The Dark Rose

by Ramsey, Valentine

  “So now you cry this act vile?! Sing uncommon, unnatural suicidal?! Dom, please,” Deacon pleaded.

  “Leave!”

  “Dom,” Dove said. “See reason, forgive this treason.”

  Deacon’s horrified expression turned blank. “Leave it,” he snapped. “Madmen have no ears.”

  “How could they when wise men have no eyes,” Dom retorted.

  Deacon walked to the balcony and looked back. When no one made to stop him, he leaped over the rail.

  “I must go to her,” Dom said, striding to the door. “I have to get to her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Urijah said.

  Dom didn’t bother to argue. There would be no swaying his cousin’s decision to follow him through the gates of hell.

  “What of us?” Dove asked.

  “You—”

  Pan’s personal ringtone went off. The screen lit up with her number. He had the phone to his ear faster than the stars could wink or he could afford to think.

  “Hello?” he said, cautious, in case it wasn’t her.

  Silence and sobs was all he heard. Relief for her life flooded him, anguish for her grief gripped him.

  “Pan.” His heart clenched hearing her grief.

  “Dom,” she sobbed.

  “I’m coming.”

  “No, don’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t come over tonight.”

  Dom scowled. “Why not?”

  “Raphael knows,” she cried. “He knows!”

  Dom sighed and rubbed his brow. “I know.”

  He listened to her breath as she absorbed that. “How?”

  “Deacon. I don’t know the details. I’m so sorry Pan.”

  “What about the others?”

  Dom glanced at them. They weren’t bashful about watching him acutely, their sensitive ears picking up her side of the conversation.

  “Unless they wish banishment, they remain loyal.”

  Dove and Katzen traded worried looks.

  Pan gasped. “You didn’t!”

  “He jeopardizes you?” Dom growled. “I did. Now tell me what happened?”

  Pan hesitated. He knew she would try to lessen the situation to spare his anger which was prickling. The more seconds that passed the more Dom knew it was going to be a thrilling night as he was killing Raphael.

  “Pan,” he said, his tone a lone order. He closed his eyes, jaw and fist clenching. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  His eyes snapped open. Her answer was reluctant. “You’re lying.”

  “Dom—”

  “Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me or I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He knew that threat would get her honesty as she was too fearful of his life and worried of deathly strife.

  “No, don’t! It’s…just my arm. He grabbed it and yanked me in the hall. It’s only a little bruised. It could have been a lot worse.”

  Dom trembled with fury. “Please don’t try to pacify me. I’m fighting hard not to rush and kill him and it will push me over the edge to hear you defend someone putting their hands on you.” He took a moment to stifle the rage, the rivers of flame throbbing in his veins demanding vengeance. “Is that all?”

  “He threatened to tell, but I have a few of his dirty deeds to blackmail secrecy.”

  Dom couldn’t help but chuckle impressed that his sweet and innocent looking Pixie was blackmailing one of the most dangerous vampires. Every new revelation about her made him more infatuated. That she was willing to sacrifice her life to be his wife.

  “My-oh-so innocent Princess a sinner, I believe I have found myself a winner.”

  “Be careful Dominic. He’s out for blood now.”

  The fire in Dom’s blood pulsed again. “He can have it,” he said venomously.

  “Dom, no. I can’t live if anything happened to you. I need you.”

  The ache reappeared in his chest at the quiver in her voice as he heard her struggle to not cry. “Don’t worry Pan. Nothing will happen to me.”

  “I love you so much.”

  Closing his eyes, Dom rubbed his chest. Those words were marvelous, the meaning phenomenal. “I love you too.”

  “Don’t come over, okay? I’m tired and am just going to go to bed.”

  “Alright, rest peaceful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight my love.”

  “Adieu.”

  She hung up. Dom stared at the screen for a moment.

  “Is she alright?” Urijah asked.

  Dom tucked the phone in his pocket. “She’s scared, which is expectable and highly unacceptable.”

  “Are you going?” Katzen asked.

  Shooing him an absurd look, Dom strode to the window. “Of course.” He looked out over the dark forest.

  Come what sorrows can, he thought. I challenge you. He imagined grizzly demonic faces lurking in the shadows, slithering in and out of the trees, stalking him, waiting for him to make a wrong move in this game of love, life, and betrayal. You cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minute gives me in her presence. My love remains, as your ill will, I fight to detain.

  + Chapter 22 +

  The Sweetest Honey

  Morpheus made Pan’s dreams fretful as she passed in and out of Hypnos’s misty keep of sleep. But when a feeling of utter content filled her, soothed her worried mind, an inner warmth alerted her to Dom’s presence.

  Still half asleep, Pan wasn’t sure if he was real or illusion. She looked to see if wings had sprouted from his back as he slid into bed with her. Reaching, she stroked his cheek.

  “You’re real,” she breathed. “How did you—”

  “Slipped past.”

  Pan sighed, her heart fraught with anxiety at what could have happened to him had he been caught. She turned into his arms.

  “You said you weren’t coming till tomorrow.”

  “It is tomorrow. Twelve o’ two in the morning to be exact.”

  Pan buried her face against his neck. “You shouldn’t have come. Raphael has more guards on look out. His guards.”

  “As vampires we all have our strengths and mine happens to be stealth. I love this freckle.” He ran the pad of his finger under her eye.

  Pan turned her face up to his and he met her lips. He tasted good; the sweetest honey loathsome to his deliciousness. It couldn’t compare nor ever should try to dare. He trailed his hand down her arm, fingers light and ticklish. Weaving them with hers, he raised her arm up into the moonlight. He scanned it, finding the bruise.

  Eyes zooming in, his expression became ferociously black. His eyes closed, his jaw clenching, the muscles twitching. Pan tried to pull her arm from him.

  “Dom—”

  She tugged harder and he let go.

  “Dom, don’t—”

  His eyes snapped open, pinning her with his glare, face devoid of any other emotion than fury.

  “He touches you again—I’ll kill him.”

  “Dom, Dominic.” Pan stroked his cheek, tempting to soothe him back. “Come back to me. Don’t let this be our downfall. There are battles and this one we needed to lose to win the war. So what that he knows? He’s unimportant, an ant in an anthill.”

  His eyes began to warm, returning back to his devastatingly gorgeous and inhumanly Caribbean aqua.

  Dom groaned, flashing his smile. “With you as my wife I am in for so much trouble.”

  Pan frowned. “How so?”

  “You are going to make a fearsome Queen with that logic you just spewed.”

  Pan smiled and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, savoring his arms around her.

  He stroked his knuckles over her cheek, smiling lovingly. “I look upon the face of beauty and she stares back at me. What have I done to deserve this?”

  Pan breathed him in, his neighbor air sweetened with his breath.

  “You love me,” she said blissfully.

  “I obsess you.”

  + Chapter 23 +

  Willo
w’s

  Having just seen Victor at the council meeting, it surprised Pan when he called her during school wanting to meet her for dinner at Willow’s, a five star steak restaurant that secretly catered to the undead, so they could inconspicuously be fed.

  Coasting to a stop light, Andre glanced at her for the millionth time.

  “What?” Pan asked.

  “Your arm, it’s bruised.”

  She quickly covered it with her hand. “Sheba got a little carried away when we were playing.”

  Maybe a little too quickly as he looked at her suspicious, his brows pulled.

  “Sheba? She wouldn’t hurt you any more than a butterfly would a flower. It looks like a handprint.”

  Why did he have to be so observant? It was so annoying.

  “Does it? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He threw her an aggravated look. “Who did it?”

  Pan debated, knowing the answer would raise the beast Andre showed the least.

  Sensing her reluctance, Andre growled, “Raphael?”

  It wasn’t surprising he would guess. His expression was already darkening. Andre knew Raphael’s temper just as well as Pan did and she usually would have run to him screaming abuse, but Raphael had something over her head. When Pan didn’t answer, Andre’s grip on the wheel turned white knuckled. It creaked from the strain and bent from his strength.

  “The wheel,” Pan said, and he loosened his grip. Though it didn’t matter as the damage was done, a brand new Audi R8 ruined. She was tired of the Bentley and Rolls Royce, and the Hummer was too rugged to meet her father in. She had wanted to arrive in something more low key.

  “How am I supposed to protect you if you don’t tell me this stuff?” Andre demanded. He didn’t push her for an answer which was good because she didn’t have one.

  Arriving, Andre pulled around to the doors. Her father’s bodyguards, Louis, Cylar, Anton and Hector stood off to the side of the awaiting valet. Alarming her though was Raphael standing along with them, smoking a cigarette. Andre growled low in the back of his throat.

  “Don’t cause a scene,” Pan said.

  “Do I ever?”

  She wasn’t comforted. It would be useless to beg him not to start trouble. Seeing her hurt he’d do it on the double. Pan worried that Raphael would tell him of her forbidden romance with Dom, but she knew if he did Andre would come to her first. His loyalty was to her, not Victor.

  Parking, Andre took his time coming around to her side and opening the door. Pan met Raphael’s eyes with suspense. She had expected his expression to be intense, but instead what she found was a smugness that didn’t make sense.

  Taking her arm, Andre bared his teeth at Raphael then led her into the foyer.

  “Rose,” Pan said to the very tall redhead hostess.

  Twin peaks of silicone mountains stared her in the eye. They were a bit intimidating. Pan wouldn’t know what to do with something so big and foreign perched on her chest like that. She glanced at Andre and he was looking at them with a perplexed arched eyebrow.

  The woman smiled with practiced brightness and gestured with her arm. “This way.”

  Dropping Andre’s arm, Pan threw him a reproachful look and followed. Victor sat at a round table in the center of the elegant restaurant. Old snowy haired vulture like woman with huge diamonds on their claw like fingers, furs around their bony shoulders, and pearls encircling their turkey like (gobble, gobble) necks kept casting him haughty looks as he was located at the seat in the house and they couldn’t understand why.

  Seeing her approaching, Victor pushed his chair back and stood.

  “Pandora,” he said, smiling warmly.

  “Father.”

  Always having been uncomfortable with physical affection, Victor hugged her lightly as if she was a cactus and might stab him.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I wanted to talk to you last night, but you slept so soundly I heard not a peep of you stirring. Such odd hours you keep.”

  Pan nearly choked on the lump that shot to her throat. Dom had been there and apparently so had Victor, a few feet away on the other side of the door. Yikes.

  He pulled the chair out for her to sit.

  “Only because of school,” Pan said, tucking her dress under. She was relieved her voice came out normal.

  “Of course,” he said resuming his seat, his back rigidly erect. “Nevertheless, once the virus claims you, you will walk among us in the dead of night. Then there will be no need for these inconvenient and inconspicuous meetings that I admit give me certain fright.”

  Pan frowned. He was known for his might. “Fright, father?”

  Delicately picking up his wine glass, Victor waved the words away. “Explanation will come momentarily. However, that is not the core reason I asked you here tonight. I would like to discuss with you—” He swirled the rich dark wine. It moved sluggishly as it was more blood than cabernet. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor. “Mmm,” he said. “B-positive, Persian royalty. Nanon saved me some from the last assassin they sent after her. The purity is well preserved and absolutely delicious. Sip?”

  Pan took the stem and sampled. Holding it in her mouth a moment to gain the full flavor, she swirled it then swallowed. The rich blood slid warm down her throat. It was very exotic, slightly alien from her short menu of expertise.

  “It’s very strong. Unusual.”

  “Unusual because it is a thousand years old,” Victor said, taking the glass back. “The royalty not yet tainted by inbreeding and lower cast mating. Ours, my darling, is even richer as our blood stems from the beginning.”

  He signaled and servers appeared carrying silver platters in their white gloved hands. Taking the lids off, they placed before them rare steaks. Her father’s practically carved from a newly slaughtered bull, pink and juicy with gushing blood. He cut a small bite.

  “I asked you here tonight Pandora, as I would like to speak to you about Raphael—” Pan froze, knife and fork hovering over her stake, “—as well as Gaston and particularly marriage to either of them.”

  The rock plummeted to the pit of her empty and not so hungry anymore stomach. Setting the silverware down, Pan hid her trembling hands in her lap.

  Victor sipped his wine again. “They are both strong gentleman of noble parentage, well-bred and cultured; Raphael at least on his father’s side.”

  Pan’s throat burned like she was going to be sick. Raphael was anything but noble and cultured. His soul was as black as coal.

  Victor looked to her, chewing. “How stands your disposition to marriage?”

  Pan took a drink of water so her voice wouldn’t crack when she spoke. “Marriage? I hardly think of it but an hour a month.”

  Victor nodded. “Understandable, but Raphael seeks you avidly for his love.” Sighing, he set his silverware down, his expression conflicted. “My child, I feel you are but a stranger to the world, as you are, newly born, to ripe to be a bride, but…I don’t think it unreasonable to at least promise your hand to someone.”

  “Promise for how long?”

  “A year? Two? Know this—” He awkwardly scooted closer and took her hand. “Within your scope of choice, lies my consent and fair according voice.”

  “Then my answer is no,” Pan said adamantly.

  “Raphael shows promise,” Victor stressed. “Gaston as well. At least consider them.”

  “Raphael isn’t a first Prince.”

  “No, he is not.” She could see that had originally bothered him, but it didn’t look to anymore. “Though he will be.”

  Her brows pulled, suspicious. “What do you mean?”

  Victor withdrew from her, cold again. “His mother’s family has vowed loyalty to him if he was to break from his father’s rule and establish his own coven.”

  Pan’s mouth dropped. Victor spoke so lightly, but such a thing would be blasphemy to the twelve covens. It would be a catastrophe if Raphael founded a thirteenth. He would be de
nouncing them as there hadn’t been a new coven in centuries. He would be going against the law and the law was raw. And his mother’s family vowing loyalty—staggering.

  Raphael may as well declare war against his father’s blood as his mother Zora Aurora had been a psychotic bitch that in one bitter attempt aided in the murders of three leading Stone patriarchs. Raphael’s father Rourke made her murder an example by bloodbath and banished all of her Aurora blood kin, leaving them to stew in their wrath.

  Victor nodded in agreement with her astounded expression. “I do not advise it, as it will create dissention among the covens, but his course will not be detoured. Perhaps, if you stood by his side—we may possibly be able to sidestep a second war.”

  Pan stared into her father’s black eyes and wondered for the first time if his heart was the same. She was his child that he claimed to love with no feelings of mild, yet he was willing to sacrifice her to a demon infantile. No ghostly phantom, but a fiend of random manmade flesh. She wondered if all she was to him was a pawn to play off for his own political dawn.

  “Why would there be a war?” Pan asked to remain naive.

  “His mother’s side is very bitter and—of recent, very large. With their numbers they have fools courage to start—” he waved his hand, “whatever. They have no power to cause any real danger, but the nuisance would be annoying.”

  “You want the alliance,” she concluded.

  She felt tears ready to fill her eyes at what he was asking her to do, crushed for the reasons he was even considering it.

  He swirled his wine. “The idea amuses me, I won’t lie.”

  “And what of another Prince?” She was desperate for another angle.

  He looked to her, eyebrows raised. “Is there one you are interested in?”

  In that moment, Pan wanted to tell him she was interested in another, wanted to spill everything to the father of her imagination, the loving, adoring one that could see no wrong with his child, but his devotion to the coven was most vile and wouldn’t allow him.

  Pan let go of her breath and her delusions along with it.

  “No,” she said, deflated. “There is not.”

  “Will you consider them?”