Shevamp - The Dark One
Marked

“The creatures bear a similar standard on their skin, either on their left hand or right shoulder. Someone branded these symbols into them as a mark of ownership, and differed from Victor’s birthmark in small ways,” Marcus said.

Except to determine if they were dead, Rowan never checked the bodies. The idea that the one on Victor was a birthmark stirred unease in her soul.

“Are you certain you only noticed this symbol on the medallion and the shrine?” The strange intensity in Alena’s manner raised her ire.

Why did her sister believe she withheld information? Was there more at play here than she understood?

Did they possess a vital piece of information and wondered if she did, too? They didn’t trust her, nor did she trust them, but she would have remembered if saw it before and had no reason to lie to them.

It was unique and eerie enough that one would not forget seeing it.

“I already answered that question.”

Their eyes measured each other in a brief battle of wills.

“Play nice, Alena,” Marcus ordered, and despite the spark of defiance in Alena’s eyes, she backed off, lowered her gaze, and gritted her teeth.

Why did it bother her that Marcus had such power over Alena?

The question creased her brow, and she almost sighed when she realized that Alena misinterpreted her expression as belligerence.

“Please take your clothes off, and all will become clear,” Alena’s casual insistence sparked resistance in her blood.

What was wrong with these people? Were they so used to being obeyed they didn’t hear themselves speak?

She was not theirs to command and didn’t fall under their purview.

Under different circumstances, they would not acknowledge her, and the idea gave her pause.

If this creature worried them enough to warrant her presence in their lives, perhaps they had more concrete than riddles and fairytales.

Why would she need to disrobe?

It was a ludicrous suggestion... Unless they assumed she had inherited Victor’s birthmark?

In which case, they either believed her to be a liar or that she was, somehow, unaware of it.

Was it possible?

“Show her, Alena. Maybe then she would be more forthcoming,” Marcus suggested.

Alena turned away from them and stripped away her bodice, shirt, and chamois, showing no discomfort at disrobing before a virtual stranger or her master.

Rowan briefly entertained the notion of Alena and Marcus being lovers but dismissed it.

The emotional distance between them precluded a physical relationship.

Victor’s mark nestled on her bare back, below her ribs to the left of her spine, just above her kidney. Dark as ink, almost unnatural, but not. The similarities and differences in the details intrigued her, but a thin red line slashed through the design like a shallow cut. Almost too regular and precise to have occurred naturally.

“I held Alena the day of her birth, and it just sat there. Complete with the red line through it as if someone drew it by hand,” Marcus assured her, and she had never considered the difference in their ages.

Five hours ago, such details would have had no meaning. For a made vampire like to be a master and a sire, he had to be at least three hundred years old.

“Your turn,” Alena prodded, but without the demanding insistence in her voice.

She pulled the thin blouse over her shoulders without bothering to replace her other garments, and Marcus showed no interest in Alena’s lack of modesty, or he was great at pretending.

A human male would not have such restraint.

“No.”

***

Her answer didn’t anger Alena, and she did not find Rowan’s reaction childish. They had bombarded her with facts that challenged the foundations of her life, and it had unsettled her.

She required a little breathing space, which was the one thing they dared not give her. Sunset drew near, and soon they would have to move.

Would Rowan decide to forge her own path and take her chances? And why didn’t she like the idea? Yesterday, it had been all she wanted.

“Rowan, you cannot prevent us from seeing for ourselves, but we do not want to fight or pressure you. There’s no point in this if we don’t make certain we’re wrong.” Alena chose a more civil tone as if they were equals, hoping it would make Rowan feel less pressured and trapped. “Please.”

“There is no such birthmark; I promise you that,” Rowan insisted, the slightest shadow of uncertainty in her voice. The shadows in her eyes were no mystery to Alena; Rowan feared what it would mean if she had the mark.

She wasn’t the only one.

“Allow us to make certain?” Marcus requested, looking into her eyes.

***

Rowan recognized the unbending determination of a man fighting for his life and his people.

For some reason, she needed them to accept she wasn’t lying, yet dread threaded its way through her insides.

She wouldn’t allow them to handle her, but somehow all of their futures balanced on something strange, unnatural, and inexplicable.

“It would not be on your arms, legs, or belly. Perhaps on your back or buttocks,” Marcus encouraged.

Rowan felt exposed in a way she never had before. Despite her certainty, doubt invaded her thoughts, and her unease grew.

She turned her back on them, despite knowing that either of them had the strength to overpower and slay her with ease.

They also would not need to attack her from behind—she had neither the ability nor the skill to match.

She feared what lurked outside the sanctuary of this cave more than them.

With utter reluctance, she unlaced her bodice, wanting everything over and done with.

Alena inspected her back.

“I do not see it,” she said, and relief flooded Rowan as if she avoided a death sentence.

***

“Marcus, please take a walk,” Alena suggested, sensing the tension her request caused between them.

She had never dared disrespect him so many times in one day, but their change in circumstances made him concede.

They were far from home and their people, and she suspected Rowan didn’t care about their hierarchy.

“If it’s there, I will have to see it,” he reminded, always a practical man who didn’t waste time or effort on senseless things.

***

“If it’s there, you will,” Rowan conceded just to make him leave.

She hadn’t expected this much courtesy, but his intense gaze caused an overwhelming consciousness of him. She didn’t want to take off her undergarments in his presence; it was too intimate an act.

A few more moments passed before something altered in the silence between her and Alena, and her stomach plummeted, cold and hollow with trepidation.

Rowan tensed, but instead of calling Marcus, Alena slid her britches up as far as possible without obscuring the birthmark on her left butt cheek.

***

The physical evidence of Victor’s adultery hit Alena like a rockslide, decimating whatever denial she might have still harbored in her soul.

Until she discovered the mark, the knowledge that Rowan was her sister was real but disconnected from her reality.

The fragile delusion of distance was shattered with the proof of their bloodline.

“Marcus?” Alena called out, and when he arrived, Rowan deduced from their silence that it was worse than expected.

***

Rowan didn’t like not being able to see the mark for herself and failed to understand why no one had noticed it before them.

“Do it,” Marcus ordered, and she tensed.

Do what? She wondered, but something kept her from speaking.

Perhaps the shock of discovering that it was all true.

His voice sounded odd, almost abrupt, and she tensed out of instinct, sensing something was wrong.

“Relax, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” Alena didn’t hide her concern or anger well, and Rowan understood her reaction.

Things just became real for them both.

Undeniable and indisputable.

“Hold your pants, don’t pull them up,” Alena requested, and she had to bite her tongue not to ask why.

The premonition that the mark somehow branded her for death overwhelmed her concern over their intentions.

Her peripheral awareness picked up on a malignant presence, watching them with gleeful anticipation, making her almost dizzy with its single-minded intensity.

The sound of a knife pulled free of its sheath resettled her in reality, but even as she tensed to fight, a familiar metallic scent came from behind her, and her fangs nearly emerged.

Alena smeared her blood over the mark, and Rowan jerked when the liquid touched her skin.

An odd tingling/burning sensation kept her still instead of questioning or moving away.

The growing connection she had fought since they met bloomed into existence like a pulse in her blood.

It became an awareness, unlike anything she had experienced before or even knew existed.

Did Alena feel the same thing? She wondered, startled and concerned.

“Give me a piece of your undershirt, Marcus,” Alena asked, and the material tore.

She did not understand what they were doing, but the magnitude of this new sensation still overwhelmed her.

Alena felt it, too; she was sure of that now.

When Alena spoke, she detected the slightest tremor in her sister’s voice and the echo of her responses in Alena.

It was a door that swung both ways.

Alena touched the cloth strip to her skin and smoothed it down with a firm strength that warned she was no ordinary person; such power came from handling weapons.

She removed the cloth after a few moments, and Rowan’s curiosity ate at her like ants.

What were they doing?

Trepidation kept her from asking.

“Hand me that flask?” Alena asked, sounding distracted, and Marcus must have hesitated.

“This is blood Marcus, and it will dry,” Alena reminded him with a woman’s concern over such matters.

Marcus did something, and Alena chuckled.

It was so strange to hear her laugh, short-lived as it was.

Rowan found it hard to think of Alena as a person who did such ordinary things.

She only ever pictured the haughty princess and the cold warrior.

“I have water in my pack, and I will clean...” Rowan was about to insist on her ability to clean herself, but Alena didn’t allow her the opportunity.

“Stand,” Alena ordered with terse impatience, and it didn’t take long for her to return.

“What is that?” Alena asked with genuine curiosity as she touched the thin white line that started just above Rowan’s left hip and crossed her back to below her ribs.

Apart from that scar, and the birthmark, Rowan’s skin was perfect, strong, and healthy.

“Nothing,” the word came out more defensive than Rowan intended and Alena almost took umbrage, but then Rowan bend down to retrieve her clothes, and Alena caught a glance of her face.

A haunting sorrow and deep pain darkened Rowan’s eyes, and instinct made Alena back off. She reasoned it would be wiser to leave the matter for another time. Perhaps when they knew each other better, and if Rowan remained come sunset.

“Dress, we’re done,” Alena instructed and turned away to give Rowan room to collect herself.

Alena wondered why the fleeting expression unsettled her so, but she did more than see it; she experienced a similar echo in her soul.

The moment her blood touched Rowan, something happened. An undeniable bond established itself between them.

Rowan picked up her clothes and made her way into the darkness while Alena pretended to study the bloodied piece of material, but she was avoiding Marcus.

He was way too perceptive, and he already sensed something different about her. Marcus would know soon, it was the nature of their affiliation, but for now, she needed time to analyze what happened. He watched her intently, but she pretended ignorance.

When Rowan rejoined them, they sat at the back of the cave. She composed herself before she faced them again. So much happened in so little time, and she needed a moment alone. They stared at the piece of cloth with concentration, and Rowan found herself curious but also reluctant.

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