Page 52 of How to Seduce a Slender

“You were told to protect the lair but do nothing else, probably because you failed to eat the girl, am I correct?”

The wolf lunged a step in Smith’s direction only to be pulled as if called the heel by a leash. Smith smirked. “That’s a yes. Last question, though I doubt you’ll tell me. Why send the beasts after her? Why chase her out of the city twice now?”

The wolf snapped its jaw hard with a click. “She is of no consequence! She means nothing.”

“Ah, so she’s the key to your necromancer’s plans? Huh…or at least has a key to thwarting them. I’ve never met a person who truly meant nothing. And one doesn’t send beasts after a woman in the city unless she’s capable on ruining something. Thank you for your assistance, you’ve been most helpful.”

Smith chuckled to himself, spinning on his heels. Austin stood with eyebrows raised and an impressed look smacked onto his face. However, before Smith could get too far with his pride…a familiar scent washed over him.

Rose. The scent of fresh roses, thick on the tongue, filled the air.Roses don’t grow outside of King’s Fall…and they certainly don’t smell that strongly.It was a perfume oil. Something made from a hundred roses, brutalized and smashed into a vial. Smith snatched up Austin’s arm and tugged the ogre away from the scene as swiftly as they could.

Rose…rose and a hint of something else?

He was certain he knew that scent. A faint memory of a garden, thriving inside a black iron gate, made of only the brightest, ruby colored roses known to him. They were so vibrant he remembered admiring them for days beyond the fence before approaching it. Elyth was there, tending to them…and when she looked up, seeing the creature she summoned, she screamed and ran from him.

Smith ripped from the memory.

“Preposterous,” he hissed.

“Smith, why are we running?” Austin asked between pants as they charged through the forest.

“We’re going to miss dinner,” Smith lied.

“Not on my watch!” Austin roared, snatching up the Slender under his arm like a sack of potatoes and flying through the trees. Smith was sure they’d be home in a few moments at the blazing speeds Austin was charging through the trees. As they descended toward the manor, it distinctly grew warmer…and warmer…till it was a light, fluffy snow, and the trees dropped piles of it with every shiver. Little squirrels raced each other up into the foliage and deer booked it in the opposite direction as Austin cleared across the countryside in a matter of an hour.

Smith couldn’t help but return to the scent of roses, over and over. Of course, any person could wear rose oil. It was of course, the superior scent, but…this far out in the woods? Away from society, in the frozen snow, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

Was it his past coming to haunt him?

Or was the Necromancer smarter than he gave them credit for…they had to know where the Rosemont name came from? They must have known his true failure. Why else would they taunt him like that?

As Austin neared the gate to the manor, what little sunlight they had previously was gone. The gate loomed over them. As he opened the creaking archway, locking it behind him, he searched for the roses. There were none like the Rosemont roses. Dahlia’s garden was bountiful and glorious…but it had many flowers. Strange flowers with faces or skulls in their petals, dangerous ones that were poisonous or ate bugs. They were beautiful, and of course there was every color of dahlia available.

And yet, not like the rose he smelled.

For the best…

“What do you think Dahlia made for dinner?” Austin asked, his mouth filling with drool at the thought of food. Smith had been a tad cruel and had not stopped for anything on their way out of the city.

“I’m not sure, but I hope Melody ate.”

Austin smirked, flashing that knowing face at the Slender. “You sure like to be bossy, huh.”

“I am not bossy!” Smith huffed, the pair trudging up the lawn together. Smith’s gaze flickered to the graveyard for a moment.Right.Warmth filled his once frosty static. Melody, the woman who egged him into a chase through the tombstones, who dared him to kiss her, who made it clear she wanted to be claimed…that woman was still inside the house. Likely ready to sass him and then lay in his arms as she fell asleep.

Smith jogged up the steps onto the porch. Austin opened the front door and the two ducked into a house full of noise and the lingering scent of dinner. Agatha immediately appeared, beckoning them in further. “I’ve got dinner in the kitchen for you Austin, go on and wash your hands. Smith, I’ll have yours in your office. Melody’s almost done with her painting of Moonpie.”

“Oh?” Smith followed the banshee toward his office. Down the main hall, to the right near the stairs, he ducked around the corner and stepped through the doorway. Melody was hunched like a gargoyle, tongue pinched between her teeth, using her fingers to guide a tiny paintbrush across the canvas with extreme precision. He slithered up behind her, watching from over her head as she added final touches to Moonpie’s tail. The background was still cream and sketched in. He assumed she was finishing up the feline first before working on the background that wasn’t likely to walk away while she was working.

The details were amazing. Every brush stroke was intentional and smooth.

Then Melody let out a cheer, straightening on her stool. “Eureka! Moonpie, I think I’ve got it.”

She rose, paintbrush in hand. With the other hand, she untied her apron and tugged it up and over her face. As she whirled around, likely to tuck the stool away, she shrieked as she came chest to chest with Smith. Her paintbrush struck first, painting across the front of his face with deep plum paint. “Dragon-Lich-and-the-fuckin’-holy-sun-god!Smith!”

“Good evening, Ms. Deathless,” he chuckled, taking the apron to swipe the paint from his mug. She huffed, red as a tomato as he removed the paint with a little extra crackling of static. “I deserved that.”

“Youabsolute nosey nelly!” she hissed, dunking her brush aggressively into her water cup. Thankfully it was attached to the wooden easel. Smith draped the apron over her stool as she took up a washcloth. Melody was inches from scraping the paint off her fingers when Smith slid up beside her. A moth to her flame, he took the washcloth from her and lightly wiped the paint from her flesh.

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