Musings of an Immortal (Part One)

*Also on Wattpad* For people who love vampire stories, stories with dark themes focused around unrequited love, and vampire lovers.
"You could be a queen. No, a goddess. An immortal goddess, free from death and all of life's pain."

A tale of sweet seduction fraught with hateful bitterness.

Genevieve Nicolette is the victim of unrequited love. She's the obsession of a ruthless vampire. He's heartless and yet he swears he loves her. But when Genevieve gives him the proverbial cold shoulder this sadistic monster will stop at nothing to get her, the one he believes to be his mate.
Killing, torture, savage cruelty are all within his forte. And when he wants something, he's relentless until he achieves his desires.
Genevieve and everyone she knows and loves is in danger of this immortal's unforgiving wrath.


4. Chapter Two

Genevieve didn't actually expect Barnabas to call upon her, but she waited day in and day out for him just the same. After all, he was probably just being a gentleman, why would he be interested in her? Even though she had believed he wouldn't call upon her, she was disappointed none the less.


Four nights after meeting Mr. Ashwood, Genevieve came down to find him at their dinner table. She was taken back by surprise, why hadn't her mother told her that he was their guest?

She realized her mother had seen the interaction between them the other night, and she didn't want her daughter to end up an old maid. Something Genevieve disliked that in her mother, she wanted her to mind her business honestly. Not that she meant her mother any disrespect, she just didn't like her mother's nosiness. It was a poor quality in any woman to be nosy, just an annoyance to Genevieve, really.

Maybe for once, it wouldn't be so bad, maybe he would be more interesting because heaven knows how boring her few other callers had been. Even twice she had refused to eat because she didn't care for the men her mother had chosen to keep her company. Evangeline wasn't as choosy as her sister, she'd jump at the chance to be entertained by just about any man.


Barnabas had been entertaining, Genevieve had actually come to like him that evening. Usually, it took much longer for Genevieve to decide that she actually like someone, but she felt different about him than she had any of the others. It came to her as easy to like him, second nature as if were determined already for her to be attracted to him.

She felt as if she were in a daze when she was around him. His eyes made her want to melt, her stomach fluttered ever time he graced her eyes with his. If she were standing she would have been weak in the knees truly. It was as if he held something over her, some sort of voodoo, almost like a trance. Something that had been taken out of her hands, something in her longed for him, even though she didn't quite know it yet.

She enjoyed the attention he paid her that evening. She could only think of the evening that had unfolded, as she drifted to sleep.

If only her dreams were as sweet.

  Genevieve sat in the midst of a meadow, under a spreading dark green tree. Surrounded by fresh flowers and sunshine. The birds chirped joyfully in the branches of the tree's limbs above her.

  She started to pick flowers, gathering them in her hand and then placing them to her nose. They smelled so sweet, but as she brought them away from her face, the smell became repugnant. They were black. The color of death and they were decaying in her hands. Only they didn't just smell like dead flowers, the stunk of the stench of human death. The smell of rotting corpses. Maggots wiggled in the flower's petals. Deep pain shot through her hand, the flowers in her hands grew long, sharp thorns.

  She gagged and released her grip on the once lovely flowers. She looked around her and she saw that the sky was a dark, foreboding shade of gray.

  Her heart thumped in her chest, she broke out in a profuse sweat.

  She awoke, hot, and sticky. She looked down at her hands because they felt wet. They were covered with red, sticky blood!


The Following morning she felt sick, her hands were free of marks or scratches. But, there had been blood the night before. She didn't take one bite of her breakfast, she had no appetite. All she could see was the decaying rose and all she could smell was the putrid stench of a rotting corpse. It lingered in the air around her, covered her very soul with its rancid nature.

When asked what was wrong with her, she simply stated that she was tired, from tossing and turning all night.

She hadn't been able to fall asleep again after she had that awful nightmare. So she was indeed tired. Bags hung under her eyes.

After dinner that evening she went straight to bed, so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. How was she to know her dreams would get a hundred times worst.

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