The devils flower, p.16
The Devil's Flower, page 16
part #1 of The Eternal Beings Series
"Steele." She moaned the word out as she wrapped one of her legs around his waist. "Steele."
She breathed against his mouth.
It was the first time he'd heard her call him that, and it sent jolts of pleasure through his body.
In that moment, the reality of who he was, and who she was, came rushing at him, and reluctantly, he lifted his head and looked at her.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"This can't happen, Rose."
She slid her hands to his shoulders, pulling him back down to her.
"Yes, it can," she whispered against his lips.
"No," he whispered back. He let his mouth brush hers for longer than he should have dared, and even though her tongue darted between his parted lips, he rolled off her and onto his back. He took a few deep breaths, trying to slow down his adrenaline.
"I'm sorry," he said for at least the third time that day that he could remember. He'd never said those two words as much in the past ten years as he had recently.
Rosalie sprang to a sitting position. The hurt on her face pained him.
"Don't keep pulling me to you if you're just going to shove me away again." She grabbed her sneakers, hurried from the room, and slammed the door shut behind her.
Steele flinched as he heard a second door slam shut. He ran a hand through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. Would she really have gone all the way? He hadn't forgotten that when he'd told her he loved her, she hadn't said it back. Unless she felt the same about him as he did about her, he would feel as if he was taking advantage of her. And since when did Steele, co-leader of the Fallen Paladins, worry about feelings and taking advantage of someone? He took advantage of every situation he'd ever been in. But . . . things were different this time. His world, as he knew it, no longer existed. He was a different person. Not a biker, or a demon with an angel living across the hall, but a man in love.
* * * * *
Rosalie stood for a moment, her back against the door she’d just slammed shut. Then she took a deep breath and engaged the lock, despite knowing that Steele could enter at his leisure. She grabbed her cell phone off the bed, and hurled it across the room in frustration. It bounced softly on a chair in a corner.
She flung herself onto the bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. She knew she was being stubborn. She knew that with everything Steele had just told her, he was right about this. He was probably just protecting her, as he always did. She laughed to herself. This time, he gave up his own pleasure to protect her. And what did she do? She ran from him yet again.
Rosalie sat in the middle of the bed, hugging a pillow, her forehead in her hands, when Steele walked in and strode to the foot of the bed. She looked up at him, thinking it only right that she be the one to apologize this time, before he did it again.
"I'm such an idiot," Rosalie said. She messed her hands through her hair and tried to smile. "You must think I throw temper tantrums all the time, when actually, I'm quite used to people just taking what they want from me and not giving me the chance to throw a tantrum."
She watched him wince at the reference to her abuse.
"I'll kill him," Steele said, surprising her. "All you have to do is say the word. Ending his life wouldn't distress me in the least."
Rosalie knelt at the foot of the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "No. I don't want you to kill for me. You could end up in jail. Besides, that part of my life is over. I'll kill him myself before I let him touch me again."
"I thought you were never going back."
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes. "I think I have to."
He nodded.
She smiled halfheartedly. "Maybe once I learn everything, you won't reject me."
Hurt consumed his features, and she frowned.
"Is that what you think? That I'm rejecting you?" He brushed a strand of hair away from her eye. "Rose, do you know how hard it was for me to stop in there?"
He cupped her face. "It's not you I'm rejecting; it's the act of taking advantage of you. There are things you still don’t know."
"Then teach me."
"I will in t—"
"Steele!" Lexie yelled frantically from somewhere down the hall. "Steele!"
Her shouts travelled closer.
Rosalie and Steele sprang apart as Lexie skidded to a halt at the bedroom door.
"In here," he said.
Lexie's cold gaze met Rosalie's over Steele's shoulder, and then with a sense of urgency, flicked back to her brother.
"Where's your cell phone?" she asked him in a forceful tone.
"It's off. What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed at the intrusion.
Her next words came out in a rush. "Blaze just called. Somebody stabbed Serge, and his bike's been smashed, somewhere on the freeway east of Denver."
"Where's Blaze?"
"She and Lith are on their way there. C'mon," Lexie said, already halfway down the hall.
Rosalie watched Steele's leadership instinct surface. His shoulders straightened, and he seemed to grow taller. Now he looked like the Steele she'd first met, the one she'd almost forgotten about.
"Go. I'll be fine," she assured him with as much urgency in her voice as Lexie had used.
He nodded once and tore down the hall after his sister.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosalie munched half-heartedly on her second mouthful of a late, leftover spaghetti dinner. Her cell beeped. She was surprised to see a text from Lexie.
Meet Steele at clubhouse a.s.a.p.
The idea that Steele asked Lexie to message Rosalie seemed plausible, but why did he want her to go to the club in the dark, and alone? Then again, why not? The building sat just up over the hill, and Rosalie did have her own car, a little scraped and dented, but drivable.
She dumped the rest of her food, then hurried upstairs to get ready. She brushed her teeth hastily and changed into fresh jeans and one of her favorite tops—fitted purple silk with tiny silver beads set in a spider web design across the front. She adjusted the revealing, square neckline, raising it a little higher than the design called for, and pulled on Jade's boots. Rosalie tightened some of the buckles around her legs.
After everything that had happened earlier, she didn't figure she'd find a celebration, but just the same, she wanted to look her best.
On the way out of the bedroom, she glanced sideways at the mirror, thinking that maybe the purple silk made her look over-dressed. She had no idea why Steele wanted her at the club. For all Rosalie knew, Serge could be dead. She hesitated, wondering if she should change into a T-shirt, but the sense of urgency in Lexie's text grabbed Rosalie and pushed her toward the door.
To Rosalie's relief, her car had mysteriously turned up at the lodge the previous day, showing few signs she’d ever been in an accident. She figured Steele had taken care of everything. She made a mental note to ask him who she needed to settle with. Surely, she must owe a sizeable bill, and Rosalie didn’t like owing anyone anything. She didn't know how long she'd be associated with the club, not after the revelations Steele had dropped upon her, but as long as she stayed here, she wanted to pay her own way.
As she pulled into the parking lot, the vibrations from the beat of the music coming from inside the clubhouse overwhelmed the car and everything in it, including Rosalie's body. There were no parking spaces near the building, so she chose the first open spot she came to, close to the road.
She hadn't been inside the place since the night Steele had brought her there—the night they'd met—and she was only slightly less nervous now than she'd been then. After a brief hesitation, she turned off the engine and stepped out onto the gravel, shoving the car keys into the front pocket of her jeans.
With one hand grasping her unzipped jacket together and the other fighting with the wind to hold the hair back from her face, Rosalie made her way through the maze of motorcycles to the bar.
Darkness absorbed the meager illumination from the two streetlights marking each end of the parking lot. Rosalie made her way through the shadows, working to avoid the scattering of mud puddles and broken beer bottles.
Along the way, she searched the parking lot for Steele's bike, but she didn’t recognize any of the motorcycles parked along the front of the building. Alarm bells clanged in her head, warning her to turn back. Wait at the lodge. Lock myself in the room. Better yet, drive as far away as I can, while I can. But the thrill of seeing Steele won out over caution.
She stood at the door, adjusting her wind-blown hair and pulling the neckline of her top up another inch. Her nerves, a tangled network of energy, sizzled under the surface of her skin. She reached for the knob, but before she could open the door, it burst open. Rosalie jumped hastily to the side. Two bikers with Paladin insignia on their vests staggered out the door. With them came a blast of bar air, smelling of smoke and booze and sweat, and other nasty odors Rosalie couldn’t quite name.
She took a step inside, wishing she had earplugs to lessen the assault of the rock music. The large, softly lit room seemed more crowded tonight. At first glance, she didn't see anyone she recognized. But she did take note of how everyone watched her as she made her way to the bar, not knowing where else to go. The upside was that everyone looked friendly this time.
She leaned an elbow on the bar, her fingers fidgeting with an unfastened cuff of her jacket. A frosted-haired man, accompanied by a well-rounded, bleached blonde woman, was making drinks.
"What can I get for you, honey?" The woman yelled across the bar.
Instead of yelling back, Rosalie just smiled and shook her head. She hadn't thought to bring money and wondered if she'd need it. As she stood there, she felt more self-conscious than she ever had in her life. She hadn't been alone her last time here. She combed the crowd, looking for Steele. He was nowhere in sight.
Rosalie turned to look in the other direction, and for the first time noticed a wall covered in framed, eight-by-ten photos of what looked like a couple dozen club members. She walked over to take a closer look.
The first picture on the top row depicted Viper, looking handsome and rugged, with dark hair slightly longer than Steele's and intense, blue eyes like Lexie's; Rosalie had no trouble telling he was their brother. Above the frame hung a brass plaque with the letters R.I.P. Next, a photo of Lithium and after that, one of Steele, the three making up the top row. Rosalie scanned the other pictures until she came to the one she most wanted to see. Three rows down, close to the middle, she saw Jade's picture.
A feeling of deep sadness struck Rosalie in the chest as she stared at Jade. Her hair—a light, strawberry blonde—flowed in loose curls down the front of her jacket . . . the same jacket Rosalie wore tonight. Her eyes filled with moisture.
"It's only a loan," she whispered to the picture, "and I promise I'll take good care of it."
Jade's dimpled smile was sweet and young—nothing like Blaze's seductive one. Rosalie stared, mesmerized by her innocent beauty. She didn't look at all like she belonged to a motorcycle club, even though she sat on her own Harley, clothed in leather, with a helmet in one hand.
"Pretty, huh?"
The sharp voice in Rosalie's ear made the breath catch in her throat. She twisted her neck around to see Blaze, wrapped tightly in leather, sporting a huge, seductive grin.
"Very," Rosalie said, nodding. "So innocent looking."
"Don't let looks fool you," Blaze said.
The dream of Eloa flashed through Rosalie's mind then.
"Sometimes the face of evil isn't necessarily an evil face," she'd said. The warning suited Blaze.
It was the first time Rosalie had seen Blaze since Steele's lesson in demonology. Although she looked like her beautiful self, her presence threatened Rosalie now. But Blaze had no way of knowing that Rosalie knew the truth, unless Steele had told her. She was fairly confident he wouldn't have, so Rosalie tossed Blaze a fake but dazzling smile and hoped she and Lithium were clueless.
Blaze threw a graceful arm across Rosalie's shoulders and guided her to a table at the far end of the room, near a corner stage—something else Rosalie hadn't noticed last time she was here.
Lithium, Blake, and a man and woman Rosalie hadn't seen before, greeted Rosalie and Blaze as they approached the table. Lithium gave Rosalie a warm and inviting grin. Seeing him now, with his blue headband and porcelain smile, made her feel as if she'd just lost a best friend—two best friends. He and Blaze were killers—and not just ordinary, gang member-type killers, but secret assassins of everything good.
With her heartbeat accelerating, Rosalie turned from Lithium and glanced desperately through the crowd, searching for the one she wanted to see most, but he remained missing. She lowered her gaze in time to witness Blaze exchanging a cagey grin with Lithium. Rosalie's stomach tightened.
With his boot, Blake pushed out a chair for her. She forced a smile and sat between him and the other female at the table.
Blaze grabbed a chair from under a man at the table behind them, causing a small commotion. The man, who had actually been sitting in the chair, landed heavily on the floor. A roar of laughter echoed throughout the room. To make up for the upset, Blaze offered her hand to him, which he took, laughing. Blaze shoved her chair to the left of Rosalie, making everyone adjust to their right until all six fit cozily around the table.
Rosalie leaned toward Blaze. "Where's Steele?"
"On his way. He's been . . . delayed," Blaze said.
"What about Serge? Is he all right?"
"It wasn't as bad as we initially thought. Don't worry, Rose. Everything's perfect."
She gave Rosalie a smile that would have seemed genuine, had Rosalie not known the truth.
She hadn't noticed Lithium leave the table, but she saw him return holding two identical drinks, one of which he set down in front of her. The glass held a dark liquid poured over ice. She guessed rum and Coke, since she'd asked him to make one for her the previous night. She took a sip, confirming her guess of the drink’s contents, and shuddered at the overly strong mix.
A band, consisting of a drummer and a couple of guitarists, was setting up on stage. By the time they'd finished their sound check, Rosalie had almost finished her first drink. It wasn't that she liked the taste, but she thought the alcohol might take the edge off, and she was right. She started to feel unusually warm and fuzzy, and for the moment, she forgot why she was there. She hadn't meant to impair her thinking. After all, she'd had only one drink, but a very strong one, and now she felt more relaxed than she wanted to be.
As she slouched into the chair, she had a memory of the previous night and Lithium making her a drink. She felt suspiciously similar now to how she’d felt after that drink. Rosalie put two-and-two together and concluded there was a high likelihood Lithium had drugged her then, and he was drugging her now. For a moment, she grew scared, but in the next instant she forgot the danger and grinned at him.
With Blake's help, she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Her neckline had worked its way down to its proper place, exposing more flesh than she'd intended, along with the lace on her black bra. Concern flashed in her brain again, but quickly passed.
As she poured the last of the velvety mixture down her throat, Blake set another in front of her. Smiling, she nudged him in the arm as a gesture of thanks and picked up her second drink.
Rosalie stopped worrying sometime between the beginning of the band's first song and the end of her second drink. The band played a mixture of rock and blues, with a ballad thrown in now and then that people danced to—or made out vertically.
Rosalie blended in with the crowd. No one paid much attention to her, except for the people at her table. She even got used to the thick layers of various types of smoke hanging in the air.
She leaned forward, the neck of her top hanging open, and laughed at a joke Blake was telling. So what if the strange guy, introduced as Russ, had his gaze pinned on her cleavage, while his girlfriend—who she now knew as Candy—straddled his lap? Rosalie felt happy—happier than she remembered feeling since coming to Colorado. Despite something gnawing at the back of her mind, she felt sort of proud, as if she sat at the Governor's table.
She’d downed her second drink, leaving almost whole cubes of ice behind. Blaze nudged Rosalie in the arm and nodded toward Russ and Candy. Directly across the table, the two were making out in front of everyone. Rosalie's mouth fell open. She burst into a laugh. Blaze and Lithium laughed with her. She watched the outline of Russ' hand move under the front of Candy's lace top, then, feeling her cheeks warm, Rosalie turned her head in the opposite direction.
Blake stared at her, grinning from ear to ear.
"You're in need of another drink," he said.
Rosalie started to protest, but he got up and left the table before she had a chance. She turned back to the couple making out.
The ambient lighting made the highlights in Candy's hair look like spun copper—that was really spinning. No. It was just the lighting, she told herself. She blinked and turned toward the band. They were slightly out of focus.
"Everything all right, Rosebud?" Lithium, who now sat in Blake's chair, asked her.
She felt his breath on her ear and turned her head to answer him, but his face was so close to hers, her words got lost on her tongue.
Something about his closeness and the way he looked at her made Rosalie feel as if she should get up, run to her car, and drive far away. But she was drinking, and Steele was going to show up at any minute. She felt a hand on her back, someone toying with the ends of her hair, and she didn't have to look to know it was Blaze. The hand slid upward, over the silky fabric of her top to her shoulder. Blaze's gentle fingers pushed Rosalie's hair away from her other ear, sending a wave of cold shivers down her left side.
