Chapter 3
Only a Rose
7
On the eve of Sarah's seventh birthday von Krolock spent a good while in the tangled wilderness of one of the castle gardens. The heady fragrance of flowers and green growing things hung heavy in the still humid air. Lightning flashed in the distance behind the dark bulk of mountains, followed by the grumble of thunder.
The rain started as he took his leave, a soft patter that became a steady sprinkle as he ran through the trees, following the twisting road down into the village. By the time he swarmed up the face of the inn it was a good downpour. Inside, every room for rent was full of sleeping bodies. Not a huge surprise as Koukol, his hunchbacked servant, had told him of this trading party traveling from village to village, peddling various wares. Apparently the rain had driven them indoors for the night.
He sensed little Sarah asleep as well, although it was a restless sleep. He tried the window to her room. Locked and latched. Hmm, this was turning out to be a much more complicated undertaking than he had first imagined. He laughed at the sight he must make, a dark wet splotch stuck to the wooden front of the inn. His mantle and long hair hung in a sodden mass against his back.
There was nothing for it; in through the unlocked attic.
Inside he did his best to ignore the scent of prey, which proved difficult as every breath into his sinuses and mouth brought in air saturated with the taste and smell of men, women and children, each with a singular character and flavor. The rhythmic swish and pulse of multiple heartbeats added into the mix didn't help matters any. Focus. Do what you came to do and get out. With preternatural stealth he crept into Sarah's room. She slept curled into a ball in the middle of a small bed shoved against the opposite wall. From an inner fold of his cloak von Krolock brought out one perfect white rose, just starting to open, which he laid on the dresser, next to the simple wooden comb with four broken teeth, and the brush with the bristles well worn and starting to lay flat.
As he turned to leave, a sudden flash of light illuminated the room. Barely a breath later followed a deafening crash of thunder. Sarah cried out in fitful sleep.
He stopped and looked back, debating with himself. Rivulets of water dripped from his clothes onto the planked floor. Too dangerous to linger, risking discovery, surrounded by easy blood...such a fool's errand, what was he thinking?
Another whimper, another muffled cry.
With a silent sigh von Krolock stepped to the bedside and dropped to his knees.
"Hush," he breathed. Carefully, oh so carefully, he skimmed over the turbulent surface of her emotions, leaving peace and calm in his wake. "It's only the wind, the storm," he crooned, "only the night running wild…."
The worried wrinkle on her brow smoothed, the flicker beneath her eyelids slowed. She turned toward him, one hand reaching out of the covers.
Gently he tugged the rough but warm wool blanket back over her outstretched arm.
"Happy birthday star copil-star-child." He permitted himself one touch, one finger gliding across her flushed velvet cheek.
On the way back home, he rode the wind, high in the storm, through the rain and mist, utterly drenched and soaked and not caring, the night running wild under his skin.
xxx
star copil- star child, Romanian
A/N: "And he was just like a great dark wing, within the wings of a storm; I think I had met my match, he was singing..." Sara, Fleetwood Mac
