Rise for Me

3

A small smirk lifted from the corners of her lips. She knew all his secrets, including the fact that Roman intentionally ignored her. The dark-haired Romani vampire, from her wildest fantasies, refused to acknowledge her presence, and it hurt.

Over the years, she’d often dreamed of him, erotic dreams of a lover long denied. His pull became a magnet, a beacon, every time she felt alone or unsure, but when she learned of her illness, she blocked him completely. During that time, anger led her life, the unfairness of the situation, and eventually, hopelessness.

She didn’t want Roman to know or experience what she felt. It became more difficult to stay away with each biopsy result until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She knew the carnival returned every year at this time, and his face was the one she wanted to see, hoping for forgiveness. Mariah sighed in momentary defeat but refused to give up so easily.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet when she swiveled around and took a few steps, intending to give Roman time, but then she paused. She was out of time. Diagnosed with breast cancer that had metastasized at an alarming rate left her with little time on this earth.

Because her form of cancer was so aggressive, she refused treatment. She told no one, not even her parents. With each test result, she descended further into depression until she couldn’t find her way out. The last blow from the physician sparked something inside, the overwhelming need to be with him, and let him know how much she loved him. She wasn’t leaving this earth without seeing him again.

The carnival blurred before her very eyes, and the sounds dissipated until only the steady thumping of her heartbeat filled her ears. It slowed to match Roman’s, peace settling in her soul like gentle ocean waves, his presence embracing her home.

This was why she returned. The miniscule trace of his blood moved through her veins, steady and true, cracking the foundation of her depression, and allowing her to see everything with fresh eyes. They may never be together the way she envisioned, but she knew he could soothe her transition to death.

Mariah whipped around to face the haunted house with renewed determination. Roman was the reason she was here, and she wasn’t leaving without speaking to him. He might hate her, never forgive her, but she must see this thing through.

The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath her feet as she climbed the three steps onto the railed front porch, jerked the screen door open, and entered the dark interior. Luminescent-painted, ghostly faces lined the black walls with chicken-wire screens over cut-out depressions. Mariah waited for some scary thing to pop out behind the screens, or ominous music to play from the mounted speakers, but the building was eerily quiet…too quiet.

The ride was no longer open to the public, but metal rails still lined the floor’s length, twisting and turning, for the cars that used to run throughout the building. One hand trailed along the rough wood, absorbing every detail. Roman was nothing if not a creature of habit, disassembling this building and dragging it from town to town.

After allowing her eyes to adjust, she stepped over the rails and treaded carefully along the path to his room. Strategically placed cobwebs and sheer curtains swayed when she passed before settling, reminding her she was a ghost from the past.

How sad no one enjoyed this ride any longer. It was her childhood favorite. Mariah sighed deeply while zigzagging through the dark halls until she reached the door to Roman’s personal space. She inhaled deeply, grasped the worn handle on the door, and pushed it open, the hinges grinding in the quietness.

She expected to see Roman, but only found remnants from his life lining the dusty shelves, antique cabinets, and side tables. A worn, red-velvet chaise lounge sat in one corner with carnival pamphlets lying haphazardly across its tufted, buttoned surface. The tips of her fingers lightly glided over everything, as haunting memories flooded her mind.

Roman’s masculine scent dominated the space along with the musty odor of things long since used. A box of wood carvings filled one corner, and wood shavings littered the floor.

A small, wind-up carousel sat on a cabinet covered in cobwebs and dust. Mariah picked it up, twisting and turning it, admiring the colorful horses and the gold lining of the trinket. After blowing the dust and cobwebs off, she tipped it on its side and wound the key until the tinkling notes of “The Carousel Waltz”

filled Roman’s private room.

How many times had he twirled her around like a princess when she felt like an ugly toad? How many times did the others join in the fun? Belonging and home took on new meaning at the carnival.

Old books with worn covers lined the shelves, and glass oil lamps in burgundy and gold rested in various spots. Soot marred the interior of the glass chimneys, and the wicks were half burned but still soaked in the fuel, ready to be lit.

Mariah fondly smiled until her gaze rested on his poster bed draped in black velvet coverlets surrounded by matching curtains. It was a masculine space designed by the ringmaster himself and exuded his personality in every way.

Her fingers slid over the white sheets and onto his pillow, wishing she’d understood what they were to each other years ago. It looked as if the bed hadn’t been used in a long time, but one piece of dark hair lay on the pillowcase. Mariah toyed with it, rubbing it between her fingers before dropping it where she found it.

Roman’s skin was darker and his hair jet-black. Thick, winged, black eyebrows hovered over intelligent, green eyes full of mischief and knowledge. She longed to see him, not as a child missed a friend, but as a woman missed a man. Roman belonged to her, and she was here to claim what she so foolishly tossed away, even if only for a little while.

Her lips pursed, remembering the heated arguments with her parents. They hated Roman, and they hated the carnival. They didn’t know he was a vampire, but they knew he was Romani. She never understood why they loathed him until she did a little digging of her own into their family history.

Her father’s family descended from the Romani and suffered horrendous persecution. Mariah sighed while standing in the middle of Roman’s room. As a child she didn’t see it, but as an adult woman she faced it head on. Why anyone would treat the members of Roman’s troupe any differently was beyond her, but she understood her father’s need to keep their family lineage a secret, even if she didn’t agree.

Patrin Stone, her father, worked hard to build a construction business in this small town and even went as far as to change his first name to Patrick. He met and fell in love with her mother, Lila, right here. They lived a different life from the Romani, but Mariah still recognized traces of the wanderer in her father along with his darker features.

Roman was a reminder of everything her father tried hard to leave behind, living the gypsy life and embracing everything about it right down to this carnival that traveled across the country. It was the only place Mariah ever truly belonged, and now she knew why. Roman’s vampire blood and flesh were another matter altogether.

She rubbed the spot on her face where Roman’s flesh mended and blended with hers. How many times had she run the pads of her fingers over it while thinking of Roman and what he did for her? It might have taken a while, but she knew her place was beside Roman, at the carnival, living the Romani life to the fullest.

Her gaze lowered to the floorboards, regret and doubt gnawing at her resolve. No matter what it took, she’d make Roman understand why she left. She was his mate in every sense of the word.

Her feet shuffled on the worn floor until she stopped directly over where she knew Roman rested. Her own blood surged in her veins, and she tilted her head, listening to the call of his blood and the beat of his heart. Lizzie said he wasn’t feeding as much as he should, so there was one sure way to bring Roman out of his grave.

She searched the room for something sharp until her gaze landed on a jeweled pocketknife. It was dull, but it would work. She grabbed it off the table and placed the thin blade against her left palm, then held it over the spot where she knew Roman rested.

With one downward swipe, the blade pierced her flesh, opening a one-inch gash. Blood poured from the wound and dripped onto the rough wooden floor planks. She crouched and held her palm above the crack between the boards, ensuring her blood reached Roman.

Her tongue slicked her bottom lip and nervousness churned in her spirit, but she inhaled deeply and gathered her courage as her blood continued to splatter in droplets between the planks. The room groaned, boards cracked, and every trinket vibrated when she finally called to the other half of her soul in a loud, demanding voice.

“Rise for me, Roman Lee! Rise for your mate!”

Roman hissed when the first drop of her blood worked its way between the floorboards and dripped onto the soil above his face. His mouth salivated, and his fangs thrust from his upper gums. Power expanded and retracted at a rapid pace until it took on a life of its own, radiating with the desire for her and her blood.

The surrounding dirt vibrated, separated, and opened over his face as his body ascended. Her blood dripped onto his cheek, slid across his lips, and pooled in the corners before skimming his chin. Bitter sweetness touched his tongue, and he lost himself in Mariah’s essence. Every memory rushed to the forefront of his mind as she called him to her, with her voice and with her blood. He couldn’t deny his mate, no matter how hard he tried.

He surged from the earth, bursting through the floorboards, bare chest heaving when he finally stood before the one who ripped his heart out. Vibrant, whiskey-brown eyes glared back at him, unafraid and confident, and her chin lifted in defiance. This was not the young girl he remembered, but a fully mature woman.

With one swipe, he knocked the ball-cap from her hair. The wheat-blonde mass tumbled around her shoulders in a disheveled, glorious mess, begging for his hands, but he didn’t touch her. A growl rumbled deep in his chest when he noticed the black streak of hair cascading from the crown of her head down the left side, starkly reminding him of his sacrifice and her betrayal.

Full lips, high cheekbones, and sultry eyes tempted his resolve. His hungry gaze devoured every feature of her beautiful face. The birthmark was gone, and in its place, alabaster skin glowed healthy and vibrant, but dark circles haunted her eyes.

The taste of her blood lingered in his mouth and on his tongue, but something odd flavored her essence. His eyes narrowed to thin slits, focusing on Mariah. There was no outward evidence that a piece of his flesh had healed her body. She was perfect as he intended, but something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t place it.

She didn’t move as he stalked her by slowly walking around her, his gaze slithering over her body. A mature woman stood before him in all her glory. Long legs, curvy hips, and medium breasts caused his lips to firm as her floral scent rushed to his brain in heady waves. Silky hair hung to her shoulders in thick strands.

The black strip of hair repeatedly drew his attention, the evidence of his damnation. Magic came with a price, and she was his debt’s embodiment.

Roman halted before her in anger and disappointment, seething with unbridled passion. “What do you want, Mariah? Didn’t you take enough from me?”

Brown eyes watered, and her gaze dropped to the floor in shame. She shook her head once, and her chin trembled before lifting her face to his. “You don’t understand.”

She interrupted his rest, his torment, and now returned after years, bold enough to summon him with her blood, as only his mate could. “Do your parents know you’re consorting with a lowly gypsy? Do they know where their precious daughter is? You took my flesh and my blood, then disappeared as if it didn’t matter and broke all contact. You have no idea what you did to me. Do you even care?”

“I was a young girl, Roman. You know I’d lived a sheltered life, but what you don’t know is my father threatened to report you and your witches for healing me.”

Roman backed her into the wall with his sheer size, towering over her with a snarl. He was tired of these humans constantly messing with his life and stealing what didn’t belong to them. “Report me to whom?”

he growled, licking the tip of his fang.

Mariah bit her bottom lip, the action drawing his gaze from her eyes, causing lust and anger to mix until he didn’t know where one emotion began and the other ended. “To anyone who would listen, Roman. He would’ve caused all kinds of trouble for you and the people of the carnival. I couldn’t stand the ramifications, so I did what he told me to do until now.”

Roman snapped his teeth next to her cheek. “I would’ve killed him and still may.”

“No!”

“Why not? If what you say is true, why shouldn’t I kill him?”

Mariah smacked her palms against his bare chest, but he didn’t budge an inch. He wanted her to feel his rage, his hurt, his need for her, and his broken heart. He wanted to break her as she destroyed him and ignore her when she pleaded for mercy.

One tear spilled from the corner of her eye, followed by another to trek along her cheek. He inhaled a deep breath to calm himself before he did or said something he regretted. “Why do you cry now?”

he demanded.

Mariah wiped the tears away and sniffled. “He’s my father, Roman, and he’s a gypsy. He’s your people whether he admits it, or you accept it. It won’t change anything, anyway.”

Roman moved closer to Mariah, inhaling her sweet scent with every breath, and still savoring the drop of blood that tempted him. “It doesn’t matter what or who your father is.”

He ran his face over the top of her hair, relishing the feel of the soft strands and loving the black strand. It was a symbol of their connection and what he did for her. His eyes closed to hide the simmering, barely contained desire in their depths. “Why have you come back, Mariah?”

The hitch of her breath caused his breath to grow deep and labored. Blood pooled to his cock, and his muscles tightened as time seemed to stop for one moment. Blood smeared his chest from her cut palm, and he lifted it to his lips. The wound still bled profusely, and blood trickled between her fingers. He licked the gash once, then twice, and groaned with bloodlust and need. He sucked each digit into his mouth, cleansing the blood away while healing her completely.

Her gaze never left him as his saliva worked its magic. She bit her lip but didn’t pull her hand from his mouth. The beat of her heart raced inside her chest, and blood pumped faster in her veins.

He let go of her and braced both hands over her head while gazing down at her. “What do you want, Mariah? Don’t lie to me either. I taste something different in your blood.”

She licked her lips, luring him closer to her mouth until their breath mingled. Seconds passed, the clock ticking the only sound. “I came back for you, Roman. I can’t bear the separation any longer. You are constantly in my thoughts, and my soul cries to be next to yours. It’s distracting and embarrassing to admit, but I need you. I know we are mates. I’m sorry.”

Roman snarled and hissed, backing away in disgust. She avoided the question about her blood, so she lied. The last thing he needed was more treachery from his mate. “No.”

Mariah’s shoulders slumped, and she rested her back against the wall. Brown eyes locked with green ones. “Then take the gift back. I would rather wear that hideous birthmark than live, knowing you hate me. Call the witches or I will. Break our connection once and for all.”