The Devil's Flower, page 8
part #1 of The Eternal Beings Series
* * * * *
Rosalie heard muffled noises, like the sound of people talking from another room. She knew her head would burst open if she moved it, and her left arm felt stiff and sore. As she lay there, attempting to sort out her confusion, she felt a sting that reminded her of something. The voices became louder; she could focus on them better. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the faces of four people gazing down on her.
As always, Lexie appeared annoyed, Lithium gave Rosalie a sweet smile, and Blaze looked as if someone had poured battery acid over her favorite leather pants and then set them on fire. But the expression on Steele's face stood out above the others. His tanned skin looked usually pale, and in his eyes, she saw regret, sadness, and above all, fear.
She opened her dry lips to speak. "I—"
"How do you feel, Rosebud?" Lithium asked.
"Does it hurt to move?" Blaze asked.
"Keep your head still while I wipe the blood away," Lexie said. "This chaise isn't leather. If you get blood on it, the stain will never come out."
Rosalie ignored them and focused her attention on Steele, who leaned awkwardly over the back of the chaise, staring at her.
"I'm sorry," she said in a weak voice. "I guess I had an accident."
"No," he said, his expression remorseful, "I'm sorry."
Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him.
"If I hadn't told you to leave . . . ."
Blaze laid a hand on his back, and Steele shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together, as if to hold back the rest of his words.
The memory of the motorcycles zooming past her and her car heading toward the ditch, out of control, came flooding back to Rosalie. She tried to sit, but the pain from her injuries wouldn't allow it, so she stayed on her back. "I didn't hit any bikers, did I?"
Steele flicked a concerned gaze to Lithium.
Lithium put his hand on her head above the cut and gently pushed her hair back from her face. "You didn't hit anyone, and no one hit you. Don't worry yourself, Rosebud. Now, how do you really feel?"
"Sore . . . and a little stiff. My head's killing me." Slowly, she moved her arms and legs together, wincing as she did. "But I think overall I'm fine."
With Lithium's hand on her back, she eased herself into a sitting position. Blaze handed her a glass of water and two Tylenol. Rosalie drank half and handed the glass back to her.
"How's the car?" she asked, hoping the news wouldn't be too bad.
"It's nothing our guys can't fix," Lithium assured her.
"Good. I'll pay them, of course." She stared straight ahead, past the picture window to the river beyond. "And I'll leave as soon as it's ready."
* * * * *
Steele didn't comment. She needed to leave . . . even more so now.
With the new revelations, he would have to watch her like her bodyguard—not only outside, but within the lodge, as well. How in the hell was he going to watch her every minute of the day?
While Blaze helped Rosalie get settled in her new room, Steele sat on the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands. She could have died, and he barely said anything to her when she came to. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he ever just be nice to her? He'd been a total jerk to her all these days. She should hate him, and maybe she did. He sucked in a breath at the thought. He didn’t think he could take it if she hated him.
He had to get her out of there, out of his life, away from them all, and he had to do that soon. She said she'd leave once her car was fixed, but he knew Blaze and Lithium wouldn't allow that to happen. Steele would play along with their game, and when the opportunity struck, he would sneak her away himself.
* * * * *
Later that day, Steele met with Lithium and Blaze in the den.
"How is she?" he asked Blaze.
"She's fine. I took some soup up to her earlier and sat with her while she ate. Then she took a couple more Tylenol and slept for a while. Now she's outside walking around."
For some reason, Steele doubted the veracity of Blaze’s words and decided to check on Rosalie himself later, to see how she was doing.
"Seriously," Blaze said, reassuring him. "She's fine."
"Why are you guys doing this? Why don't you just let her leave? She'll forget about us—"
Blaze cut him off. "Will she ever forget? I don't think so. Even though she doesn't know it yet, a higher power has sent her here to do a job, and whether she completes the task or dies trying, eventually, she will comply with her instincts, for it is bred into her to kill the Fallen Ones."
"Also"—Lithium jumped in—"because we see the way you look at her. We're not totally heartless."
He put his arm around the love of his life and pulled her close. "You can't deny your feelings for her, Steele. Maybe we'll find a way to change the demolition course she's on so no one gets hurt."
More alert now, Steele sat up. "Let's see if we can do that, then. I won’t agree to any other option. But what about your immortality? You won't kill her for it?"
"It's your immortality too, Steele," Blaze reminded him.
He knew all too well what it would cost him to keep her alive. He needed only three things from an Entity of Light to become immortal—to have all the power he could ever want. But what did he need with all that power? Wasn't he powerful enough already? Blaze and Lithium, however, would kill her for it, and he knew it. He also knew they were biding their time until another opportunity presented itself. Only their love for him had caused them to grant her this slight reprieve.
Steele stood, turned toward the roaring fireplace, and gulped down the rest of his drink. Lithium and Blaze were right about one thing. He couldn't deny the chemistry between Rosalie and him. She added to the war that raged within him and at the same time, softened all his rough edges.
A soft knock startled him. He turned back to the room as Blaze opened the door.
"Did you want to see me?" Rosalie asked and stepped inside.
Steele glared at Blaze before he turned to look at the innocent angel that stood before them. Obviously, she had showered recently. Moisture ran down the length of her hair to the curled tips, dampening the front of the pink T-shirt she wore. The shirt wasn't one of Jade's. Steele figured Rosalie'd dug it out of her own stuff. A denim skirt covered the top half of her thighs, and from its frayed hem to her feet, her skin was bare. In her hands, she held a small bouquet of white roses, which she must have picked from the bushes alongside the front doorstep.
She looked as young and innocent standing before her immortal enemies now as she had the first day Steele had laid eyes on her. Is this how she will weaken us? he asked himself, and then quickly dismissed the thought. No one who looked as sweet as Rosalie did could ever do anything to cause his downfall.
As Blaze opened her mouth to speak, Lexie blew through the doorway, pushing past Rosalie. She flopped down in an empty chair.
"Did I forget about a meeting or something?" she asked sarcastically.
Everyone ignored her.
Blaze walked over to Rosalie, threw an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her all the way into the room.
"W-what's going on?" Rosalie asked, her voice cracking.
"Nothing at all. Everything's fine, Rose." Blaze patted her back. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better. Whatever was in that tea took away the pain."
The wheels in Steele's head started spinning. He would investigate the tea supply later.
"Steele has something he wants to tell you," Blaze said.
Steele raised his eyebrows and glared at Blaze. How could she do this to me? When he didn't say anything, the vibe in the room grew awkward.
"Well, we have other things to do," Blaze said suddenly. She let go of Rosalie and motioned for Lithium and Lexie to follow her.
"I don't have anything else to do," Lexie said, staring defiantly at Steele, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers drumming the arm of the chair.
Steele motioned with his head for her to leave with the others. Lexie pursed her lips. She got to her feet and followed Lithium and Blaze out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Steele shrugged and turned back to the fireplace.
"Well, what's up?" Rosalie asked.
Steele took a deep breath and turned to look at her. As always, when his gaze met hers, his heart gave a little flutter, something he'd never experienced before she came into his life. Something about the way the pink T-shirt and denim skirt molded perfectly to her curves made him content enough to stare at her forever and never have to say a word.
But he had to say something. He swallowed, took a few steps toward her, and in a soft, almost defeated voice said, "You can stay."
She let out an adorable little gasp that went straight to his heart and threw her arms around his neck. After a brief pause, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her waist. Rosalie's body was unusually warm against his. Her heat penetrated his clothing, seeped into his skin, and warmed the inhuman blood flowing through his veins in a way nothing else ever had.
Steele had his fingers locked together behind her back. He wished he had the strength to move them, but he didn't. He felt as if Rosalie was the first girl he'd ever touched and suddenly, he didn't know what to do.
The heat from the raging fire in the hearth behind him heightened the aroma of the roses in her hand. Their petals tickled the back of his neck. He bent his head forward, allowing himself the luxury of feeling her silken hair against his cheek. Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed in deeply. Along with the roses, the fruity scent of her freshly washed hair aroused him beyond the boundaries of normal. The inability to smell as vividly as a full human was another curse. There was always scent, but only enough to tease, never enough to satisfy. Rosalie awakened parts of him he never knew existed.
She lifted her head and pulled back, but didn't let go. Her hands slid to the front of his shoulders. With a dazzling smile that touched her eyes, she said, "Thanks."
She didn't seem in a hurry to let go. Was he supposed to release her first? He wanted to live in this moment forever but, as if his body wasn’t connected to his brain, his arms fell to his sides.
Rosalie took a step back, her smile clearly edged with disappointment. The new passion in Steele's body spread to his face, and he smiled warmly.
"Come here," he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her gently to the sofa.
Chapter Eleven
Rosalie's heart swelled. She sat sideways on the sofa. Steele faced her, his fingers still curled around her wrist, gripping her tightly, but not unpleasantly so. Then, as if he just realized he still held her, he let go and pulled his hand away.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to force you."
She gave him a reassuring smile that brought the warmth back into his face. "It's fine. You didn't. I'm just glad you didn't walk out on me again."
"Yeah, I seem to do that a lot."
She nodded, longing for his touch again, wishing she didn't feel as awkward as Steele looked. Just when she couldn't bear the brief separation between them a moment longer, he slid his hand under hers and held it gently.
"So, do you really want me to stay? Or were you talked into it?"
* * * * *
Her question caught him off guard. His gaze fell on the delicate hand in his palm. He couldn't imagine her killing a fly with it, let alone shooting a gun.
He hesitated before lifting his eyes to hers. The look of anticipation on her face was like that of someone knowing they were about to receive a marriage proposal. He knew what his acceptance meant to her, and he couldn't help but smile. But when his words came out, they were not at all what he had planned to say.
"It's not that I don't want you here, Rose." He watched her smile slowly fade, and he didn't want a repeat of what had happened that morning. He shook his head. "No. That's not what I meant to say."
"Just say what you mean." She had asked him a straight question, and now he had to give her a straight answer.
"Yes. I want you to stay. It's just that when you're near, I feel this uncontrollable urge to protect you, from everything . . . right down to you getting a chill." He played with Rosalie's fingers and had a hard time concentrating on his words. "You change who I am when I'm around you. And I don't know how to deal with that."
"Just be yourself. I don't want you to change who you are. I like the person sitting in front of me right now."
She slid her hand to his wrist, sending a pleasurable shiver across his skin where she touched him. He lowered his eyes. One of her fingers traced the skull on the inside of his forearm, and her touch drove him mad. It took a huge amount of effort not to pull her to him and kiss her. He had to be gentle. He didn't want to scare her away. Then again, maybe he could get her to leave, if he forced himself on her. But no . . . he would never do that to Rosalie.
Her legs angled across the sofa, hiking her skirt all the way to the top of her thighs. In the dark, shadowed space between her legs, her other hand rested, her fingers loose around the bouquet of white roses. A bruise covered the back of that hand, an injury from the car crash. Steele winced at the sight of the black and blue mark. He lifted his gaze to her face again, to the little cut on her otherwise perfect bottom lip.
"It's not that easy. How can I explain it to you?" His mood darkened as he thought. "Maybe it's like the way a parent feels for their child, or at least is supposed to feel. I wouldn't know, personally. But you know . . . the way parents get overprotective?"
He confused even himself with his analogy of his feelings for her, and he knew he was getting everything wrong.
* * * * *
Disappointment and anger clouded Rosalie’s emotions. "So, you think I'm a child? Is that why you're holding my hand?" She snatched her hand back. "So I won't wander off and get lost?"
He grinned. "You act like one sometimes."
She felt her cheeks warming with anger and knew they would be turning a deep shade of red. With her teeth clenched, she stood to leave, but Steele latched onto her arm before she could take a single step, and he pulled her back to the sofa. She fell onto the seat right next to him, and one of her legs landed on top of his.
Too afraid to lift her head and let him see the new flurry of excitement that raged within her—instead of the anger that should've been there—she focused on the rise and fall of his chest muscles beneath his T-shirt. Her heart pounded with a new hunger.
"Rose."
She summoned enough courage to lift her gaze. He looked down on her, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made her forget about the danger, the hurt, and the anger.
He slid his hands around the back of her neck. The coolness of his skin on hers sent a shiver down her spine. His touch wasn't at all forceful like she'd expected, but tender. Their faces were only inches apart. She held her breath and waited.
"Would I do this to a child?" he said as his open mouth came down on hers, capturing her lips with his.
At first, she felt too stunned to respond, but when she heard the faint moan emanating from deep inside him, her senses came alive as never before. She found his neck with her free hand and buried her fingertips in his hair. And she kissed him back with all the passion inside her.
His hands were on either side of her face now, holding her tightly to him.
Rosalie felt the coolness of his rings against her skin as he slid his palms down her cheeks to her neck, over her arms, and then back up. She pressed her upper body to his, and suddenly, the kiss ended with a muffled squeal.
They sprang apart. Rosalie's mouth hung open in a silent scream. Her hand holding the roses had been sandwiched between her body and his. Rosalie held up that hand. Fresh blood trickled down the length of her index finger, across the back of her hand, all the way to her wrist, where it dripped onto a single rose that rested between them.
"Ow," she said suddenly.
Steele shook his head. "I've never seen anyone bleed as much as you do, Rose."
While Rosalie stared at her bleeding finger, Steele took her gently by the wrist and wiped off the blood with his T-shirt.
She gasped, appalled at the thought of soiling his stark white shirt. She tried to pull her hand back, but Steele's grip was strong.
"It's just a shirt. It doesn't matter," he said while he decorated the front of it with long, crimson streaks.
She grimaced every time the material touched her finger.
Once he’d cleared away some of the blood, he took a closer look. "Ah, that's the problem. You've got a thorn stuck in your skin."
To her utter astonishment, he raised her finger to his mouth, pulled the thorn out with his teeth, picked it off his tongue, and then kissed her fingertip. She wasn't sure, but she thought she felt the tip of his tongue graze over the place the thorn had pierced her. Instantly, the sting vanished, replaced by a soothing numbness.
He lifted his mouth away. "Do you have a low pain tolerance?"
His question, delivered so innocently, did something strange, taking her to a place she didn't want to be. Visions of her stepfather forcing himself on her clouded her thoughts. Usually, she would fill her mind with white noise and close it off to the world around her until he did his thing. She never experienced any discomfort—not until afterward, anyway. So really, she considered herself to have a high tolerance for pain.
"Rose?" He shook her by the wrist gently when she didn't answer.
She pushed the bad memories to the back of her mind, where she knew they would always be, and looked at him. "No. I don't. I can usually handle a lot of crap."
Her words were harsh. Steele looked at her as if she'd just slapped him.
"I'm sorry. I just had a memory of something I'd rather not think about." She forced a smile.
"My finger feels better," she said on an up-note. And it did.
He released her hand, and she took a closer look. The bleeding had stopped. In fact, she couldn't see a wound or any evidence of a thorn prick, except for the tiny bit of drying blood on her hand.
She looked at him warily. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," he answered casually. A little too casually.
