The Last Remaining Rose

THE LAST REMAINING ROSE LESLIE CARDIX LESLIE CARDIX BOOKS CONTENTS CONTENT WARNINGS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 About the Author THE LAST REMAINING ROSE Copyright © 2022 by Leslie Cardix Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. For more information visit: Cover design by Sam Hayles Editing by Katie Wolf ISBN: 979-8-9855481-0-5 For all those who encouraged me, supported me and loved me through the years. I would not be who I am today without you. CONTENT WARNINGS • Sexual Assault • Physical & Mental Abuse • Suicidal thoughts • Gaslighting • Domestic abuse • Grief CHAPTER ONE The date was 1772. A young girl lay bleeding, dying on the floor. A man silently left the barn’s shadows, bending by her side to remove the spike from her abdomen. His face gave the impression he must have been in his early thirties. His cold, blue eyes, however, showed a great deal of power, intelligence, knowledge, and weariness, proving he was, in fact, a lot older than he appeared to be. The barn had been on fire for a few minutes, causing the place to fill up with smoke and making it harder for her to breathe. Her eyes watered, her lungs burned, and her legs had given out. He picked her up in his arms while warm, red liquid poured out of her stomach and carried her out in the open. “Alia,” he said, his voice soft, “you have lost too much blood. This moment is your death.” He placed her sitting upright against a fresh pile of hay outside of the fiery chaos and kissed her forehead as her breath became irregular. She held her shaking hands to her wound, looking up at him, eyes wide with fear. The full moon made his pale skin shine brightly, making it easy to see the worry in his eyes. “Save me, Malcolm,” she whimpered. “I beg you, don’t let me die. Take the pain away.” He approached her calmly, putting his mouth on her neck. He drank her blood until she was seconds from dying, then cut his own wrist, encouraging her to drink his own. As her memories flashed before his eyes, he expected she had experienced his. The blood ritual had been completed, and in just a few hours, she would be a part of his world. A vampire. I was no ordinary girl. I looked young, yet my charisma was one of an elder. I walked down the dimly lit corridors just as I had done countless times before, my duffel bag hitting the side of my leg. Corner after corner, the hallway never seemed to end. I glanced at my watch—my plane was boarding in ten minutes. I began running, my long, black hair violently slapping against my face and back. People’s heads turned to watch me. They always did, with an equal mixture of desire and fear. As I settled into a large, comfortable seat, I was offered a glass of champagne that I politely turned away. I was grateful for the UV protection window tints that allowed my kind to fly safely. I watched the safety instruction video for the millionth time, and soon, the plane began to roll down the runway. The engines made noises I had never heard. I could only describe them as a sawing or drilling sound. Did the other passengers hear this as well? Had I ignored signs warning me not to board? But the machine began to increase in speed and lift itself up. I looked back at the people sitting further down the aisle. An elderly man formed a cross over his body and prayed, something he must do with every flight. I laughed to myself. If tonight was our time to go, God would not be here for us. Excitement and relief washed through me. I had waited too long to visit. Eventually the crew brought out some food; the meals were smaller than I remembered. Not that I would eat it in any case, since regular food didn’t generally agree with me. As most people began shutting their eyes and nodding off, I didn’t sleep, not one minute of the eight-hour flight. I waited patiently as ever, watching a comedy and then a thriller. My muscles ached, and I felt frustrated. I was not a good flier. Time passed by, and eventually we arrived. My heart began to race again. I did not have any luggage and quickly passed customs. The air outside the airport was surprisingly cold, even to one such as myself, and a heavy smog covered the sun; with no direct sunlight touching my skin I had no problem walking around. I quickly grabbed a cab. “Où voulez-vous aller?” asked the driver. I looked above my black, oversized sunglasses and read his name tag. “I don’t know, Florian, why don’t you drive me around Paris? I haven’t been here in a very long time and I have time to waste. Show me the city of lights.” My heart began aching and I frowned, looking out the window. This was not how I remembered it. Paris had changed tremendously. The smell of gasoline invaded my nostrils, turning my stomach, and the once gorgeous monuments I remembered were now covered with a thick layer of pollution. However,