Author: Lady Elena Dawson PM
For a century now, Rose DeWitt Bukater has stayed seventeen. When in her hometown of London for a visit, she meets Jack Dawson, an appealing vampire hunter and understanding artist, and soon flees her bloody history to try and avoid accepting her dying humanity - by boarding the RMS Titanic. But what happens when a certain vampire on board threatens to reveal her murderous past?Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Horror - Jack D. & Rose D. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 4,329 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 01-14-13 - Published: 12-30-12 - id: 8855802
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: So I decided after a long break (and catching up withthe addicting show The Vampire Diaries) that I would finally write something vampire-related. This is dedicated to my friends Romione4Life and NimbusSeeker70, because even though they always distract me from my fanfiction, I still get it done.
Disclaimer: I do not own Titanic (1997) or The Vampire Diaries (2009).
By Lady Elena Dawson
Chapter 1: A Proposal
"If you don't catch up soon, Cal, you might as well not waste your breath!"
The garden was lavish in the spring daytime, overflowing with colorful flowers and bushes blooming with bright green leaves. Amongst the clipped grass dragged the hem of an overly lacy dress, rounded with a hoop skirt and leading off with a tightened whale-bone corset hidden under its fabric. But prettiest of all was the fine woman's head propped on a perfect neck, flowing with fiery red curls that went well with her pale complexion, adorned with bright green eyes and bow-shaped lips.
Behind her lagged a man of significant wealth, hiding his annoyance quite well for how hungry he was. It was a busy morning and he didn't have the time to snack on anything since yesterday evening, and he was always the type to be grumpy whenever he missed a bite. Sighing to himself, he pretended to jog in the sticky spring heat, which made the young woman squeal, pick up her skirts, and race away.
"Miss Rose, I think you're right. I'll follow your suggestion." And with that, he came to a halt, silently growling in impatience.
Rose just giggled, however, quite innocent and naïve. "Why would you stop, Mr. Hockley? Too afraid to admit you've lost to a girl?" She batted her long lashes and put her pasty hands on her tiny waist, raising her eyebrows and mocking him.
"No, I just need a rest," Cal sputtered nonchalantly, though he was just about ready to pounce from his hungry rage. Then, he gestured to her. "Come here."
"What?" Rose said in mock ignorance. "I believe your pride is getting in your way, Cal." Wiping a soft hand across her warm forehead, she started toward him when he didn't reply. "Let's go inside now. It's getting too hot out here for my taste."
Together they strolled out of the garden, their fun playtime turning stale in the awkward air. Eventually, Cal spoke. "Would you like to dine with me this evening, Miss DeWitt Bukater?" he asked respectfully, longing for her pulsing neck.
Rose smirked sweetly, secretly loving the attention she was getting from such a lord—and from the New World, at that. "It would be my pleasure." After giving a content grin back, Cal led the young Rose into the mansion that was passed down through his family for centuries.
Inside the plush foyer Rose studied curiously, like any young girl, the magnificent paintings and architecture of the marble staircase. Gathering her heavy skirts in her unoccupied hand, she started up the steps while examining her new pair of boots, strapped firmly to her feet. Again, it was a reminder of the life she lived, and the unbearable fact that she would be someone's property for the rest of her years.
Not that she really minded Cal as much as she did her previous suitors. He has kind and gentle, and she really believed he understood her, but she was seventeen—how much could she say anything without sounding like some lovesick fool? Unlike her high-society friends, she longed to be different than the average woman of this early nineteenth century. She knew of the Napoleonic wars occurring in France and of the movement west in the new America, and she kept up with British politics and the society columns. Her dream to be well-rounded was certainly doing well, for now she had someone equally interested in her life passions just about ready to ask for her hand in marriage.
As the pair traveled through the sitting room, Rose couldn't help but pry herself of Cal's arm and stroll around the luxurious parlor, hands clasped behind her back. "You flatter me, Mr. Hockley," she said, no longer having her oblivious streak. Her green irises fell on his slightly amused expression, dark hair falling in his brown eyes. "I don't think I deserve you."
"What do you mean, don't deserve me? I believe it's me who doesn't deserve you," Cal replied slyly with a sleek grin. Rose laughed in disbelief.
"See, there you are again. Always putting me first… Always supporting me and my thoughts…" She stopped and furrowed her brows at him, questionable. "Do you really agree with what I say?"
Suddenly the room was uncomfortably quiet, a prolonged silence engulfing the air as Cal stared out the sunny window, Rose now tapping her fingers nervously on the wooden upholstery. After an unbearable, suffocating few minutes, Rose opened her pretty mouth—for she quickly remembered her place in society. "I'm deeply sorry. I should have never questioned your authority."
Cal coolly strolled over the fashionable carpet with an unreadable expression hanging over his eyes, producing much discomfort. With just as much anticipation he poured himself a drink and downed it professionally, as though he had perfected swallowing the burning liquid in the shot glass after many years of training. Finally, he verbalized his strict rules. "You're right, Rose. You shouldn't be questioning my authority. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, it's your unbending curiosity that will bite you in the end."
The fun afternoon in the garden rapidly dissipated and was replaced by a cold, stomach-dropping sensation. Uneasily Rose shifted her weight on her feet, feeling the bile rising in her throat, yet she couldn't identify the sudden frigidness that encompassed her. All she knew instinctually was that she had to get out of here, and fast. "Maybe it'd be better if we forget this conversation," she suggested presumptuously, "and I'll end this day with a good evening." Hurriedly she sauntered out of the room, heart pounding tremendously hard in her chest, praying that he would let her go.
But he didn't. Instead, he grabbed forcefully for her arm, his grip tightening inhumanly around her flesh. Instantly Rose knew that Cal wasn't the gentle giant she came to believe he was; he was something more dangerous. She had to get away, but the only thing she could do was clench her fists in fear as his fingers wrapped around her wrist, tears streaming out of her eyes unintentionally.
"Cal, you're hurting me," she spoke up stiffly, quickly wiping at her eyes with her free hand. But he kept his deathly grip on her, and she could feel her fingers becoming numb. "Please, let go!"
"You're not going anywhere." As Cal's eyes rose up to meet her terrified ones, the feeling of dread strangely disappeared, and she was left panting and muscles loosened. He signaled to the cozy sofa in the corner of the room. "Please… Sit, Rose."
Though she didn't want to, something made her feet move and lead her towards the couch, heart still jumping and fists still gritted. Blood furiously racing throughout her body, she plopped down on the cushions like a machine, slowly and steadily. "Now," Cal piped up as soon as she was settled. "I have a special proposition for you."
With his plan now in action, Cal rambled on about how he'd been thinking of settling down recently and how he needed a women to watch the affairs of the home for him while he was working. "And it all comes down to you, Rose," he continued explaining, studying her beautiful face reflecting the light of the burning fire he'd started as the day came to an end and the cold seeped through the walls. "I'd like you to be my wife."
Rain pattered tenderly on the windowsills, but Rose's response was anything but gentle. "Well, you have a strange way of showing how you care," she spat, longing to stand up, but for some odd reason she couldn't. "Forcing me to stay even though I wish to leave."
Biting his tongue, Cal chose to clear his throat over throwing her hateful recriminations. "Fine, Rose," he said crisply, so she could hear him without the excuse that he was mumbling. "You may leave."
Gasping, the sensation in Rose's lower body reappeared, and she let herself breathe again, her lungs filled with pent-up air she had been holding from her own terror. Calmly standing up, even though her limbs shook horribly, she strode past the fireplace and headed straight towards the door, making sure to keep her eyes off of Cal—who, she added a mental note in her head, she was reporting to her parents as soon as she was home.
"Wait." She swore at him under her breath and felt her body jolt to a halt. Though she didn't know what was going on, she knew as much to say that it was all supernatural. "Stay where you are."
From his angle, Cal could see the crackling fire reflect off Rose's red locks and of the expensive satin dress she wore. "Such a pity I have to do this," he said, clucking his tongue so it created a tsk noise. He reached her backside and placed a cold hand on her shoulder, pushing her hair aside to reveal her creamy neck. All the while he could hear the blood pounding through her veins in utter fear. "But we can't last forever, Rose—unless, somehow, there's a way."
Petrified, Rose closed her eyes, no longer wanting to relive this day that had started out so joyous, only to end in despair and sorrow. The iciness of his palm smoothing over her dress was felt down her shoulder, causing the sleeve to reveal her bare skin, and she could feel his hot breath on her pulsing neck. His other arm slunk around her waist, making her flinch.
But she couldn't handle the chaotic situation much longer, so she chimed in instead. "Mr. Hockley, I don't know what's going on here, but you must—"
"It's Cal," he corrected for her as his teeth ached in his gums. "And it's not the first name I've had in my many years of immortality."
Bewildered, Rose was about to break her paralysis when she felt the vicious bite on her neck. It was nothing like she had ever experienced before: warm and sensual, yet harsh and disgusting at the same time. Whimpering, she let the atrocious man dig his teeth into her flesh, draining her of her blood.
At first she was certain she was going to die, for she could feel her heart thump unevenly in her chest. But then he stopped, and two crimson lines of fresh blood dribbled down her neck, evidently ruining her new gown. "Refreshing," Cal purred on her skin. "It was nice knowing you while you were still human, Rose."
With that, Cal placed his hands on Rose's pristine head before snapping her neck, producing a fatal crack and causing her to sink to the plush ground. Staring at the heap of pureness on his parlor floor, he wiped away the blood dotting his mouth and watched as the wounds on her neck clogged the flowing pores and covered them over, healing the marks.
Sighing contently, Cal served himself another drink and sat down on his favorite chair to watch the young woman be reborn, her human body sprawled and broken, red curls spread around her head like a devilish halo.
Licking his lips, he took a generous sip from his glass. "You know, it's hard to love someone so much and realize that they're mortal and able to die any day with Fate around the corner. It just wouldn't be a wonderful world without you, Rose." Then he leaned forward as though the lifeless mass could hear him. "I did what I had to do."
But the person didn't stir.