Dead Tempted - BOOK 1 - Pomegranate Seeds

PART ONE - IV

All sound was muffled and a strange pounding dominated Bronwen's hearing - the beating of her heart. Her lungs burned for air and she frantically pushed herself to the surface of the water she had awoken in.

Panic consumed Bronwen as she clawed at the liquid, following an instinct that guided her back to the air. It was a moment before she realised she had her head above water and took in a ragged breath. Her head dunked a few more times as she paddled awkwardly to the side of the river, struggling in the many layers of her dress.

The strong current swirled around her and she had to drag her nails into the mud of the bank to heave herself onto it before the river could pull her away again.

Bronwen lay face down and panting, coughing water out of her throat before she rolled onto her back and looked up at the stars.

The night was surprisingly clear for autumn and Bronwen briefly panicked at how long she had been dead for, then a chill wind brushed across her wet skin, bringing with it the crisp smell of winter to come.

Thanatos had warned Bronwen that returning to her body would not be a pleasant experience, especially if it was not entirely intact. She would momentarily feel the mortal pain of all that had occurred to her flesh since leaving it. The thought had not discouraged her from returning to the mortal world – a chance to see the sky again.

She was fortunate they had been rather delicate with her remains and had just started to think that her resurrection had not been as traumatic as the demon had said, when a violent pain lanced through her. Bronwen rolled back onto her side as her body convulsed and she vomited on the damp grass, the bile from her empty stomach burning her throat.

Bronwen gasped and clutched at her neck, feeling all the air escape her lungs. She arched her back and tried to cough out whatever was preventing her from breathing but nothing came. Her eyes watered and just as her vision began to darken she was allowed to breathe again, only to be incapacitated by a new pain. It felt as if every nerve in her body stung as it welded itself back with her spirit. Like putting freezing hands into hot water.

When it finished, Bronwen curled into a ball, clutching her knees as she waited for more, not caring if vomit caked her wet hair. She was not sure how long she lay there before she became aware of her surroundings again; the smell of the river and the contents of her stomach, the sound of the birds already calling the morning forth, despite the darkness.

Finally, she uncurled herself and looked around. She was sat on a gravelled and muddy bank next to a stone bridge. The water was fast flowing through it and there were a few trees looking like bare skeletons in the shadows.

Bronwen pushed herself up from the ground with difficulty and inspected her body. Her once creamy gown was now torn and filthy from the river and the dagger that had taken her life. She inspected each part of her that was supposed to have an ailment - a scrape on her arm and broken rib from falling off the wall, a bruised cheek and sore head from being struck in the alley, a deep gaping hole in her chest where she had been stabbed - none of these existed.

Other than being grotesquely dirty, her form was flawless. Or, at least as flawless as it had been. Bronwen moved the cut fabric aside from her stomach and saw that the scar surrounding her navel was still present. Despite it having been reopened, it was not completely gone like her other wounds, only healed. It was still puckered pink skin and was almost a welcome companion – at least she knew she was herself again.

Bronwen wondered, not for the first time, what the symbol meant. Perhaps that maid was right all those years ago, perhaps it had been the Devil's mark, considering someone had used it in a satanic ritual to take her life. Had someone tried to kill her before? Maybe now she had motivation enough to find out what it all meant. Was that not why she had come back?