by Nicole Grane
Chapter 18: Roses and Thorns
I woke up to a brilliantly lit room. The sunlight that poured through the window stretched across the bed. I could feel its warmth through the blankets.
My eyes protested as I tried to open them. I stretched my arms out and felt something soft and velvety all around me. I sat up to find the bed covered in rose petals. The room had been filled with them! There were hundreds of roses, beautifully arranged in elegant vases throughout the room. It was absolutely breathtaking.
I got up and wandered my own private garden. Breathing deeply, I took in the fragrance of the room and smiled.
As I leaned forward to smell one of the bouquets, I felt familiar arms wrap around my waist from behind.
“Good Afternoon.” Marcus pushed my hair aside and kissed the back of my neck. I couldn’t help but shiver. I turned around and stared into his glorious face.
“Afternoon?”
“It’s nearly twelve thirty . . . you must have jet lag,” he suggested with a smile.
“What is all this?” I motioned to the flowers around me.
“I just wanted to show you how much I love you.” He tilted his head and kissed my lips briskly.
I gasped, realization taking hold of me: “The room with flowers! From my dream!” I could feel my eyes begin to water. “You did this for me?”
“It was our wedding night—you loved roses—red of course.” He smiled coyly.
I was speechless. I looked around the room once again, overwhelmed by the fragrance, beauty, and love that filled it.
“I can’t possibly show you how much I love you . . . but I will keep trying . . . until the end of time,” he whispered from behind.
I felt something cold touch the front of my chest. I looked down to find a heart shaped stone hanging from my neck. I looked back at Marcus, wide-eyed as he fastened the lock. “Is this a real—”
“Ruby? Yes.” He smiled as he adjusted it.
“Marcus, this is too much,” I protested. The stone had to be the size of a quarter.
“It most definitely is not too much,” he said playfully, brushing his finger across the tip of my nose.
“Marcus, this wasn’t—”
“No. It was my mother’s.” He had a fond look in his eye as he stared at the necklace he’d just placed around my neck.
“You never gave this to Phoebe?” I had to admit that I liked the thought that he’d never given it to another soul—not even mine—all those centuries ago.
“She didn’t really wear jewelry,” he half-laughed. “It’s funny that you make it now. She used to say it wasn’t practical. I never even bothered to show it to her,” he added with a shrug.
I tilted it between my fingers, letting the sunlight dance through it.
“It’s beautiful on you,” he said admiringly.
I could feel my face blush the shade of the stone.
“Would it have mattered if it had been Phoebe’s?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Marcus, I know you say I’m the same Phoebe you once loved . . . but you must know . . . we’re really different people. Even if that were possible . . . and most of me believes that it is,” I added quickly, seeing the protest in his face. “I’m just not the same woman I once was. Do you understand that?”
“Of course I do.” He brushed a kiss across my lips. “I know you’re not exactly the same woman I loved so long ago. But no one could deny that you look the same. You share so many memories from that life . . . you even have the same knack for getting into trouble.” He gave me that crooked smile that I’d grown to love.
“I love you, Marcus.”
And just like that, his mouth took mine. His hands were on my hips now, his fingers digging in—it didn’t hurt—it made my heart race all the faster.
My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him against me.
“I want you . . .” he gasped between kisses. “My Phoebe Rose . . .” He lifted me up and carried me to the bed. “I want to love you. You!” He looked me squarely in the face as he said this, declaring his complete and utter love for me.
I glanced around the room; taking in the love he’d showered me with. The ruby, still on my neck was warm against my skin. “I want to love you too,” I said eagerly, reaching for his face and pulling him back to me.
Marcus gripped my wrist before I even realized he’d moved. He was holding it close to my face, and I could see that small splotches of blood had seeped through the gauze. I’d torn the stitching and didn’t even realize it—but Marcus had.
“It’s not so bad this morning,” I lied. Truthfully . . . it was killing me. I subtly tried to pull it away. “Marcus?”
“I forget how fragile you are . . . how easily you could be hurt.” His grip around my wrist was firm. “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I don’t know what I was thinking. I want to love you, in every way.” There was anguish in his eyes where passion used to be.
My mind raced for a moment, trying to comprehend what was happening—and then I understood. Marcus was still afraid to be with me—physically.
“Marcus . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to calm his fears other than showing him that I wouldn’t break under his touch. That he could love me without hurting me.
My lips caught his by surprise, my teeth nearly smashing into his. He responded eagerly, just as I’d hoped. My heart pounded harder and harder against his chest as he deepened our kiss, his flavor, intoxicating. I yanked his shirt up and over his head, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my hand—I’d pay for that later.
My fingers trembled as I moved them up his bare chest, feeling every muscle, memorizing them. His skin was smooth and soft, like touching silk—I paused. His eyes were darkening to an almost blood-red. I debated for a moment . . . self-preservation or physical satisfaction . . .
His mouth held a devious smile. “Don’t even think about it. Not until you get that hand re-stitched.” He rose from the bed, replacing his shirt in record time.
I sat there, staring at him incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?” I could still feel the heat where his body had smoldered against mine.
“You and I together physically is dangerous enough without having prior injuries to be careful of.” He shook his head. “I can’t be so reckless with you.” He looked ashamed.
“Will you stop acting like a yoyo?” I thundered. “Look!” I unwrapped my hand dramatically, tossing the gauze across the floor. “It’s just a little blood! Hardly any reason—”
Marcus flew at me, the weight of his body slamming into mine. He had my wrists in his hands, pinning them over my head in less than a second. I gasped, choking on the air I’d sucked in. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes fierce. I could see the conflict that rose within them—I was tearing him apart.
“It’s ok Marcus, I’m sorry.” I swallowed loudly. “I didn’t mean to push you. I know you’re just worried about me.”
I was aware of his chest heaving in and out against mine. His eyes, red with need, stared hungrily at me; and his grip, tightening.
“Alright, my love . . . I won’t deny you any longer . . . or myself.”
I could feel a small pool of blood in the palm of my hand now. It had seeped past the stitching and was dripping down my wrist—a detail Marcus hadn’t missed.
“Marcus?” my voice cracked.
His eyes were on me, heavy with desire, but for what?
I panicked. “Marcus, get off me! Get off me! I thrashed below him, screaming for him to back away.
He jumped off me so fast the rose petals that covered the bed flew up into the air, raining down on my body. Their beauty distracted me for a moment as I watched them cascading down through the sunlight.
I backed myself into the headboard, clutching my wrist to my chest. Small beads of blood ran down my arm.
Marcus stared at my bloodied hand, his tongue grazing his lips.
I was af
raid to move or speak.
It took him a moment to pull his stare away from my hand. His eyes met mine, the desire in them—unmistakable. He fled from the room without a word, leaving me alone . . . and bleeding.
I rose from the bed and retrieved the gauze I’d so carelessly removed. My heart pounding stilled with the sound of a knock at the door.
“Miss Rose?” Richard’s voice reverberated through the thick wood.
I ran to the door and flung it open, tears already falling from my eyes. “Richard . . .” I ran at him, throwing my arms around him as I cried into his shirt.
“Are you terribly hurt, Miss?” He carefully brought me back into my room.
“Oh Richard, I really made a mess of things.” I lifted my hand for him to see.
“There, there Miss. It’s just a little tear.” He opened his bag and pulled out some tweezers.
“How did you . . .?” I stopped. “Marcus sent you?”
“Yes Miss. Try not to worry. He just needs some time. He’s extremely worried about you though.” I let Richard fix my stitching and rewrap my hand. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. All the blood had made it look much worse.
“There, now. Good as new. Well, nearly anyway,” Richard teased, trying to make light of the situation.
“I pushed him Richard,” I admitted shamefully. “I thought he was ready. I thought he could handle . . . being with me. Like that.” I hung my head, feeling embarrassed I’d burdened Richard with my love life, or lack-there-of.
Richard’s hand came out, lifting my chin up. “He loves you Miss. Never doubt that. It’s just going to take some time. Some things cannot be rushed. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Thank you, Richard, for everything.” I held up my bandaged hand, giving him a small smile.
“Perhaps next time you wish to use a sword, Miss, you’ll allow me to assist you.” His eyebrows rose slightly.
I frowned at what I assumed was a poor joke.
“Lord Ashworth has put you in my charge when he’s away on business,” he announced with pride.
“Your charge? You mean, you’re supposed to babysit me?” I asked playfully, thinking this was another one of Richard’s dry jokes.
“Actually, Miss, my duties are more . . . of a protector. With Mr. Marcus having to leave the castle to meet with the others,” he emphasized the word, “he is unable to watch over you as closely as he’d like.”
“You’re supposed to protect me from Damen, aren’t you?” The look on Richard’s face gave him away. “Well, I won’t let you. It’s bad enough Marcus puts himself in danger for me, I don’t want to have to worry about you too.”
“It isn’t your choice, Miss. Lord Ashworth has asked me to protect you in his absence, and I’ve gladly accepted.” Richard was just like Marcus—stubborn. No wonder they got along so well.
“Look. If Damen shows up . . . I’ll just leave. You won’t have to worry about me.”
Richard leaned in closer to me, his eyes, locking with mine. “You are no longer safe, Miss. Anywhere!”
I leaned back, swallowing hard.
“Damen’s fixation on you will make you harder to hide. It’s only a matter of time before the werewolves discover that you’re here. You need my help, Miss.”
I stared blankly at him. My options didn’t look so good.
“I tell you what, Miss. You want to look after yourself, I’ll teach you to use that.” He pointed to the sword above the fireplace.
“Richard,” I half laughed. “Marcus would kill me if I so much as think of touching that sword again. If he knew you were helping me . . .” I shivered as I thought of Marcus's reaction.
“When Mr. Marcus leaves for his meetings, Miss, you’ll need something to pass the time away. He didn’t exactly say you couldn’t touch it now, did he?” Richard looked almost . . . devious.
“No . . . he didn’t,” I answered.
“Although, it might be a subject you may want to avoid bringing up.” He raised his eyebrow again.
I nodded my head in understanding. I stared at Richard, my mind spinning in a million directions.
“Well, now that that’s settled . . .” Richard rose from his chair. “Oh, I almost forgot. Charlotte asked me to let you know that she’s prepared a warm lunch for you when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Richard. Tell her I’ll be down in a bit.”
He bowed his head slightly before leaving me to my thoughts.
