RoseBlood(92)

She kept him pinned with a glare and backed toward the door, her posture stiff and ready to snap. He couldn’t have her lumbering down the stairs like a raging bull. She’d fall and break her neck.

He caught up to her and drew her close enough that her breasts grazed his rib cage. Her expression softened, all that tension draining away in an instant. It was daunting, how quickly she responded to his touch now.

“Etalon . . .”

“That’s better.” He spun her around and aimed her for the door once more. “Get those answers for me—as early as possible. Morning, preferably.”

She glanced back, her tough fa?ade continuing to crumble. Her chin trembled.

He schooled his features to an expression as blank as his busted mask, in hopes she couldn’t see how she affected him.

She opened the door, but stopped midstep. “Oh, I—I have something to give you. In my bag—”

“It will have to wait.”

Sniffing, she sealed herself inside. He watched her white aura filter through the space at the doorjamb, watched as it faded to a miserable bluish gray.

Her emotions lingered, torturing him. He’d sampled the heartbreak of years long gone, each time Erik grew reminiscent of Christine. It was a stale flavor . . . flat and dusty, with the slightest hint of decaying lilies. But fresh heartache was an entirely different sensation—like overripe peaches scattered too long in the sun, a fermented sticky sweetness that left his teeth sore and his tongue parched.

One thing Erik had been honest about: finding your twin flame could be hell if the time wasn’t right. Thorn touched his forearm, his fingertips prickling as they followed the ribbon’s imprinted coils.

Diable mewled.

Thorn rolled down his sleeve. He frowned at the animals seated next to his feet and panting. “Well, you two have a lot to make up for.”

After a yawn that showcased a full cast of needle-sharp teeth, Diable pattered to the door and scratched at the base, his crooked tail twitching expectantly.

“That’s a start.” Thorn opened it, peering inside to see that Rune had already disappeared around the first turn of the corkscrew stairs. Diable sauntered in and shot Thorn a slitted, glimmer-green glance. “See that she gets down the steps safely. And don’t leave her side tonight. Comfort her. Be there for her, since I can’t.”

In less than a blink, the cat vanished around the bend, svelte as a shadow.

Upon shutting the door, Thorn turned to Ange who was preening her ruffled feathers. “As for you, vixen-angel . . .” Her elegant neck curved so her clouded eyes could focus on him. “Where exactly is your master?”



Having Diable join me on my journey down the dark stairwell is the only thing that keeps me from falling apart. The thought of lying down in my room, with only the dismal burble of my lava lamp for company, threatens to drag my loneliness to new depths.

I’m so happy when I notice the cat slinking down beside me. I consider offering him the gift of Etalon’s toe socks—for a scratching post.

“Your master is a jerk. You know that, Ghost Kitty?”

The cat glares up at me. If he had eyebrows, I’m pretty sure one would be raised in derision.

“Okay, he’s not your master, per se. And I guess he’s not a jerk, completely.”

Not if I stop nursing my wounded ego long enough to be honest. I’m assuming he’s the reason Diable is here now. On the roof, I watched Etalon’s aura fluctuate between his longing to stay with me, and the battle he waged to push me away. He was trying to protect me from something. Something shadowing him so closely, he’s in danger himself—a paralyzing thought that revives those uncomfortable, stinging tickles in my throat.

Doesn’t he get it? He needs to let me in. There’s no place for secrets, not after everything we’ve shared. That’s why I wanted him to spend the night. To keep us both protected. There’s safety in numbers. I should’ve told him that. In fact, I should’ve told him the truth I was hiding . . . that I didn’t want him to sleep on the other side of the wall at all. That I wanted him in my room next to me.

A flush of heat works its way across my face. I guide my flashlight app to light my footsteps. “He senses my emotions, so I thought . . .” My free hand runs along the two-way mirrors. “I don’t know what I thought. I acted like a diva.”

Diable responds with a profound sneeze.

I attempt a smirk and play with the roof’s key where it hangs from my neck. “You’re right. Renata’s role must be going to my head.”

The cat’s tinkling collar offers the only comment on our continued descent. I lift the key and hold the metal to my mouth, thinking of Etalon’s soft lips. He almost kissed me. A real kiss, from someone I don’t have to worry about killing, from someone who makes me feel extraordinary yet grounded, just by pressing a fingertip to my temple.

With a touch that potent, I wonder what his kiss will be like?

Diable and I pass room after room on the other side of the mirrored walls, but I don’t bother looking in this time. I’m too preoccupied, too confused, too . . . resonant.

There’s no other way to describe how my body feels—pulsing, glowing, an ember of flame wrapped in song. The moment Etalon joined our hands with that ribbon, we became harmony personified—musical notes that could not only be heard, but seen, smelled, felt, and tasted. At first, I’d been drunk on it. With so many sensations to absorb at once, my nervous system dulled to cushion me.