Black Roses

Chapter One: Nikolas

The old tavern, built of blue stone and standing two stories tall, is situated in the middle of the ancient town of Rosenberg. With its rundown, faded sign, bolted firmly in the rusted post; the word ‘Andy's’ spelt with pale yellow letters stands in dim light as the drunks and the workaholics drink away their troubles. None of them prepared for what is to come. Andy – the owner – stands behind the bar on his feet all night, serving drink after drink, to his usual customers. People sit on broken furniture at tables that creak with the slightest tap. The four stone walls hold photographs of the last four generations – barman and alcoholic alike.

With a stained, dirty cloth in hand and neat rows of every kind of alcohol on glass shelves behind him, Andy listens to his usual customers seemingly pathetic problems that would be easily fixed if they just went home and learnt how to communicate without being intoxicated. Not wanting to express his irritation, Andy runs a rough hand through his slicked back blonde hair and hopes the customer in front of him passes out soon.

Every night it is the same group of people. The regular locals and the handful of travelers who pass through and are never seen again. The bar is mostly full of locals, the usual crowd.

Joe Lucas in his tatted, over worn t-shirt and ripped jeans, stares with heavy, weary eyes, down at his stein of beer while thoughts of his wife leaving him wander through his mind. Chugging back the normal six steins, Joe falls off the stool and stumbles out to call for a taxi – his keys permanently living behind the bar with Andy.

Next to him is the flamboyant theatrics of Richard Pigots and his humorous impersonations of famous cartoon characters. His bright outfits and always matching shoes, amuse the other civilians as he uses humour to cover his shame and his own mother’s disappointment. The locals always know when he's around as his overused, cheap cologne usually walks into the bar before he touches the door, and sticks inside everyone's noses.

A seat behind from him is Lucy Lamets, the dark haired, prickly war survivor – the bar being the closest thing she has to a home. A tattoo for her platoon inked into her upper arm and dog tags – once belonging to a friend – are the only physical reminders of her experiences, and her losses. Now, she spends her time in the crooked chair, playing with square, pink packets of sugar.

Greg Summers, the middle-aged divorce attorney, sways at the juke box every night and never without a gin in his hand. A coffee stain on his shirt collar from yesterday's morning coffee and an untied navy blue tie still resting on his shoulders, sway with him as he plays his wedding song and dances for his wife, whom died several years earlier.

And Eve Brooks, the young woman with burn scars covering the left side of her upper body, leaving the side of her head bald and scabby. The sole survivor of a house fire – that she is suspected of lighting – sits alone and ponders over the family she left stuck in the house as she watched it crackle and burn until all that was left, was ash.

Add a handful of unfamiliar faces and it makes up the bar on this particular night; a random group of strangers including the silent, odd drifter, occasionally seen in the corner. Together they all charge the bar up with chatter and the clanking of glass against glass. The noise is thunderous and explosive. Until the night changes. Until the atmosphere shifts underneath everyone.

The wind picks up outside, dragging dirt and dust up off the ground and into the breathable air. Bitterness covers the patrons taste buds, making them put their drinks down. The wind throws itself against the door.

Bang. Bang.

Richard steps off his seat, his purple heals clicking with the contact on the floor, and stares with the rest of them. Even grieving, Greg stops swaying and waits.

Bang. Bang.

Starting at the rusty old park nearby, fog forms in the air and travels to the pub, as if it were targeting the tavern directly. It clogs every space it touches, leaving traces of its toxins where ever it progresses. Between the loops of chains in the patchy blue swing set, across the red plastic slide, through all the bushes and crossing the asphalt roads, staring directly at the tavern's entrance.

From below the pub door, Lucy can see the fog building up slowly, applying pressure to the structure.

Bang.

The door caves and releases, groaning open, allowing fog to fill the lower half of the room.

Everyone remains silent. The lights snap off and the people gasp, all excited with the unexpected outcome of the night. The silence and the darkness pulsate through the atmosphere and into each person who breathes. Fear now erupts and chokes the room.

Faintly in the distance, the sound of clanking boots on the pavement travels through the air. The volume slowly increasing. Slowly creeping closer.

The noise stops, the fog reverses itself and leaves only a man – dressed in a clean, tidy suit and tie – standing in the doorway. In the dark, only his bright, piercing orange eyes can be seen. The sound of his fingers flipping open a lighter and closing it seconds after, vibrates through the people. As he steps forward, the lights turn on, illuminating his brown, gelled hair. He grins, the kind that reveals all his shiny white teeth, and walks through silent, still people. Placing one hand on the cold wood of the bar and dropping the lighter down, its metal casing making a noise with the collision, he asks Andy for a drink. With forced politeness, he does as he is told and slides the glass smoothly down until it reaches the strangers open hand. Everyone stares as he takes a sip and waits for him to make his next move.

While the man is busy enjoying every extended sip of his whiskey, antagonizing the fearful humans around, more men stomp in. These three growl under their breath as they walk by. Having shaken the entire tavern quiet and drenching it's people in anxiety, the four are the only ones that move. That is, apart from the casual drifter in the corner who doesn't seem fazed by the intrusion. The drifter, flicking his scruffy brown hair from his eyes, sits with his legs crossed on the table, his back securely against the wall and drinks from his cup without a single shred of angst.

The intruder throws back the rest of his whiskey finally and asks Andy, "Nikolas Blackwood?"

Staying calm and unaffected, Andy lifts his hand and points to the scrawny drifter in the corner. The man grins slyly and struts over with his head held in an arrogant daze, to meet with Nikolas. With the pub transfixed and the locals mute, all eyes are on the mysterious stranger as he approaches the table in the corner. The movement is sedated, almost fragmented. The man steps, one foot at a time as Nikolas drinks from his stein.

Taking the seat across from Nikolas after reaching the table, the shady stranger unbuttons his suit jacket and begins a casual, supposedly innocent conversation, "Niky. We've been looking for you all day, my friend."

Nikolas, taking his time with his reply, swallows hard and exhales, "Rowan. I've been avoiding you all day, buddy," he pops the B, emphasizing the sarcasm that laced his voice.

Another swig and both men mentally tell themselves to keep the peace, that they can't make a scene. "She isn't happy with you, Nik. Not happy at all."

Without removing his focus from his drink, Nik replies, "Have I upset Mother Hen again? Shame."

All eyes are on the table, darting between both alpha males. Everyone tries to eavesdrop but no one can quite make out all of the words being tossed around carelessly.

Without realizing, or simply due to a lack of caring, the conversation unveils further, as if no one was in the room with them. Rowan continues to inform Nikolas of his misdemeanour, "You've been missing from action for days. You disobeyed direct orders. You've delivered zero humans. And I come here to find you drinking yourself into a stupor. It seems you've lost sight of your mission. Her mission."

Trying his best to ignore the lecture, Nikolas keeps drinking. As he tips the cup up further and further, he finds it is empty. Not even a drop left. Flipping it completely upside down to check he isn't mistaken, he dramatically frowns and gestures to Andy for a refill by flicking his fingers in the air and pointing to his cup.

Feeling himself become agitated by the blunt ignorance, Rowan insists with deafening aggression, "Listen, Nik. She's coming for you and she's out for blood. Do you remember the last time you went off the rails? m******e. And that was a warning. I don't want to, but I'll have no choice but to drag your family into the punishment. One. By. One."

The mention of his family shreds through Nik's chest like a hurricane, leaving him tense and aggravated. He takes the drink from Andy and grips it tightly, causing his knuckles to turn white. Not wanting more pointless death, Nikolas keeps his lips pressed together. With a fist at the ready, he chooses to listen, but not holding too tightly onto the peaceful option. "I'll start with the youngest. The desperate one. Who is the snivelling teen? William?"

The sound of Rowan's smug voice threatening his family pushes Nikolas to his edge and he ferociously slams his drink on the table, causing it to shake and beer to jump out, landing among the quickly escalating conversation. "Now Niky. I'd tread carefully. The three behind me just happen to be trained hunters. They're in the business of creating mess to stop you from causing your own."

The men stiffen their stance and reveal specially designed weapons hidden neatly in their jackets. By the looks of it, they're magically marked. Nikolas spots the purple engraving. He can basically smell the spell that was used.

"Make my life easy, Nik. Come in willingly and I'm sure your family will be tortured only the smallest amount."

"Easy…" Nikolas finally utters and thinks about its meaning for a moment. Going through his options in his head, he discovers he doesn't have many. If he makes a move and attacks then he'll be in more trouble. But if he does nothing, then he and his family might not make it through the punishment that awaits them. The easiest option, the right option and what Nikolas wants to do all happen to be different. However, being as stubborn and impulsive as he is, the thinking process is short lived. Throwing his cup at the hunter closest to the bar, Nikolas picks his feet up off the table and kicks it at Rowan. Leaping up off his chair, he draws out his fangs and attacks the other two hunters. With a hand covering one's face, he bites into the side of the others neck, chewing on the flesh and letting the blood empower him.

The little old tavern of Rosenberg erupts in violent cries and vicious invasions. The brawl consists of a collaboration of civilians and beasts. Sharpened fangs and rotting flesh take over the humans senses but they cannot escape. Their feet are almost burnt into the floor and their minds a foggy blur of events. Amongst the brutality and death of the innocent bystanders, Nikolas is fighting for not only his own survival but for the family depending on his leadership.

The three hunters are easy opponents for Nikolas and are taken out almost with a single hit. Charging through the people in between him and the doorway, Nikolas takes out all those in his way. Innocent or otherwise. With the people frantically running around the room, Nikolas rips off the head of anyone daring to pass him. Greg Summers hides behind his beloved jukebox in hopes he isn't discovered, while Richard Pigots acts his last theatrical performance, his own death scene. The sight of his flamboyant colourful costume, bloody and ripped and his overpowering cologne masked with the stench of his own blood, scares Greg enough to force him from his hiding place and attempt to run to the door. He never made it.

After decapitating almost six people, letting himself throw headless bodies around like chew toys, Nikolas reaches the door. A rotting hand on its frame. Ready to escape. But Rowan isn't about to lose this battle.

Reaching into his pocket, with a fist full of dust, Rowan closes his eyes and chants one of his leaders trusty solutions to situations just like this one. Nikolas steps forward, with every intention to run but stops. He can't move. No matter how hard he tries to rip his hand away from the wall, inches away from the doorframe, it won't budge.

One moment the tavern is tearing itself apart and people are being slaughtered, the next, the mayhem stops. Standing in the middle of the wreckage is Rowan who continues to chant and slowly releases the dust. A green powdered substance drips from his hand and spreads on its own accord.

Magic has never been a subject of great coherence for Nikolas and the powers that keep him and his family alive will always be a mystery to him. What further confuses him is the miracle behind his Queen's abilities – the power she possesses and instills in others. He can't be certain, but the green mist cradled around his ankles is telling him that she must be behind the paralysis.

In the dark street beyond the door, Nikolas notices three new figures approaching. With them in sight and the lack of feeling in his body, he knows that he isn't getting out of this one unscathed. The figures turn into the sharp toothed henchmen, working for the Queen. Walking up to the door, Nikolas can feel Rowan's breath warm on the back of his neck, "Checkmate," then he lifts one hand and pushes Nikolas to the dirt outside, directly at the feet of the other hounds.

When they start beating into Nikolas's side, he takes it without struggle. There is nothing they can do that will permanently injure him. Allowing Nikolas to achieve hopefulness, Rowan waits until after he thinks he is safe before pulling a marked object infused with black magic out from his jacket. The damage done with this metal will remain and no amount of Nikolas's healing abilities will repair him.

Using his diminishing strength, he tries to fight and get to his feet. He even manages to get one of his enemies to the ground. But when he turns around he is met with Rowan's blade, and it pierces Nikolas's face. A cut runs along his jaw line, blood falling from his mouth. This will leave a scar.

"You lose, Nik. You should have chosen the easy way."

Being thrown in the back of a car, all Nikolas can hear is the clicking of Rowan's lighter, flipping open and closed. Open. And closed.

The car ride is a haze for Nikolas as he falls in and out of consciousness. Everything comes to him in pieces. Until they reach the mansion at the top of the hill. The giant, surrounding steal gates squeak open with effort and uncover a full view of the black pillars above the concrete staircase, holding up the ancient horror house. The red-eyed gargoyles stare down as the hounds drag Nikolas from the back of the car and throw him at the bottom step. When he forces his eyes open and he sees where they have taken him, he knows his punishment will be delivered straight from the head of the snake. Drowsy but alive, Nikolas is dragged by his arms up the stairs and through the giant wooden doors to meet his undesired fate. He can feel the ground tearing apart his knees, leaving the skin around his calves and ankles in tatters.

The all too familiar trip – dragged up these steps and through this darkened entrance – reminds Nikolas of his first time seeing the mansion, his first time really meeting Katherine. Everything was heightened and new. With her magic flowing under his skin, he could feel, see and touch everything around him, with his eyes closed, without moving a single muscle. He'd never admit it now, after so many years, but he loved it. The high of the world around him. Even then, he had forgotten how it felt to be human, after only moments. Now, he would give anything to remember.

The front room is cold and empty, feeling dead and hollow. The red carpet breaks apart the white tiles and leads directly to the doors of the sunroom. Once inside, he is dumped in the centre and peers up, acknowledging the giant skylight above and fears for the worst. The triangle tiles are cold against his skin and he can feel the magic beating throughout the entire structure. Blood still drips from his wounds as his body desperately tries to fight for him but fails. The magic flowing in the mansion keeps him at his worst.

A low hush of a voice whispers to Rowan but Nikolas can't hear anything but a hum. He's too focused on his pain that won't disappear to realize the room is now empty. It's just him alone, bleeding out. At least, he was before someone… something… crosses passed the moonlight flowing in from the window and casts a shadow that towers and covers him. The darkness swallows him whole and makes his entire body feel numb. It's a familiar feeling. One that lets him know that the Queen is here and isn't pleased with him.

She steps forward, heals clanking on the tiled floor. Slow and organized steps.

Clank, clank, clank.

Until finally reaching him. Kneeling to face Nikolas directly, she places a hand to his injured face, "What have I told you about misbehaving, Kitty?"

Her face is covered in shadows, but he can still smell the rotting flesh peeling off her bones.

Nikolas opens his mouth to speak, but is stopped by her placing a finger to his lips, preventing him from saying anything. Leaving him there, she walks back to her royal thrown atop the small steps just ahead, waves her hands and reveals the skylight. The sun beams down reaching Nikolas and immediately he can feel its rays scorching his flesh. The metal plates retreat back and cover the sun after a few seconds. The sizzling of Nikolas's flesh can be heard clearly throughout the room. This light force is created with magic energy. Its purpose is to mimic the sun, so that it can be used to torture, no matter what time it is.

From her thrown, kept in shadows, she fiddles with her dark magic, throwing green electric mist from side to side while watching Nikolas try to hide his pain. Flickers of light beaming off her magic, passes her face, allowing glimpses of her to be seen and all Nikolas sees is a monster.

Sensing her boredom, he can tell she isn't done with him. With a nod of her head, the metal plates open again only this time, the artificial sun is hotter, the burns deeper and the plates stay open for longer. The walls shake and the doors tremble as Nikolas's screams fill the entirety of the mansion.