Rosewood Collection E-Book

Sue Mydliak

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

All three books in Sue Mydliak's 'Rosewood' series, now available in one volume!
Birthright: Candra Rosewood wants revenge for her parents' death, but her plans take a sudden turn when she falls for the vampire Kane Smith, who wants the lovely Miss Rosewood for his human servant. Marking her to be his, Candra's life will never be the same again. But in Utica, Illinois, secrets lie deep within the Rosewood family. What is the mysterious locket she found, and what happened in 1817 that changed the life of the Rosewoods?
The Legacy: Candra’s life has been changed by the one person she always felt safe with. Learning of who she truly is, she must face a life of danger from her very family. Determined to end those who wish her dead, she sets out in search of them only to meet up with the powerful demon Lazar, who has his own agenda. Legacy is about family, loyalty and trust. But when all you've ever known is lies, how can you trust again?
Kane: Kane has a well paid job, friends, a home and a beautiful girlfriend. Little does he know that all this will be taken away from him. With every passing year, Kane’s thirst for revenge grows stronger. Living off the blood of others, he tries to cope being what others only fantasize of. But his life isn't just a story - it's real. After he meets the Rosewood family, his life takes on a new meaning. But will he have the strength he needs to let go of the past?

Leseprobe

ROSEWOOD COLLECTION

THE COMPLETE SERIES

SUE MYDLIAK

CONTENTS

Birthright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

The Legacy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Kane

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 Sue Mydliak

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

BIRTHRIGHT

ROSEWOOD BOOK 1

I dedicate this book to my family for their patience, love, and understanding as I wrote this novel.

PROLOGUE

Rose petals are my lasting memory of my parents. Like tears, they floated aimlessly around the headstone. Their smell gently wavered in the wind covering the ground in a blanket of scented beauty. I didn’t know who’d laid the hundreds of roses on my parents’ grave, but I was grateful.

I had missed my own parent’s funeral. They were gone and I would never see them again. I’d never hear my mother’s laugh or my father clearing his throat to get my attention. Nothing would ever be the same. No one would ever know me and love me the way they had; no one would hold me when I was sick and care for me as if I was still a child. Alone, I stood, trying to feel their presence, but I felt nothing except the dull ache of loss.

I walked back to where the taxi waited for me and took a deep breath. Fall had come. I hadn't noticed that the leaves started their fall colors as I got into the vehicle. Time flies when you’re facing the world alone. I sat there thinking of caramel apples, pumpkins, gourds, and nights spent by the fire reading, as my mother and father enjoyed each other’s company. Just then, a shiver ran up my spine. I was home, but now it had no real meaning for me because home isn’t just a place; it’s the people you love that make it the center of your world.

I was in a waking dream, a nightmare, dazed, driven away from the cemetery at Utica shell-shocked. My parents had both died under mysterious circumstances and I’d been far from home. Part of me felt guilty, but mostly I was just heartsick at the thought that they’d died while I was enjoying the twenty-first birthday gift they’d given me – a holiday in Europe. My parents had been set to join me on this trip of a lifetime, but at the last minute, they’d had to delay because of business. I’d gone ahead without them. I seemed to have spent most of my life without them, missing them and waiting to come home and now…

1

By the time I’d been contacted and had returned home, my parents had been buried and the investigation into their death, although inconclusive, had been closed. I still didn’t understand why they didn’t wait for me. What was the big rush? It’s not like I had other family members or did I? Father never mentioned anyone, nor did mother. Curious. As we drove down the familiar roads, half of me didn’t believe they were gone and the other half was scared-to-death of what might have happened to them.

Reality was setting in and I ached in places I never knew existed. Would everything go back to normal again? Would the hurt go away eventually? Now that my past was dead and buried I would have no choice but to continue on the new path fate had dictated for me.

It seemed to me that everything in my life so far had prepared me for the loneliness. I had no one, no siblings to go to for comfort; it was just me now, alone. I’d spent my teens in very expensive boarding schools, but for some reason, I’d never really made close friends.

I was born here in Utica just as my parents had been. My mother and father lived here all their life; school sweethearts. My mother chose to be a homemaker, as for my father, he didn’t need a nine-to-five job. The Rosewood family goes back to the eighteenth century in America and they helped build Utica. They had been investors. My parents were rich you see. It’s funny, even though we were financially set, I never saw a conspicuous show of wealth in our life. I don’t remember my Father ever leaving home to go to work. Mom told me he was an important person and whenever I asked as a child just what he did, she’d shoosh me and say I shouldn’t be asking. She called me Miss Nosey Pants and shooed me off to go play. In my childish imagination, I pictured him as a gangster, a Don of a big Italian family, and the business being illegal. One time I thought maybe he was under the witness protection service. Whatever fantasies I had didn’t prepare me for reality.

I got brave one day and asked my father what he did that made his job so important. I felt scared, which surprised me because I was never scared of my father, but I was then. He told me I shouldn’t ask him and I should just be happy to have a father who could afford to send me to such good schools and who spent so much time with his family. From that day on, I never did ask again.

My mother always said I looked like my father. I had his dark auburn hair, emerald green eyes, and ivory complexion, but I could never see it myself. I was short like mom, only reaching my father’s shoulder, and my hair, whenever I was away from home at school, lost its auburn color and instead seemed to burn with the orange glow of a raging fire, which was why I kept it short. My eyes changed subtly, becoming less green, more hazel, and even gray on overcast days.

I was tough too as a kid; I wanted to be the son my father always denied wanting. I must have been a disappointment to my mom. I’m not a typical girl. I know she would have liked to put me in dresses or frilly clothes, only I wouldn’t have it. Like my father, I’m always happiest in a pair of blue jeans and an old sweater.

I didn’t feel so tough now; more insecure for probably the first time in my life, and if I could go back in time and put on one of those dresses my mom had loved so much I would, but I couldn’t, it was too late now.

On my journey back home, the sky began to turn gray and the scenery became lovingly familiar to me. I was nearing my home and sure enough, as the car crested the hill, Rosewood Manor stood, stately and familiar, just up ahead. The wrought iron fence still guarded my home as it had when I was young, but now the imposing gates stood open, almost as if they were waiting for me to return. The prodigal daughter, only now I wasn’t anyone’s daughter anymore.

I didn’t want to go inside; I didn’t want to see any evidence of a struggle, or worse yet – blood. “Oh, God.” I raised my eyes to the heavens, “Please let there be no blood.” I whispered.

“Did you say something?” The driver asked as he pulled the taxi up behind my mother’s BMW.

“No, not really,” I said, getting out and paying him. He drove off without pausing and I realized no one knew I was back, except for my father’s lawyer. He had met me at the airport and took me back to his office to sign some legal documents. I was an heiress to a fortune that would be mine only when I married. The clause in my parents Will shocked me deeply. That was the kind of thing you only read about in Gothic novels or historical romances. When the lawyer explained it to me, I felt as if I’d slipped into a time warp. Like a Victorian heroine, I would have a generous allowance when I would appear in the lawyer’s office with a valid marriage license and a husband. I figured it would be a year or ten before that happened.

My stomach churned and my skin grew clammy at the thought of going into the house. I told myself sternly that someone would have cleaned up the scene. Taking a calming breath, I remembered the copy of the autopsy I’d been faxed had stated my parents had been ensanguined. The official cause of death was hypovolemia: in layman speak, loss of blood.

The strangest aspects of my parents’ death were the absence of blood in their bodies. That one piece of information shocked me, and when I looked-up ensanguine online, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. My imagination ran wild. The word vampire popped into my brain, but I passed it off as anxiety. The official investigation closed now, said my parent’s death was accidental, the absence of blood and strange wounds glibly explained as postmortem animal scavenger activity. I couldn’t accept that my parents were careful people. What could have killed them both without giving them time to call an ambulance, police, or even a neighbor?

Sighing, I unlocked the door and stepped in. It hit me hard, the void. It wrapped its arms about me and strangled the very breath from me. I gasped for air as I fought the need to let out the despair, the anger, but gave way to tears as I walked around the house remembering.

A loud crash brought me back and I panicked. Immediately I thought the worse, that, he, the murderer, had come back. I grabbed the closest weapon, the fire poker, and slowly made my way back to the hall. The front door stood open and the cold air made me shiver. I shut it, firmly, and made sure it wouldn’t blow open again. I put the chain on.

Being cold now, I decided a fire was in order. I walked through the house to the back door and stepped outside. The shed was a few feet from the door and I knew my parents would have stored wood for the winter. Luckily, the shed was unlocked and I found four logs that would do nicely. My nerves seemed to have calmed a little, but entering the house again, something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t alone; it felt as if someone or something was watching me. My skin began to tingle and my heart raced. I put it off as being tired or overwrought, but it seemed as if the house was alive and that its heartbeat, silenced by death, had somehow zapped back to life when I came in.

It was hard to shake off the feeling of ‘being watched’, and so I listened carefully to every sound. I was petrified, the thought that the killer had come back, watching my every move unnerved me. Should I get out of the house? Would I be any safer outside? I heard a creak from behind me and it sent my jagged nerves into a raw panic. Running to the staircase, I sat down, my back flat against the wall on the sixth step. The sound of my heart beating loudly comforted me a little, but not enough. I still didn’t feel safe.

“Come on,” I said aloud. “What would mom say or dad for that matter?” They would say I was letting my imagination run away with me and tease me about seeing too many horror movies, but the only horror that mattered was their death. The urge to cry overwhelmed me and I took a deep breath to hold myself in check. I needed to stop being a chicken and start the fire as planned. The sun had gone down by now and it felt colder inside.

A knock at the front door startled me. No one knew I had come back, not even my neighbor and he lived half a mile down the road from me.

“Who is it?” I yelled. No reply. I shouted the question again, louder, but still no answer.

With the poker in my hand, I slowly made my way to the front door, checking first to see if the chain was in place, and opened it. A stranger stood there, my age, maybe a little older, with black hair. Masculine, strong-looking, he dressed all in black, his t-shirt faded with wear, and he seemed oblivious to the cold. From what I could tell, he didn’t tower over me. More like a few inches or so. I stared at his chest, but now my attention roamed upward to his face; his eyes were the clearest blue I’d ever seen. Mesmerized by them, I couldn’t look away, but the wind caressed my face, bringing me back. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t think when I had met him, I’d been away from Utica so long.

“What do you want?” Nice going, Candra, could we be more snobbish? I blamed it on being tired. Also, standing by the door, cold, didn’t help things.

“I am sorry to disturb you, but I heard a family member had come back to Rosewood Manor and so I thought I’d pay my respects. Mr. and Mrs. Rosewood were lovely people; it was such a terrible shock to hear of their death.”

“Um… thank you so much, that’s kind of you.” I wondered why he’d come over in the evening and not during the day. Then, it hit me, he probably worked late. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for quite a while…do I know you?” I said, feeling drained and tired beyond bearing.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me. My name is Kane, Kane Smith.” His smile seemed genuine, but unsettling at the same time. Something about him sent shivers cascading down my spine, but I couldn’t place the feeling. I felt drawn to him. I had the strangest notion that he could feel my sorrow and knew exactly what I was thinking. Almost like he fed on my emotions. Not wanting to scare myself anymore, I let my gaze drift past him.

“I can see you are tired, I will let you rest, but I will be back again soon.”

“Yeah, I am a little tired at that. Um, thanks for coming by and offering your condolences… wait. You’ll be back? I don’t wish to sound rude or anything, but why? I mean, I don’t know you and I…”

“I come by here often, on my way to… work. So, now that you are here, I’ll stop by again, but I’ll wait next time, you know, wait a little bit longer until you’ve adjusted.”

“Oh that won’t be necessary, I mean, the stopping by again, really, I’ll be fine.”

Strange man, dark night, and my parents dead… not good I thought. “I’m having a friend of mine stay with me until I can tie things up here before I leave.”

“You’re leaving? But you just got here.” His eyes held mine.

I had this feeling I wasn’t in control of my thoughts or for that matter my emotions. I wanted him to leave me alone, and I didn’t want to be impolite. My mind and body were worn-out and I became incapable of saying what I wanted… I kept quiet. What was going on with me?

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Rest, and sleep well. Oh, I never caught your name.”

Just as if a switch had been turned off, I was like my old self again. “I…Oh, it’s Candra. I’m Candra Rosewood. It’s late, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to see what is keeping my… friend.”

“Ah, so you’re their daughter, such a pity.” He shook his head and I could see my pain reflected in his eyes. “Goodnight, Candra, I hope we can meet again under happier circumstances.”

“Goodnight.” I closed the door but peeked through the window to see which direction he took. Instead, I saw nothing. It was as if he had just disappeared into thin air. I looked toward the drive; nothing, just a blanket of darkness, and then it dawned on me: I hadn’t heard the sound of a car pull up or leave for that matter. This freaked me out. “He walked. Don’t get freaked out by this dude.”

I leaned back against it. “It’s just my imagination running wild again.” Heading into the living room I thought about him and how he looked… good, kind, in a scary way. Something in his eyes spoke to me, but not with words, it was hard to explain how it felt; it was like a connection between us. I pulled myself together and snapped out of it.

Throwing the logs into the grate, I carefully crumpled bits of newspaper up and shoved them in strategically. My father always started the fires, and I would watch him. Now it was my turn. I lit the papers and blew slightly. “Come on, please…please.” I watched as the flames engulfed the papers and then slowly caught on the dried bark of the logs. I curled up on the couch with my mother’s afghan and watched as the flames danced through the openings of burning embers, disappearing as they neared the chimney. The fire was welcoming, comforting, and familiar. As the flames danced in the grate I wondered what the future held for me.

2

The night seemed to go on forever and yet I did manage to get some sleep. The morning sunlight forced its way through the light curtains and shone right into my eyes waking me. Stretching, I still felt worn out and the thought of going back to sleep did sound appealing, but just then my stomach growled with hunger. I hadn’t eaten in what felt like days and hadn’t planned enough to think if there’d be any food in the house, or if there were, would it still be edible.

Deciding there was too much to do for me to go back to sleep, I shuffled to the kitchen. It still was the same: big, and full of memories. My mother, the old-fashioned type, never liked anything modern. Amongst the sterile white walls of the room, stood my favorite appliance, the old 1951 Aristocrat the “King of Ranges”, better known as The Town and Country stove. I put the kettle on to heat some water and sat down in my mother’s chair. My stomach with its gurgling noises put a trip to the grocery store at the top of my list.

What I needed was a breath of fresh air to lift my spirits after all the doom and gloom. My favorite diner in town had the best breakfast and I remember going there with my mom. Great times they were. This made the void inside of me seem to fade slightly and I caught myself smiling for the first time in what seemed like years.

I turned off the stove, grabbed my coat, and headed out. As I shut the door behind me, that same unsettling feeling came over me again. I looked around, nervously, but saw no one, and yet, a presence was becoming real, the feeling that someone stood somewhere watching my every move. What proved to be even more unsettling and I can’t figure out just what to call it, but I felt connected to this … thing.

I got into my mom’s car, backed it out the driveway, and headed toward town. Rosewood Manor wasn’t far from town, which was a good thing, because I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was. As I drove, paranoia got the better of me. I kept looking around in search of anything that caught my eye; something strange, something out of place, or maybe him, Kane.

Angry with myself for looking around for this weirdo, I focused my thoughts on other things. The phone call to the coroner came to mind. He told me of their deaths, but what made it so chilling was the way he said them, the words, cold and unfelt, “I’m sorry Miss Rosewood, but after the autopsies, we couldn’t find any traces of blood in either of them. I’ve never seen anything like it, it must have been a freak accident. The only thing that makes any sense is an animal attack. I can fax you a copy of the report” He’d hung up without saying another word, not even goodbye.

Then my thoughts recalled the trip home from my holiday in Italy after receiving the news. I’d vowed to be strong, but found it too hard. Choking back tears, I didn’t want to be vulnerable, but then again, who did I have to console me. I wished now that I had a brother or sister or at least someone like a close friend that I could talk too, be close too, but I didn’t even have that. Damn.

Finding myself already in town, and having passed the diner, I parked the car in the nearest parking space and got out. The day proved to be a sunny one. Not a cloud in the sky and that made up for all the doom and gloom of yesterday. I needed this. I needed to see familiar things. Needed to see that life goes on and it will. As I pulled the door of the diner open, the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee welcomed me. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and inhale. Almost, but not quite, a smile crept on my face. I sat at a table next to the window and looked around. It wasn’t crowded this morning. A few older men sat together at the far end of the diner, but at least they looked like they were enjoying themselves. One of them I remembered vaguely from church a few years ago. He glanced my way and smiled; God I hope he doesn’t come over, I couldn’t remember his name and I didn’t want to listen to banal condolences from my mom’s town acquaintances.

The waitress came over and gave me my glass of water and a menu, and she rattled off the day’s specials then said she’d give me a few minutes to decide what I wanted. I already knew what I wanted, but I was in no hurry, so I thanked her. So many choices, but I decided to go with my mom’s usual choice, one egg, two strips of bacon, and wheat toast. My stomach growled louder as I signaled the waitress to take my order.

“Would you like coffee with that?” she asked. I knew her vaguely; I’d seen her around over the years when I was home from school. I think she was a couple of years older than me, but whenever I saw her, she’d always been surrounded by friends. I must admit her popularity made me jealous. I remember a time when I had just spent two years in an all-girl boarding school in Canada, drove through town with my mom, and saw her holding court in front of this very diner. My mom had smiled at me and, almost reading my mind, said that one day I’d find my place in the world and that I just had to be patient.

“No, I’ll have orange juice thanks.”

I didn’t have long to wait. Service had always been good here. It took me no time at all to finish eating my breakfast once the waitress had set it down at my table. I felt as if I’d starved for weeks instead of just one day. Everything tasted so good and the feeling that things will be ok. I also felt like my old self. It’s amazing what food can do for a person. Comfort eating, in my opinion, feeds the soul, as well as, the body. This attitude to food had given me curves that had taken most of my teenage years to grow into.

After paying my bill and leaving a tip, I got back into my car and headed off to the grocery store. Again, the eerie feeling of ‘being watched’ crept over me. Shrugging it off, I told myself, “ Nonsense.” I reached in my pocket, out of habit, to get my cell phone just in case I needed to dial 911, but I found nothing. Sighing, I remembered I had lost it in Italy and still hadn’t got around to replacing it, next thing on my “to-do list”.

Off in the distance, a figure, dark and foreboding, stood watching.

3

I arrived back at the house and got out of the car, my arms loaded with groceries. I started up the walk toward the house when I thought I saw him, Kane, off in the distance, watching me. I stopped and stared back. The tall, black-clad figure stiffened noticeably when he saw I was looking right at him, but he just stood there, motionless in the shadow of the trees. I found him to be vaguely disturbing. This wasn’t normal. At best, it was creepy, and at worse… Ignoring him, I went about my business and headed to the front door. Struggling with keys and groceries, I swore through gritted teeth.

If he was any kind of gentleman, he’d have come over, offered to help carry my groceries, but no, he just stood there. Clenching my teeth, I tried to calm myself and find my happy place as I opened the door. The groceries were about to drop so I hurriedly made my way to the kitchen counter just in time for the bag to burst.

I took my coat off, set it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and started to put away the food. I’d come home bowed but not broken and hoping I might be able to make sense of what happened. Now I seemed to have issues with some stranger who by all means looked like a stalker, but what if he’d killed my parents? That might explain his odd behavior.

I finished what I was doing and headed to the living room where I laid on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. I remember as a child thinking how cool it would be if the ceiling were the floor and the floor the ceiling. Everything would be upside down. I use to visualize moving about through the rooms this way. I smiled to myself. Then a noise shattered my thoughts.

“Oh God, now what’s up?” My heart started beating faster.

I was furious at my vulnerability to fear and scared now that this game and that someone, Kane most likely, substantiated a scare tactic and planned to weaken my defenselessness even more so. My lips thinned in anger.

I rushed over to the window, he still stood in the shadows of the trees, not quite in full view, but I knew. I felt his presence. I ran to the door, opened it. He stood right in front of me, just like before.

“What do you want, why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Candra, is that how you greet a friend? I am disappointed.”

“This is how I greet a person, who, to all intents and purposes, is a stranger. What do you want?” I gritted my teeth and stood my ground.

He moved closer, taking a deep breath, inhaling me as if my presence wasn’t enough for him and he needed more. He didn’t seem alarmed or surprised by my anger. I moved further away from him.

“I see, so I am still a stranger. I will accept that for now. The reason for my… coming here was to see you and to see if I could help around here. Your parents were so kind to me over the years. Your father especially took me under his wing. I’m wondering if you needed anything. I’d like to repay their kindness to me by helping you.” The beginning of a smile turned the corners of his mouth upward and the warmth of it echoed in his voice.

I glared at him reproachfully. “Is that what you do, Mr. Smith, get on people's good sides and make them feel like you are doing them a favor, and then when they aren’t looking… BAM… you move in for the kill? Is that how you operate?”

“I haven’t a clue as to what you are talking about. Bam? Are you proposing that I killed them? If so, you are sadly mistaken. Your parents were my friends. I…”

“Stop right there! I don’t want to hear another word slither out of your mouth, they’re lies. Everything you say is a lie and I don’t like it. You are not welcome here, and if you continue to bother me, watch me, or anything else for that matter, I will call the authorities. You got that Jack!”

Kane nodded and turned as if to walk away.

“If I were you, Candra, I’d make sure your windows are locked. You never know if a… rodent might sneak in.” His mouth twitched with amusement, as he turned and walked away.

He was not what I thought, not that I knew what to think. He seemed more powerful today. The only reason how I knew is that I had felt it, a connection between us, and it scared me. My spirit, my will, felt diminished the more I encountered him. I walked inside and headed toward the kitchen for some hot tea, my mother’s special blend. I made a mental note to get a new cell phone as I placed the kettle on the stove and sat down.

The tablecloth on the kitchen table was one of my mother’s favorites. It was white with a Wedgewood blue pattern set in. I followed the pattern on the tablecloth with my index finger as I thought about what had just had taken place. The thought that my parents liked him was inconceivable. The mere thought of him inside my home repulsed me. The weird thing about all this made me think of the word vampire. I shuddered and goosebumps appeared as if a chilly breeze from an open window had hit me. I remember watching some vampire movie where this seemingly normal guy came to a house, but he couldn’t go in. Like an invisible wall stood in front of him. It wasn’t until he was… “invited in” I mouthed aloud.

The kettle whistled, startling me back into focus. I got up and fixed myself a warm cup of herbal tea. I spooned the dried mixture into the pot and poured the hot water over. For some reason, this wouldn’t leave my mind. This whole vampire thing began to make sense. The more I thought about it, the more it scared me. Giving myself a big mental and a little physical shake, I returned my attention to making my tea. I liked it strong. Its fragrant warmth invaded first my throat and then my stomach, easing back the tensions of the last few days. My parents drank this stuff by the bucket-full, as a child, I’d loved the smell, but not the taste. Now my taste buds had matured and I loved this particular blend, no other tea tasted quite like it. Away at school, my mom would send me regular supplies of home-baked cookies and her special rosehip tea blend to remind me of home.

“Vampire…” I rolled it around my head, thinking about all I had experienced so far, what I know of them, and wondered if something like that could even exist. I had to make sure that I wasn’t going nuts. Vampire… sounded so out there, it couldn’t be true, not now, not in the twenty-first century, but what else could it be? I still didn’t feel right; I didn’t feel the same; like I was feeling things through the filter of somebody else’s emotions. “I’m going crazy, I know I am!” Setting the cup down, I stood up, walked over to the bay window in the breakfast nook, and looked out. “Who was this Kane, and why did I feel so connected to him?” I asked myself, and if he’d been my parent's friend why hadn’t they ever mentioned him to me?

Then I remembered my neighbor, Mr. Bennet. I needed to see him. If anyone could give me answers, maybe he could. He must have known my parents, and so he might know something about Kane. When I went to my first boarding school, he had moved into the old farmhouse, about a mile from us, although I don’t recall ever seeing him around or visiting us. It was in the late afternoon when I decided to go over.

I headed out down the road. The sight and smell of dried leaves filled my senses and I couldn’t pass-up shuffling through them. They lined the street as I walked and I felt almost childlike in my joy. I wasn’t sensing Kane’s presence, for which I felt some relief, but at the same time, it saddened me, his absence.

Mr. Bennet’s house always reminded me of a painting on a chocolate box, a fairytale vision from a young child’s dream. The luscious brown brick and intricate fretwork, spandrels, and gables gleaming white dazzled me. I noticed that nothing was out of place. The tree-filled garden looked pristine and the windows were clear, so clear, that you could have sworn no glass were held in the frames. A swing hung lazily on the porch and wicker furniture completed the cozy scene. He fixed this place up in such a grand manner. Around town, people would say it was haunted and that screams could be heard coming out from it at times. Great, keep those thoughts coming Candra. You won’t be able to set one foot on the step.

When I finally arrived, I put all those weird stories behind me and took a deep breath. First step, second step, third step, I was making progress, and lastly the fourth step. The big old oak door was right in front of me so I knocked. My nervousness made me feel that this was a mistake. At the last minute, I turned to head back home when the door opened.

“Isn’t this a nice surprise? Please come in won’t you.” He held the door open for me. “May I take your jacket?” Immediately I clutched the front of it and politely replied, “No! I mean, I’m still a bit cold, but thank you.” If I had to make a dash for home, I’d still have my jacket. I still had my faculties. They hadn’t left me … not yet at least.

“May I just say how sorry I am for your loss and if there is anything I can do or get for you don’t hesitate to ask?”

“Well, I have a few questions that I hope you might answer. I feel kinda dumb because it’s about my parents and Kane.”

His face when I mentioned Kane told me I had struck a nerve. I had done the right thing in coming here after all. He motioned for me to follow. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice the oil paintings surrounded by ornate gold frames. Mr. Bennet resembled some, so I suppose they must have been his ancestors. I knew it must be a trick of the light, but they appeared to resemble my father too. I supposed it was just a coincidence and forgot about it as I followed him.

“Here we are, make yourself at home,” he said, indicating that I should sit.

I still felt uncomfortable, but I knew he had answers. That he knew something. I just had to stick it out for just a little longer.

“So, what is it that you wish to ask of me?” He took out his pipe and lit it. Puffs of smoke escaped his mouth and floated aimlessly toward the ceiling. “Do you mind?” and held his pipe slightly toward me.

“No, it’s your house, do as you please. Um, well, this is awkward. Do you know anything about this Kane person? Kane Smith, he’s a friend of my parents I think."

I could see the name caused another small jolt of an unidentifiable emotion, but again he composed himself. Pausing, as though in thought, he replied, “So you met our Mr. Smith then have you? I do know very little about him. He is about your age. He was always at the house at one time and then he sort of disappeared. I did wonder if he and your parents had fallen out. He used to help your mother in the garden and would often arrive before sunrise.”

The before sunrise caught my attention right away. “Sunrise, and…”

“And I guess he helped them with other things. Candra, Miss Rosewood, what is this all about, you seemed troubled?”

“I’m not sure how to begin. He came over last night, my first night back. It wasn’t late, but late enough that I thought it strange. He said it was to offer his condolences. Anyway, when he left he sort of vanished. Oh I know this sounds silly and I’m probably imagining things. It just freaked me out. I’ve never seen anyone leave so quickly. Then there have been times where I have caught sight of him, out of nowhere, far in the distance watching me or he’s just there, you know; open the door, and surprise! He’s creeping me out and his attitude is so… irritating. I don’t… like him.”

That was a lie. I did feel something for him, why, I didn’t really know, but something in me seemed to recognize something in him and my loneliness eased, just a little, every time I caught a glimpse of him. My feelings were becoming more intense with each meeting and I hated myself for feeling that way.

I was lost in my own reflections and didn’t notice what was happening to Mr. Bennet; looking at him, I thought he was having some kind of seizure. His eyes had glazed over and he stared off into space. The bones of his hands jutted out as he clutched the arms of his chair, white and pale.

“Mr. Bennet?”

“When did this feeling of connection start Candra?” he spoke, not to me, but through me as if I wasn't there. He seemed troubled by all this.

Choosing my words carefully, I answered him, “Last night, my first night back home.”

“It’s too late, it has started.” His eyes now bored into me, deadly serious.

“Started?” I’m not usually paranoid, but, “Ok, you’re scaring me now. I don’t even know what it’s too late for so you’ll have to give me a little bit more…”

“You have been marked, Candra. You have the first mark; there are three more to come. I would like you to let me continue without any interruptions, for it is imperative that you listen. There are four markings of a human servant, once all four are given, the human is fully bound by that vampire, and Candra, these marks cannot be removed.”

A chill ran through me. It was the same as before, when the word vampire invaded my mind, hounding me. This time the feeling was more pronounced.

Vampire… The word, like poison, ran through my mind, rendering me sick. I wanted this to be a dream, I knew in reality vampires don’t exist, they’re fictional, only found in books, movies, and legends from less sophisticated times. Hearing Mr. Bennet, my respectable-looking middle-aged neighbor, say vampire should have been funny, but it wasn’t if anything it validated the idea.

“There has to be a way to stop him, Mr. Bennet. I didn’t ask for this. Don’t I have a say?” I knew, somewhere in my stored memory of every horror film I’d ever watched that when it came to vampires, the victim usually doesn’t have a say in anything. If Mr. Bennet and my intuition were to be believed, it was my unfortunate turn to be the vampire’s victim.

Then his demeanor changed. No longer did he look threatening, but quiet, almost serene, as he spoke. A bit unnerving if you ask me because my life was at stake and he was so, so… accepting of it, almost like I should understand. Ok, I’ve met one strange man and now here comes the runner up. It was almost like re-living an episode of The Twilight Zone. I wanted to leave, but my gut told me this is what I wanted to know so stick it out.

“He wants a human servant, you. You have something he desires and in bonding with a human, he becomes more powerful. You and he are going to be so tuned-in to each other that you’ll become a receptor to his senses. Actually, this contract, if you will, can be voluntary, but… there are times where these marks are given against the will of the human, such as in your case.”

My stomach churned violently with each word he spoke, tying it in knots so tight that I clutched my abdomen to ease the pain.

“There is some good that does come out of this.”

I couldn’t believe I had heard the word good. “Since when does the end of my life seem good to you? Are you mad? I had my doubts about coming here and now I can see why. You’re on his side; you want him to take me over, you…” I couldn’t go on.

“Candra, please listen.”

“Get away from me… wait, how is it that you know about him being a vampire? You’ve changed your story since we began talking. You know more about my parents’ death, don’t you?” The nauseating chill was back again, something was seriously wrong.

“Hear me out, Candra; Kane does benefit from the bond, but so do you.” He saw the sickened look on my face and hurried on in his explanation.

“You gain his power, strength, and a longer life.” Then he smiled at me encouragingly.

“I should jump for joy now, right?” I stood up and marched toward the door, my hand reaching for the doorknob. “I’m leaving, you two deserve each other, you’re so much… alike.” But something made me stop and look at him. He just stood there, serious, but something about his expression, smug, made me realize that I had hit the target.

“If you would just stay and hear me out I’ll explain everything as calmly as I can. You can trust me, Candra. I’m not going to do you any harm. I want to help… if you let me. Please let me help.”

“Help me; you’ve got to be kidding! Help me right into the grave… I’m out of here. Come near me or step on my property and I swear you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

With that, I opened the door and ran. Fast.

4

UTICA 1859

It was 1859; Christmas was just around the corner. Kane had just finished visiting with some friends. He was on his way back home when the sun began to tuck itself into the hillside and suddenly, for no reason, he became nervous. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. It wasn’t normal for him to be nervous about anything, usually, it was he that everyone came to for help or protection, but this was different …unsettling. He looked about, carefully, cautious and when nothing was amiss, he laughed at himself and continued to walk. He stopped again; someone was behind him, following. He distinctly heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow and yet he saw nothing. With his ears straining to hear anything, his breathing slowed. His eyes searched for someone or something.

“Come out whoever you are, I’ve had enough of your hiding. Show yourself at once.” Nothing, just the sound of the ice crackling on branches as the wind blew through them. His heart thumped deep within his chest as he slowly searched the grounds once again. As he turned to head home, a dark figured stood in front of him. A menacing creature, with eyes that were ruby red, he had the appearance of a man in his 20’s but his gray hair confused the age. His suit, black, with a white shirt and cravat, he dressed for an evening out and he wore a signet ring on his left hand.

“W-who are you? What do you want of me, sir?” Kane knew this was no ordinary man; at least no men he ever knew had eyes of red that seemed to glow in the dark.

“My name is not important. What I want is… you.” The curve of his lips, as he smiled, caused goosebumps to rise on Kane’s skin.

“Then, what is it that you wish? Sir, it is late and the night air is not conducive to one’s health. So if you don’t mind, I wish you would hurry this conversation up a bit.” Kane wanted to leave, even going back into town, anything to get away, but as he tried to move, his foot stuck, as if frozen to the spot. He tried harder but to no avail. Panic swept deep within him, and yet, when he looked into the stranger's eyes he felt calm.

“You’ve spoiled the whole experience for me. I mean, what’s the point in hunting if you have to rush. The sport in it is the fear you hear in your prey’s heart, it beats so fast, it is so… exhilarating, you can’t imagine it, can you? No, I didn’t think so, but you wouldn’t because…” He laughed deep and low, almost like a growl, “…because you, sir, are the prey. Pity that I had to explain everything to you; you now know your position. I’ll just do it and be done, which is a pity because you looked like you would have put up a good fight too.”

Kane, appalled by what had been said, wished he had his handgun, but he had left it at the house before setting out earlier that day to visit the pastor and his daughter. The stranger crouched low as if he were a panther ready to strike his prey. His lips slid back over his teeth exposing his fangs. Just before he leaped, a hissing sound escaped his mouth.

A scream pierced the night.

A horse whinnied and a voice came with it. “You there, I say, what is going on here?” The creature hissed again in anger and then disappeared into the night. Kane lay there in the road half-dead from a gaping wound to the neck.

“Good lord man, what has he done to you? I’ll take you to my house it’s just down the road. I can fix you up in no time.” The man hoisted Kane upon his horse in front of him then rode down the road to a large, elegant house set back from the road. Tall pine trees walled the front of the house so to make it secluded from one's view. He carried him in without any trouble and placed him in the guest bedroom.

“I vowed I would not do this again, but I cannot let a man die at the hands of that monster.” Kneeling close to the bed, he said a few words in a strange tongue, paused a moment, and began to heal the wound by placing his hands upon it. The skin around each opening started to heal and then disappear completely as if they never were there to start. The man heaved a heavy sigh and stood up. “There my young fellow, I did my best. You shall not die, but your life has been altered I’m afraid.” He walked over to the window and looked out. The snow had started to fall again.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

“I have not forgotten what I vowed long ago. You shall be dead even if it means my own death…Charles Rosewood.”

Running from Mr. Bennet’s house, I heard Kane’s voice, as clear as day, in my head as I ran past the tall figure who haunted the waking nightmare that was now my life. I prayed that I wasn’t having a psychotic episode. Maybe all this madness was in my imagination, caused by the sudden death of my parents. Perhaps rather than face the truth that my life had become the stuff of nightmares, I constructed my own fantasy world rather than face up to my life.

5

Once I’d reached the comparative safety of home and leaned against the front door gasping for breath, the idea of the marks had taken on a completely new meaning. This wasn’t something out of a horror movie or fictional book; this was real. He’d been inside my thoughts all along; he’s a vampire and he’d murdered both my parents. The problem now is what could I do alone and how much should I trust Mr. Bennet?

“Perhaps I could get a protection order against him, but being a vampire, no amount of legal paperwork would keep him away from me.”

I hung up my coat, and then the words inside my head came back to me, clear as day.

“Charles Rosewood…” The name sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t put a face to it, and why was Kane threatening one of my relatives? Did this give me more clues as to who may have killed my parents?

I wondered who Charles Rosewood was, obviously a relation of some sort, but I’d never met him or heard my parents talk of him.

I walked into my father’s study; the family album was there on the shelf so I took it down. Dust coated the brown leather cover and hid the family name. Lovingly, I wiped it clean and began to flick through the pictures. The memories flooded back as I looked at myself at two years old, and older, but there had been long gaps when I’d been away at school. All pleasure left me and sorrow seemed to weigh me down. I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t know how or what I should do to deal with the loss of my parents. Now horror that once, to me, written in only fictional stories seemed more real. My world had changed, almost from one breath to the next. I couldn’t quite believe it.

Sighing, I set the album on the desk and clasped my hands together, staring at them. Thoughts flashed like snapshots in my head. Something clicked in my mind. A terrifying realization washed over me. My parents gave him their friendship and they invited… him… in. My mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, they invited him into the house. How could they be so stupid? I whispered. I searched my memory of my childhood. Not once had our neighbor, Mr. Bennet, ever been invited into our home.

I went over what I thought I knew for sure meaning, vampires couldn’t walk into a house; they had to be invited in. I remembered that Mom and Dad had planted garlic, but I couldn’t remember my mother using it in cooking, although she did use the flowers inside the house, probably because somewhere they’d read that vampires didn’t like it maybe. For whatever reason, and…I don’t know what their thoughts were at the time, my parents seemed to have taken an interest in vampire mythology. I only know I’ve seen it in the movies and read about them in novels, but had someone asked me if my parents watched or read about vampires, I would have answered no, never. I had thought I knew my parents inside out and yet I now had a feeling that they’d had a life totally outside of my understanding. It was almost like finding out that your parents still had sex, or worse, catching them at it.

“Damn, why didn’t I know them better? Why hadn’t they talked to me about any of this?”

Confused, I wandered restlessly around the house. I visited my bedroom briefly and found it full of memories, but I was still too raw to linger, so I made my way back to the study and picked up the family album once more. I fell into my father’s leather wing back chair and laid my head against the back of it.

The album had opened, as I laid it on my lap, to a picture of a gentleman. His austere features seemed quite young but were framed by long sideburns flecked with gray. He had an air of authority, the appearance of one who commanded instant obedience.

I studied the picture for a long time; it had such an effect over me. I tilted my head from left to right, eyes focused on the picture. Then I took it out to see if there was something written on the back. The name, Charles Winslow Rosewood, written in the neatest lettering I had ever seen.

My muscles tensed and my heart began to race. Then a voice inside me spoke, “Candra, give yourself to us, not him, blood is thicker than water.” I quickly pushed the album away from me, landing on the floor.

The voice in my head sounded emotionless; it chilled me. The words repeated in my mind, intensifying my fear that the voice of Charles Winslow Rosewood was now part of me too. I looked at the album as though it was possessed. I wondered why I’d never seen the picture of Charles Rosewood before and why my parents never spoke of their own parents or grandparents. Then another connection hit me, that of the importance of my father’s position, why he never left home like everybody else’s father. Why had my parents never encouraged me to make friends either at Church or in school? My parents and I had been so close that I’d never needed anyone or anything from the outside world.

“I think I’ve had enough of this for one day.”

Then I thought, “No I had come this far, I needed to know more.” I needed to gather up my courage and invite Mr. Bennet over. Regretting this decision big time, but understanding I needed to find help, I went over to the closet to retrieve my coat when the doorbell rang. I peeked through the curtain. Mr. Bennet himself was standing on the other side of the door. Did he read my thoughts? Would my head become so crowded that eventually I would be pushed out?

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence, I was just about to come over to see you…” The words won’t you come in, gave me a reason to pause, but then I asked him in. I decided the need for more information was greater than my need to keep him out.

“Thank you, Candra; I’m glad you decided differently about me. So, why were you coming to visit me? More questions?”

“Nothing scares you does it, Mr. Bennet?”

He didn’t say anything, not yet, but I knew he would. The way he looked at me, it was as if he read my mind.

“As I said earlier, I want nothing more than to help you, Candra; you’re like family to me. I only wanted to help, but your parents were wary. Let me help you, please.”

I weighed each word carefully and I didn’t want to seem too eager for his help, but I did want to know more about the marks. I looked at the man who had been our neighbor for most of my life and realized something that previously never occurred to me. He never changed, never aged a day from the man in my vague childhood memories. He still appeared to be in his 40s, black hair with silver threads at his temples. His face was still unlined by time and even his clothes seemed unchanging.

“Candra, I can understand your hesitation, and I can tell you still have some unanswered questions. Am I right?”

Pacing myself, I had to continue my front as though he still annoyed the hell out of me, but that I would be willing to listen. I didn’t fully trust him, but I had to seem compliant as if I wanted his help. So I seated myself across from him. What if he killed my parents and not Kane? This brought on a whole new rush of panic because I had now welcomed him in. Good move Candra.

“This may seem a bit late, but how did you know I had come back? And do you know anything about my parent's mail?”

"Candra, come now, what kind of neighbor would I be, if I would let your parent's mail pile up outside, and as for knowing you had arrived, I was out on one of my late-night walks and I saw you arrive home.”

“Oh, well, true… thanks.” My cheeks grew warm as a small blush started to grow. I wondered if he knew that I’d already seen my parents' lawyer.

“You want more information on the markings don’t you?” He eased back into the couch while the tips of his fingers touched, making a pyramid. His gaze unsettled me and I was sure he found this sort of questioning a game of wits. A feeling inside, my connection, urged me to be careful and so I was.

I looked at him carefully, thoughtfully, wondering what it is that he was trying to do. “Yes, I suppose that would be wise to know what I am in for, just in case.” In case of what? I needed to think before I spoke.

His interest sparked and the gleam in his eye grew just a little brighter. “The first mark, which you’ve already received, is where he shares his life force with you, sort of a connection if you will. The first mark is given in person, but not always does he or she have to be present. The second mark, the human will see two spots of flames, the shade of the vampire’s eyes. These spots of flame will be coming toward you until they reach your eyes and then you will see the world through those eyes for only a moment and those who see you will see your eyes glowing. Again, this is usually done in person, but it is not always so.”

His voice was calm, though it seemed he enjoyed my education too much. Every so often I thought I saw a small smile played around his mouth, but every word he spoke seemed like a death sentence to me, and yet, something deep within, pleasurable at the same time, would make its presence known.

“The third mark is the most serious as it involves taking your blood…” He paused, waiting for me to become hysterical, but I sat quietly and waited for him to continue.