An Angel's Soul For The Devil's Heart

One day, someone will come along who turns your life upside down, alters your perception of the world, and shows they were created for you alone to love.

For me, that person is Scarlette Rose, and this is where it began....

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1894 December 26, Thorn Estate Cemetery - London

The mausoleum of a fifteenth-century Templar Knight sat at the cemetery's back edge. As the sun set in the west, a dusting of snow glistened on the crypt's exterior.

The structure was one of the oldest in the Thorn family graveyard. Inside, a creature stirred, trying to break free from the tomb. The name on the mausoleum read;

SCARLETTE ROSE

A heavy floral scent flooded into the vault. It awakened the soul laid to rest inside. This was not the first time Rose had experienced the odor of sanctity.

Her amber-hued eyes opened wide. The sweet smell of white flowers and honey assailed Rose's senses.

It meant an angel was present. There was a holy being walking among the graves.

Rose lay in the pitch-black darkness. Her brow knitted with worry. She wondered what year it was and how long she had been entombed.

Also, why was an angel present inside the graveyard?

Her thoughts were murky, and out of sorts as she tried to awaken from her long slumber. It took hours for her to regain her bearings.

She eventually placed her hands on the sepulcher lid and pushed, but it would not budge. In her current state, she was too weak. It would be a challenge to get out of the marble coffin.

Scarlette Rose stayed still for a bit longer, contemplating what to do, but decided she had slept long enough and was ready to begin her new life.

Rose tried once more to push against the marble lid with all her effort. She felt it give slightly, then heaved again, and this time it slid significantly.

Rose gave one last shove, and the marble top tumbled to the floor with a loud thud.

Fading daylight from the mausoleum entrance flooded the tomb, hurting her eyes. Rose sat in the vault and stared at her rotting, threadbare clothes.

Her body felt frail and stiff from the winter cold. Rose wrapped her arms around herself to stay warm. She noticed her raging thirst. The craving for blood tormented her body.

She climbed out of the coffin, wandered to the mausoleum entrance, and tried to push open the door. It was locked, and Rose had no strength to force it open.

She saw the ground outside was covered in ice and snow. The trees were leafless, and the land around the cemetery looked barren.

Rose watched as the sun continued to descend behind the horizon. The sky turned dark blue with vermillion, and the snow had stopped falling. She heard an owl hoot from the woods.

Nightfall was coming.

Returning to the coffin, Rose looked for her treasured dagger. She smiled as she saw her good luck charm. The blade had often come in handy at getting her out of bad spots.

While investigating the tomb, something else caught Rose's eyes: a tiny teardrop-shaped orange-red gem. It looked like a ruby set with a long gold chain.

'Mmm... What are you doing there?' She thought.

Rose's hand touched the stone. A distant, forgotten memory emerged and transported her mind to a different place and time. Rose witnessed her mother laying bloodied and dead on the floor.

She could see the gemstone around the woman's neck. Rose was standing over her, screaming and in tears, as she reached down and tore the necklace off her mother's dead body.

Then the recollection disappeared as fast as it came.

Rose's heart was about to leap out of her chest when she returned to the present. She placed the gemstone around her neck. Rose shook off the old remembrance and walked over to the mausoleum door.

She noticed the hinges were rusted in place. Rose took out the dagger to pry the hinges from the entrance when she saw lights coming towards the graveyard in the distance.

Two males were on horseback, and Rose sensed the angel's presence return. She could tell the angelic being was one of the men approaching.

"Who are you?" she mumbled.

As Rose observed the figures move nearer, she became hyper-aware that her life was in peril. Rose knew she was vulnerable from a lack of food and blood. If the men had learned, she was there. They were most likely coming to kill her.

"God, things never change!" Rose said in frustration.

She had always been the hunted.

Rose watched as the lamplight slowly came closer to the back of the cemetery, and she listened to the two men chat.

"I can sense the presence here. It's predominately in this location," voiced the tall man with coal-black hair. He pointed to the Templar vault.

Rose saw they were now literally feet away from the doorway. She ran and ducked behind the tomb in fear.

The other man held up a lantern to examine the mausoleum.

"Hey, the lid is off this crypt. I can't see a thing. Do you want to return at daybreak when it's light to get a better look?"

He squinted his eyes and studied the tomb behind the iron bars of the mausoleum door.

"Why? Are you afraid of the dark, Jackson?"

The black-haired man chuckled, his voice dripping in mockery.

Jackson shot him a dirty look.

"No! Milord, I'm not frightened."

"Good to know, my friend," The Lord snickered at Jackson.

"Otherwise, I would feel I had chosen the wrong man for the job. Nonetheless, I have the key for this one."

Lord Thorn held up a large metal ring with a bundle of skeleton keys under the lantern light as he looked with a creased brow for the appropriate one.

"I bet the locks rusted shut," he advised Jackson.

"That's never an issue for me," Jackson replied with a wide grin.

"Let's not do anything rash until we see what's in here. You may be a wraith who can walk through walls. But that does not exempt you from losing your spirit to an unknown entity." Christopher gave Jackson a stern look.

While listening to the men talk, Rose backed away from the tomb she was hiding behind. Her eyes never left the two individuals in front of her. She would need room to fight once they penetrated the sepulcher.

"Stop. I saw something move! Show yourself!" said Christopher.

His grey eyes peered into the dark corner where the movement came from. It was still and silent.

"I said show yourself now!" He demanded angrily.

A raspy voice spoke from the darkness of the vault. "Why should I?"

Christopher heard a woman's voice coming from the mausoleum's shadows.

"Listen carefully, it's been an arduous week, and you are not making it any better with your presence. I will ask the questions, and you will answer. Understood?" Christopher explained to the voice in the dark.

"Now, let us try this one more time. Come forward into the light; I'd like to see who I'm conversing with." Christopher narrowed his eyes, scanning through the bars of the dark tomb.

An emaciated young woman stepped forward. What Christopher saw was ghastly. Her chestnut hair was severely tangled and matted. The pallor of her skin was grey and sallow. Rose's amber eyes were dull, and her cheeks were sunken from malnutrition.

The once luscious lips had no color. They were dry and cracked. She wore the tunic of a Templar Knight with a faded red cross. It was dirty grey and tattered, along with the petticoats, and there were no shoes to cover her bare feet.

"Why are you in here?" Asked Christopher furrowing his brow at seeing the woman inside the tomb.

Rose fired back with a question to his question. "Who wants to know?"

"Did I not warn you? Continuing to test my patience is unwise, and I don't particularly appreciate repeating myself. You can either answer my questions, or I will annihilate you. It's your choice.

And the name is Lord Christopher Samael Thorn, II." He thought answering her question might help persuade the woman to speak with him.

Rose stared at the broken sarcophagus and answered Christopher.

"I'm Scarlette Rose, and this is my tomb. I was slain by a Lancaster cadet in 1510, after returning from Rome. Interred here by the Templars while serving King Edward IV as a spy for the Yorkist ruler." Rose sat on the edge of her vault while she talked with Lord Thorn.

"What year is it?" She implored.

"It's 1894, December 26, to be precise; You have been dead for three hundred and eighty-four years," replied Christopher.

"What are you, Miss Rose?" he asked in a velvety voice.

She stood off the tomb and walked closer to the door's bars. "I'm not sure I should tell you. It's never been good for me in the end. How can I guarantee you won't kill me?"

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A/N:

*Do check out and add my newest novel to your library.*

The Dragon's Fated Bride

Note: The books are intertwined with each other through the characters. However, they are all intended to be standalone novels. There is no specific order.

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