While were young, p.9
The Devil's Flower, page 9
part #1 of The Eternal Beings Series
Her eyes narrowed. "But I felt something, and now my finger’s healed. How?"
"Can't you just accept the favor and forget about it?"
"But . . . ."
The silver pigment in Steele's irises faded. He stared back at her with a pair of chilling, gray eyes. Rosalie lost her train of thought. She cringed and pulled her gaze away.
She looked down and, for the first time, noticed the bloodied rose on the sofa between them. She picked it up. Blood splattered its petals, and a few drops had pooled in its center. As she stared at the flower, another memory came crashing into her head so fast it made her jerk back.
Memories of flying. Eloa, her mother, floating in a beautiful garden of white roses. Wings dripping blood, and her falling. Falling through space and time. A sea of blood-splattered white roses surrounding her. The faces of the bikers: evil, glaring faces. Steele's face. Her heart raced as she tried to push herself up off the bar floor, while the evil closed in around her.
"Ambriel!"
That word, and the sharpness it had been spoken with, jolted her back to reality.
Another voice in the distance took over, bringing her completely into the present. Steele. Fully back now, she couldn't stop staring at his eyes that were silver once again.
* * * * *
"Are you okay?" he asked, staring into her frightened eyes. Then it hit him. She knew, even if only subconsciously—she knew.
Rosalie stood up in a rush.
Steele didn't restrain her this time.
"I have to go," she said.
He didn't like the anxiety in her voice. Her panic made him panic.
"Where? You have to go where?"
"Upstairs. I just have to be alone." She was already out the door and into the hall. She didn't look back, and he didn't stop her.
After she left, he picked up the bloodied rose and held it under his nose. The metallic scent of the blood overpowered the flower’s sweet perfume. He stood and faced the dying fire, wondering what had just happened between them. Anger welled, and he threw the flower onto the hot embers. Flames shot upward and out into the room, making him jump back. The eyes of the demon over the fireplace blazed to life.
Steele looked into those eyes and said calmly, "I know. She's the one, and now I think she knows it."
* * * * *
Rosalie struggled for understanding. She slammed the bedroom door shut behind her and leaned against it for support. Her head felt like it was going to explode. The vision, still stuck there, was nothing more than a dream she'd had.
"Just a dream," she whispered. So why did it feel like a part of her? She lifted her hands to the sides of her head in frustration.
She wanted badly to go back downstairs and apologize, but she was too embarrassed. No wonder Steele treated her like a child. She ran out of the den just like one. What did he think of her now?
She felt grateful her new room had its own bathroom. The space wasn't grand like Blaze and Lithium's, but it sufficed. She washed the blood off her hand, splashed her face with cool water, then curled up on the crimson coverings on top of her bed and hugged a round cushion to her chest.
Absently, Rosalie rubbed her thumb against the spot on her finger where the thorn had stuck her. She lifted it to her face. There wasn't a mark that she could see. The tiny wound had completely healed itself, or something had healed it. She remembered the look in Steele's eyes. Had the shimmer really drained out of them, leaving them cold and gray, or had she imagined the change?
The vision she'd had popped into her head again.
"Ambriel." The word slid from her mouth in a whisper. The name meant something to her, although she didn't know what. She hadn't meant to, but after lying there for a good hour sifting through the day's events, she fell asleep.
* * * * *
When Rosalie awoke the next morning, all of her things were in the room she occupied. Someone had brought them in while she slept. Someone had even tucked the envelope of money inside her purse; the white edge peeked over the leather trim. She rolled onto her back and looked at her finger, remembering the numb, tingly feeling after Steele kissed it. The thorn had made a substantial puncture in her skin—she was sure of it—and now, it was as if the wound had never happened.
Anxious to start the day, she threw the covers off and got up. She showered, dressed in her own jeans and T-shirt, then went downstairs seeking answers.
But this morning was the same as every other morning; the deserted lodge held no one except for her. After searching the familiar rooms, she decided to explore some less-familiar territory. But every door she came across was locked. Frustrated, Rosalie went to the kitchen.
She leaned against the cupboard for an immeasurable amount of time, pondering what had transpired in the den the previous night. Then she decided to take her frustrations out on the kitchen by making spaghetti sauce.
Rosalie spent the next two hours banging pots and dishes. She knew Steele was avoiding her, and the thought made her angry. How could he kiss her so passionately, then look at her so coldly, and today, avoid her altogether?
When she finished cooking, she cleaned up the splattering of sauce accumulated around the pot, and then she returned to her assigned bedroom.
Bored, she lay across the unmade bed, staring at the striations of light cast across the ceiling from the small chandelier bulbs. Bored with thinking about the changing color of Steele's eyes and the miraculous healing, she attributed those to her over-active imagination and moved on. The kiss held all her interest now.
She tried to remember exactly how his lips had felt against hers, but the memory’s intensity had faded with time. So instead, she fantasized about him kissing her again until she unwittingly fell asleep.
The next thing Rosalie heard was the electronic ringtone of a cell phone. The sound was close to the other side of her bedroom door. Once the ringing stopped, she heard Steele's muffled voice. Her heart skipped a beat. Had he been on his way to see her?
She glanced at the clock on the night table and shook her head. She’d slept the afternoon away, ruining her plans to surprise everyone with supper.
She jumped off the bed, went to the bathroom to fix herself up, and then exchanged her spaghetti-sauce-splattered T-shirt for a black tank top. In the time it took her to make herself presentable, she had talked herself into apologizing to Steele for running out on him the night before, but as she approached her bedroom door, she realized the talking on the other side had stopped. Careful not to make a sound, she opened the door a crack and peeked into the darkening hallway.
The door across from hers stood ajar. She could see nothing but darkness beyond. Quietly, she took a step into the hallway. Just as she closed her door behind her, the one across from hers swung open.
Chapter Twelve
Steele stepped into the hall, wearing his fully patched leather vest. As always, he carried himself with the commanding presence of a high-ranking officer. When her eyes met his, he came to a sudden stop.
The day's last splash of sunlight shone through the window at the end of the hallway, illuminating Rosalie's face and hair. One streak in particular gleamed across her eyes, irritating her, but her hand remained frozen to the doorknob behind her, and her feet stayed frozen to the floor. Her throat was suddenly dry, her swallow labored. Apology—right, that's what she was going to do. But, as she stood face-to-face with the dangerously attractive guy who had kissed her the previous night, her words stuck in her throat.
An awkward moment passed before Rosalie conjured up the courage to speak. "Hey, I don't know why I freaked out last night, but I'm sorry."
The door clicked shut behind Steele. "What, exactly, happened?"
She shook her head, embarrassed. "It was a stupid dream I had recently, kind of a nightmare, really. It popped into my head when I saw the blood on the rose."
"What was it about?"
The way Steele's eyebrows knitted together over his glaring eyes warned Rosalie that his questions were an interrogation of some kind, and she grew more uncomfortable. She released the doorknob and stepped away from the streak of light, putting herself one step closer to her interrogator.
She let out a nervous laugh. "Flying and falling, roses with blood on them. Stupid, I know."
She rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "Are you going somewhere?"
As if her answers satisfied him, Steele relaxed his shoulders. "Uh, yeah. I have to go out for a bit."
"Oh." The small word conveyed a world of disappointment.
She saw a moment of inner struggle on Steele's face, and then he asked, "Do you want to go for a ride?"
Rosalie's eyebrows shot up. Yes, she wanted to. "Maybe I shouldn't. I mean, I wouldn't want to interfere with whatever it is you do. I don't want to get in the way."
"It's just a ride, but you don't have to if—"
Afraid he might change his mind, she cut him off almost too eagerly. "No. I want to."
She watched his face for signs of regret in asking her, but there weren't any. In fact, his lips twitched as if he were about to smile.
"I'll just go get ready," she told him.
"Okay, I'll wait downstairs."
* * * * *
Rosalie beamed with excitement as she stood in front of the mirror tucking her tank top inside her low-rise jeans. She found a wide leather belt decorated with metal studs amongst Jade's clothing and threaded it through the loops of her jeans. She pulled on a pair of Jade's leather boots—the high-heeled ones—then adjusted the metal buckles running down the legs. After adding a touch more make-up and silver hoop earrings, she stood in front of the floor-length mirror, admiring how badass she looked. Her hair could've used more attention, but she didn't have time to fool with styling, so she ran her fingers through it and let it hang loose around her shoulders. She smiled, satisfied.
She finished off her look by slipping on Jade's unadorned leather jacket. Rosalie decided to wear it opened. She figured Jade's jacket with the Paladin insignia was probably tucked away somewhere with Viper's jacket.
As if to remind her of who she was, her gold cross gleamed between the flaps of leather. She considered taking it off, but when her grandmother's image popped into her head, she decided to leave it on. The necklace had been a gift from Grams on Rosalie’s confirmation day, when she was fourteen, and she’d worn it ever since. Who said bikers couldn't wear crosses? Who says I’m even a biker?
The soft glow from the faux candle flames on top of the black iron wall sconces lit her way as she journeyed from her room toward the front door. She grabbed the polished wood railing, almost holding herself back instead of propelling herself forward as she made her way nervously down the log staircase.
With every step she took, Rosalie's heart fluttered with a medley of emotions. Would Steele approve of the way she was dressed? Did she even have the right to dress like one of them? She certainly hadn't earned the right to any of their ways, and she wasn't sure if she wanted that honor.
As Rosalie approached the front door, she heard heated voices outside. Standing as straight and tall as possible, she took a deep breath and opened the door.
Steele and Blaze's conversation ended abruptly. They both turned to look at her. Steele acted as if he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut.
Blaze, however, had no trouble expressing her opinion. "Wow! You look awesome, girl!"
Rosalie beamed at her compliment, but she really wanted Steele's approval. To her disappointment, he stayed silent. She frowned and looked at Blaze.
"It's not too over the top, is it?"
"Over the . . . ? Ah, no. If anything, you're missing an accessory."
Steele glared at Blaze, shaking his head subtly.
"Oh?" Rosalie couldn't imagine what it could be, unless Blaze meant a weapon of some sort.
"Leather pants, or chaps, whichever you prefer," Blaze said, grinning.
With a look of annoyance, Steele said, "She's fine the way she is."
Not exactly what she wanted to hear, but Rosalie took his words as a compliment. After all, he’d said them in her defense. When he reached for her hand and pulled her down the steps, she smiled secretly at Blaze, who winked in return. Rosalie didn't miss the intense look Steele exchanged with Blaze, either.
He walked hurriedly, causing her to extend her stride beyond normal to keep up. To Rosalie, he seemed either in a hurry to get somewhere or just anxious to get away from the lodge.
When they reached the garage, Steele stopped in a darkened area away from the front light and released her hand. He turned to face her.
In Jade's heels, Rosalie stood only a few inches shorter than he did. She stared at the strong outline of his features, barely visible under the glow of the waning moon.
She felt his gaze on her as he gave her the onceover.
"So, does this mean you're staying?" he asked.
Rosalie hesitated, not sure what to say. Not sure, yet, if he really wanted her to stay.
"Stay," he said when she didn't immediately answer, not making a demand, but rather what came across as a simple plea. A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, which in turn made Rosalie grin.
"I guess I'll stay, then."
"Look, about yesterday . . . I'm not really good at apologies . . . I—"
She interrupted his stammering, hoping to make it easier for him. "Forget it. Let's start now."
The moonlight reflected off Steele's teeth and the whites of his eyes as he gave her a brilliant smile. Rosalie's heart fluttered.
"You look great," he said. "I guess it kind of stunned me when you came out looking like that."
"I can wear the jacket, right? There isn't some rule against it, is there?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't have put it in the box if you couldn't wear it. Besides, it doesn't have decorations."
"Cool," she said.
* * * * *
Steele gave a mental shake of his head. You look great understated her appearance by a long shot; the girl standing before him was smoldering hot. His heart accelerated at the sight of her. She barely looked like his Rose, yet she looked exactly like her.
The sudden fear of losing her to someone else flashed in his mind. But how could you lose something that didn’t belong to you in the first place? There wasn't a man in the universe who wouldn't want a go at her—including his own pride of hungry lions—and the way she was dressed would only add to the other club members’ fury. He would have to stay close to her at all times.
He reached out and picked up a lock of her hair from where it rested on her shoulder, fiddling with the strands, working them around his fingers. When he saw her lips part and her tongue peek out to moisten them, he couldn't resist her any longer.
Steele slid his arms around Rosalie's waist and pulled her close. The feel of her in leather brought him to a whole new level of excitement. Rosalie slid her hands up his arms. When her fingers connected with his neck, he closed his eyes and let his mouth cover hers. Softly, he kissed her, savoring her, losing himself in the tingles that shimmered over his entire body. Just as the intensity of the moment escalated, a brilliant light flashed on the side of them. Blinded, they broke apart.
"For Christ sake! Either get a room or get your bike. There are people waiting for you."
* * * * *
Squinting through the brightness assaulting her retinas, Rosalie could just make out Lexie perched on top of a silver bike.
Steele ignored his sister’s sarcastic comment, stepped back from Rosalie and went into the garage.
A moment later, Rosalie heard Steele's bike rumble to life. Seconds after that, he rode out of the garage and stopped beside her. She looked at the silver and black, full-faced helmet in his hand and frowned.
"Jesus, you're not giving her that bucket to wear," Lexie said.
At least she and Lexie agreed on something.
With a disgusted look, Lexie got off her bike.
"Give me that," she said, snatching the helmet from Steele's hand. She disappeared inside the garage, and after a few seconds, reappeared holding a smaller, black helmet she dusted off with her sleeve. With a frosty glare, she thrust it at Rosalie.
Rosalie took the helmet and fastened it under her chin; it fit perfectly.
With her hands on her hips, Lexie looked at Steele. "Any objections?"
"Okay, okay, at least it's a helmet," he said, obviously defeated. He looked at Rosalie, smiled, and said, "As far as I'm concerned, it's not enough protection, but the style suits you."
"How come you guys don't have to wear helmets?" Rosalie asked.
"Because we're all grown up," Lexie said. She twisted her skinny wrist and revved her bike, giving Steele an irritated glare. "Can we go, now that the princess' brains are protected?"
Rosalie couldn't help but grin at the situation. She threw her leg over Steele's bike seat and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Lexie allowed Steele to take the lead. The two motorcycles headed up over the hill toward the clubhouse.
Four bikes joined them in the parking lot. One rider Rosalie recognized by his dreadlocks as the guy called Blake. She had no idea who the other three men were.
Steele got off his bike and approached them. The one he addressed as Serge reminded Rosalie of a hippy. He was the only one besides her who wore a helmet—but his was a green army helmet. His gray hair, knotted and twisted together, hung nearly as long as Rosalie's. He dressed differently from the others, too. His camouflage pants had many pockets with heavy bulges—no doubt weapons of some sort. Instead of a leather vest or jacket, he wore a green, U.S. Army jacket, with the Army insignia down the sleeves. But when he turned, Rosalie saw the three-piece Paladin patch sewn to the back. Serge twisted one end of his mustache as he spoke with Steele.
Rosalie slid to the front of the bike and grabbed the handle grips.
Lexie leaned toward her. "I wouldn't look too hard at Serge if I were you, princess."
Rosalie watched him out of the corner of her eye. "What's the big deal?"
"He doesn't trust anyone, except for Steele and a few others."
"Not even you?"
