Of Blood and Roses

Chapter 13

Later that evening I had returned to Pierre's chambers. I stood awkwardly, observing a tower erected in the middle of the room, made entirely of glasses filled with champagne. The servants were bustling around the room, Pierre nowhere to be seen.

I walked over to the tower, inspecting the meticulously placed glasses as I waited.

A door behind me opened and I heard the clicking of heels across Pierre's hardwood floor. They stopped behind me and I held my breath, not sure what to expect. Anticipation sizzled across my skin, something warm spreading through me the longer he lingered.

The soft touch of a finger traced a line down my neck, the sharp point of a nail pausing over my beating pulse. His breath caressed my sensitive skin, sending a pleasant chill down my spine. He sucked in a breath.

"Sweet rose," he whispered. He removed his touch and a moment later something else brushed against me, the scent of roses filling the air. Out of the corner of my eye I saw green leaves and the petals of a blood rose. I turned and found Pierre grinning.

I took it, inhaling deeply, marveling at the natural red petals. Even back home they were rare. Blood roses only grew when blood saturated the flower beds. Nowadays it was common practice to use animal blood, but it was a fickle and often unsuccessful process. Even the most experienced botanist struggled to keep up such a stock. To see one so fresh and perfectly red here in Garnette was something I would have considered impossible.

"A blood rose? How?"

Pierre wore a high collar that was ringed with many different gems. It flared around his neck, creating the perfect frame around the defined lines of his jaw.

"Anything is made possible when I want it," he said, red lips curving into a satisfied smirk. "And I wanted to see that exact smile upon your face after my father tried so hard to steal it from you."

A hot blush warmed my cheeks, but I couldn't contain my excitement. "You are too much. How did you—"

Pierre let out a laugh, shaking his head. "If I told you my secret, then anyone could offer you a blood rose. I would much rather keep it as something special." He reached out, clasping my hand as he led me over to one of the couches. "Something that only I can give you."

I bit my lip. I was both embarrassed by his boldness, but also privately pleased. We sat and I held the rose carefully, taking in its sweet scent.

"Thank you."

Pierre grinned, plucking the rose from me and replacing it with a glass of wine. He waved a servant over, asking them to fetch a vase and some water and have it to taken to my rooms.

Once done he returned his attention to me. "Now let's settle in before the performers get here. Tonight, I won't have to worry about sending you off early."

I tensed. "How so?"

He grinned. "What I mean is that there is no dinner for you to attend this evening." He lifted his glass of wine, taking a sip before letting out a laugh. "Not that I am against something else, but..." He trailed off, reaching out to trace a finger down my arm before meeting my gaze, his smile gone. "But they would have your head if we gave into such forbidden temptations."

A dangerous warmth spread through me. I averted my gaze. So bold...too bold. His words should have sent me running, his lavish smile should have been a warning. I didn't move, staring down at my rose.

"I rather enjoy having my head."

Pierre withdrew his hand just as it reached the back of my wrist. "As do I—you having your head that is. I find myself growing rather fond of it."