9. Roses Are Black
Roses Are Black
You let them.
She nearly crushed the rose beneath her fingers.
Who the hell did he think he was? Telling her she allowed her abuse to take place.
Oh, he was good. Real good. Trying to intrude on her mind.
But if anything, her troubled youth had taught her well.
Instilling the belief in small, near insignificant things.
A rose surviving the harsh winter. DNA waiting to be collected and handed in as evidence.
Hope for change. She dropped the black and white beauty on the counter. Closing her fist over thin air. It was magnificent, really. More than that… a symbol of survival.
Thanks for giving me that, Lucy.
She snorted. Only one regret troubled her mind. She should have grabbed the rose and shoved it against his chest, should have said something, anything. Instead, she froze. Kate wheeled around, rummaging through the cupboards until she found an elegant round glass.
Picking up the rose, she twirled it around before plopping it into the glass.
Fuck. Blood trickled down her index finger, mingling with the immaculate white counter.
She sucked on the finger, bending down to check for the thorn his knife had missed.
There, beneath the thawing green leaf, a prickly trap waited to draw blood.
Hmmm. DNA. Her lips widened into an excited smile.
Oh… he was going to regret his latest move.
***
Boots stomped in front of the door. A second later the door handle beeped. It was all the warning she needed to flop down on the couch. Book in hand while sucking in deep breaths of air to steady her nervous breathing.
Goosebumps rose along her skin as the cold wind gushed throughout the house. Huddling deeper under the blanket, she stared at the words in her book, blurring into a soup of ink.
Kate tracked his movements from the corner of her eye.
Lucien shoved the door key in the back pocket of his black sweats, taking off his sweater to dump it straight into the fireplace. And finally, hunching over to light the remnants of evidence on fire.
His shoulders stiffened. “What’s that smell?”
Fuck… so soon.
The pages crumpled in her hands.
“Katherine.” Ouch. Full name. That couldn’t be good.
Finally, she raised her eyes over the cover of her book, raising an eyebrow in question.
“What’s. That. Smell?” He asked again, intensity weighing down his voice.
Sweetly, she asked, “What smell would that be?”
He turned to face her fully, no amusement lingering in his posture. This was business.
“Blood, which I know for a fact is not coming from me.”
Kate flipped the bookmark, fingers caressing the papers teasingly slowly as she placed it between. “You just cleaned up a blood-soaked car, are you sure it’s not you?” She pointed a finger at him. “Causing that tangy smell?”
Lucien smirked. “You’ve been planting your DNA.”
She clapped the book shut. Well… If he knew, he knew. She just wanted to play with him a little… longer. To have her revenge for the rose that had offered her the idea.
She moved a hand over her heart. “You wound me, dear Lucien.” Lucien. The name tasted wrong. But since they arrived on a lengthy first name basis, so be it. “I would never do anything so macabre.”
Her heart fluttered like a butterfly tasting fresh air for the first time. “That said, I did accidentally cut my finger on that present of yours. Dangerous stuff.” She sent him an accusatory glance.
His eyes… like the fire now roaring behind him.
“May or may not have lost a couple of hairs, among other things. She waved her hand around the house. “Annoying when things like that happen.” She shrugged. “But after all… I am a woman.”
Lucien slid into the chair opposite her. The small flames casting shadows across his widening grin. He crossed his legs like royalty. Not letting his eyes stray from hers.
A shiver trailed across her back, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“I bet you’ve traced your beautiful, bloody fingers across nearly all the books, am I right?”
“Each and every one of them. You have some thrilling literature in here.” Aside from Lotr.
“That would be correct. There are some unique pieces, no doubt, painted by your hands. Or should I say tainted.” Resting his chin on his hand, he leaned closer. “Nothing that cannot be replaced, of course. Do tell, where else have you been keeping busy?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “Everywhere. Your house is one big crime scene waiting to happen… if you will.”
“Well, there is that. Burning it down is always an option. Should that eventuality have to take place.”
She glanced at the crackling fire, the shadows of which danced over the white walls. Inhaling quietly to calm the racing of her heart.
They were toying with each other, pulling on strings. The only difference was but one of them had the attributes to silence the other.
Lucien shot up from his chair and she flinched. But he merely bent down into a sweeping bow. “But color me impressed!’’
She bit out, “At least your life would be inconvenienced. Some trouble to remind you of what you did. In case that eventuality happens, y’know.”
“Ohhh, I know! Trust me, I don’t need souvenirs to remember the pounding headache you’re able to deliver.” He towered over her. “Who knew that giving a girl a rose could hold such deep consequences.”
Her nerves zapped. Yet Kate sent him the most condescending look she could muster. “Consequences. In. Fucking. Deed.”
Slowly, purposefully Lucien trailed his eyes over her lap, where her white-knuckled hands were clenching the blankets like a lifeline. He leaned in even closer. “Let us not figure out that eventuality yet, hmm?”
Neither looked away. Finally, he turned. Leaning with a hand on the alabaster stone of the fireplace.
“What about you, though?” Her voice cut through the air.
He stayed in place, probably imagining the hundred different ways he could torture the spirit out of her. “What about me?”
“Here I was thinking you’re so confident in your methods.”
“As I am.”
Kate smirked a devilish grin. “Why then, did you decide to shovel it away? The snow wasn’t safe enough after all, hmmm.
” She’d been keeping a close eye on the front door window.
In between leaving parts of herself sticking throughout his immaculate home.
Had seen him shovel away the snow, depositing it in the forest bordering his land.
“For someone telling herself she’s not a killer, you’re awfully interested in my methods.”
“Well. It’s a one time learning experience. Might come in handy someday.” When I hide the evidence of killing you.
“True. don’t worry though, you didn’t slip into my mind. I merely tend to take precautions where possible. Scattering it in the forest means the animals will do the rest.”
“You tell yourself that.” Heaving a resigned sigh, she picked up the book.
“What else did you pick up from my methods, dear?”
Oh, he wasn’t done yet. Fine, neither was she. And come to think of it. “Poison… it’s a women’s weapon, isn’t it?”
A laugh broke out of him, bouncing off the walls. “Poison, it is commonly referred to as a women’s weapon, yes.” He nudged his chin at the car he’d been scrubbing out. “But did you see the work I just had to go through? I don’t like the mess.”
Her eyebrows rose and fell, shaking her head in mock disappointment “A squeamish killer. Who would have thought.”
His answering laugh nearly shook the house. Shoulders trembling as he wiped a tear from his eye. She couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction.
A knock… wait, what?
Her head wheeled toward the front door, where a small shadow filled the floor in front of the window.
It repeated. A hand bonking against the metal door.
A. Knock. On. The. Door.