Blood-Red Roses
an excerpt

There was something horrible following Daphne Smith through the streets of Chicago.
What it was, she didn’t know. She knew it looked like a human, but it didn’t necessarily feel like one, if that was the right word. There was just something…wrong about it. The thing, whatever it was, followed her at a cautious distance, putting a wide berth between her and itself.
It’s just because I can’t see his face, she told herself, quickening her pace. Everything seems inhuman if you can’t make out its details, right? That’s all it is. He’s probably not even following me. He’s probably just going the same way I am. Yes, that’s it.
Even so, she needed comforting. The girl reached into her purse and blindly dug through its contents, producing a small silver phone after a minute or so of searching. Flipping it open, she hit speed dial 3 and raised the phone to her ear, heart pounding in her throat as she listened to it ring.
Come on…someone, anyone pick up…
After five or so rings, she heard her father’s groggy voice at the other end. “…Daphne?”
The girl let out the breath that she’d been unconsciously holding and smiled. “Hey, Dad. I was just calling to tell you that I’ll be home soon.”
“What time is it?”
“Around midnight.”
“Oh…okay, then. Drive safe.”
“Dad, wait!” She needed him to stay on the line a little longer, at least until she was to her car. Lowering her voice, she muttered into her phone, “I think there’s someone following me. Stay with me, okay?”
“What?” Panic immediately filled his voice and she briefly recalled little moments from her childhood where his voice would sound the same. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder once to see that her pursuer was still there. “Listen: I’m going to be fine. I just want someone to talk to until I’m safe, okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He grew quiet for a moment before asking, “Is he still there?”
Daphne took a cautious glance over her shoulder and found relief. “No, no, the street’s empty. I was overreacting. Thanks, Da-”
Her words turned into a shallow gasp when she turned back and found herself face-to-face with a brutal-looking man. He may have been handsome at one point in his life, but that time was long gone. Rather, it looked like he’d been repeatedly hit in the face with an axe: scars ran over his brow and skin; his nose looked to have been broken several times; his eyes were the whitest blue she’d ever seen; and his lips were pulled back in an animalistic smile, bearing what looked to be fangs.
She couldn’t even get out a scream before the phone was taken from her hand and crushed in his fist. Taking a step away, she turned to run but was grabbed before she could get more than three steps and thrown face-first against the nearest wall.
“Please,” she whimpered as she felt him press against her, “Please, don’t-”
“Trust me, lovely,” he hissed, “I have no interest in that.”
No relief could penetrate her and slow her heart: she was certain that the longer this kept up, the more likely she’d be to have a heart attack. “Then what do you want?”
“Something…greater…” She felt his lips press to the side of her neck and she shuddered, suddenly all too aware of the blood that coursed just under her skin. Her mouth went dry and she felt his hands snake to her shoulders, keeping her pressed tightly to the wall. After a long pause, his lips peeled back and she felt an enormous pain, like fire shooting into her skin. She gasped and felt one of his foul-smelling paws close over her mouth to silence her: the pain was soon removed, but she felt hot, liquid life pump to the surface and roll out over her skin and her shirt. The sickening feeling that was brought only increased as she felt what she was certain was a tongue running over her skin to catch as much as was possible.
It was then that her instincts, up until that point in a confused fog of terror-induced paralysis, kicked in. She struggled against him, trying to bite at his hand and kick him, occasionally jamming an elbow into his ribs. He hardly budged, and it was then that her mind allowed the surfacing of a neigh-impossible theory, one word and the only one that could make sense.
Vampire.
It only strengthened her resolve to get away, but her strength was quickly draining. Soon her fighting became a half-hearted attempt to shake him off and was reduced to tired acceptance: her head lolled foreword and her forehead met the brick wall, consciousness slowly slipping from her.
Daphne became aware, then, of a shout—or really, a roar. It cut through the night air like a knife, and at its sound she found her attacker gone. Weak and bled-out, she slid to the ground and landed with a thud, head meeting the pavement with a cruel burst of slightly deadened pain. Only half-hearing the sounds of a violent scuffle, her vision tunneled in until she found herself turned over and met with the blurry image of a man. She was unclear as to how, exactly, he looked, only that he had pale skin and long dark hair that framed his face. As she finally succumbed to unconsciousness, the last thing she felt was his freezing cold hand as he touched her cheek.
* * *
Tiberius kicked against the front door with his foot, half in order to announce that he was home and half because he couldn’t open it himself: his arms were a little full at the moment.
The girl in his arms sighed and her head turned against his shoulder. He frowned down at her, shifting his grasp so that she couldn’t fall. She’d been near-dead when he found her, attacked by one of the Created.
One of Wilde’s, likely, he thought with a sneer, angrily recalling the recently-deceased social figure. His vampires had been running amok in the city, driven made by his death, and had been responsible for thirty of the past thirty-one missing person and murder cases that had already happened in the past year.
Adrenaline still flowed through his veins so quickly that he actually jumped when the door was opened and Veronica stood on the other side, a familiar mask of polite interest over her features. “Good evening, Master,” she said, a smile crawling across her jaw. “You’re home early.” She was dressed in the usual: skimpy garment that clung to her ample curves, some sort of trinket to draw attention to her neck, dark brown waves falling all around her face.
He scowled and nodded down to the girl in his arms, stepping inside. “There was a bit of a problem. I need you to call Gabriel and tell him that I won’t be making it tonight.”
Veronica merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged, shutting the door behind him. “Who’s that?”
“I saved her from one of Wilde’s ex-servants: she’s the newest addition to our house.”
“Is she, now? Hm,” the vampiress appraised the girl one last time and turned on her heel, ambling to the room that contained the one telephone in the home. “I’m not training her.”
“You’ll do as I say,” Tiberius said with an ever-deepening frown, again adjusting his grip on the girl. He carried her through the household to the one person he knew he could trust, again kicking the door.
“Hold on,” an irritated voice carried from the other side of the door, soon followed by footsteps. “Honestly,” she muttered irately as she opened the door, “Can’t a girl get a bre- oh, Master!” Elizabeth’s eyes widened when she saw him and she dropped to her knees immediately, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “My Lord, I’m so, so sorry. I-”
“It’s quite all right, my little avis,” he assured her gently, fully aware of the violent trembling that was overcoming her. Stepping around her, Tiberius walked into her room and deposited the girl onto Elizabeth’s bed. He turned to face the woman who now cautiously stood at his side, blushing bright red. “I need you to take care of her. Clean her neck, make sure she undergoes the transformation all right. I had to kill a Created to save her,” he said, frowning down. Now that he didn’t have to worry about transporting her, she looked very beautiful. Her hair was very short and dyed ruby red, though it was likely permanent due to the process she was going through. With her pale skin, she might already pass for a vampire: her lips weren’t too big, but they were cute and pouting, and along with her heart-shaped face she had a rather mischievous, elfin sort of look about her. “When she awakens, bring her to me.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she said, demurely taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. “I’m so very sorry for that, Master. I didn’t know it was you, and I was tired.”
“It’s all right, Elizabeth,” he assured her, stroking her blonde curls the way one might with a good dog. “I understand.”
She smiled, her small fangs glinting in the light of the room, and nodded. “I’ll bring her to you when she’s done, then.”
“Thank you,” he said with a small smile—his first of the night. Stepping past her, Tiberius closed the door behind him and stormed to his own room. Rage flooded him: at Wilde, for making more minions than could be controlled after his demise; at the Created who had attacked the girl; at himself for intervening and making yet another servant.
It was that or watch her die, he told himself with a heavy scowl, stripping off his clothes for his bath. As he slid into the water, he found himself feeling more guilty than angry. That girl…she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. She probably had a family; friends. And he’d taken her from all that. He closed his eyes and remembered the vow he’d made so very long ago, agonizing over it.
No choice, he reminded himself, sinking below the surface, None.