Bloodstained Heart Read online

  Bloodstained Heart

  By Kassandra Lea

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Kassandra Lea

  ISBN 9781646561476

  Cover Design: Less Than Three Press commission

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Bloodstained Heart

  By Kassandra Lea

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  The night was quiet and yet Seamus McCallum couldn’t sleep. His mind was troubled, a subtle ache settling like fog around his heart. For a while he merely lay there listening to the soft snoring of his dog curled up beside him, hoping it might be enough to carry him away into slumber. No such luck. When the clock struck midnight Seamus rolled out of bed and crept out of the room.

  Like a wraith he haunted the halls. He wandered down the grand staircase, through the vast kitchen and out the backdoor into the garden. Seamus bathed in the golden moonlight, the night’s gentle breeze still clinging to the coolness of the spring days. Stars twinkled in an endless ocean of darkness and the castle loomed at his back, a silent monster in the night.

  The ache enveloping his heart grew worse as he admired its beauty. It rose from rolling green hills like a memory of eras gone by, a glimpse at places that used to be and never could be again. Home. Seamus felt the familiar pinprick of unshed tears. He reached out, too far away to touch its stone façade, yet feeling the smoothness worn there by weather and time.

  It used to be such a grand structure with towers jutting toward the sky and intricate beautiful stained glass windows. Now it was faded, green tendrils of ivy creeping across the surface, and a few of the windows were boarded up either because someone had taken it upon themselves to remove the glass or they’d simply been shattered. Inside the carpets used to be plush, not threadbare, and the walls had been decorated with the finest paintings, all long gone. The castle had become little more than a ghost of its former self.

  There were reasons why he haunted the halls the way he did. He was the reason the townsfolk in the valley below readily believed the place to be filled with ghosts and ill will. It kept them away; which used to keep Seamus happy. But one could only lay down with loneliness so many times before waking up broken inside.

  He turned away, wandering into the jungle that used to be well tended flowering bushes and ornamental trees. If he closed his eyes Seamus could still hear strains of classical music, the chatter and laughter of merry party-goers, the sounds of life that used to fill the place and keep the darkness at bay.

  And now?

  The shore of the vast pond came into view, the stars twinkling in its reflection and generating a second sky, one close enough to make him wish he could actually touch the stars. Seamus peered into the depths of the still waters, the air around him scented faintly of wet earth. He chose to ignore his mirror image not wanting to feel his heart break for the hundredth time. Just like his home, he was no longer the dashing fellow he used to be, time having taken its toll on him as well.

  And in such a cruel way.

  Seamus picked up a stone and tossed it, with a whispered splash it sank below the surface. The grass rustled at his back and he turned to watch as his dog, a giant mastiff of a mutt, came plodding into view. The dog sat at his side with a little whimper.

  “You are the only friend I have, Atlas,” he addressed the pooch, giving Atlas a generous scratch behind the ears. “Just you and me, old boy.”

  Seamus hoped they still had plenty of years together because he wasn’t likely to be going anywhere any time soon. He lucked into Atlas, stumbling upon the discarded pup in the woods, surrounding the castle. It was a stroke of luck the poor thing hadn’t been devoured by wolves and bears known to lurk under cover of the trees. So Seamus brought him back to the castle and here they were four years down the road, the best four years in Seamus’s eyes. It got mighty lonely being the only resident of the spooky castle on the hill.

  “This place used to be something,” he told Atlas, sinking down on a boulder half buried in the ground. He tended to recount the glory days to Atlas on a regular basis, the dog proving to be the best listener around. Sitting there now Seamus entertained ghostly images of the past, the way the trees along the pond would be dressed in sparkling lights, and people danced in the garden, the air filled with the heavenly perfume of blooming flowers. Oh, it was always such a sight to see and how he missed it so.

  Especially the dancing.

  “Time goes on and on…”

  They sat in silence for what may have been little more than a handful of minutes or easily an hour when Atlas shifted position, ears picked as something caught his attention. He let out a low growl followed by a subtle woof. Seamus knew the signs, someone or something was poking around nearby.

  “Shall we give them a fright, teach them to stay away and not trespass on our land?”

  Another cautionary bark, then Atlas climbed to his paws.

  “Okie dokie, let’s go spooking.”

  Seamus let Atlas lead the way, following the dog along a winding path of trampled down grass. After about the fourth turn he knew exactly where on the estate Atlas was leading him and Seamus was intrigued. After all, it was absolutely the last place he expected anyone to venture. Unless, of course, the neighborhood kids decided it would be a perfect place to party. Just the thought of such a disrespectful turn of events made him clench his jaw, hands curling into fists.

  “If we’re going where I think we are then I shall wind up being extremely unhappy,” he said to Atlas.

  The massive dog never broke stride.

  An intricate wrought iron arch came into view. Seamus narrowed his eyes. The detailed structure marked the proper entrance to the graveyard. A few years back a group of twenty-somethings thought it might be fun to climb over the fence and leave a bloodied sacrifice and spray painted devilish symbols on a few grave markers. Seamus gave them a considerable fright, definitely more than they bargained for. Who desecrated graves for fun? If he found the same scenario awaiting him…

  “Well, well,” he whispered upon spying the gate open. Atlas stopped, head tilted slightly to the side. Seamus sauntered up beside him, placing a hand on the dog’s back. “What do you think, waltz right in like we own the place, which of course we do, or sneak around making noises until they run? I’m equally fond of either really so…”

  They slipped into the land of the dearly departed. The graveyard was quite large, covering a few acres. Generations upon generations were buried within, each g
rave marked with an elaborate tombstone. There were numerous angels, a few obelisks, and even a marble tree, to name a few. At the very heart stood a mausoleum now covered in ivy tendrils, once it had been quite the sight to see, especially when its white marble glimmered in the light of day.

  Much like every other part of the castle’s grounds things were overgrown and in need of repairs. Seamus did the best he could but he was just one man. Standing on hallowed ground he felt a tingle in his feet and an all new kind of ache in his heart. Perhaps there was a reason he barely came here.

  As he crept further in, Atlas never leaving his side, he began to pick up on what sounded like scratching. For a moment he imagined some wild critter sharpening its nails on stone, then he realized it was the telltale song of a shovel slicing through earth. Digging. In his graveyard.

  “Who would have the nerve,” he practically growled.

  The intent to spook went right out the window as Seamus stormed in the direction of the intruder. Body snatchers, grave robbers, that was definitely something new. He would frighten them so bad they would never again consider setting foot within twenty feet of the castle grounds. People may break the windows, they might come up and party in the tall grass under summer skies or even double dog dare each other into entering the haunted estate for Halloween fun, and Seamus would deal with it. But disturbing the dead from their peace?

  Absolutely not. Not on his watch.

  So when the glow of an electric light came into view Seamus ran toward the source, bursting out of the shadows with a bone chilling scream on his lips.

  Only he wound up choking on it as he saw the man standing with a shovel in hand, the nearby lantern creating an eerie splay of shadows on his face. Still, Seamus knew who he was and to say it caught him off guard was an understatement. Atlas lumbered up to his side with a deep woof.

  “Tibbit?” the name popped out. “What are you doing?”

  Chapter 2

  Tibbit Shanks jumped, letting go of the shovel. It fell into the hole he’d spent the last hour busily toiling over. His heart jumped into his throat and he may have elicited a squeak of surprise, though to be fair he should have known there was a high risk of being discovered. And yet he crept into the cemetery anyway. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he wanted to be found, to be stopped. One last chance…

  “Tibbit?”

  “I…”

  Seamus took a step closer, Atlas at his side. The dog lazily wagged his tail, tongue hanging out. The knot that had formed in Tibbit’s gut early that morning tightened and twisted, somehow managing to suck the oxygen from his lungs. With a strangled cry of anguish, he sank down onto a tree stump, head in his hands. Unshed tears burned in his eyes and a numbing ache spread throughout his chest as all the pain he’d been trying to hold back began to bubble free. One tear made a break for it. Tibbit quickly wiped it away before any others got the idea to follow.

  With a whimper Atlas sat before him, soft brown eyes gazing at him with the unconditional love only dogs seemed to possess.

  “Tibbit?” The way Seamus spoke his name conveyed so much emotion, his concern, worry, and curiosity coming through.

  And it made Tibbit feel even worse.

  “Will you tell me what’s wrong, dear friend? What has brought you to this place in the dead of night?” There was a pause. “And why, pray tell, are you digging a rather sizable hole?”

  The answers danced through his mind bringing his mood down even further, another tear slipping out. How was he supposed to explain the reason for his visit? Were there even words to capture the pain and sorrow currently working its way through his body? Finally, he looked up, tearing his gaze from the dog and letting it rest on Seamus. He certainly was quite a man, Seamus McCallum, if one could get passed the fact he was no longer amongst the living.

  At just shy of six-foot, Seamus was still the dashing figure he had been decades ago when he was still breathing. From his chocolaty brown hair to his fall-into-them blue eyes he was a walking dream. Aside from the extreme pallor of his skin, the dark shadows under his eyes, and the black hue of his lips, of course. Seamus was, for lack of a better word and Tibbit wished there was one better, a zombie. A curse placed upon him for falling in love with the wrong person back when he’d been warm and living.

  Doomed to an eternity of unlife at the age of thirty-two, just the thought broke Tibbit even more.

  So he shifted his gaze, afraid of what Seamus might read in his eyes. He sniffled, more tears managing to make their way down his cheeks. There was the sound of rummaging and Tibbit winced when he heard the sharp intake from Seamus.

  “What…why…I don’t…Tibbit, explain this, please.”

  He didn’t even have to look to know what Seamus was holding in his hands, but he turned, facing the growing problem. And again he wondered if perhaps he’d picked this place because he wanted to be stopped. Dangling in Seamus’s precarious two finger hold was a gun, one Tibbit purchased a few days back. The sight of it was enough to bring forth a bout of shame, especially when he noticed the way Seamus’s brows knitted together. Utter despair stole his words and he began to cry in earnest, no tear here and there, but a full on flood that left him gasping for breath in minutes.

  Seamus put down the offending weapon and tugged a very reluctant Tibbit to his feet. As the sobs continued to wrack his body Tibbit effortlessly relaxed into the comforting, friendly, loving embrace Seamus offered. Everything he’d been holding in rushed out of him in an emotional tsunami, Seamus managing to avoid getting swept away. His fingers curled into Seamus’s shirt and he buried his face against Seamus’s shoulder, willing himself to stop crying.

  He failed.

  Seamus muttered something soothing and Atlas whimpered, pressing against Tibbit’s leg. Only once the overwhelming storm of misery passed did Tibbit step back, sniffling, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. He tried to avoid eye contact thinking it might be best to just gather up his stuff and beat a hasty retreat with his tail tucked between his legs, but he should have known better. Just because Seamus’s heart didn’t beat anymore did not keep from caring.

  He hooked a finger under Tibbit’s chin, prompting Tibbit to meet his gaze. Oh, those blue eyes, their shade reminiscent of crystal clear waters. Every single time he looked into them something stirred inside of him, a feeling he wasn’t quite sure how to explain, though in moments of loneliness he wondered, as crazy as it might sound, if it was love. Could he love someone like Seamus, was that even possible?

  “My dear friend, what has left you so broken?”

  Where did he even start?

  Seamus slipped a hand into his, their fingers entwining. “Come, let’s go back to the castle. We can talk, you can tell me what is on your mind.”

  “No,” the word bubbled up. As much as he longed to talk, to give voice to the fears and thoughts bombarding him every day he wasn’t quite sure he could bring himself to do it. Perhaps afraid that once the truth came out the way Seamus saw him would change forever, their friendship altered, maybe even shattered, and there was no way he would ever be able to handle such an outcome.

  * * * *

  Seamus chewed his bottom lip, looking lost in thought as though contemplating what to say. When he spoke he kept his tone measured, but strong. “I come out here to find you digging what equates to a grave and you have a gun. The absolute last thing I am going to do now is leave you alone. So come on, let’s go see if we can put the pieces back where they belong.”

  Reluctantly, like a dog caught sneaking treats from the trash, Tibbit allowed himself to be dragged along. A new feeling jumped into the simmering stew pot mingling with the hopelessness and grief; turned out that fear added a bitter taste.

  The flames raged to life as Seamus poked it. Warmth began to creep through the room ushering away the damp chill that seemed to linger even in the heat of summer. The light was welcoming, the shadows dancing hypnotically on the walls. Getting a proper fire going also gave Seamus time to think
about what he wanted to say. The walk back to the castle passed with standard small talk, Seamus hoping to draw Tibbit out of his tightly woven cocoon of depression.

  No such luck.

  It troubled him, as he suspected it would any person, to find his friend digging a grave—within perfect range of his own marked grave, a fact that had not escaped him—while trucking around a gun. What could be troubling Tibbit so much to send him down such a dark road? And how was he supposed to go around even asking? With his back to his friend Seamus closed his eyes, let out a slow breath, and prayed for the strength he needed to face the conversation. Because truth be told, he loved Tibbit, not in the friendly way. It was more the heart stopping-birds singing-nothing else mattered in the world kind of love.

  Not that anyone but Atlas knew of his feelings.

  Tibbit may have accepted his outward appearance and the fact that he was basically dead, but it didn’t mean Tibbit wanted to spend quality time with him or just sit on the couch holding his hand. The dead were meant to stay as such, buried deep in the hallowed grounds of cemeteries, to be loved in memory only. Of course, in Seamus’s experience he was a unique specimen, having failed to find anyone else suffering from his affliction. And how he loathed the word “zombie.” He grimaced, slipping the poker back in its place with the other fireplace tools. Just the thought of wandering around with an insatiable craving for brains made his stomach churn.

  Food did not sustain him, though every once in a while he snatched a berry from the bushes growing wild on the grounds and savored the delicious taste before spitting it back out. He tried eating shortly after waking up in his new condition decades ago to find that within minutes of swallowing everything came right back up.

  Oh, how he missed crystal glasses of fruity wine.

  And chocolate.

  The fire snapped, crackled, and Seamus realized he let his mind wander. He was stalling, trying to find a way to draw out the silence and avoid the conversation he really did not want to have, ever. But things needed to be said so he turned and made his way over to the couch. He sank down on the cushion next to Tibbit and gave his friend an appraising glance. Tibbit sat with his hands tucked between his knees, head hanging. Judging by the rasping of each breath he was crying again.