Fane slips through the arched wooden door. He gently presses it closed, wincing as the latch falls into place. He turns, steeling himself for what he fears he will see. A strangled cry rises from his throat as his gaze falls on Roseline.
“Oh, god,” he cries, racing to the side of the bed. A bloodstain seeps down the white sheets from the streams of blood running down her sides. Strips of flesh have been scourged from her back so deeply that Fane can see glimpses of her ribs.
His hands tremble as they hover over her body, unsure of where to touch her. The rise and fall of her chest are shallow. A raspy wheeze escapes from between her lips.
“Roseline? Can you hear me?” He crouches next to her ear. His fingers sweep back bloody strands of hair to reveal a broken and swollen face. When she doesn’t respond, Fane lifts her eyelid and winces at the ring of burst blood vessels around her pupils.
Tears stream freely down his face. “Please, say something.” His hands wind around her shoulders as he tries to hold her close.
A pained groan gives him hope. He holds his breath as Roseline’s eyelid flutters. “Oh, my love, what has he done to you?”
Never before has her beating been so brutal. Never have her injuries been so extensive. If she had been human, she wouldn’t have made it through the first few minutes of this horrific punishment. Fane clenches his fist against the urge to hit the wall. He can’t risk someone hearing him but he allows a guilt-driven moan to escape.
“I’m sorry but I have to roll you over,” he whispers in her ear as he cradles her to his body and shifts. Her whimper tears at his heart as he slides her onto her side. She lies in his arms, as limp as a rag doll. Most of the bones in her body have been shattered. Fane’s eyes roam the length of her arms and neck and he grits his teeth at the evidence before him. Vladimir waited for her to begin healing before he broke her bones again and again.
Fane had been beside himself as he listened to her screams echo through the corridors of the castle for endless hours. From sun up until long after the sun had disappeared from the horizon. Then he had to wait for an unbearable length of time until she was finally returned to her room.
Blood seeps from Roseline’s mouth as she tries to speak.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Fane whispers. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“No,” she croaks. “Leave me.”
Fane clenches his eyes shut. He should never have brought her back. He knew Vladimir would be furious with her rebellion, but Fane had hoped that his obsession with his new mistress, Lavinia Ardelean, would ease some of his anger. Fane was wrong. Oh, so wrong.
Roseline’s frantic screams will haunt him for centuries to come. “I’m not leaving you here,” he whispers, brushing his lips against her forehead, the only place that still seems intact. “I won’t ever let him touch you again.”
A single tear slides down her cheek. Fane can’t tell if it is acceptance, hope, or sorrow, but he decides not to stick around long enough to find out. Rising from her bed, Fane loops Roseline’s arm around his neck. It hangs there limply before falling free again.
His eyes roam the stone walls, searching for the hidden latch he knows must exist. His free hand flutters along the wall nearest her bookcase. “I know it’s here somewhere,” he grunts. A click sounds soft from behind the wall. Dust filters down onto the plush rug.
“Got it.” Fane shoves the panel aside.
Only three people know of this passage. Fane discovered it not long after Vladimir tore apart the entire castle in search of Roseline, but try as he might to hide his discovery, Lucien found it as well. His only hope this night is that Lucien remains enchanted with the human girl he bewitched away from a tour group earlier in the night.
“Don’t,” Roseline gurgles.
Fane glances down. A tender smile stretches across his lips. “I love you too much to let you stay.”
“You’ll die,” she rasps, another tear escaping.
Fane nods solemnly, his love for her burning in his eyes. There is no denying his devotion. He will save her tonight even if that means his life is forfeit. “Then so be it.”
Roseline is too weak to protest further. Her head lolls to the side as Fane ducks low and hurries through the wall. The door slides shut behind him with a soft hiss.
Fane twists and turns, racing through the passage as fast as he is able. His eyes narrow to pierce the dark. Fane holds her close as the tunnel thins out up ahead.
When he reaches an impasse in the tunnel, he is forced to lower Roseline through a narrow hole and then shimmy down next to her. At other places, he is forced to pull Roseline behind him when the ceiling drops off dramatically. Thankfully, she passed out from pain after the first drop and feels no pain now. Finally, he detects light up ahead.
“We’re almost there,” he whispers. “Hold on just a little longer. I can see the well up ahead.”
As he approaches the light, Fane presses back against the stone wall as voices filter down from above. He places his hand over Roseline’s mouth to muffle her raspy breath.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” a low husky feminine voice coos overhead. Fane struggles to hold back his snarl when he realizes who stands less than six feet away.
“She learned her lesson,” Vladimir responds indifferently.
“Oh, don’t even try to act like you didn’t enjoy it,” the woman purrs. “You know you enjoy a good torture.” A grunt of affirmation is all Lavinia is afforded. “Perhaps you’d like to work off some of that pent-up frustration on me, my Lord.”
Fane clamps down on his jaw, sickened by the teasing voice of Vladimir’s mistress. He has always assumed the woman must possess a blackened heart in order to capture and retain Vladimir’s attention, but to actually hear her in action is revolting.
“What did you have in mind?” Vladimir asks. His interest is piqued.
Fane is grateful that he can’t hear the whispers and is disgusted by the quickening of Vladimir’s pulse. Whatever Lavinia has suggested must be sadistic enough to excite him. With a high-pitched giggle and a rustle of silk, the couple rushes off.
When they are far enough away, Fane blows out the breath he has been holding. He glances down at the beaten face of the angel he holds in his arms and feels his rage surge. From the moment he first met Roseline she captured his heart. And now, over three hundred years later, his love for her has never dwindled.
The few brief moments they have shared are what have kept him going all this time. Without her, Fane’s life would be meaningless. He has to save her, no matter the cost.
Roseline needs blood to rejuvenate to normal strength. Taking another’s lifeblood has serious consequences, but he has to risk it. His stomach twists at the knowledge that this blood can’t come from him. He will need his strength if they hope to make it out of the country. If there were any other way, he would never put a human’s life in danger.
“Hold on, my love.” Fane pushes the grate out of the way. He pauses, listening for any signs that their escape has been discovered, before poking his head up through the hole.
The old stone well stands in the middle of the courtyard. A gothic cross dangles from the top, hindering his view. Deciding it is now or never, Fane leaps out of the small space and crouches low as he scans the deserted area.
The moon shines full overhead, lighting the snow kissed ground. Frost hangs in the cloudless night sky. Fane pulls Roseline into his arms and races across the grounds and out of sight.
Vladimir roars with outrage as the door to his chamber swings open mere seconds after the pounding ceased. “This had better be good,” he growls, pushing Lavinia away. She scurries back under the covers. Lucien ducks as she pulls a dagger from under the blanket and aims it right at his head.
“Easy, pet. Lucien deserves a chance to explain.”
Lucien yanks the curved dagger from the wood molding behind him. “
She’s gone,” he hisses as he tucks the blade into his belt. The muscles of his waxy cheeks pulsate.
Vladimir leaps from the bed, unashamed of his state of undress. “How?”
Lucien averts his eyes as he tosses his brother a robe. “There’s a passage in her room that leads to the courtyard. That’s how she escaped before.”
“And you never cared to tell me about it before now?” Vladimir shouts. His black eyes gleam with murderous intent.
“I felt she was in no condition to escape again,” he replies, sounding bored.
Vladimir snatches a pair of pants off the floor and shoves his legs in. “There’s no way she could have healed so quickly. I beat her within an inch of death.”
Lucien’s lips curl into a snarl at Lavinia’s giggle. “She had help.”
“Who?” Vladimir growls. His hand clamps around his brother’s arm.
Lucien glares at the offending hand but doesn’t pull away. “Who do you think?
Vladimir’s lips pull back over his teeth. They glisten like mother of pearl in the candlelight. “Fane.”
Forty-Three