Page 60 of Seduction in Blood
"Devon has such wonderful taste. The emerald dress would have been fine, but this dress—well, I think you'll be a knockout."
"Did you send the rose up?"
"What?" She scanned the room and did the same double-take I'd done earlier. "That wasn't there before." She walked over and bent to smell it. "What a lovely aroma. So many of the newer varieties don't have a scent, and it's so disappointing. What good is a rose that doesn't provide a heavenly smell?"
"Who do you think sent it?"
"Devon, I imagine. He has hundreds of roses in the garden at his estate." Anna froze, then seemed flustered. "Let me go see if the hairdresser arrived. She'll be doing your makeup as well."
She nearly raced out of the room, and I realized she probably hadn't known Devon had taken me to Oasis. That I'd seen not only his English garden but his private garden as well. That I'd lain prone in front of the grotto for Christ's sake. But I didn't have to spend time in his gardens to know where I'd seen a crimson rose before.
The rose had been in my first dream. Its thorn had pricked and left a mark that stung after I'd woken. And when I recalled the other dreams, there had been roses in each one. Crimson roses.
A flash from my last dream forced my steps to the closet, drawn as if some alien power controlled my body. Each step created more dread, not wanting to know but unable to stop.
Anna had left the closet light on, and I stopped at the doorway. My heart pounded in my chest, and a rushing sound filled my ears. I noticed nothing else, my vision pinned to one spot at the back of the closet. The dress hung so it faced me. The color of the dress matched the deep red of the rose.
And it was the dress from the dream. The one drenched in my own blood.
* * *
Devon gaspedas he woke from the dream, trembling from the abrupt change of scenery. Of darkness and blood. He shook himself before quickly scanning the room. Alone. He blinked into the late afternoon light, not remembering falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was leaving Cressa in the training room. And he felt shame creep over him.
He'd done it again. A call from a shaky Decker had dredged up old images and times better forgotten. After all this time, Decker still had the ability to bring out Devon's dark side as if the Magic Poppy had seeped its roots into his inner core, never leaving him truly free.
And instead of leaving well enough alone, he'd felt a deep desire to see Cressa. That she alone could balance him. Shake him free. He couldn't remember what changed and sparked his irritation past all good sense. His desire for her had overwhelmed him to the point of idiocy. She had the single ability to push him to blood madness. He'd been far from that, but if anyone could push him all the way there, it would be Cressa. His thief.
The images of the dream returned, and unable to face them, he jumped out of bed and stalked to the shower. He stood under the chilling spray until he could think straight. Unable to take the cold any longer, he switched to hot water and washed his hands over and over. He stared down at them. The blood wouldn't come out. One moment, he'd held Cressa in his arms as they watched the sunset from the bedroom balcony at Oasis. They hadn't made love in the dream, but they must have before the dream started. He knew that lazy feeling, the serene warmth of the afterglow of their lovemaking—the nuzzling of her ear, her hand resting on his thigh.
Then, the insanity. Cressa on the ground, soaked with blood, her body broken. His anger, fear, despair. Knowing what he had to do, but terrified to do it. They'd never discussed it. Why would they?
He hadn't been able to move. The dozens of options, and the pros and cons of each, floated through his head. All he'd been able to do was watch her writhe in agony, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Somehow, her gaze pinned to his—imploring, scared, angry. Worst of all was the dress. The dress he'd bought especially for tonight. The crimson gown that had been drenched in Cressa's blood.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Devon grumbledas he opened and closed drawers.Damn it all. Where could he have put it? It wasn't like him to misplace things. He checked the safe again. Not there. He grabbed his phone, checked the time, cursed, then hit a button.
"Yes, sir." Sergi's voice was crisp, his tone relaxed.
"Where's the letter?" Devon's tone was anything but relaxed, and he reined it in, taking a deep breath until his hand stopped shaking.
"I put it in the cash box after finding it in Lyra's room again. I thought I told you."
Christ. He had. Maybe they should cancel this. Try something different. Everything seemed to be out of control.
"Sorry. I forgot." Where was his head? He should never have kissed Cressa. Shouldn't have interrupted her training session. Then the dream. He hung up. There wasn't anything he could tell Sergi that wouldn't sound like he was falling apart.
A knock at the door startled him. She wasn't ready so soon, was she? "Come."
Simone strode through the door, her body wrapped tightly in a purple so dark it looked black. She could wear a bag and still turn heads. But this particular bodysuit showed every part of her lean, muscular frame and was shrouded with a matching caftan that didn't flow like her signature ones. But it was close enough for no one to think anything of it. Simone was a stickler for wearing the same style of clothes, the only difference the myriad colors and patterns. She would be noticeable but blend in. And if necessary, she could shed the caftan and become almost invisible in a crowded room.
"You seem on edge." She poured a scotch and handed it to him. "Relax."
Devon unlocked the cash box and found the letter on top. He ran a hand over it in a vain attempt to remove the wrinkles and torn pieces, then moved it to the corner of the desk. He accepted the drink and emptied it in one swallow, the bite of it a balm as it burned its way down.
"Something feels off." He sat down, too wired to lean back.
"It will be fine. Everything is in place, and we've planned for all possible contingencies." She wrinkled her nose. "Is she not ready?"
