love must have in store when all at once it gives you everything you adore and more.” She sighed. “I have wondered, I have feared, and now I see they begin here.”

  + Chapter 21+

  Come What Sorrows Can

  Nine hours, the moon now in power, and still no word from Pan. He shouldn’t worry, there was no need. At least those were the words Dom’s senseless mind raced as he paced, staring at the blank screen of his phone waiting for it to light up as she returned his call. It should be any minute.

  His mind played that as well in constant continuum, because if that were so then she had had a hundred and eighty minutes to call back as he had called her every twenty minutes for the last three hours. But her phone was off and that wasn’t like his love.

  “She should have called by now,” Dom said for the millionth time. Since they had met they hadn’t gone this many hours, minutes, seconds, without speaking to each other.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m worried.”

  “We can see that,” Dove said, irritated. He was lounging on a settee, repeatedly flipping a knife in the air and catching it.

  All of them, save Urijah reading a book, looked annoyed including little seemingly imperturbable Elle.

  “Maybe something’s happened.” Terror rocketed through Dom, the thought nearly having him running out the door and into the dawned night, racing to her to make sure she was safe.

  “Nothing’s happened,” Katzen said, exasperated. “You worry too much. She’s guarded well, if she wasn’t we would have killed her long ago.”

  Dom threw him a savage look.

  “I mean it as a good thing,” Katzen said, in quick defense.

  “Nothing is good when you’re referring to her death,” Dom growled.

  “Don’t goad him when it comes to her,” Urijah said, his head still bent over the thick volume. “You won’t like the outcome.”

  Dom went back to pacing. “Something’s happened. I wouldn’t be this anxious if it hadn’t.”

  Urijah looked up at him for the first time, concern on his face. “Be patient Dominic, I’m sure she’s fine. At least wait the hour out and then go.”

  As always, Urijah made sense, though it didn’t mean Dom had to like it. Barging into the House of Rose would pose a problem doing neither of them good.

  “She probably hasn’t had a chance to call you,” Urijah continued. “Her people don’t know of your love like we do. She has to be more careful.”

  And as always, Urijah had succeeded in soothing his worry a fraction. That was until Dom caught the quick smirk that flashed across Deacon’s face. Dom studied him closer. He was looking oddly smug about himself, like he had found a Rose wandering far from its vine and cut off its line. And now that he noticed—Dom realized Deacon had been sitting oddly quiet through all this when usually he was all mouth of the situation.

  “What do you know about this?” Dom asked.

  They all looked around at him, shocked by the implied accusation against his own sentinel, though no one or thing was more sentimental than his love for Pan.

  Cheek resting against his fist, Deacon met his eyes.

  “Deacon,” Dom said, advancing a step.

  Urijah set his book aside and stood. Katzen and Dove glanced between them with nervous anticipation as Elle remained calm, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Sighing, Deacon shifted in the chair and ran his palms over his jeans.

  “What have you done?!” Dom roared.

  Guilt and fear flashed across Deacon’s face as his eyes shot to Dom’s, but then his expression turned to contempt.

  “My loyalty is for the Gray’s and you jeopardize us,” he said with scorn.

  A jolt shot through Dom’s still heart so painful it nearly tore it apart, or brought it beating back to life as a million images of Pan crying, sobbing, begging, bloody, beaten, dead—his knees nearly buckled—raced through his mind at what would happen to her in punishment for her disloyalty to her coven.

  “You breathe defiance to my ears!” Dom roared, horror striking him hard in disbelief for Deacon’s betrayal. “Who?!” Dom rushed him. “Who did you tell?!”

  Urijah caught him, forcing him back, chest to chest.

  “A Stone—I think,” Deacon said, in false remembrance. “I believe his name is—” he scratched his head, “Raphael?”

  Raphael Stone. Dom knew his dark obsession with his own personal possession. Knew he wanted
Pan badly and would do anything to have her. And anything had just presented itself.

  “You smile as if you think me to commend but my heart cries to condemn!” Dom said. “All I asked for was your silenced peace and you betray me!” He pushed against Urijah. Urijah was strong, but Dom being of pure royal heritage was stronger making Urijah dig his feet into the floor. Katzen and Dove came up behind him, trying to rein him back.

  “Peace?” Deacon sneered, shoving to his feet. “I hate the word as I hate heaven and hell and all Capulet’s! And thee for your love of she!”

  “Do you have any idea what they will do to her?!”

  “She’s a Rose. I don’t care.”

  “She is still human in a house full of angry vampires!”

  “Then it looks like they have a midnight snack, color me green with envy.”

  Seeing red, Dom roared. Throwing Katzen and Dove off, shoving Urijah out of his way he lunged at Deacon. Deacon didn’t have time to do anything other than be hit. Crashing to the floor, they fought. Dominating and superior, Dom controlled the fight. After a minute of getting his fury out he bit him. Beneath him, Deacon went limp in submission.

  Tearing away, blood dripping down his chin, Dom stood from crouching over him.

  “Such betrayal cannot be forgiven,” he panted, his Caribbean eyes glowing.

  Sitting up on his elbows, Deacon’s eyes widened in fear of the words to come.

  “I disown you,” Dom said.

  Elle gasped and staggered back.

  “Dom, no,” Katzen said, horrified.

  “Silence!” Katzen and Dove recoiled from his glare. Dom looked back at Deacon. “You are no longer a Gray. Take your belongings and go.”

  Deacon gaped at him, staggering to stand. “You choose a Rose over a Gray?”

  “I choose my love of her over your insubordination to your Prince!”

  “Two years ago today you loved the bloody fray! Hunting and slaughtering Rose’s with me, but now you say betray?!”

  “A year ago today I learned to hate the carnage display!”