While were young, p.26
The Devil's Flower, page 26
part #1 of The Eternal Beings Series
"I tried to kill him; he couldn't be any more pissed off. It's too late to turn things right now."
For a moment, Rosalie thought she saw remorse in Blaze's eyes, but as quickly as the expression appeared, it faded away, and Blaze’s features hardened to stone.
"And now, you're gonna pay for the angel's pathetic attempt to kill me."
Blaze, still pointing the gun at Rosalie, reached inside her shoulder bag and pulled out Rosalie's dagger. With her teeth, she unsnapped the sheath and let it fall to the bed. She wrapped her long fingers around the dagger's leather-bound hilt, and holding the knife above Steele's chest, pointed the tip downward.
"Wait!" Rosalie said. "I'm sorry, okay? You have me, so let's just go, before someone comes and finds you here."
"Nice try, angel, but we both know that no one knows I'm here. Now, I'm going to lower the gun, and if you so much as blink, I'll drive this knife so far through his chest it'll come out the other side."
Horrified, Rosalie held perfectly still. She watched Steele's fingers curl into fists and the muscles in his arms tighten, making his veins pop.
"Don't worry, Rose. This isn't the first situation I've ever been in."
"But it's the first you won't escape from," Blaze said.
Blaze was right. If the poison-tipped blade so much as scratched his skin, the toxin would kill him. He was powerless, and knowing Steele, he would never beg for his own life. Rosalie would have to endure the horrors of watching him die.
Blaze lowered the dagger. Steele's chest muscles twitched under the tip of the blade, as if they were trying to back away from the inevitable. His jaw tightened as the tip of the knife grazed his skin.
The knife scraped against his flesh, and Rosalie gasped.
"Stop! You'll kill him!"
With a cool grin, Blaze replied, "He won't die right away. I've barely grazed him."
Unable to watch anymore, Rosalie turned her head away and looked in the opposite direction, but Blaze yanked her back around.
"What did I tell you? Now stand there and don't move."
Rosalie felt faint and hauled in a few deep breaths. She watched through tear-filled eyes as Blaze scraped a large X over Steele's tribute to his brother—directly over his heart. Two thin lines of blood formed over his tattoo and trickled down his side, dripping onto the bed sheet.
Although Steele’s face was an angry mask of stone, Rosalie saw him flinch.
Without a miracle, their lives would soon be over. Whatever Blaze's plans were, Rosalie hoped the witch would get them over with quickly.
With a satisfied grin, Blaze wiped the blade on the blanket over Steele's legs, then put the knife on the edge of the bed. She turned to look at Rosalie. "The poison is already seeping into his body. He's already feeling heat that will soon turn into fire."
Rosalie swallowed hard, feeling as if she had a lump the size of a golf ball in her throat. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe through the pain.
Blaze scraped a fingernail across Rosalie's chin. "But don't worry, angel, the wound is so close to his heart, the pain won't last long before he dies."
"Don't listen to her, Rose. It doesn't hurt."
She knew by the strain in Steele's voice that he lied. Rosalie lifted her gaze from the massacred tattoo and turned to glare at Blaze.
Blaze grabbed Rosalie by the hair and thrust her face close to Steele's. "Say goodbye to your darling Rose. She's all mine now."
His warm breath feathered across her lips. She leaned in closer, intent on giving him one last, parting kiss, but before she could reach him, Blaze yanked her back.
"Damn you," Rosalie whispered under her breath.
Now Blaze leaned over Steele, bringing her face close to his. She looked as if she were about to kiss him, and that thought caused Rosalie to see red. She sprang, shoving Blaze sideways, knocking her onto the bed to collapse across Steele's legs.
Making the most of her adrenaline rush, Rosalie reached inside Blaze's shoulder bag. She fumbled around until she felt the gun’s cold steel brush her fingertips. Rosalie grabbed the weapon the same time as Blaze pushed herself off the bed. Rosalie jumped back, both hands steady on the demon-slayer she aimed at Blaze's rage-filled face. The trigger lock clicked open.
Blaze lifted her hand and turned it over; blood trickled down her wrist from a small scrape to the outside edge of her palm. She covered the wound with her mouth and looked at Rosalie with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
"That won't help, Blaze," Steele said. "You can heal the wound, but the poison is already working its way toward your black heart."
Rosalie's mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Blaze's hand had fallen on the poison-tipped dagger when Rosalie pushed her.
"You need an antitoxin from the asylum. It's the only cure, and you know it," Steele said.
But Blaze didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Steele. Instead, she glared dangerously past the gun pointed at her face and into Rosalie's terrified eyes.
Blaze let her wounded hand drop to her side. With a quick glance, Rosalie saw that the cut had already healed. Blaze raised her gun, and Rosalie staggered backward but kept her outstretched hands steady.
"Put the gun down, Rose, before you hurt someone," Blaze said, the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. When Rosalie didn't obey, Blaze swung her long arm, redirecting her aim at Steele's face. Her eyebrows rose. "It's your choice."
Rosalie tore her gaze away from Blaze to check on Steele. His expression reflected what looked like unbearable pain. She searched his eyes for instructions, a signal of any kind, but she only saw the pain of the poison gleaming in their silver depths.
As Rosalie stared, a gunshot blast tore through the room.
* * * * *
Steele watched in horror as Rosalie's body jerked backward and her eyes closed. His heart felt as if it stopped beating in that instant.
Blaze fell.
Rosalie’s eyes burst open.
Blaze lay in an unmoving heap on the floor at Rosalie’s feet.
"Jesus, you did it!" Steele tried to steady his breathing. "For a second, I thought . . . ."
He shook his head and hauled in some more air.
Rosalie stared at the lifeless body between her and the bed. When she spoke, her voice was as shaky as her hands. "Do you think she's dead?"
Steele stretched his neck to look over the edge of the bed. "Judging by the bullet hole in the side of her head, I'd say yes."
Rosalie grimaced at his attempt at humor as she backed away from Blaze's body. Still holding the gun, she pulled on her jeans and boots, moving quickly. She grabbed the knife from the bed and ran to the other side. Although she worked fast cutting the tape holding him bound, he could tell she took extra precautions not to touch the blade to his skin.
Before she could cut all the way through, Steele yanked his wrist free. He expected Rosalie to rush to the other side of the bed and free his other hand, but instead, she ran to the bedroom door and flipped the hidden switch in the wall. With a loud grind, the bars sprang back into the ceiling. From the hallway, he could hear anxious voices coming toward his room.
Rosalie rushed back to the bed, but stopped at the foot. Gun in one hand, knife in the other, she simply stood there.
Something felt wrong. Why wasn't she cutting his other wrist free? Despite the warmth from Rosalie's soul and the fiery demon poison working its way to his heart, a wave of cold fear washed over him.
"What are you doing?" he asked anxiously.
Rosalie spoke fast. "I'm going through the portal."
Steele opened his mouth to protest, but realized she’d never listen to reason. Frantically, he tried to loosen the tape around his other arm, so he could grab her and tie her to the bed if he had to, but in his frustration, he couldn't find the end of the tape.
Someone pounded on the other side of the bedroom door. Lexie, accompanied by Lithium, Knox, and Reggie, all yelled to Steele.
"You can't follow me. You need the antitoxin . . . and I have to do this." Her last words came out sounding like a plea.
"Don't do it!"
She tossed the knife on the bed beside him, ignoring his command, and ran up the loft stairs.
"Rose. For Christ’s sake, can't you just this once do what I tell you? You won't survive the Dark Realm."
She stopped and looked back.
"I love you," she said as the bedroom door burst open. Then she turned and disappeared up the stairs.
With an angry and frustrated roar, Steele jerked forward, forgetting he was still bound to the bedpost by one wrist; he only succeeded in smashing the back of his head against the wood, and the headboard against the wall, sending a picture of him and Viper crashing to the floor.
"Rose. Come back!" He yelled in a voice that didn't sound like his own. There was no response; she hadn't heard him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rosalie had heard Steele's pleas above the rest of the commotion before the secret door shut behind her. With an aching pain in her chest, she ran down the stairs as fast as she could, still holding the gun. She didn't know if the weapon would help her where she was going, but it was all she had, besides the clothes on her back.
She ran as if something were after her, not stopping until she reached the door to the library. She threw it open and sprinted across the small room, past the table, knocking over an unorganized stack of books, not stopping until she reached the door to the portal room. Only then did she pause and take a moment to catch her breath.
A quick check told her she was alone. She turned to the door, eyeing the marble demon statues with dread. As she reached for the knob, the statues' eyes pulsed to life. Fire glowed within the eye sockets, emitting a stinging coldness that penetrated to her core. The door swung open.
Rosalie gulped and forced back the panic that threatened to consume her sanity. She stepped inside the round, earthen room. As if she’d stepped into frigid water, the cold took her breath away. She fought for air. The door slammed shut behind her, making the hairs on the back of her neck spring up like tiny switchblades.
With no choice now but to move forward, she bridged the gap between herself and the circle of white light. As she was about to step inside the portal, pounding on the other side of the door made her pause. Her head snapped in the direction of the noise. Steele yelled to her, yanking on the doorknob. He'd followed her despite the poison rapidly killing him; she'd known he would.
But no matter how hard Steele pounded and pulled, the door wouldn’t yield. Rosalie blinked, sending a single tear down her cheek, wondering at the moisture’s iciness. With a shake of her head, Rosalie blocked out all other thoughts and stepped into the portal.
An onslaught of frigid wind whipped her hair, slapping it against her face, pulling her in a dozen different directions at once. The bitter cold chewed at her flesh until she felt numb all over. She had the sensation of falling, even though her body remained upright. Confusion clouded her mind. For the remainder of the timeless journey through the portal, Rosalie couldn't remember what had brought her there in the first place.
As suddenly as the onslaught began, it ended with swiftness so profound, the stillness startled her as much as the previous ferocity had.
But thankfully, her mind was her own again, and she remembered. Her eyes blinked at a world strangely eerie and calm.
As far as she could see, the Dark Realm appeared flat, with nothing but miles and miles of unbroken terrain. Rosalie spun in a circle, looking for something, anything of interest, but the dried earth bore no living thing, or dead thing, for that matter. No people, no animals, no plants, no buildings. Even the portal—the door back to her world—had disappeared, a fact which served to heighten her terror tenfold.
She shoved the still-cold gun inside the back of her jeans and made her feet move until she was walking. Her body suddenly felt heavy, as if someone had drained her blood and replaced it with lead. Breathing became difficult. The air, thick with sulfurous gas, mixed with a metallic scent Rosalie thought might be rust. She glanced up at the glowing red striations in the brown sky. The closed-in atmosphere looked like an endless blanket, ready to drop on her head and swallow her up.
She lowered her gaze to the horizon and moved, for she saw no other destination in any direction she looked. After an immeasurable amount of time, she felt as if she had accomplished nothing. At one point, she even thought she might be going in circles, but she continued to move her feet anyway.
There were no sounds but her breathing, not even the crunch of dry ground beneath her feet. The journey seemed endless, and she supposed, if she didn’t see something—anything—soon, it very well might be. The invisible heaviness weighing down her body affected her thinking.
Time became inconsequential. Hours, or even days, might have passed, for all Rosalie knew, but she couldn’t give up, had no other option but to continue moving forward. She hadn’t taken such a huge risk simply to stop so she could die here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing.
Thoughts and memories seeped from her mind. She became an empty shell with only one focus: the horizon’s reddish brown glow. Then suddenly, an irregularity in her vision aroused her senses. She blinked, thinking she might have seen something.
An imperfection in the horizon, like a tiny bump or glitch in the once-perfect line where sky met land, gave her a new focus, and she hurried in that direction. She moved faster and faster, increasing her pace until she ran. Her body had apparently grown accustomed to the heavy, acrid air. For what felt like an endless amount of time, she ran as if her life depended on it, never tiring, but her goal never seemed to grow closer.
Once more, she forgot why she was there; she lived for one thing only—to reach the object on the horizon. An object which, in one moment, looked an impossibly long distance away, and in the next, seemed to be closer. Now, she saw it as a dark, irregular-shaped object, a rock, perhaps. But rock or no, Rosalie continued to run toward it.
Without warning, her goal appeared within her reach, and she stopped abruptly. Weary now, she approached at a slower pace. A few steps later, she made out enough details to realize she’d not been chasing after a rock. The dark mass looked like a heap of dark feathers, a mixture of black, blue-black, and gray.
About ten feet from the pile of feathers, Rosalie halted.
The heap moved. Two enormous wings unfurled from a body clothed in black. The creature stood, emitting evil of the purest form.
Rosalie fixed her gaze on a set of gray eyes. Her memories came flooding back to her, drenching her brain like a tidal wave, and with her memories came her forgotten fear.
She took a stagger backward and opened her mouth to speak. "I thought you were dead."
"I am," Blaze said, regarding her threateningly.
Rosalie gulped, hurting her dry throat. She breathed slowly, trying to compose herself.
Blaze was no taller than her normal five-foot-ten inches, but seemed larger than life with the pointed tips of her wings towering well above her head. Blaze in death made a frighteningly awesome sight.
Rosalie reached back and pulled the gun from the waistband of her jeans. With a shaky hand, she fired. The bullets, laced with demon poison, bounced off Blaze and landed on the parched ground at her feet.
Stunned, Rosalie dropped the gun from numbed fingers. The sound of metal hitting the ground jolted her brain. She turned and ran. With a quick check over her shoulder, she saw the giant wings unfold and Blaze leap into the air. Rosalie ran as fast as she could, but Blaze quickly closed the distance between them. A loud swooping sounded above Rosalie’s head, and a scream tore from her throat as Blaze snatched up Rosalie by the armpits. Blaze thrust herself and her prey into the sky, her wings beating against the dense air until they were so high Rosalie could no longer see the ground. She had stopped struggling soon after her feet had left the ground; now, with so much distance between her and land, she held perfectly still.
Blaze pressed her cheek against Rosalie's face.
"Thanks to your perfect aim, angel, I'm stuck in this nightmare forever." Blaze's jaw tightened, and she spoke through her teeth. "And now, you're going to pay with your heart."
Rosalie wondered what she meant but was too afraid to ask.
"Your precious Steele will come to rescue you."
Rosalie's breath caught in her throat.
"And when he does, I will suck your soul from him, and then I'll kill him while you watch."
"He can't enter the portal unless he's soulless," Rosalie blurted, then bit her tongue. Why couldn’t she just keep her big mouth shut?
"Yes, that could present a problem, but Steele's quite resourceful; he'll find a way."
In that moment, Rosalie longed for death, for an end to this nightmare, as Blaze so aptly called it. If she were dead, then perhaps Steele would somehow know, would sense her demise. If he knew she’d died, he’d have no reason to follow her into the Dark Realm, in which case both he and Rosalie’s soul would stay safely on the other side, where Blaze couldn’t touch them.
Without fully thinking through the consequences, Rosalie kicked up a struggle so violent that Blaze lost her grip on Rosalie’s arms. A second later, she plummeted toward the ground, moving faster than Blaze could catch her. For a moment, Rosalie celebrated her victory, but when the sky gave way and ground rushed up, she had second thoughts.
What was I thinking? I don’t want to die. Not like this. Not without a fight.
The terrain below her wasn't the dry ground she'd been snatched from. Instead, she headed straight for an endless sea of white roses. The dream she'd had of Eloa flashed into her head. Maybe it had been a foreshadowing of her death. As she spiraled closer, she spotted something dark amongst the white.
Steele.
No, she thought suddenly, I definitely do not want to die.
Following instincts she didn’t know she had, she pumped her arms frantically.
Wind assailed her eyes. She blinked away moisture and pumped harder. As she fell to within yards of hitting the ground, giant, white wings sprang from her back. From somewhere deep inside her, a primal instinct of how to work them surfaced. She flapped against the wind, angling the tips of the feathers until she flew high above the ground, soaring through the dense air.
