Blood and wings (A Shaded Rose Series Book 1)

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  Blood & Wings

  Book One

  Copyright © 2015 by Laura Williams & Judith Brimble

  [J & L Wells]

  Cover design by Jennifer Munswami of J.M rising horse creations

  Formatting and interior design by JT Formatting

  Proof reading and editing by Kathryn Riehl and Sarah Cheeseman

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

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  Thank you, Kristen Middleton for all of your support and convincing us to write a vampire book.

  Kathryn Riehl, Sarah Cheeseman, Julie Titus, and Jennifer Munswami for helping to make our book perfect.

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Coming Soon - Twisted Wings

  A Message from the Authors

  Other Titles

  An Excerpt from Venom by Kristen Middleton

  The year 2013.

  I uncross my legs and push myself up to my feet. I stand for a moment or two and fully embrace the comfort of darkness as it throws its shadowy cape around the trees. Darkness is my friend, giving me permission to wander the forest in safety. I look around and inhale the cold night air.

  My eyes shoot towards scampering rabbits as they disappear into their burrows. I squint, imagining the amber glow of my eyes to be cat-like; they allow me to see so much that the human eye misses. Hearing a rustling of leaves, my senses are awakened. I embrace the cry of screech-owls and the howl of the wind. I cock my head slightly to the left and take in their serenades.

  I throw my head back towards the ink-stained sky. How I miss the sun, the way her rays beat down upon my face. I can still recall that memory of those balmy summers I used to spend meandering along endless beaches, the turquoise waters of the sea, the waves crashing as they washed onto the shore. Loose hair falls onto my brow as I shake my head. God, what I would give to feel the warm grains of sand pressing between my toes. A reminder of life, places I have been, yet even that small memory holds a warmth inside me, one I can only dream of today.

  To speak the truth, these last two hundred years have been no existence. I know that my family will try to stop me and force me back into our underground castle. However, this I shall not allow. My search for love was over long ago; she died, leaving me empty, without happiness or dreams.

  My shoulders drop. Maybe, just maybe, in death I will find an inner peace, an absolution. I have no regrets, and my mind is set. I will face the dawn with her imminent sunrise and end this living hell.

  I look around. The trees are crouched, scarred by time like wrinkled old men. I pass under the bow of a nearby Ash and pat a low branch in the same way I would pat Edmond on the shoulder, for these old boys are good friends of mine. Their knotted branches resemble elongated arms that hold me and keep me safe. One by one I have watched these old men felled by human hand year after year; the forest has been reduced by half. I flick my head one way, then the other. I walk on, stamping on and flattening the prickly green encasement of a conker. I hate the twenty-first century and this new world, with its strange people and vast changes.

  I look down at the floor and back up again, catching sight of my black pantalets and thick nineteenth-century coat, which I wear purely out of habit. A vampire with a coat! I laugh out loud, for we are unable to feel warmth. My clothing doesn’t keep out the cold, this being a state I endure permanently, but it does keep out the twenty-first century. Whatever my thoughts, change is silent and creeps amongst us. How can I expect my family to live in the past? We visit the surrounding areas and study the people with their peculiarities, and slowly their ways are rubbing off on us. So we stand here in the twenty-first century, no more than mongrels; even our dialect lacks any consistency, and I hate it.

  I hear Edmond calling me.

  “Damn it,” I curse.

  I asked my family for space, yet it seems they cannot allow me a moment to myself. I am disturbed by the sound of downtrodden branches that crack and splinter as footsteps approach.

  “Lucian!” Edmond and my family call out.

  They are now only steps behind me. Still they call out my name, which I hear with such clarity. I turn on my heels and run; my feet are fast. My shoes crunch on small stones that ricochet like bullets off the ground. With each step I place my foot down with more intent. The cold autumn wind beats stray wisps of hair against my face; I flick my head and discard them from my eyes. My gaze wanders up between the trees and their criss-crossing branches.

  I can’t help but smile at the brilliance of the moon as she sits up high, peering down on me. The beauty she holds is unique; though bright, she gives off no warmth, and warmth is a sense I miss and have craved for so long.

  My legs grow heavy; I imagine them to be weighed down by thoughts of my ominous past. Depression has no release, and I am compressed within its hold. I have suffered in silence for as long as I can remember.

  I can’t raise any enthusiasm to join in the hunt; tonight even the rabbits didn’t tempt my palate. Then I ask myself, what does it matter? I am unable to die from starvation, but merely grow weaker. Maybe it’s that feeling of weakness that grabs at me, the vulnerability as a mortal I once knew. It’s times like this when I get that familiar sensation, and although it only lasts momentarily, it allows me the gift of feeling human once again.

  I spin round, and the forest, with all its eerie cries and commotion, falls into silence. I stop dead and listen, but the voices of my family that were close only moments ago have left my ears. I feel a smile lift the corner of my lips.

  I lean against the trunk of an old oak, allowing my eyes to close and my head to fall back. Briefly distracted from my self-loathing and self-pity, I lift my head and sniff; my hunting instincts have emerged. A kill is close. My nostrils flare and burn with excitement. Saliva trickles down from the roof of my mouth and my teeth lengthen from hunger. I’m unable to resist the scent I have picked up, and the temptation to feed is far too strong to ignore.

  I laugh. “How fickle a nature I have.”

  I stop to ask myself how I can possibly turn down an evening meal that is so close. Surely I can’t reprimand myself for desiring one final supper. When the deed is done and I have drained my victim, discarding its lifeless carcass, I can once again w
allow in self-pity. When dawn shows her glorious face I will throw myself to the mercy of the sunrise.

  My eyes widen. It is not a beast that stirs from deep in the undergrowth, its vibrant scent dancing like a halo before me. My cunning eyes narrow at a passing vision and I am greeted by a virginal white gown, its sheer material billowing like the graceful wings of a dove. It is a lady, sprightly on her feet. Trapped within my gaze she runs, but from what or whom I do not know. She is so close, yet through the concealment of darkness I am able to go unnoticed as her steps slip by. Momentarily I allow my stare to hold her in slow motion as I take in her pixie-like features. Her youth shows itself, and I decide she must be in her early twenties.

  I look on in wonder at the sheen of her hair as the midnight-black locks roll down her back like the waves of the sea at night. Her features resemble a portrait that has been captured beneath the moon’s silvery sheen. She is the personification of beauty, disturbingly so. Her beauty is concealed by such sadness, and my senses heighten further. I can see a glazed look in her eyes that almost allows me to feel her pain.

  My lids lower and I blink; the moment has passed. My ears pick up her footsteps, but the sound is faint as she weaves her way between the thick knotted trunks. The trees stand resolute and watch in silence.

  I can’t help but wonder why she is dressed only in a nightgown and is alone in the forest at this ungodly hour.

  I see the direction she is taking as she heads towards the bridge suspended over the River Trent’s fast-flowing waters. I know the forest better than anyone, and shall get there before her.

  I take a deep breath and immediately know her intentions. Suicides have a different smell to other mortals, and as it radiates from her I find it irresistible. She reeks of death even though she is still living. My tongue moistens my lips; I can almost taste the young blood. Betrayed by sudden intrigue, once again I pick up my feet and give chase.

  My steps slow as the bridge nears. Silent and still, I stand out of sight, gazing from the shadows. Like me, she slows. Her sauntering footsteps touch the bridge and she walks onto its wooden slats. The very essence of my being shakes with intent, for the hunger that eats away at the pit of my stomach is insatiable. It is years, far too many to remember, since I have tasted the blood of a human and bathed in one’s life force.

  I close my eyes and can picture sinking my teeth into her neck, feeling the way she fights in my arms and hearing her begging for her life. My mind is taken over by pure evil and I shudder; it pains me to think what I have become.

  “God, how I regret…” I whisper.

  I regret what I called out for as I lay on my deathbed. The devil heard my pleas, and came and granted me my wish for a life. But what life? Living this way has been a sentence far worse than death. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would become a vampire. Banished from the light, from every kind of normality. It hurts, almost breaks me to think that I am no more than vermin, hunting small animals or foraging for any scraps I can find.

  Being night dwellers there are no reprieves for our kind; this is what we do, all we know, this eternal death is how we live. We live for the hunt, the kill and the bittersweet taste of blood. I imagine its thick texture as it trickles down my throat. Blood is much like a fine wine; it is an addictive thirst, one that I crave and one I fear can never be quenched. It calls to me each night through the darkness. My response is to hunt, since our time to feed is limited. Our teeth pierce the skin of animals and we drink with gusto. Blood is both our strength and our curse; it takes away our senses, any last remnants of our humanity, and turns us into monsters.

  I can hear her breaths, her heart beat. My gaze makes its way back towards the bridge. I am enchanted by the girl’s sylph-like figure; as the breeze picks up her nightgown, I watch it play around her bare ankles. She leans down and I admire the graceful way in which she does so. My stare hovers as her fingers lift the hem of her lace-edged nightgown. With her calves on show, she removes the dainty shoes she wears and I smile to myself as she places them down next to her so perfectly as if awaiting her return. Whatever, I think, for those shoes will never again grace her feet. When she makes her decision tonight, one way or another she will meet with her death. I don’t have the power to forcibly prevent a suicide. If my hand is there and her choice is to take it, then the life she has will be handed over to me.

  Surmising my fortune, I rub my hands together. Tonight will end with quite an unfortunate outcome for this young lady.

  Her tiny hands take the rail. I watch with intent as precariously her feet follow. She lifts her nightgown above her thighs, raises her right foot from the bridge and throws her left leg over the rail. I can hear her sobs as they intensify.

  I am intrigued, and stepping towards her I call out, “Why do you cry?”

  Her gasp almost steals away her footing as her tearstained face turns my way. Her arched brows crease.

  “Step back … don’t try and stop me!” she shouts out.

  “Do you not know the coldness of the waters below?” I call. “They will rip into your flesh like the fangs of a wolf. It will be a slow and painful death you face, for those waters will not be merciful once they invite you in, there is no way back.” My eyes widen considerably with the sincerity of my words.

  “I don’t care, I’ve made my decision.”

  My expression dissolves into a frown, almost falling into the honesty of her pinched forlorn face. The pain she shows is no lie, that is more than apparent; it is deep within her. I can see how much she hurts; it is the same as I, yet I don’t know her reason.

  “Before you jump, may I venture to ask why?”

  “Why?” She laughs, tossing her head into the air. “Why not?”

  My frown deepens; I imagine my forehead to be a mass of creases.

  “My husband was cremated today; he was twenty-two. What life is that?”

  I watch the upturn of her nose and her hand rise in an attempt to wipe away the tears as they spill onto her cheeks.

  Her broken voice continues. “The doctors lied.” Her words are carried towards me on the strengthening breeze. “They gave him six months, but he only managed to hold on for six weeks. I had to sit and watch the man I love die before my eyes.”

  I see her eyes drop towards the cold waters.

  “I’m not afraid,” she announces, and I watch the strange way in which she shakes her head. “These voices won’t leave me, even in my dreams they call out to me, telling me this is where I need to be, what I need to do. I know Jai’s arms will be there to catch me.”

  I can feel the breeze as it becomes stronger and hear it howling; it acts like a musical accompaniment to our conversation. Its force whips around us, lifting and weaving strands of her long dark hair into the most intricate of patterns. With the ebbing gusts, her hair falls back into place, softening the contours of her face. Yet there is no softness to her expression. Her unblinking stare burns into me, briefly forcing my eyes to lower.

  My glance takes a slow detour as it wanders back up to meet her pain.

  “I have felt your heart ache; believe me when I say that I am no stranger to death,” I explain.

  I pause and rub my hand down my cheeks. Why am I feeling empathy for this creature? I look into the depths of her deep-brown eyes, but this question I cannot answer.

  “Please, what is your name?”

  As a vampire I do my best to avoid conversations with mortals, since they are of no interest to me. But now, as I stand before this distressed maiden, I feel a desire to know more. I quiver in her presence; it is not only my taste buds she tantalises.

  “Rose…”

  Her name stumbles from her crimson-stained lips. Instinctively I step closer, reaching out my hands. Her one-handed release of the rail forces me back.

  “Rose, what a beautiful name. I’m Lucian.” Though my words are meant as a distraction rather than an introduction. “Don’t let life slip away so easily…”

  I can hear the growing co
ncern in my voice. My intentions have changed and are no longer to harm her. I take a breath and hold it in my chest as she leans out from the bridge to where the dark waters lie in wait.

  “No!” I shout, and rush to her aid. “Rose, give me your hand. Do you really want to die tonight?” I stop and think. “Would your husband really have wanted you to take your life when he probably fought for his?”

  I glance at her for a split second and see a pause in her decision. She grabs the rail with her hand and I watch her carefully manoeuvre her body around to face me. Maybe it is the sincerity she hears in my voice or my words that win her over. The focus of her eyes holds me in the most intimate of meetings, for it is one where life and death come face-to-face.

  I feel the soft touch and slip of her fingers into mine. My body folds and I cry out, as if I have received a blow. I feel an eruption of pain and pleasure as butterflies flutter around my stomach. An ache explodes beneath my chest; I can sense the rhythmical beat of my heart, one that had been forsaken long ago and I no longer own. No, I’m not mistaken and know what I feel; it is the returning feeling of emotion. Blood pulsates its way through my veins.

  “What’s happening to me?” I shout, looking up to the sky.

  Through my light-headedness, her grip on my hand tightens. Unable to cope with her presence and the feelings she stirs within me, I jerk my hand free and, after losing her grasp, grab at my chest. I see the terror etched on her face and watch in horror as she begins to fall back before me. I throw myself at the rail, leaning down towards her with both of my arms ripping through the cold wind. My hands grab the loose sleeves of her nightgown before locking my fingers around her wrists.

  She looks up into my eyes. Our stare goes unbroken as the forest falls into an eerie calm. It is most bizarre, as all around the wind has stopped; it is as though it has taken a breath of its own. Both Rose and I find ourselves encapsulated in an unexplainable silence. I peer up at a startling white light that shines down from the heavens. Rose petals resembling crimson confetti float down sedately in the non-existent breeze. Within seconds they have vanished and the white light is no more than a memory. I snap away from this vision and pull her back up onto the bridge to safety. I hear a tear of material.