The Gift

Chapter Eight

Rose stared at him, her mouth formed a silent O.

How..., he can...read my mind? He heard what I was thinking? This is so embarrassing. Her cheeks turned a brighter hue of red.

"I don't know why or how I am able to read your mind," he said running his finger along her flushed cheek.

His touch made her skin crawl and left her thirsty for more. She could feel the numbness ease out of her system. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, the sense of skin upon skin that made the drugs wear off faster. He bend down once more to her level, she could feel his cool breath, it was like a balm that soothed the heat that had taken over her face. Her chest arched from the shards of lighting shooting through her body, it was as though her heart was ripped out of her.

"Here we gooo," she screamed as she was snatched away.

...A pungent smell assaulted her senses. Pitch black was all she saw. Drum roll was heard in the background. A mountain slope that had a river of fire snaking through it materialised in front of her.

Rose focussed on the fire river only to see that it was made up of hordes of soldiers dressed in green shirts and red trousers ascending the mountain in perfect alignment holding torches. One marching behind the other, not missing a single drum beat. They made their way into the valley where they grouped into diamond formations.

Their faces, as if hastily glued back together with pieces of bones and raw flesh exposed, did not falter from her own.

The frozen wind was beating restlessly at her pale, fragile skin. She didn't mind the cold; it did not reach her. It was the same nightmare on repeat, only this time she was wide awake.

Rose knew what she had to do. She looked around, no one was by her side. She started to back away from the soldiers, turned on her heels and started running like she never run before. The fear did not affect her anymore, only the uncertainty. The question, of how this would end had her heart racing. Her granny had taught her the rule; allow the terrors to guide you through. Rose was not one to follow rules.

As she made her way through the emptiness of the night. She was soon joined by her golden wolf. She quickly rode it and they made their way through the empty fields. It was a magnificent beast, as tall as a horse, with thick iridescent gold hair all over it's body and those eyes. The deep chestnut brown eyes; warm and understanding. With precision and speed the wolf avoided the arrows thrown at them.

A second before they made it into the woods her wolf was hit. With a loud thud it crumpled to the ground throwing her off it's back. Just like a rag doll, Rose landed with her back on a boulder, the pain registered in her brain before the sound of the crush. Her wolf lay on the ground whimpering, gasping for air, the arrow stuck in it's throat. She watched helpless as the blood trickled down the side of it's mouth.

Infuriated that they killed her wolf, her companion through these nightmares, Rose stood up. Surrounded by the Undead she grabbed hold of one by the legs and started swinging him around as if he was a bat. She managed to kill six of them with two blows before she was swarmed, her body pinned down under theirs unable to move.

"Rose, Rose snap out of it!"

So consumed in the vividness of the dream she forgot to breathe.

She took in a deep breath and screamed. Her scream filled with all the power she possessed blowing the undead off of her and cremating them in an instant. Her wolf was a mere ten feet away laying there lifeless, tears streamed down her eyes.

"Rose. ROSE," he shouted. Her eyelids flew open. Her brown eyes locked with his black ones. He was sitting on top of her in the bed. His arms squeezing her shoulders.

"Are you...what happened, my cerise?" His voice so soft filled with worry. Rose felt bad that he saw her like this, she could not catch a break lately. His hard embrace was unexpectedly soothing to her nerves.

"Well, it's really hard to explain," she said as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Wait, was he on top of her?

"I am an intelligent creature, I'm sure I can follow." Vladimir said.

"Why do you always have to be so conceited?" She fired at him.

"It comes with age." He replied.

"Remind me not to get that old and could you please get off of me?" She snapped with one eyebrow raised.

"My cerise, I apologize if I offended you in any way," he pleaded with her however he did not move an inch.

"Men! Do you even know why you are apologizing for?"

"For being a conceited ,arrogant, fine specimen of a man as you put it," Vladimir said.

"I forgot about the mind reading thing you do," she huffed. "You know that's rude to say the least, I didn't grant you permission to be in my thoughts. Do you read everyone's minds?"

"My lovely Rose, I get the slightest impression that you are trying to avoid giving me the explanation I asked," he said barely restraining himself from claiming her lips once more.

"You think Sherlock," she muttered under her breath.

"And to answer your question I can only read your mind."

"Well, that's just lovely," she puffed.

"You are a very stubborn young lady and I am not a patient man," he hissed at her.

"Fine, fine. You are going to find out anyway, mind reading and all," she gave up, "I am not normal. Well now that depends on how you define normal I guess. Then maybe everyone is not normal, but in the sense of what generally passes off as normal I do not fit the mould."

Vladimir watched her as she rumbled on with a smile forcing itself at the edge of his lips.

"Anyway, I, well I don't know how to say this really without freaking you out. You are a bit of a freak as well, so maybe you are not going to freak out, not so sure though.."

"Out with it Rose," he ordered.

"What got your panties in a twist mister? I'm trying to ease into it here," she protested.

"No need for that," he said.

"Fine. The technical term, as my granny says, is a Godshee."

"A what?" He asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

"A Godshee," she repeated.

"What's a Godshee?" He curiously asked.

"I'm like a cross breed if you like. The fruit of love between a banshee and a god," she whispered.

"Which God?" He demanded.

"Mars."

Word Count: 1161