Chapter 40 "The Bloodbound Curse"
Sebastian Whitmore was in his barn, tending to the animals, when he heard the sound.
A weak knock on the door.
He opened it to find Rosanna collapsed on his doorstep.
For a moment, Sebastian didn't recognize her. She was skeletal, pale, her eyes hollow. She looked like death itself.
"Rosanna?" he breathed. "My God Rosanna!"
He carried her inside, laid her on his bed, called for his mother to help. They fed her warm broth, cleaned her wounds, wrapped her in blankets.
And when Rosanna finally had the strength to speak, she told Sebastian everything.
About Thomas Ashcroft's assault. About the pregnancy. About the imprisonment. About the birth. About her baby their innocent, murdered baby.
Sebastian wept. His mother wept. And Rosanna Rosanna had no tears left.
"I'll kill him," Sebastian said, his voice shaking with rage. "I'll kill Thomas Ashcroft for what he did to you"
"No," Rosanna said. "No more violence. No more death. Just let me stay here. Please. Just for a little while. Until I'm strong enough to leave."
"Leave? You're not leaving. You're staying here. With me. We'll get married. We'll"
"Sebastian"
"I don't care what they did to you. I don't care what they say. I love you. I've always loved you. And I'm not letting you go."
And for the first time in months, Rosanna felt something other than despair.
She felt hope.
Rosanna recovered slowly.
Sebastian's mother nursed her back to health, feeding her rich food, helping her regain her strength. Sebastian stayed by her side, holding her hand, making plans for their future.
"We'll leave Hollow Creek," he said. "Go west. Start over somewhere no one knows us. I'll work. You'll recover. And we'll build a life together."
"You'd do that for me?" Rosanna asked. "After everything?"
"I'd do anything for you."
They made love for the first time two weeks after Rosanna arrived.
It was gentle. Tender. Nothing like what Thomas Ashcroft had done to her. This was love. This was what it was supposed to be.
"I love you," Sebastian whispered as he held her afterward. "I'll always love you."
"I love you too," Rosanna said.
And she did. Despite everything, she loved him. Loved him so much it hurt.
Which made what happened next even more unbearable.
Sebastian died six hours after they made love.
Rosanna woke in the pre-dawn darkness to find him beside her, his body cold and stiff, his face frozen in an expression of agony.
And on his forehead burned into his skin like a brand was a mark.
A circle with a rose in the center. Thorns extending outward.
The scarlet mark.
Rosanna stared at it, her mind refusing to process what she was seeing.
Sebastian was dead.
The man she loved was dead.
And it was her fault.
Something inside her something dark that had entered her during that horrible ritual had killed him.
The curse had awakened.
When Sebastian's mother found them in the morning, she screamed.
The whole farm came running. Neighbors. Friends. People from town.
They saw Sebastian's body. Saw the mark on his forehead. Saw Rosanna sitting beside him, covered in his blood.
"Witch!" someone screamed.
"Murderess!"
"She killed him!"
They grabbed Rosanna and dragged her out into the yard. Someone had already sent for the magistrate, for the Reverend, for anyone with authority.
But the mob didn't wait for authority.
"She's cursed!"
"She's evil!"
"Stone her!"
The first rock hit Rosanna in the shoulder. The second caught her temple, sending blood streaming down her face.
"I didn't mean to!" Rosanna cried out. "I didn't know! Please"
But they didn't listen.
More rocks came. Dozens of them. The mob had become a beast, mindless and hungry for violence.
Rosanna ran.
She ran into the woods, bleeding and broken, the mob chasing her, their shouts echoing through the trees.
She ran until she couldn't run anymore. Until her legs gave out and she collapsed beside a stream, gasping for air, tasting blood.
And there, in the cold morning light, Rosanna understood what had happened.
They'd cursed her. The Ashcrofts and their coven. They'd shed innocent blood in her name and turned her into exactly what they'd accused her of being.
A monster.
Rosanna looked up at the sky, at the indifferent grey clouds, and felt nothing but emptiness.
There was no escape from this. No redemption. No future.
She was cursed. She would kill anyone who loved her. She would destroy anyone she touched.
Better to end it. Better to die now, before anyone else had to suffer.
Rosanna stood on shaking legs and walked deeper into the woods, until she found what she was looking for.
A strong tree with low branches.
She used her apron to fashion a crude rope. Tied it around the branch. Slipped it around her neck.
And before she stepped off the rock beneath her feet, Rosanna spoke three words in Latin words that came from somewhere deep and dark inside her:
"Sanguis pro sanguine."
Blood for blood.
Then she stepped off the rock.
They found her body three days later cold and blue and lifeless, hanging from that tree.
Some said her face was peaceful. Others said it was twisted with rage.
They cut her down and buried her in the far corner of the church cemetery, away from the proper graves. No marker. No ceremony. Just a hole in the ground for a woman everyone had decided was evil.
And that should have been the end of Rosanna Vale's story.
But curses don't die with the cursed.
They live on. They grow. They wait.
And when the right vessel comes along when someone innocent and pure and full of light appears the curse awakens.
Because blood calls to blood.
And Rosanna Vale's blood would have its revenge.