Bed of Roses- Ch. 2- Running

      Before her was a large antechamber with three doors, one at each compass point. She had come in at the south door. As she marveled at the beauty of the room, the door to her left opened and a slight young maiden with blonde hair stepped from within. "Hello," she said quietly. "My name is Claire. Lord Draven has requested that I care for you while you are here."
         Ryelle frowned slightly. "I can care for myself, thank you very much," she said.
         Claire nodded. "The bedroom is on your right, and the door in front of you leads to your sunroom. You will find everything you need in the armoire in the bedroom. My quarters are here on the left," she said, gesturing to the door she had stepped out of.
         "Thank you," Ryelle said, curtseying. The maid did the same and retreated into her quarters.
         Quickly, Ryelle entered the bedroom. She had come to the conclusion that she couldn't stay here; not tonight, not ever. As she shut the door behind her, she ignored that everything had been arranged for her to live out at least four or five years here, and comfortably. Deep burgundy silk sheets clothed the down mattress and red, velveteen curtains hung from the windows. The full moon shone in brightly on the black rug beneath her feet. She looked to the window and saw that there was a lattice that led down into an open courtyard. There, she would make my escape.
         She opened the armoire and took a few rolls of bandages, some antiseptic, and a beautiful black and silver dress. She also found some violet slippers that matched her dress wonderfully, and slipped them on. Opening the window, she looked down. It wasn't a far drop, about one story, so if she fell, at least she knew she wouldn't die. Carefully, Ryelle gripped the latticework and began to inch her way down to the well-groomed garden. As the tip of her toes touched the ground, she let go of the lattice and landed, catlike, on the courtyard path. Quickly she found that the path that she was on already led off the Lord's property and into a back alley. With one last glance at the beautiful town house, she sighed and began to make her way down the dark alley.
~*~
         The blonde vampire watched from the shadows of the courtyard, which connected to the ballroom. He saw the girl Draven had introduced as his fiancée. He didn't believe what Draven had said, but this girl would suit his means nonetheless. Draven was not the marrying type. Silently, he started after her.
~*~
         As Ryelle walked, she swore she heard another set of footsteps. Stopping for a brief moment, she turned and saw a shadow moving close to a building, but when she blinked, it was gone. Shaking her head, she blamed the lack of food today for the hallucination. Still, she began to walk a bit faster. Hearing the footsteps again, she turned around. This time the shadow was closer, and definitely moving toward her. Ryelle's heart began to beat a little faster than normal, and she started running as fast as she could. Behind her, she felt the piercing gaze of an enemy, a trained hunter. She knew they were running faster than her, but she thought she had the advantage, since she knew the streets. She took several corners at full speed, until she could hear her heart beat in her ears, and yet the figure still followed her.
         She turned the last corner that should have led to the main thoroughfare, but found herself instead face to face with a stone wall. She turned to go back the way she came, but the figure stood there, blocking her path. As the form stepped forth from the shadows, she could see that it was a pale-skinned young man with short blonde hair, slicked back. He wore a wine-red coat and a cravat was tied at his throat. His breeches were of soft doeskin, and his dark brown boots, folded over, came up to his mid-calf. He chuckled as he walked slowly toward her, a silver stiletto knife in his hand. Ryelle stepped back a few steps and found herself against the wall. She swallowed hard.
         "I haven't got any money, if that's what your after," she said, her voice shaking.
         "I'm not after money," the man said, with a thick French accent. A sadistic grin twisted his features into a gruesome face in the shadow of the buildings.
         "I have Leprosy," she said, hoping that may deter her assailant. It didn't.
         "I know," he said. He kept moving toward her, until the tip of his knife touched her throat.
         "Who are you?" she dared to ask him.
         "I am Alon, a Vampire," he replied, his face coming extremely close to her own. "You know, you are quite beautiful, for being his whore," he said with a smirk. Ryelle assumed he meant Draven. "Perhaps I shall have some fun with you before I kill you," he said, taking his knife and cutting the bodice of the dress open and exposing her pale breasts. The knife now gone from her throat, Ryelle tried to sidestep him. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed her neck with a surprisingly strong grip for such a slight man. "Don't you move," he whispered in her ear. With his knife, he slowly made a cut along the top her left breast. As she felt the tiny droplets of blood escape from the wound, she let out a scream.
         "Be silent!" He said, letting go of her throat and backhanding her--hard. Ryelle fell to the ground, her face stinging. He gripped Ryelle's wrists and pinned them over her head with one hand and slit the rest of her dress open with his knife. She closed her eyes, dreading what would happen next.
         "Let her go," A strong, deep, smooth voice said from the shadows.
         Alon looked up just as Draven stepped from the darkness. His face was hard in the moonlight; a grim, half-sad expression on his face.
         Alon got to his feet and smirked. "I laid my trap well. I knew you would come after this mortal. Though why you, of all people, would care for such a peon, is beyond me."
         "I am done with this, Alon. I joined the Consortium. Rethink your choices," Draven said carefully.
         "The Consortium? You?" Alon laughed, a sick, cacophonous sound. "You were always quite the joker."
         "This is no joke. Let the girl go." Draven's face held no expression as he spoke.
         "Gladly. I have what I came for....you." Alon charged Draven, but Draven caught Alon's right wrist in his hand.
         "Stop this foolishness. You know I am more powerful than you," Draven said. "I don't want to have to harm you, Alon."
         "You cannot harm me!" Alon grabbed at his left boot, pulling out a silver dagger and swinging at Draven. Draven grabbed his other wrist and twisted it behind his back, causing Alon to howl in pain.
         "Now, Alon, you have a choice. You can leave London and never return to do harm to this girl again, or I can kill you here," Draven said, calmly.
         "Let go, let go!" Alon whimpered. "I'll leave! I promise!"
         "Then go," Draven said, releasing him.
         Sending one more malevolent glare in Ryelle's direction, Alon ran off into the darkness.
         "Are you all right?" Draven asked, scooping her up easily into his arms.
         Still shaking, Ryelle nodded. "I...I think so,"
         Drawing in a deep breath, Draven clenched his teeth. "You're bleeding," he observed, staring at the cut on her breast.
         "Oh, it's nothing," She said, quickly covering herself with what was left of her dress.
         Draven laid Ryelle down on the stone and took a roll of bandages from her. His muscles were tight, as if he were resisting pouncing on her. As he bandaged the small wound he began to relax. "There, all better," he said, a grin turning up the corner of his mouth. He caught her up in his arms again, hugging her close to his chest.
         "Is it true, what that man said?" Ryelle asked. "Was he a....." She couldn't bring herself to speak the word. Vampires were the stuff of myths and legends, not real beings.
         "A Vampire? Yes," Draven said grimly. "As am I."
         Ryelle's mouth fell open. "Get away!" she shouted, shoving against him with all her weight. He held her to him tightly.
         "Hush, little one. I have no intention of hurting you," Draven said, trying to be reassuring.
         "You kill people! Human beings!" she yelled, shoving harder.
         "I never kill," he said. "Not anymore. All those people at my house tonight were willing donors. Now hush."
         "Willing?! You cast your evil magick on them and brainwashed them!"
         Draven looked down at her, a small smile on his face. "Did I cast a spell on you, then, too? I could have bound you to stay, I could have drained you when I first encountered you dying on those steps. I did not, because I pitied you, and I hate killing humans for my survival."
         "You lie," Ryelle growled, glaring up at him angrily.
         "I do not."
         "And what's the Consortium? Some sort of evil organization devoted to gaining power over humans?!"
         Draven sighed. "In fact, it's just the opposite. The Nightshade Consortium is an organization of Vampires tired of this life of bloodlust and killing. They are determined to find a cure."
         Ryelle shook her head. "Let me go. I'm going back to the streets," she demanded. "You've been nothing but trouble to me. Go away and let me die, like I was supposed to."
         "If I leave you here alone, they will continue to hunt you. If you really want that," he stepped back from her, his eyes the color of molten gold, hunger apparent in his features, "I would rather kill you myself than throw you to those dogs, who would rather torture you than grant you a quick, nearly painless death. Your decision. Come home with me and be safe, or you die now."
         Carefully, Ryelle pondered the situation. Biting her lip, she chose the less deadly of the two choices. She reached her hand out slowly and took his.
         Draven smiled. "Let's go home, my darling," he said, leading the way.
~*~
         A year passed with no further incidents. Ryelle's hair began to grow back, and the sores on her face and body had completely faded. She amassed quite a collection of jewelry to match the dresses she had in the armoire. Draven held his balls once a week, and, as he had promised, never laid a hand on Ryelle in harm. During the day he retired to his chambers, and Ryelle wandered the streets of London. She and Claire had become great friends, and they always went shopping together. Draven spared no expense for Claire and Ryelle's outings, claiming he wanted Ryelle to be happy, no matter the cost. He met with the Consortium once a month, and they tested out new combinations of medicines, but never found a cure.
         Ryelle learned during one of her night-long talks with Draven that he and Alon were once very close, when they were first turned. Back then, Draven was filled with hatred for the human race and killed without thinking. Alon had a human lover, and, in his bloodlust, Draven killed her, causing Alon to vow revenge. They decided that to Alon it was only fair that he took a lover from Draven in return, and that was why, they concluded, Alon had tried to kill Ryelle. Ryelle felt sorry for Alon, to have such a tragic story.
         Ryelle and Draven were having one of their talks one night, when Claire bursted into the sunroom. "The ballroom is ablaze!" she exclaimed.
         "What?!" Draven bellowed, jumping to his feet and rushing out of the room.
         "Draven!" Ryelle called after him, starting to step after him.
         "Stay there!" He said, and she heard the main door slam shut.
         Anxiously, Ryelle paced for what seemed like an hour until Draven burst back in. "The fire is spreading. We must leave, now. My carriage is waiting in the alley by the courtyard. Gather your things and meet me there. Don't try to use the front door, the fire has taken half the foyer. Hurry!" He barked, turning to leave.
         "Draven..." Ryelle whispered, gripping his arm, tears filling her green eyes.
         He turned to face her and held her close to him for a moment as she buried her face in his chest. "I know, my darling. We must hurry though, or we will both die. Fire is one of the few weapons that can kill my kind."
         "Draven, what if you don't get out in time? I don't want to go without you!" Ryelle cried, choking back a sob.
         "I promise I will meet you at the carriage." he said, calmly, wiping a tear from her cheek and kissing her forehead. "Now, we don't have much time. Hurry!" He ordered,  turning on his heel and going out the door.
         Hastily, Ryelle gathered a few of her favorite dresses, antiseptic and bandages, just in case, and a pair of black slippers. After thinking for a brief moment, she concluded she didn't need anything else. She climbed down the lattice outside her window and ran to the carriage to wait.
         Half the house was aflame, orange and yellow licking the walls and windows hungrily. When she saw a window in Draven's quarters burst and flame shoot out of it, she gasped and looked away. What if he doesn't return? she began to think, but berated herself immediately for thinking such a thing. Draven would make it out. He had to. He promised.
         Ryelle heard the old clock in the sunroom ring the half hour. Seeing the entire house in flames, and the one next to it starting to catch, her face fell, and she turned to the driver. "He's not coming out, is he?" She asked him, holding back tears.
         The driver looked down. "No one could survive that. I'm afraid he's died."
         Ryelle's whole body went limp and she fell to the ground. Draven, my indestructible rock, dead? she thought in disbelief. Tears welled up in her eyes and fell to the ground, soaking the dry dirt. Ryelle lay there, sobbing, until the driver stepped down and helped her into the carriage. She laid on the plush seat inside and continued to cry. When the driver was about to snap the reins she screamed for him to stop at the top of her lungs, one small part of her hoping that Draven would come rushing out of the flames.
         "We need to go, or we'll burn too! This whole area is catching fire!" He yelled, snapping the reins. The horses reached a gallop quickly. Tears still streaming down her face, Ryelle watched as the carriage passed the burning remains of Draven's house. Several houses next to it had caught the flames, and later, many other buildings would catch as well, and it would become known as the Great Fire of 1666.
~*~
         Alon watched as the city burned and Ryelle fled in Draven's carriage. "Well," he said to himself, "the lion has been taken care of, time for the wolf to hunt the lamb." He turned to the three Vampire hunters that accompanied him. "Follow his carriage. When they stop, we will make our move. Draven will not get off so easily as simply dying." He turned from them, his greatcoat flowing in the wind, looking over the burning remains of the city.
~*~
         The carriage drove until dawn, when they finally stopped at an inn. Ryelle got separate rooms for the driver and herself, mainly because she didn't want to put him in a awkward position. After she reached her room, she laid down on the bed and fell immediately asleep. That morning, she dreamt she saw Draven's face, twisted and burning, the flames making his skin bubble. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. The smoke was filling her lungs, choking her. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn't move. The flames started to consume her as well. She tried to scream, but to no avail. Ryelle knew she was going to die.
         Ryelle's eyes flew open and she tried to scream, but couldn't. It was dark, and someone's hand covered her mouth tightly. She struggled, and felt ropes binding her wrists and ankles to the bed. Her eyes flitted through the room to see four figures, including the one that sat heavily on her chest. The one on top of her with glowing red eyes ordered a fire lit, and another obeyed, starting a fire in the fireplace. The flickering flame revealed their faces; the one on top of her she immediately recognized as Alon. The three others were clearly human, all male. One was burly and tall, with a shock of silver in his deep brown hair; one was of medium build, had an eye patch over his left eye, carried a crossbow, and had his long, silver hair tied in a ponytail; the third was short and slight, with short brown hair and an evil-looking silver scimitar in his hand.
         Ryelle swallowed hard and closed her eyes. If she died here tonight, at least she could be with Draven, wherever it was that souls went. Alon lifted himself off her and stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth. "So, Draven's whore escaped the flames of London," he said, pacing in front of the fire. Ryelle opened her eyes and sent an dark look at Alon. Alon stepped toward her, drawing his signature stiletto knife. "I missed you. You look better," he said, kissing her neck gently. He breathed in deeply and his eyes sparkled. "You smell delectable. How he managed to keep his fangs off you, I'll never understand." He leaned forward and brushed his fangs against Ryelle's throat. She closed her eyes tightly and whimpered.
         "So sweet..." He purred, licking her neck. She felt his hot breath next to my throat and tried to scream for help, but the cloth prevented it. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," he said.
         She clenched her eyes shut as tight as they would go. She waited for his teeth to penetrate my skin, but it never happened. Instead, she heard a rustling cloak and an "Oomph!" Ryelle opened her eyes to see a tall figure standing over Alon, who was on the floor in a prone position.
         "You were dead!" Alon screamed.
         "You should do your homework," a familiar voice said. Draven!
         Alon narrowed his eyes. "No matter," he said getting to his feet. He turned to the three humans. "Hold him still. I want him to watch her die," he ordered them.
         The burly man easily overpowered Draven, despite his supernatural strength. The man with the eye patch quickly aimed his crossbow at Draven's throat, a silver-tipped arrow in the queue. The small, slight man gripped Draven's dark hair and held his head up so he had to watch.
         Alon walked over to Ryelle slowly, tracing her jaw line with his stiletto. She whimpered slightly as the cold silver touched her skin. "Now you will know how it felt, when I had to watch you kill Mia..." he said. "My only love, my only light. You killed her, Draven. Like a mindless monster, you killed her. Now, I will kill your love."
         He knelt down next to the bed, and opened his mouth wide. Ryelle felt the tips of his fangs touch her neck. She clenched her eyes shut and screamed when he bit down and began to suck the blood from her veins. Another scream accompanied her own, a deep, angry roar. Ryelle opened her eyes and saw Draven shake the little human off him. He rose to his feet, his golden eyes flames in the firelight. He easily threw the burly man across the room. As the man with the crossbow tried to get his shot off, Draven grabbed the crossbow and broke it in half over his knee. He grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him in the air, crushing his windpipe. The man fell lifeless to the ground. Draven turned and faced Alon, whose jaw was still locked around my throat. He released as Draven began in his direction.
         "It's too late, Draven," Alon said, a bloodstained smirk on his face. "She's dying. Look at her, so fragile. You should have turned her."
         Ryelle felt the blood pumping out of her neck, and blackness began to blur the edges of her vision. She gasped for air as she felt the life slipping from her. The last thing she saw was Draven, roaring, grab a laughing Alon and tear his arm from his body. Then, she fell unconscious.