Three Black Roses

Chapter Four

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE READING THE CHAPTER.

first of all thak you all for reading and supporting this story, I appreciate every vote, comment and read. Secondly I am aware that there are young readers among us and they do not need to read something graphic and erotic, I have tried to keep this PG 13 but if you think this chapter should be rated R, let me know please. I might need to add restricted chapters as we go along but for now I try to make sexual things less explicit.

As for casting, I reveal one character in each chapter as we go along, so this chapter is for Leyla and I have chosen Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey for her innocent looks. Please let me know how you think I am doing and also note that I can only updae once a week. enjoy

Love XXXXXX

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"The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is long-suffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." The man whispered under his breath and then stopped to take another gulp of his drink. It was nearly noon on Christmas day and he was already drunk. Such a merry Christmas.

He had a problem; one that has been haunting him for centuries and never left him alone. Once again, he had lost to the damned by arriving late, allowing the creature to mock him by killing the innocents and getting away with it. He drank the bottle to the end and whispered another verse of bible, hoping to achieve some kind of satisfaction, but there was none. He had failed.

He was sat at that uncomfortable wooden chair for hours now, trying to drink his sorrows away and thinking of a way to face the church elders. It had been two days since his arrival in Vatican and he had chosen to stay in a filthy room of an inn instead of heading for the church straight away. He knew he needed to report to them sooner or later, but for now, he preferred to be left alone with his rage, hatred, sins and guilt.

His vision was becoming blurry and vague but the mockery of the bloody creature stood. He could hear him laughing as if he was standing right there in that room.

"For godly sorrow works repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world works death." He mumbled between his hiccups. He was seeking Lord's mercy on his soul for the sin he had committed. He let that "thing" to get away and taint more pure souls with his evil existence. It was his fault that those people died. He had taken ten years to trace and find him, and when he got there, there was only a burnt mansion and a scalded body that he knew was not the vampire's. He had been too late.

He put his woozy head on the table and thought about all the lives that had been lost during those years. Those endless days that he had lived like a gypsy, searching cities and countries, followed every little lead that hinted to that evil creature, the vampire had been laughing at him while committing unspeakable to those who did not deserve it. What kind of god would allow such an evil being to get away and not pay for his crimes?

The impious thoughts filled his brain and he did not fight it. Frankly he was tired of fighting them, all those evil thoughts and temptations that he had struggled with all his life. He should have given up centuries ago, but the church was always there to give him guidance. This time he was too fed up with it.

In reality, he was as damned as the vampire itself. Living for centuries when all he desired was to die had been his punishment for a sin he could never admit to. Even when he was in confession chambers and the priest would pressure him into confirming his guilt, he would never admit it, so he should still be punished by living more days to hunt the ungodly existence that had ruined the life of hundreds like him.

He fought a wave of nausea as Charlotte's image conquered his mind. It had been 543 years now, but he could envision her as if she was standing right there. Every little detail was vivid, the way her green eyes sparkled, her dimples as she smiled and her long eyelashes that she used to hide her eyes whenever he looked at her came before his blurry eyes. His sweet virtuous maiden. But along came a monster and took her away from him forever. He still could remember the poor girl in her bed, naked and pale, with open eyes that were drained out of life. Those emerald seas might had been soulless then, but what pained him even more was the look of evil and wickedness that had replaced her untainted gaze. There was a miniature mark on her delicate neck, but he could not take his eyes off her exposed flesh that had been generously invited a stranger to her embrace. His pure angel had died a sinner, not a saint.