Page 43 of Roses & Ruin

“Please,” I whisper. “Please, Hayden, tell me everything.” I touch his elbow, and he whirls, taking my hand in both of his, the expression on his face open and fierce.

“We first met in 1820. You have to understand; I was a monster before I met you.” Hayden’s face contorts, full of hatred. His fangs are nearly completely retracted, tiny points glinting just past his top lip. “I was already a vampire then, one hundred years old. I treated humans like”—he shakes his head, lets out a thick, mirthless laugh—“like food. Stick ’em with a straw, suck ’em down. Leave them crumpled husks.” Hayden drops my hand, turns away like he can’t bear to look at me. “I was…I was hunting your father when I saw you. And you were kind. Curious. Sad…but hopeful. I couldn’t stop watching you, and you saw me in the forest, but you didn’t run—you never run, do you?—and you came to me, dress covered in dirt, ribbon falling from your hair. You smiled at me and you were…” Hayden looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes glistening and soft. “So, so beautiful.”

All my breath leaves me, the floatiest, warmest feeling filling my veins. Hayden’s face crumples and he turns back to face the altar. He tips his head back, gazing up at the magnificent rosewood cross.

“We fell in love,” he whispers. “I was the happiest I’d ever been in my existence. But then you were killed. Taken from me.” The grief in his voice is so raw it hurts to hear.

“What?” I breathe, my heart pounding, my head swimming.

“It happened the day before your nineteenth birthday. I was getting you a present three towns away,” he says. “Your screams still haunt me…I’d never moved so fast in my life. But it was already too late. By the time I got there, your throat had been slit. Your body was already so cold, but I couldn’t let you go.”

“Oh, H-Hayden,” I hiccup.

Hayden laughs ruefully as he shoves the heel of his hand against his eye. His palm comes away wet. “No one had seen who’d done it. No description to go off of. I couldn’t even pick up a scent. I wandered the country like some sort of beast, searching for your killer. I searched for years, obsessed. And then one day, thousands of miles from where I first laid eyes on you, I saw the only thing in this universe that would stop my single-minded search for your killer.”

“What?” I can’t stop trembling.

“You,” he finally says. “I saw you. Wiping dust off your cheek as you hauled a bucket of water up from a well. Of course, I didn’t believe it at first. Thought I was hallucinating. I approached you, asking if you could spare a cup of water for a thirsty stranger. You did. When I asked who I should thank, you said, ‘The rain, obviously. But you can thank Rose in the meantime.’ I couldn’t speak.”

I can hardly breathe. My heart aches.

“How is that possible?” I ask.

Hayden’s eyes drop to his hands. He inspects them, turning his wrists this way and that, staring at some phantom thing only he can see. “I didn’t understand it at first. I didn’t question it. I thought maybe the universe had given you back to me. I wanted to believe that so badly. And then…” His voice drops to almost nothing. “You were killed. Again.”

“How?” I ask.

“Someone poisoned your stew,” he says quietly.

The world tilts. I nearly lose my balance.

“Lamb stew?” I gasp.

Hayden’s head snaps up, eyes flaring.

“Yes. Yes, how did you know?”

“My nightmares…” Oh my god. This whole time—could it be? “Hayden, since I can remember, I’ve been plagued by nightmares. More vivid than my waking life. In my nightmares, I die every night.” Hayden looks stricken. “I’ve dreamed of having my throat slit. Poisonings. A dagger through the eye. I’ve been pushed from a cliff, a knife opening my stomach—”

“Stop.” Hayden buries his hands in his hair.

“But they’re not nightmares. Are they, Hayden?” I say.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “No, they’re not.”

This is all too much. So much. I’m feeling light-headed and feverish. My whole life—lives?!—is completely recontextualized. Every night I thought I was dreaming my death. Except I was never dreaming.

I was reliving them.

“Hayden, how many times have I died?”

He takes a deep breath. “Ten.”

Hayden crouches beside me on the cold stone floor. He braces my shoulders, his concerned gaze raking over my face. But he’s so careful to keep space between us.

“You never make it to your nineteenth birthday.” Hayden’s voice is hollow. “I’ve…I’ve tried everything. Everything. But every time you’re killed, it’s at a different person’s hands. There’s no pattern to it, no single enemy I can stop.” He swallows hard. “No matter what I do, Rose, no matter how closely I watch you, how hard I try to protect you, it’s never enough.” Hayden’s exhale is shuddery, and he reaches out, cupping my face with his hands, his eyes spilling over.

“But how do I come back each time?”