The Dark Rose

by Ramsey, Valentine

“Dominic, it was never meant to be like this,” Ellis said with imploration.

  Dom gritted his teeth. “I’m sick of your words,” he growled.

  Stroking Pan’s hair back, he lowered his head by hers and inhaled her. He kissed her temple, the warmth of life still infusing her rosy lips and cheeks.

  “Sleep well my beauty,” he whispered. “And know that I have loved thee with the entirety of my heart.”

  Carefully, grudgingly, and bitterly, Dom rested Pan’s body back on the floor. Gazing at her, the horror of it slammed into him all over again. Crying out, Dom clawed at his chest, his heart, wishing he could tear it apart.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as more tears ran from them and fell on his adored in a last sacrifice of his love. Struggling to his feet, Dom stumbled back, his legs weak, his head swirling. He looked down at his shirt and arms. Pan’s rose red blood coated them as if in determination to swallow its pure whiteness.

  Looking around, Dom ran his hand down his face, streaking it in matching war paint. Spotting the doors, he stumbled towards them. The crowd parted and he ran through them.

  Reaching outside, he threw open the doors into the cool night. Staggering down the stairs, he dragged in deep gasping breaths, his chest feeling like it was compressing in upon itself. Urijah and the others followed, walking fast behind him. Doubling over, clutching his chest and stomach, Dom looked up at the face of the moon.

  “What point is the world when the stars do not shine upon it?” he asked in a ragged voice. “What point is the world when the moon does not illuminate it? What point is the world when Pan is not in it?!”

  Deceived of Pan’s death before, Dom had now received the evidence of her suicide with his own eyes. Oh hard believing love, how strange it seemed that he had believed the dull liquid Ellis had masqueraded as her blood when the intoxicating scent of it newly stung his nose with its bitter sweetness.

  Dom clenched his eyes shut as his mind spit at him an image of Pan’s dead body, the harsh truth of it, the knowledge that Pan was really…dead. Dom let out a mangled cry. Staggering forward, he fell to his knee.

  Katzen stepped forward. “Dom—”

  Dom threw his arm out behind him. “No!”

  Surging to his feet, he took off in a blur.

  + + +

  Deacon made to follow him, but Urijah stuck out his arm, stopping him.

  “No,” Urijah said. “We’ll give him an hour to tend to his sorrow.”

  “An hour to long and it will be tomorrow,” Katzen said.

  “An hour,” Urijah said firmly, gazing after him. “Could we but learn from where his sorrows grow?” he said in quite afterthought to himself. “No, but we would as willingly give cure to know.”

  + + +

  “My child,” Victor said weakly, staring in astonishment at Pandora’s body.

  His eyes scanned the scene. The blood, the gun, the blood, the gun, the blood—

  Victor let out an agonized echoing cry, her death finally hitting him and fell to his knees, clutching his head.

  “My child!” he cried. “Earth has swallowed all my hope!”

  Ellis stepped forward, looking down at the Rose Princess. There was a heaviness of guilt in his voice as he spoke. “She was right. What sad scourge is laid upon our hate, that heaven finds means to kill your joy with love. These grief’s these woes these sorrows that make me old.” He sighed, looking at the stricken man. “Victor, is this sacrifice worth our war?”

  Victor shook his head in his hands. “Not anymore.”

  Breaking from the devastated, weeping Rose’s, Andre strode forward. Kneeling, he groaned and carefully slid his arms under Pan’s tiny body. He stood, a blood tear rolling down his grim face. Her head dangled back, her arms hanging limp as her blood dripped, dripped, dripped.

  Andre stared at her soft blood splattered face then turned and headed for the doors. Eyes wide in disbelief, vampires parted a wide path for him. Some reached out to touch her; a soft brush on the forehead, a light graze on her cheek, fingers catching hers.

  “Killed herself for love,” one whispered.

  “A tragic loss,” said another.

  “Even in death, she is the most beautiful Princess…” the truest voice of them all.

  + Chapter 44 +

  World Weary Flesh

  Dom fled into the merciless night with raging fight. And beg to move, he was behooved to chase his beloveds dying light. Brave sanity still lingered, but a slave of the grave he hungered for it to now be paved.

  Man’s disease was a tease. He had gorged himself on their polluted elixir of life all night and found no leave. But come morning, it would be his poison as the sun touched his skin and burned away his sin. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, it was a must. Death his enemy, his foe, and into his servitude he must go. He crooked his finger, beckoning him, not wanting to linger.

  But before his voyage into the world behind all worlds, he had to see Pan one last time. His quest finding interest with the Guardian of the Green Worlds, the Lord of the Wild Things allowed him safe trespass through his hood of woods. The sense of his mind hard to find, Dom imagined monkey like shadows, protectors of the wildness, leaping from tree to tree invisible for the eye to see.

  Dom streaked through the moonbeams hollow rays that sprinkled his path like guiding lights leading him to Pan, the protector of his wildness. He slowed reaching the graveyards border where the earth was her tomb, her burying grave that is nature’s womb. The Rose mausoleum stood yards away, its sconces burning with pride announcing they had claimed a new life. Stemmed roses were piled along the outside.

  Grimly anxious to see her, Dom bounced edgily. It was everything he could do not to burst out running, revealing himself to any Rose’s that may be lingering in protection of her body. Extending his senses, he listened for a heartbeat. All he heard was the pitter-patter of rodent feet. He listened for a vampires death of breath, all he heard was silent wealth.

  Glancing around, Dom stepped from the forests shield and slinked across the ancient necropolis. Trying the door he found it unlocked. He wasn’t surprised as a human wouldn’t be strong enough to push it open. The scent of oils and rosemary filled his nose masking the musky cold stale air.

  Before stepping in, Dom closed his eyes, bracing himself for what he would see. He knew Pan was…dead. His dread churned. But to see it all over again—he was a glutton for torture.

  Setting his jaw, Dom stepped into the scene. Bones and ashes of Rose ancestors lay to rest on shelves, their ghosts hiding in shadows cast by lamps and candles. Rose petals sprinkled all around her, Pan rested on a marble altar, cleaned and dressed and prepared for death.

  Going to her, Dom groaned and rubbed his aching chest. “Womb of death, gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, my intentions are to offer you more, but I already live a poor walking corpse.”

  Letting out a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and rested his head on her dead chest, cradling her. Pan’s skin was cold to his ear where there was no heartbeat to hear. Raising his head, he stroked her ivory cheek.

  “The rose in your lips, cheeks—have faded. Death lies on you like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower in the entire field and I do not wield the power of spring to make it unseen as nature cares not for my strong immortal vigor, since her best work is ruined with rigor.” Dom studied her peaceful face.

  “Why did you do it Pan?” He stroked her hair that was in perfect rolling waves, pinned with a rose barrette. Dom half expected her to answer. “In no way am I worthy of your life, but you, you my love are worthy of mine and above. I had seen the future, and you were supposed to die, but not so far you couldn’t open an eye.”

  Dom clenched his shut, fighting back tears, regretting all their stolen years.

  “So—if you can’t be here with me—I will lie with you come dawn.”

  And he had procrastinated long enough. His throat aching with unshed tears, he trailed his finger down her delicate jaw and thumbed her bottom l
ip.

  “Here on these lips this last love shall kiss or my heart shall be amiss.” Dom lightly kissed her cool lips then rested his cheek against hers. She still smelled of sweet life. “So eyes look your last.” He pulled away, taking her in to commit every inch of her beauty to memory. “Arms take your last embrace.” He cradled her close. “And lips, the doors of my breath, seal with a righteous kiss.” Dom kissed her again. “A dateless contract to engrossing death, thus with a kiss—I die.”

  Unwilling to relinquish her, but knowing he would soon be with her, he forced himself to let go and back away to the door. Tearing his eyes from Pan, Dom turned his back on her death and disappeared into the night to find his own.

  Oh world weary flesh, it was for the best. As to the ends of the earth he would crawl, following Pan’s alluring call.

  God knows, even angels fall.

  + Chapter 45 +

  The Blood, The Hunger, The Horror of Living Longer

  When death can be beautiful, it is merciful. And all is serene if the image of a dead cold, time frozen pre-queen finds satisfaction with minds-eye. Tender care had been taken to prepare Pandora la Juliet Rose for life in the ever after.

  The flowing silver-white empire dress with crystal embroidery did little to hide the black hole in her chest, the most condemning evidence that death had claimed her last breath. Condemning to the eye, yes, but consider what was going on beneath the breast where the eye could not attest.

  The kiss of a lover, something so sweet, but never so simple when a drop of immortal blood falls between parted hushed lips and a soul departed corpse so starved of it, half immortal to origin, began to absorb that miracle life giving, life stealing—blood.

  The red faced virus exploded like fire with a breath of air, coursing through her system like an all-consuming plague. It knitted her broken heart, weaving together the shredded parts. Blood pumping, her heart beat once, twice—then stopped.

  And although her heart would never beat again…it didn’t mean she couldn’t live.

  Pan’s eyes burst open. Sucking in a sharp ragged gasp, her back arched drastically against the slab as she strained against the pain. She screamed, tendons popping out in her neck. Breath gushing out, Pan collapsed back, unmoving. Her hand dangling over the edge, twitched.

  Possessed with a life of its own, her back rose slowly off the slab, head dangling back as if the hand of God was raising her. Sitting up, her head snapped forward, her eyes snapping open again. Blackness consumed nearly all of the whites and what it didn’t was ringed in a watery red. A throaty growl escaped her throat.

  Pan looked around. This place of such gloom was so vibrantly alive. Rainbows glowed around the candle flames hurting her new eyes. Squinting against the intensity of it all, she shielded face with her arm, becoming fascinated with that instead. Pan ran her fingers over her skin. It was like multifaceted marble with the sheen of her moonstone ring.

  Immortal longings now no more, in death she felt strangely animated as if her previous existence had been nothing more than a nightmarish dream. But now awake, or falsely imprisoned in dream, despair surrounded her in deathly scene. Like the sharp sting of an asps bite, the venom, a lover of death, stealing her breath.

  “Where am I?” Pan said, looking around. “On earth, in heaven, in hell, in the ocean drenched, or in the fire aflame, my agony quenched? What hour is this? Morn of the weary born?”

  She noticed her illuminating attire. A bead of blood ran down her chest from the healing bullet wound. Catching it on the tip of her finger, Pan studied it hanging then with a flick of her tongue, licked it off. Her taste buds exploded with a force so strong it sent a jolt through her, making her jump.

  Realizing her fate, Pan rolled her eyes. Couldn’t she do anything right? Weak in form her suicidal intentions had been nothing of norm, and even with the enlisted help of a gun she couldn’t even kill herself properly. It was just her fortune to be cursed again to spend eternity without Dom. Unless this was some cruel purgatory, a tortured stay mandatory.

  Pan groaned, shoulders slumping. “Do I have another delight to die, or another life to desire? But I lived and life was deaths annoy, but I died, rode the great ride, and death was a lively joy. Oh what did kill me, kill me once again.”

  Hanging her head, Pan drew in a deep breath and sighed. If a bullet to the heart, her most devastated part, was not sufficient enough to end her life then she would meet the sun, where a second death was guaranteed to come.

  Sliding off the slab, Pan left into the light night. The darkness hid nothing to her fine eye. Everything leaped out at her new perception of senses, so vibrant and alive with scents and movement. It was as if the darkness had a heartbeat of its own; a substitute for her lack of one. The dirt and leaves were soft beneath her bare feet. She felt like she was gliding, floating an inch off the ground with every step she took.

  Stopping, Pan looked up at the moon through a break in the trees. It was so round and full, she reached her hand up thinking she could touch it. There was a sudden pricing chirp accompanied by a rustling of wings and leaves as a night bird startled and took off. Pan yanked her arm back, looking around startled herself.

  Florescent streetlights of the city illuminated the shrouding darkness, contaminating and tainting its preternatural purity and beauty with artificial glow that corroded the dark mistress night.

  The train and hem of her gown became dirty with grime as she glided through the streets, absorbing the world reborn. It was a shame. That she had to die again. She wanted to see everything, touch everything, and experience everything with this infant like thrill. Most of all she had wanted to do it with Dom.

  Chest constricting at the pain of her loss, Pan choked down the burning agony of it. A numbness washed over her as she knew by some unbound force of God, nature or universe, she would be with him come dawn. In her heart of broken hearts, she knew.

  Stopping suddenly at the mouth of an alley, Pan tilted her face up and inhaled. It was so—tantalizing, the cold, stale, smell of evil. Releasing her breath, Pan looked down the long black stretch of nothingness. It was like a void in the world, a pathway to hell.

  Curious, but strangely fearless, she turned down it. A bottle clinked against another and Pan froze as a shadow peeled from the wall. The man stood to loom over her as she was so small and childlike. She looked at the man with huge frightened eyes; the reaction a mixture of lingering human instincts and a natural preprogrammed ability to lure prey.

  “My, oh, my Miss American Pie,” said the man stepping into the darks light. He was big, scruffy and dangerous looking. “Look what I spy with my little eye.” A gloating smugness sugarcoated his lust. “Are you lost little girl?”

  Instinct told her to agree. Pan nodded. It was almost eagerly. She could hear the rush of blood surging beneath his flesh, his pulse throbbing in his chest. Mouthwatering, her stomach growled so loud it could have rivaled Sheba. The man’s eyes fell to her belly then trailed down the rest of her body with a dark eager look.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Pan nodded again.

  “I have some food if you want it.”

  Pan licked her lips. How little he knew that he was the food. He pulled a candy bar from a pocket, a small smile of satisfaction at his lips as he held it out.

  Pan’s eyes fixated on the inch of visible skin where his jacket sleeve separated from his fingerless gloves. Blue veins stood out on his pale dirt smudged wrist. A shiver not unlike that induced from sexual pleasure rippled through her as her hungry eye spied his thumping pulse, beating fast with excitement as she reached—

  He dropped the candy bar and snatched her wrist. Pan didn’t cry out as he yanked her against him, spinning her so her back was pressed to his chest. It had happened so fast, but to her every movement had been in slow motion. Pan felt the cold kiss of a blade press against her neck as he chuckled in her ear.

  “Now,” he said, his husky voice an alcohol possessed monster. “What’s a he
lpless pretty little girl like you doin’ out here in the badlands?”

  Pan gripped his arm. “I don’t know, looking for trouble I guess.” Her voice was shaky.

  “Well,” he smelled her neck and shuddered, “you found it.”

  Panting heavily in her ear, when he dropped his binding arm to grab her breast, Pan snatched his wrist and wrenched it back with a strength that surprised even her. He cried out and bent his knees as if that would slacken to her grip and lessen the pain.

  Pan laughed excited by her newfound strength. “I’m not so helpless anymore, am I?”

  Crying out, he pulled his other arm back and plunged the knife into her chest. There was a little resistance as the knife met breastbone. Pan staggered back, her eyes wide in shock. It hurt, it hurt badly, but no more than the starvation knotting her gut.

  The smell of blood made her fangs explode from her gums. With a twitch of her wrist, Pan broke his. The man screamed and collapsed in a sobbing heap. Pinning him to the ground with her foot, she delicately extracted the blade. Coating the metal, her blood dripped from the tip. A shame to waste it, she licked it off. Her breath shuddering out, Pan closed her eyes at the pleasure that coursed through her. It was like luscious hot fudge.

  “What are you?” he breathed in horror as Pan drew the other side of the knife over her tongue.

  Having momentarily forgotten him, she looked down at him, tossing the blade away. Eyes wide in terror, he gaped at her healing wound.

  Growling low Pan said, “I’m hungry.” Snatching him by the collar, she hauled him up, clutching his trembling body to her bosom. “Shh, do not be afraid,” she whispered, petting his mangy head. “The stroke of death is as a lovers pinch.” He whimpered. “Trust me, I speak from experience,” and with that she swooped, plunging her fangs into his taut neck, the taste of his skin salty on her lips.

  He cried out, clutching her shoulder, dirty nails biting into her steel hard skin. After a moment, he shuddered, the euphoric feeling vampires could bestow to their victims washing over him. She could give him pleasure or pain, but keeping him silent would be her gain.