Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy

I run my hands along my cropped halter, enjoying the feel of leather against my skin. It is less constricting than my usual corset, freeing me to bend and twist with ease. My abdomen is bare, revealing the new planes of muscle for which I have immortality to thank. A black shoulder harness attaches to the halter with metal brads, covering the top of my shoulder and only a small portion of my upper arm. The halter itself is held together by silver metal buckles that tighten along my chest to fit me to perfection. The leather is shiny and obviously newly crafted.

  A matching skirt has been fashioned for me as well. Straps of black leather fall from my waist, weighed down with connecting metal links. A long belt weaves about my waist and a black harness buckles just above my hips, allowing ease of access to my swords.

  I have two of them dangling from my waist in a scabbard. They feel heavy and awkward as I walk. It took a few turns around my room to get a feel for their balance.

  Fane claims this is the most suitable outfit to wear when training for battle. A gift he brought back for me when he returned from his travels. They took him away for nearly half a moon cycle this time, leading me to dip slowly into despair, sure that something grave had befallen him on the road.

  When he appeared at my door this morning, a wrapped gift in hand, I nearly forgot myself and embraced him. His lopsided grin sent my heart a flutter and it took great effort to regain my composure. I am grateful for his return. With only a few short days remaining, I know I will need his guidance all the more.

  I reach down and adjust the top of my black leather boots. They cling to my calves, extending their protection up to my knees. The soles of the shoes mold to my feet, allowing me to feel the ground beneath far better than the horrendous heeled shoes I have been forced to endure these past few months.

  As I finish dressing, I pause to braid my long hair down my back, like my mother used to. Growing up, I hated this design. It felt old and matronly. Now, it feels practical.

  As I stare at myself in the mirror, I am determined to force Fane to teach me something new. Something useful. I was given these swords for a reason after all.

  I open the door to my room and step out into the hall without a moment of hesitancy. I practically skip down the stairs and push through the front doors, breathing deep the familiar scent of the meadow. If I had my choice, I would spend an eternity outdoors.

  I weave down the path, humming lightly to myself as I head toward the bench where Fane and I first spoke, though he is not there. I frown, wrapping my arms about my waist as I turn and look upon the castle grounds. There are no foot indentions in the dew-blanketed grass, nor any scent of Fane on the air. It is not like him to be late.

  Trepidation sinks heavily to the pit of my stomach as my mind flits from one doubt to another. Has he been sent away yet again?

  And then I hear a faint thud. I turn and lift my nose to the wind. The scent is faint yet discernibly belonging to Fane. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I take off in a full-on sprint. I nearly whoop with delight at how freely I can move in my new clothes. Fane was right. The leather outfit is far better than my dress.

  I pump my arms and leap, pushing off from a large rock and soaring over the small valley to land atop the next rise with hardly a sound apart from my laughter. This is amazing!

  My feet hardly feel as if they touch the ground as I dash ahead, tracking Fane’s scent. The winds shift and I pull up to a halt, confused.

  I stiffen as I feel the razor edge of a blade slide lightly across the surface of my neck, and I know Fane has bested me. “If this were a real hunt, your head would have rolled down the hill by now.”

  “I know.” My shoulders slump as I turn to face him. I blink, shocked to find a camouflaged figure standing right behind me. I lean in close as Fane lowers the blade and sniff deeply. “I cannot smell you.”

  “That is the point.” A potent muck coats his pale skin with such complete perfection it is hard to discern his skin color amongst the green pine needles stuck to the mud. He is coated from head to foot, like a pig lolling in a mud pit.

  I scrunch up my nose as I detect a hint of something less pleasing though still very much a part of a pig. “Feces? Really?”

  Fane nods curtly and motions for me to follow him. I do so yet make every effort to avoid being downwind of him. We walk farther into the forest and the instant we move into the clearing, I discover my mistake. Fane’s vest hangs from a tree branch, flapping in the wind. I turn to look at him and realize only now that his chest is bare. I battle with the urge to stare at the hard planes, though I cast aside my gaze. He has never done so when I was decidedly less than dressed so I am determined to give him the same courtesy.

  “You must learn to decipher between a real scent and a residual one. The hunters will be high on bloodlust, though they are highly skilled. They will know how to deceive you if they feel the need.”

  “If they feel the need? Why would they not?”

  Fane sighs and snatches down his clothes. He sets off without saying a word. I rush to catch up, casting furtive glances at him as we head toward the pond. He pauses on the edge and hands his clothes to me. “Hold these.”

  “You never…” My words trail off as Fane pushes his pants to the ground.

  Oh God! I flush furiously as I stare in utter disbelief. He turns and leaps into the water, hardly disturbing the surface. When he rises to the water’s edge, he shakes his head and I step back to avoid being splattered by the wet muck.

  “You are welcome to watch me bathe if you like.” He smirks as he stands and begins rubbing fresh water across his chest to wash away the drying filth.

  My cheeks flush hot and I spin around. Fane laughs and splashes about for several minutes. When I hear him step from the water, I turn and my mouth gapes open.

  I have never seen a man in such a beautiful state of undress. His skin is slick with water, his hair dripping about his shoulders. I watch as the droplets roll down his bare chest. The instant they hit his hips, I clamp my eyes closed. I realize with a start that my pulse has increased. “I am sorry. I should not have looked.”

  I toss his clothes toward him and turn away. Even after all of this time spent in Vladimir’s bed, I have hardly seen him exposed in quite the same way as I just saw Fane. Vladimir is always in too big of rush to ever disrobe completely. Nor is he half as stunning as Fane.

  A hand falls atop my arm and I look up, instantly breathing a sigh of relief that he is fully dressed again. “You are rather beautiful when you blush.”

  “You should not say such things,” I whisper, though I secretly feel pleased with his compliment.

  Fane bends at the waist and lets his long hair hang free. He ties a leather thong about the damp strands and rises.

  “Are you ready for your first lesson with a dagger?”

  Disappointment jabs fiercely at me as I frown. “I had hoped to start with something a little bit bigger.”

  Fane laughs and draws his dagger from the leather holder at his hip. “This weapon can be far more deadly than you realize. Follow me.”

  A few moments later, I pause beside a row of four trees, each one with an identical barren patch of flesh exposed, no larger than the palm of my hand. “What is this?”

  “Before you can learn to wield a full-size blade, you need to learn how to take down an opponent from a distance.”

  “That is impossible with a knife so small,” I protest.

  Fane grins and produces three more daggers, each one no longer than my forearm. “Do you see the small circle I have carved in the center of each tree?” I nod, though thoroughly confused. “Watch closely.”

  I am unsure if I am to watch him or the tree. By the time I make the decision to watch the tree, all four daggers are quivering from the center of each of the four circles.

  “That is amazing.” I gasp as I sprint across the clearing. No human could possibly throw that distance, let alone with such accuracy. I seize the daggers and pace the steps back to him. “How d
id you do that?”

  “Practice.” He collects the daggers from me and motions for me to stand beside him.

  I listen as he explains how to hold the handle lightly in my grasp, not so hard that I am clenching, though not so loose that it falls freely from my fingers. He lightly touches my wrist as he steps around behind me, raising my arm. I can feel his breath against my neck as he leans in and runs his fingers along the ridge of my forearm, showing me how to take aim.

  It is hard to concentrate with him so near. His voice seems deeper than normal, his touch warm and gentle. I close my eyes and fight to reign in my errant thoughts of what it might be like to allow myself to sink into his arms. “Are you ready to try?”

  I nod and he steps back three paces. I can feel his eyes upon me and grow nervous, clenching when I know I should not. He waits, no doubt knowing my first throw will be an epic fail, though patient enough to let me make my own mistakes.

  I take a deep breath and aim, focusing only on the tree across the clearing. A voice whispers in my mind, reminding me this is foolish, a waste of time, an impossibility. I shove each of them away.

  Drawing my hand back, I feel the blade between my fingers and release. In the blink of an eye, the tip buries deep into the flesh of the tree before me. It strikes on the outer edge of the barren patch yet decidedly within the target.

  “Perfect!” Fane praises. He approaches and pats me on the shoulder before awkwardly dropping his hand to his side. “I would not have thought it possible on your first attempt.”

  I smile sheepishly. “I was aiming for the tree on the far right.”

  Fane bursts out laughing. I missed my target by nearly fifteen feet, though I am proud that I at least struck one of the four trees.

  “Well done either way.” I look up to see how close he has come. His deeply masculine scent floods my senses and I realize something in his gaze has shifted. He no longer looks upon me with admiration, yet with some emotion far deeper. There is a yearning in his gaze as he approaches that calls to me. I find myself breathless as he reaches out to take my hand.

  “You should not look at me like that,” I whisper as I turn away, letting my bronze ringlets fall like a shield between us. Surely he can smell my growing desire, hear the pattering of my heart as I consider the feel of his hand upon my arm.

  If only he would reach out and touch me, really touch me. Not as a mentor or a trainer, yet as a man longing for a woman, though I know I should not wish for such things. I long for Fane in ways I had not known possible.

  “Why not?” he inquires softly, tugging me closer.

  “Because it will only bring evil down upon you.” My breath catches as the scent of his blood, of his skin and damp hair, ensnares my senses.

  “I am not opposed to a bit of evil in my life,” he smiles. He slides his hand down my forearm as if testing the silky texture of my arm. I close my eyes, memorizing every touch: the warmth of his hand, the steady rhythm of his heart, and the way he seems to hum to himself when he is lost in thought.

  I suck my lower lip between my teeth, biting down as my fingers curl upon his hand, attempting to push him out. He slides his fingers between mine, entwining us together. “How can something such as this be evil?”

  “It is not,” I breathe as he leans in close. I can see the golden flecks that rise in his eyes when he is near. They appear to glow in the light, as if the sun were beckoning the pieces of itself back to the heavens.

  How did I ever live before him? Truly, it was no life at all, though I walked and breathed and cried. Fane dried my tears and put a sword in my hand. He showed me not a girl who cowers in her room in terror, yet a woman, confident and able.

  He saw in me what I was unable to see in myself—a warrior. Though as with most tales of heroics, death always follows. My hunt weighs heavily on my mind. Is it so wrong to embrace the hope of something more when time is so precious? Is it wrong for me to allow myself to feel for him just this once?

  I clench his hand tightly in my own, curling my fingers so I clasp him strongly. I tug at his arm and pull him near. “Vladimir will not show mercy if we are discovered.”

  Fane nods. The lines about the corners of his eyes deepen, yet I cannot spy a single ounce of doubt in his expression. “My life was meaningless before I met you. My days filled with death, bloodshed, and horror. You have no idea how many times I pondered taking my own life or provoking a fight just to be done with it all despite my vow. Rage is not enough to sustain a life.”

  I suck in a breath at his admission. “Did you ever try?”

  “Yes.” He looks down at our hands and smiles, appearing lost to his memories. “Many times.”

  “And yet you did not succeed?”

  He draws my hand to his lips and with the utmost of care, kisses each finger in turn. I wince at the dirt lining the cracks in my nails, burrowed deep into the nail beds, though he sees none of it. His touch is light, though weighted with a thousand unspoken words of affection.

  “I was not meant to,” he mutters against my hand. He rolls his head to the side and presses the back of my hand to his cheek. I can feel the stubble that ever clings to his strong jaw.

  “How do you know?” I ask softly.

  He smiles, looking up at me from over the crest of my curled fist. “I am here.”

  Though simply said, I wonder if it could it be true. All of the torment I have endured was simply to allow us to come to this very moment together?

  Had Vladimir not chosen me, I would never have known Fane. Never been given the chance to fall in love.

  Love? The word echoes through my mind, resounding in my soul. Do I love Fane?

  I slowly withdraw my hand from his grasp, using as much care as I am able. Fane watches me as I struggle to swallow, clasping my trembling hands in my lap. I lower my head, clenching my eyes tightly shut. Lord, guide me. I believe I am falling for him.

  “What are you thinking?”

  A wry smile tugs at my lips. His touch, although gentle and endearingly sweet, has left me feeling rattled. “How cruel this life can be.”

  I know he can hear my heart pounding wildly in my chest, though I am a slave to my rising emotions. Fear. Doubt. Longing. They all mingle in the pit of my stomach and I am terrified to embrace any of them.

  “It does not have to be,” he murmurs. The tone of his voice deepens as he reaches out to push aside the thick waves of hair that fall about my shoulders. His fingers graze the sensitive skin along my neck and a shiver ripples down my spine, hovering along the rise of my hips.

  “And yet it is,” I insist, standing a little straighter.

  Fane sighs and drops his hand to his side. “You are afraid.”

  “Of course I am!” I lean back from him so I may stare at him with open incredulity. “How can you not be?”

  His broad shoulders rise and fall with a shrug that I suspect bears far more concern than he lets on. “I am a ranger.”

  “And that makes you more brave than I?”

  “No,” he instantly inserts. Fane dips low to grasp a branch. It is knotted and twisted, overly damp from the rains. No doubt the interior flesh has already begun to decay. He twists it between his fingers, as if he needs something to occupy his hands. “I do not begrudge my job.”

  I remain silent as he pauses for several moments. I see darkness swoop in to steal the light from his eyes, and I wonder if he will ever truly reveal what it is that he does beyond the walls of Castle Bran.

  “The days all seem the same. Another horse, another village, another death.” He clenches his jaw and snaps the twig in half with hardly an ounce of effort. “Seasons blend into years. After a time, you stop counting them, for what is the point when eternity stretches before you with endless bleakness?”

  I suppose I had known he was lying the day he told me he was content. I do not blame him for this omission. We are hardly more than strangers, yet I cannot help but think back on how few the days have been since we first met at th
e masquerade ball.

  Several new moons have come and gone since that day. A lifetime for some. A blink of an eye for others. I suppose it is a bit of both for me, depending on the perspective.

  Had my sister inquired if I believed in such swift affection, I would have called her a fool and scolded her for such wild notions, yet here I sit, beside a man who by all intents and purposes should be a stranger to me, yet I find myself irrevocably drawn to him. Not to his beauty, although it is difficult to not take notice of it.

  Fane is a man of depth and I know I have only begun to explore the top layer. He is kind when he should not be, tender when most are cruel. I find the way he watches me to be both unsettling and thrilling in the same instant. My savior has become something different… something so entirely and dangerously more.

  “What changed?” I ask as he tosses aside the stick.

  Fane smiles. “Must you ask?”

  I nod sheepishly. I know I should not need to hear the words, though I do. With all my heart I do.

  “You, dearest Roseline. You have bewitched me, body and soul. I fear you will be my undoing someday.”

  I smile, inwardly pleased. “I like that.”

  “What?” He leans in close. My skin tingles beneath his delicate touch.

  “The way you speak of me. It is almost as I imagined it to be.” A warm flush rises in my cheeks as I dart a glance in his direction, then quickly shift away. I cannot bear the thought of him silently laughing at my naiveté. Fane had a wife and a child in her womb. He knows things of this world that I have hardly imagined, let alone experienced.

  My stomach clenches at the thought of another woman in his arms, sharing his bed during the long nights of winter. Does he still think of her? Surely he does. Cosmina was his first love.

  His touch is gentle when he draws my face around to look at him, capturing my attention. He is hardly a breath away. I stare into his eyes and nearly weep from the emotion buried within their darkened depths. He loves me.

  “May I?” He waits for permission in silence, neither pushing nor drawing away. He simply waits.

  A thousand voices scream out their warning in my mind as I stare back. I want this, I shout at the voices. Please let me have this one moment.

  Though even as I plead for permission, I know what my answer must be. “I cannot.”

  Fane’s smile does not harden nor fade as he nods and leans back. “Someday, I will ask again.”

  I lower my gaze and breathe out the air I had not realized I was holding. Someday, I hope I will have the courage to say yes.

  THIRTY