Free Blood Life by Gianna Perada Page A

a mass on the floor in the sitting room. What used to be a wonderful, skilled woman, of witch’s blood, lay unmercifully dead.
    Roman covered his mouth, sweat beading along his forehead, and walked in to get a closer look. Elizabeth was stripped; scratches and bruises covered her body. It was the position of her body that told him a rape had taken place before her death, or maybe after.
    He lifted her blood-drenched hand to find her forefinger absent. A broach of Amethyst that her mother had given to her before she died, sat quietly in a puddle of bile and saliva in front of Elizabeth’s open mouth. Roman backed up the way he came, sick with fear and denial. He could not bring himself to look away from her petrified eyes, open and locked on his.
    Sliding down against the wall, Roman fell into view of the bathroom. Laughing, taunting voices filled his head. He frantically looked around to find nobody there. The pure ivory basin and polished marble floor were now a reservoir. The wooden shutters with broken glass allowed lines of light to seep through, revealing small portions of the red coating on the floor and walls. Overflowing, trickling droplets down the side of the basin were streams of liquid life; but through Roman’s eyes, they were signs of Alexandria’s death.
    His first step came out from under him, as his body was crushed across the room and against the basin. Already weeping and shaking his head to try to shut out the voices, he lifted his eyes over the rim to find Alexandria’s lifeless body.
    Complete, haunting, silence.
    Streaks of her blood marked the wallpaper: four lines, two intertwined and braided down the middle with one straight on either side of the formation.
    Marked, he thought as he ran his fingers along the gashes, smearing the blood. He dropped to his knees beside the tub, reaching into the water to collect Alexandria into his arms. He pulled her to him, sobbing, suffocating himself in the tender flesh of her neck.
    “NOOOOOO!” he screamed to the ceiling. “WAKE UP!!” He pinched himself, finding no satisfaction; he beat his own head against the tub, trying to beat himself out of the nightmare, the trick.
    He found himself outside the house aimlessly searching the surroundings with blind eyes. He held fast to Alexandria, carrying her with him. The weight pushed him back down to his knees. He looked up and saw the sky revolve and twist. He witnessed no Gods above him.
    “Have the ethereal angels been lost,” he cried at the top of his lungs. “Can you strike me down, or have you lost your lightning arms? Now I am truly here to stand against this term of mortal torment alone. I have lost my will to live!” Gravity brought him face down. He protected Alexandria’s limp head from the dirt.
    “There is no one left to heal this hideous wretch, nobody to choose my mortality. Oh, if I could free my soul from this pressing time of mourning, if I could drop my aegis and expose my heart, there would still be no God to take its rhythm. Who would allow this withered corpse to fall into the covenant of the earth and join my Alexandria?”
    He laid her body down softly in front of him. Smoothing her hair back, he kissed her eyelids, closing them to give her peace.
    A strong, masculine hold pulled his head from her chest.
    “Stand, Roman!”
    Reluctantly pulling his grasp from his love, Roman stood up. Swaying on his feet, he tilted his head down, unable to look away from Alexandria’s unmoving form.
    Slowly, he convinced himself to lift his eyes and study the force that had demanded his attention. He found himself staring into the face of the woman from the pub. Her velvet garments were whirling and enraged.
    “She is just resting . . . isn’t she?” His words tore at the woman, her face grew darker and she reached out to take his hand.
    He snapped his arms away as she did. “You filthy witch—” his voice couldn’t unleash the rage in his heart, “—I’ll burn you!”
    He lunged with