Rise (Roam Series, Book Three) Read online

  “We’re first class.”

  “Wow. Snooty.”

  He chuckled. “That’s just how it was.”

  We arrived in Cherbourg at six-fifteen. “We’re going to the transatlantic terminal. We’ll need to be ferried to the ship,” he added.

  “You sound nervous,” I reached for him, and he returned my fervent hug.

  “I had planned a honeymoon, not a face-off.”

  “We don’t know if he’s here.”

  “There will be many European emigrants getting on in Cherbourg for America. Two-hundred and eighty-one passengers will board here.”

  “Eighty-three,” I countered.

  “Right,” he parked outside the terminal, and I huddled close to him, my fingers gripping his mercilessly.

  “West,” I breathed, stopping in my tracks as the first lights appeared in the distant harbor.

  The enormous ship moved slowly toward the port, the four smoke funnels striking out against the pink and blue, dusky clouds of the evening. I had expected to be impressed by the size and magnitude, but in the foreign time and land, the colossal Titanic commanded total reverence.

  “First class,” West gestured to one of the ferries. “The Nomadic. That one will tender us over.”

  I rolled my shoulders back and tried to walk as imperially as possible. West spoke privately to a young man, and after a minute, money was exchanged and the boy began unloading our trunk. “Did you just hire him to carry that trunk?”

  “I’d draw too much attention carrying it myself. These people have servants, nurses, maids… You’re doing fine, Roam.”

  I nodded, moving toward an elegantly dressed crowd near the Nomadic. West arranged our passage while I took in the scene, marveling at the people and listening to them talk to each other. My stomach turned, and I took a deep breath, fighting back the budding nausea.

  A dog’s whining bark drew my attention to the left. A young girl, about my age, quieted an Airedale. “Kitty, shush. I’m sorry,” she smiled helplessly, extending her hand to mine. The white gloves reached her elbows, and I shook her hand. “She gets a bit rowdy with other people. Madeleine Astor,” she introduced herself, handing the leash over to a tall, thin woman. “Thank you, Rosalie.”

  “Amina,” I said, barely able to breathe. I am speaking to Madeleine Astor.

  “Amina, what a beautiful name. Where are you from?”

  “Morocco,” West interrupted, joining my side. I watched as Madeleine’s mouth fell open slightly, her eyes focusing on his broad shoulders. “West Perry. My wife has made a friend,” he acknowledged.

  “American,” Madeleine smiled, extending her fingers toward West. He bent slightly, raising them to his lips.

  “Yes. And quite ready to go home,” he added. She nodded eagerly, her pink cheeks darkening by the minute. West and his magical charm, I thought, shaking my head at him.

  “It is so nice to meet you,” I said, the genuine sincerity in my voice making her smile.

  “Please, you must meet my husband. John,” she turned, delicately pressing her white-tipped fingers to her head. “Oh.”

  “Are you well?” West asked. She nodded, taking a deep breath.

  “The child,” she covered her stomach, smiling. “I notice that I am a bit faint at times.”

  “Well, then, you two have much in common,” he turned to me, and it was all I could do not to elbow him in the ribs.

  “You, as well? Oh, I am so happy to have made a friend,” she exclaimed. An older man swept to her side, nodding politely.

  “Hello. John Astor,” he greeted, shaking West’s hand.

  “West Perry, and my wife, Amina.”

  “Good to know you,” he replied absently, turning back toward his valet. Madeleine waved at me, following her husband quickly.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Roam, of all the times to start cursing, you’ve picked the absolute worst.” He bent to reach for my hand, smiling down at me. “Though, as I remember, Amina swore like a sailor… though it was mostly in Arabic.”

  I grinned, leaning against him. He tucked his arm around me, leading me to the ferry.

  We boarded the R.M.S. Titanic.

  Our first class state room evoked the inevitable images from the 1997 James Cameron movie, but nothing could have prepared me for the way my senses grasped at the dreamlike room before me. The scent of new upholstery combined with the thick carpet beneath my feet sent me to the floor, reaching to trace my fingers over the burgundy and olive design. Sophisticated woodworking on the walls shone with fresh polish. The soft illumination of the candelabra lamps with small, decorative shades gave West a surreal appearance, and I turned, looking at the hand-carved, dark oak bed across from the fireplace.

  “I can’t believe this,” I whispered, gaping at the desk against the wall. “A telephone?”

  “To call the bar or the restaurant. Room service tonight.”

  “I want to walk around!” I glanced at the clock on the mantle. “What time do we depart?”

  “Nine. We have an hour before the ship starts moving. We need to be ready,” he touched his pistol. “We have until noon tomorrow. I think we should eat and get some rest.”

  I inhaled sharply, my fingers locking together as I turned to the bed.

  “Roam,” he crossed the room to me, sliding his hands through my thick, black hair. “I’m not going to make love to you, like this. I know you’re in there, but I just… can’t. And though this morning was amazing, I don’t want to push you… into something you’re not ready for.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, throwing my arms around him. “Thank you.”

  “Hey,” he kissed me softly. “We’ll be okay.”

  “Let’s walk,” I suggested, and he grinned, nodding as he took my hand.

  My first destination was the grand staircase, and though I expected to feel overwhelmed by the intensity of the history around me, I was not prepared for the profound sadness that weighted my heart. West and I hung back, smiling politely at beautiful passengers destined for an icy grave within only a few days.

  The same anxious feeling that burdened my time in the castle returned with force. When I watched Madeleine press her gloved fingers over her waist, I knew I could take no more. “Let’s just go to the room.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “No… it’s devastating. All of this.”

  He nodded, linking his elbow through mine and placing my fingertips on his hand as he led me back to our stateroom. With the door securely locked, I relaxed slightly, pulling the pins from my hair.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I forget that you haven’t lived through these years, these tragedies, like I have.”

  “It’s not the tragedy. It’s not being able to stop it.”

  “We’ll get off in Ireland tomorrow at two.”

  “And then we’ll have to travel back to France to get back to Chicago.” I kicked my dainty shoe at the carpet, the heel digging into the plush threads. “He’ll be in Chicago. Waiting. I can feel it.”

  He shrugged his overcoat down his arms, carefully draping it over the back of a desk chair. “I wish that I knew more about Eva… at eighteen. I wish I knew that Violet was safe… and Morgan, and Jason…,”

  “And Logan,” I pinched a long, black strand of hair between my fingertips. “Or the two of us, West. Even if Eva is safe… we may not make it.”

  “I refuse to believe that.”

  He crossed the room to me, tucking his hands deep into his pockets.

  “Will we have… more children?”

  A slow smile began at the corner of his mouth. “I would like a son.”

  “And I’ll teach. Grade school.”

  “And we’ll build a new house-…,”

  “What- why? I love your house,” I protested, shaking my head. He sat next to me on the bed.

  “Even after all that’s happened there?”

  “I’ll carry all that’s happened in my head forever. It doesn’t matte
r where I sleep.”

  Sadness edged in my voice, and he wrapped his arm around me. “How do you feel about a puppy? Eva’s been asking for one.”

  Grinning, I fell back to the luxurious bedspread dramatically. “I’ve always wanted a puppy, but my dad said no.”

  “Then we’ll have a puppy. And another son?”

  “Or a daughter,” I argued with a grin, my accent cutting my words into quick, disjointed syllables.

  He kissed me softly. “The numbers are changing for Ireland,” he breathed against my cheek. I slid my hands over his face, kissing his knotted brow as he pinned his arm against the bed.

  When the new coordinates appeared, he stared down at them. After a moment, he bolted upright, holding his arm out in the lamp light. “What’s wrong?”

  “These aren’t for Ireland,” his eyes scanned the room anxiously. “I need a map-…,”

  “Hold on,” I moved several, large books around on the desk, shaking my head. “Call and ask for an atlas. They’ll get us one, right?”

  West was on the phone in seconds. He had already begun to decipher the longitudinal position. “41 43 57 49 56 49…,”

  “Is it the Atlantic?!” I shrieked, half-moons left behind from my nails in my palms.

  “We have to get off of this ship,” he growled, lifting his eyes to mine.

  “I’m not going to go down on the Titanic.” The valet’s knock interrupted us, and I ran to the door, throwing the lock open. “That’s the atlas. We just started moving, maybe they can stop the ship-…,”

  “Roam-…,”

  Troy appeared in the doorway suddenly; I had no time to comprehend as the pistol touched my forehead.

  He pulled the trigger…

  And he did not flinch.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “In the end, it is always so easy.” He cocked the pistol again, adjusting the silencer and slamming the door closed. Staring at West, he kicked Roam’s body over so that she was lying on her stomach. “You want to know why? Because you’re both weak. I thought you were on to something, this last life… marry someone else, find the kid, give her the facts. No emotion. But… as always… love weakens you both.”

  West watched as the pool of blood grew to a large oval around her.

  She lay face down on the carpet.

  In the end… Mind void of all logical thinking, he started to reach for her, but Troy lifted the M1911 pistol. “She’s dead. Don’t bother.”

  He knew that she was. The numbers on his arm that had appeared only moments before were gone, untraceable, and the roar of blood in his ears was deafening.

  “Out of respect for what we shared,” he glanced down at Roam, “I’ll end the child quickly. You, my friend, are going slowly.”

  Gun holstered at his side, West continued to watch her bleed into the carpet. “You could never accept that she didn’t love you.”

  He glared. “She submitted to me, in the castle.”

  “You kept her prisoner and raped her. Not a victory.”

  Troy took a step back from the carpet saturated with blood. “I would call this a victory.”

  “What now?” West started to reach for his gun, but Troy closed the foot between them.

  “Now, you both go down in history.”

  His clichéd response ignited the fury boiling at the surface of his chest. He doesn’t know you’re mortal.

  “It’ll take you a while to get to shore, especially once the hypothermia sets in. I’ll have your daughter by then. Maybe both of them.” He pulled a set of handcuffs from his coat pocket, gesturing to the heavy footboard of the bed. “Over there. You can go down together. My thanks to you for the good old days,” he slapped the heavy, silver cuff over West’s wrist, attaching the other to the bolted foot of the bed. Reach for the gun… shoot him!

  He is immortal.

  Don’t get shot. Escape.

  Protect Eva.

  He stood and stared down at Roam, in Amina’s body. “I’m glad she looked like that. I don’t know if I could have put a bullet in her other pretty head.”

  “You knew… that we’d come here.”

  He gestured to the printed skin on his arm. “I had your father give us the numbers when we travel through the fountains. It’s amazing how amenable he can be… when he’s starving.”

  With that, he locked the door from the inside and slammed it behind him as he left.

  West immediately began to pull at the heavy, claw foot of the ornate bed, cursing the screws secured tightly to the floor. Bolt the fucking beds, but don’t carry enough lifeboats. “Come on,” he growled, wrenching with all of his strength.

  The flesh on his wrists tore beneath his pull, and he tried to decide whether to break his wrist. I’m right handed, it won’t heal… I can’t fight well with a broken wrist.

  I can’t fight at all if I don’t get out of here.

  The silence in the room broke beneath his panting breath. The smell of death, of blood, inundated his nostrils.

  You killed her again… and now Eva.

  The ticking clock on the fireplace mantle echoed through the stateroom.

  His eyes shifted to Roam.

  Her left hand extended lifelessly toward him, her wedding ring now darkened with blood from the pool beneath her.

  The heartache would grip him as soon as the fog of disbelief dissipated. He knew it was coming; the facts were before him, the last chances all exhausted.

  Roam was gone.

  “When I first met you,” he said brokenly, reaching for her fingers, “in France… in 1411, I knew who you were. I felt you… inside of me.” He traced her fingertip. “When I touched you, I loved you. You were the reason for every minute that passed.” He leaned against the bed. “And when I found you and our child dead in that forest, I knew I’d stop at nothing to find you again.”

  Grief danced nearer to him, and he fought back, yanking again at the cuffs. Call for help, create a manhunt for the assailant, and change history.

  Roam is dead.

  Mortality came with strengthened human needs; sorrow thickened his blood, and fatigue consumed his body. He closed his eyes, allowing time to slip by.

  Defeated.

  Jerking awake, he turned to the clock. Two hours passed?

  Get out, get off the ship, save Eva.

  He readied himself to shout, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat.

  Before he could open his mouth, he froze, staring at Roam’s finger in his.

  Ever so slightly, her finger jerked.

  Nerves. Disgusted, he threw his head backward, searching for breath.

  “West…,”

  There was no mistaking Amina’s voice. She turned over slowly, and he cringed, waiting for the horror of her mangled face.

  Instead, her clear, green eyes blinked several times. Her forehead, though bloodied, was fully intact.

  “What…?”

  “What happened?” She sat up slowly, reaching for her head. He watched as she tenderly touched her temple. “He shot me?”

  “Oh my God,” he yanked at the handcuffs, reaching for her. “Roam… I didn’t sacrifice my immortality… Asher gave it to you.”

  “I can’t die?” She sat back, jolting suddenly at the puddle of blood beneath her. “Is this my blood?”

  “You can’t die… Roam, get your sword,” he ordered, his heart racing. There’s still time.

  “Yes… the sword,” she stared incredulously at all of the blood.

  He remembered the first time he’d died and come back to life. The rapid breaths, the pounding heart… “Baby, take deep breaths. You’re alive, and I need you to help me find Troy.”

  “I’m alive,” she repeated, pulling in a shaking breath. “He shot me, but I’m alive.”

  “You can fight him,” he encouraged, gesturing to the trunk near the end of the bed. “Get your sword,” he repeated patiently. “Cut through the cuffs.”

  “Okay,” she nodded, rising to her feet. The tremors in her hands wr
enched his heart.

  “You’re okay, baby, you’re alive… get your sword,” he repeated.

  She bent over the trunk, lifting the lid. In seconds she held the Hanwei katana sword in her hands, her fingers wrapping around the grip with familiarity. “I remember…,”

  “Cut me loose,” he urged, rearing back.

  She turned and sliced through the air, freeing his hand before he could blink.

  “Where did he go?” Her voice, steady now, was clearly Roam’s. He watched her carefully, pulling his gun from the holster.

  “He plans to get off in Queenstown… Roam, you’re changing,” he reached for her face, sliding his fingers through her hair. As the silken threads weaved through his open hand, they turned from jet black to chestnut brown. “You’re becoming yourself…,”

  “He’ll be hiding… away from passengers,” she kicked the heeled slippers away from her feet, and he knew the shoes were now a size too small. Slowly, her dress shortened to an inch above her ankles, as it was when they’d walked through Grant Park in Chicago. She’s 5’6’’… Amina was shorter.

  “The cargo hold,” he grabbed his jacket, stuffing his arms inside. The metal bracelet of the damaged cuff dangled from his hand. “Toward the bridge, and down.” He yanked at a long coat inside the trunk, the style matching her dress exactly. “Hide the sword.”

  “West,” now fully in her own body, she turned to him, crushing her lips to his. “I love you. Let me go first- I can protect myself, and I can’t live if you don’t live.”

  “I love you,” he hushed, tasting blood on her swollen lips. “Come here, we have to wipe you clean, you can’t walk through the ship like this.”

  She turned to the mirror while he hurried to the sink in the bathroom. “I look like Carrie on prom night.”

  “Running water… first class luxury,” he returned, scrubbing at the blood on her face as tenderly but efficiently as possible. “Keep the coat buttoned so no one sees the blood on the dress.”

  “I’ll wash my hands and we’ll go.”

  In minutes, they entered the hallway. Many of the first class passengers were already dining and enjoying the nightlife with their aristocratic friends, leaving the elevators empty. West led them into the depths of the ship.