Rozelyn found out she is a vampire when she turned eighteen. To make matters worse, her stepmom is secretly a vampire as well and Cyrill, her stepmom's adoptive son, is a werewolf behind the shadows. As she live the life of being a vampire, several people had come for her—including the infamous Blood Mistress, a witch who hunts vampires and werewolves. Rozelyn become more fascinated with the vampire life, especially when she found out that sex plays a huge role in a vampire's everyday living and it acts like blood: once they tasted it, they will crave for it even more. Will Rozelyn be able to voice out her secret love to Cyrill without risking the familial relationship they have built for years? Or will she watch her loved ones perish due to her identity as the most powerful vampire to ever live? Amidst all these, only one thing is certain: Blood is thicker than water—either literally or figuratively.
View MoreRozelyn.
That was the name my Irish mother Visenna gave me before her very last breath. My father said in his journal— the one I’ve found in that God-forsaken room and recently read minutes ago— that he can still recall her last moments after she gave birth to me. He declared that it was indeed haunting to a person even up to this day. Haunting because being able to witness with your eyes the moment your loved one took their last breath will forever be marked in your memories.
After my Irish mother closed her very eyes, my African father gave me my second name. He told me that the name was derived from a Japanese flower, kind of resembling a tulip but more elegant compared to a usual one.
Nadeshiko.
He told me it had a silent “I” when you pronounce it. He told me that he named me after a flower because, despite my mixed races, my Irish side is still dominant. I don’t know but I kind of have this funny feeling that I sounded like a daughter of a boutique owner since my two names are both flowers.
Well, nevertheless, it kind of has chemistry to my last name: Zadzisai
Yes, I know. It sounds peculiar but it’s actually common to African surnames. Wait ‘till you hear my uncle Imani Onai on how he pronounced my last name.
As I’ve been saying, my name is pretty much well-combined, don’t you think?
Rozelyn Nadeshiko Zadzisai.
Yes, it has a lot of Zs in it but what else do you expect? I was born from two different races and cultures, naming is one of their challenges but they named me impressively despite their varied origins.
By the way, if you’ve been thinking, let me introduce my parents.
My mother was born as Visenna Caoimhe Byrnes
I know you’ve been wondering how to pronounce her second name but it’s pronounced as Kee-va. It’s actually a very popular name here in Ireland that means “the noble one”.
My father is Eku Mazari Zadzisai.He’s quite renowned because he was one of the lucky ones who married a westerner. I mean, it’s considered lucky for an African—according to him.
My father nicknamed me Little Rose. But, my uncle insisted on calling me in a much more unique way. He said that I should have a moniker that would let every head turn around as soon as I have been called.
It was Christmas and I was wearing a bloody red dress that day. My father, my uncle, and our neighbor Thalia Turner unintentionally called me Little Bloody. But, out of nowhere, my uncle called me Bloody Rosie. My uncle Onai nicknamed me eventually as Blood Rose and eventually people know me by that nickname, instead of calling me by my birth name. I don’t know but I kind of like that people call me Blood Rose instead of my real name. It kind of gives me this enthusiastic vibe when they call me Blood Rose.
I also have this feeling that I feel unique in this world since a blood rose is very rare. Red roses, yes. But Blood Roses are one in a million. My father told me once when he was still alive that he found the legendary Blood Rose in a remote land in Tanzania. It is also known as the Blood Tanzanian Rose or Ambrosia for the Greeks.
The Greeks called it Ambrosia since a Blood Rose has quite identical properties to the food of the Gods—both grant immortality to anyone who consumes it. My father also stated in his diary that its petals’ are redder and more vibrant than the reddest blood. Its smell resembles the rusty aroma of fresh blood. And its thorns…its thorns can bleed any finger in a single prick.
Yes, it originates in Tanzania since Tanzanians used this rose in ancient times to prolong the elites’ existence. It is the equivalent to the mythical Fountain of Youth.
As the saying goes, “Legends are once based on truth.” But, due to it being passed from generation to generation, legends eventually became stories—a work of fiction, as they say. Stories that are only told during campfire or bedtime.
But, my father eventually proved the existence and powers of the Blood Tanzanian Rose—with an immensely fatal price. In fact, I am the tangible evidence.
Well, it just makes sense anyway to have that kind of nickname since I am an aspiring psychologist and I mostly take part in “bloody” patients. You know what I mean?
Anyway, I guess this is it for now my Dear Journal.
My stepmom has just popped in in the midst of Sunday morning when the sun was just about to crept into the sky.
Please remind me that I still have to start writing for my English essay that’s to be passed tomorrow. You know that I’m quite forgetful when it comes to essays.
Truly Yours,
Rozelyn
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A Poem from Rozelyn
My name is Rozelyn
And people say that I am a Queen
What they don't know is I am a creature of the night
The moment you see me is the moment you'll never see again the light
I may have green eyes but I seek blood
Once a month, I drink that red liquid like I always had
Beware of me and my family
We lurk the night and lure the weakly
We have powers you have never seen
We have eyes that are so keen
We are three in the family
One who's a mind-reader, the other a duplicator, and the other the most powerful
Amidst of our deadly side, we are also helpful
Because just like every person in the world
Just like every cyclone that whirled
We nightly creatures still have a heart
We still have to play our part
Because just like a bloody red rose that has prickly thorns
A monster has also a heart that is used to adorn and to mourn.
This book is my debut novel [ shrieks in incredulity @_@ ]. I can’t even believe that I have finished it. I originally tended this book to be a stand-alone. But, I become indulged on the own world that I created that I decided to expand it >_< . I know that an urban dark fantasy with a touch of steamy romance is not that popular for online novels. But I still finished it anyway; despite my initial belief that I can’t get pass through 50k words. And here I am, finishing a book with a whopping 70 chapters and more than a hundred thousand words! The sequel and final installment of The Blood Rose saga entitled, “Queen of Vampires and Werewolves”, will be coming this April—or May. Anyway
Rozelyn’s irresistible smell still lingers in his nose, despite the fact that he is already in Avril’s house—in which the pregnant Anaztasia Arryn is also staying. “You okay, Cy?” asked Avril as he handed him a can of beer. Avril Arke’s backyard is so spacious and calming, as if the lushness of this place resembles a virgin forest. “Not really. I…I have hinted to Roz that my heart yearns for her.” A smile tugged on his best friend's lips. “What did she say then?” “She didn’t. She was going to say something but she held back.” Avril took
Anger was still prevalent in Rhella’s heart. “How could he exchange me for that bitch?!” Her voice resonated in her little room, inside Maebh’s estate. “I didn’t.” A deep, familiar voice from behind her. Rhella remembered that she forgot to lock her door. “Who are you? What do you want?” Her voice radiates fear even when she tries to hide it. Especially in her current state that she cannot even summon an ember as magic had completely left her body, thanks to Leonardo Richards. ‘What if this is one of Maebh’s minions trying to kill me as I am now powerless?’ she thought.&nb
“Rozelyn…” He muttered her name as if it was a sacred word, a prayer. “Roz…” “You really think that—never mind!” She jerked her head back to Thalia’s house and saw Rosette and Aruba waving at her, the latter was holding an umbrella. “Hush you two! You’re both already soaked in the rain!” “We’re fine, Aruba,” Rozelyn simply said then walked towards the house, without any umbrella. “Love quarrel, eh?” Aruba teasingly utter. Cyrill just glared at her, then glanced back at Rozelyn. The latter was given a towel
“You didn’t know how happy I was when he was inside me, Roz,” said Rosette. “Yeah, I know.” Rozelyn’s sarcasm mode is turned on again. Rosette rolled her eyes, astonished to Rozelyn’s sudden shift in the mood. “Really? How much did I feel then?” She glared at her, eyes narrowing. “You’re very, very happy that you and your dear Leo have lasted for more than ten rounds.” “Rozelyn!” Thalia reprimanded. “It doesn’t mean you’re an adult, you’re allowed to be very green-minded!” “I’m not being a green-
“It was a pity for a person…” Rozelyn spoke, eyes fixed on the blazing body of Grainne Perkins, “…to die, while knowing that you did everything to live—including the fact that you exchange your freedom for immortality granted by the Blood Rose only to be murdered by a psychotic witch that, heaven knows, how the hell she did that.” Cyrill patted her back, “The Heathens are hiding something, a secret weapon I suppose.” “Grainne was a cancer patient, and had lived for a decade more thanks to the blood rose.” She wiped her face, and then fixed her hair. “Just like Rosette,” said Cyrill. “Yes. Just like Rosette Richards…” “You have done everything you cou
Roz was on the doorstep of Thalia’s home to visit Aruba when her phone rang. “Cy?” She breathed. “Roz, you have to come to the Fortress.” “Whe—” “Now!” Rozelyn wasted no time and headed back to her house. She immediately drove her newly bought car, thanks to Rosette’s gift. Speaking of Rosette, she saw her in one of the windows in the upstairs room of Thalia’s house when she turned around. “Rosette is probably sleeping in Thalia’s house—again.”&
“You’re finally home, Leo.” Leo jerked his head and he saw her.It was the woman he loved, he cared, he fucked, and he had been looking for. Yet, why is she here in the walls of his very home? “How did you enter here, Rosette?” She sauntered towards him, finger tracing his muscular chest. “If there’s a will, there’s a way.” He smirked. Sensing the hotness in the room, he removed his shirt. His sweat-drenched chest didn’t stop Rosette from tracing her fingers. His beloved’s hand landed atop his manhood and he knew then. He knew she was craving for more. “We just have sex earlier, Rosette. I am not surprised you are hungry for more.” Rosette’s face briefly
Cyrill’s heart was still beating fast even though he had already arrived at Vesta’s doorstep. When she called him on the phone, he sensed something was utterly wrong, something eerie; something that is going to happen unexpectedly. And Cyrill supposed it wasn’t a good one. “Vesta?” Cyrill then knocks three times, the perfect number when knocking. Not two or one, but three knocks. According to superstitions, when someone knocks once, it is doubtful if he or she is really a someone—a living person. When one knocks twice, it is said to be inviting a malevolent, unpleasant spirit within the house or building. Despite him being a Pasiphae werewolf, he still upholds and believes in superstitions. After all, there’s nothing wrong
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