Page 65 of Scythe & Sparrow
By the time I reach the fifth floor, sweat mists my forehead, the wound in my brow pulsing with every beat of my heart.
“Rose,” I say, knocking on the door. “Hey, Rose.”
“Coming,” she chimes from the other side. I can hear the excitement in her voice, the bounce of her steps across the hardwood as she approaches. The locks shift and click in the door. And then she throws it open.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” we both say at the same time.
Her eyes are locked to my stitches and the bruise that colors my cheekbone and brow.
Mine are fused to her fucking terrifying face and ridiculously hot body, the strangest contrast I’ve ever witnessed on a single person.
She’s wearing a black lace bra and matching panties, her figure a symphony of softness and strength. The lace follows the curves ofher hips and the swell of her breasts, black satin straps shining with the rise and fall of her chest with every breath. There’s no detail that goes unnoticed beneath my gaze, not a single inch of fabric or skin that isn’t forever seared into memory.
And then I get to her face.
She grins at me, showing off a set of horrifying, pointed, yellowing teeth. Too many teeth, all jammed up together. Her lips and eyes and the very tip of her nose are painted black, the rest of her face in a stark white. Two curved black lines flow halfway up her forehead to make new eyebrows, her natural ones hidden under the thick makeup. She tilts her head side to side to jostle the three little bells sewn to each arm of her black-and-white jester hat.
“I’m channeling Art the Clown fromTerrifier, but make it cute, with like, Dracula’s grill fromRenfield. You like?” she says, her speech a little garbled by the fake teeth. She does a slow spin to show off the thong, the little triangle of lace contouring around the globes of her ass to disappear between the crack. My cock strains against my zipper, at least until she faces me again.
“I’m so conflicted. I want to fuck you so badly but I also fear for my life. It’s like wet dream nightmare fuel.”
“Honestly, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Though I’m probably not supposed to say that. Rules and shit, right?”
“Right,” I say, trying to contain my disappointment at how casually she just reminded me of our current situation. Rose envelops me in a brief embrace and then stands back from the door for me to pass. “Rules and shit. Yeah.”
“Come in. Tell me all about your match and that sexy new scar.There’s some rubbing alcohol and gauze pads in your guest room en suite by the way, in case you need to clean it up.”
Fucking hell. A one-two punch. I feel like I’m back in the ring and this time, I’m getting pummeled by Rose instead of Nate. And honestly? I think she could take me. She’s scrappy as fuck. “Thanks,” I say as I let the backpack slide from my shoulders. I set it down next to the couch and trail behind Rose as she heads to the kitchen, taking the teeth out as she goes. A little shard of disappointment lands in my chest when she grabs a robe lying on the back of a chair and slides it on. “I appreciate it.”
“No worries. So, the stitches?” she asks, pulling a beer from the fridge and offering it to me. When I nod, she slides it across the island where I take a seat, then cracks open a bottle of water for herself.
“The stitches, yeah. I fought Nate. Guess he got a couple of good punches in. I ended up knocking him out in the second round, though.”
Rose pouts, the gesture exaggerated by her stark makeup. “Poor Nate.”
“Nate’s fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. When they land on Rose, she grins as though she sees right into my jealous thoughts. “I did run into Matt Cranwell though.”
Even with the thick layers of makeup, I can still see the flash of fear in her face. “Cranwell? What did he want?”
“To be a dick, mostly. I wouldn’t worry. He’s still got nothing to go on.”
“Nothing more about Eric lately?”
I shake my head. “It comes up in conversation here and there,usually in reference to Humboldt Lake. People still seem stuck on it. They think the search was called off too soon.”
Rose blows out a deep breath and nods. Her smile is weak, but it’s still a relief to see it. “How about Naomi?”
“She’s great, actually. Got herself a new boyfriend, one of the other nurses. She seems really happy.” This time, Rose’s smile is the real deal. She beams at me. Which, even with her natural teeth, is still disturbing as fuck. “I’m still not sure what to make of all this,” I say as I gesture a circle toward her face.
“Well, I’ll give you some time to think on it. I’ve gotta get going to the Frightfair. I’m going to be late.” Rose comes around to my side of the island and slides a hand across my chest, giving me an embrace from behind. My hand circles her wrist. Her pulse drums a steady beat beneath my fingertips. I resist the urge to raise her skin to my lips, but only barely. “Thanks for fielding that asshole Cranwell. Must be shitty having him pop up every once in a while.”
The truth is, I’ve been thinking more and more of moving back to Boston. It wouldn’t be the worst thing either to get away from Cranwell. But my interest in coming home has very little to do with him, and everything to do with Rose. If she really is going to stay, it feels like the right time to consider it. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s the real reason I’m here, one I’m more and more ready to tackle head-on. I need to see if she might also be ready to dissolve our rules. To see what it would be like for us to make a real go of this. And being here, with her hand resting so casually on my chest like it was always meant to be there? That only makes everything clearer.
“It’s no worries,” I finally say, still relishing her gentle embrace. “I can drive you there, if you want?”
“Nah, it’s fine. You just got off the plane.” She pats me on the chest, a final stamp before she slides her hand free and starts toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. I wonder if she could feel the way my heart drummed against her palm. I know it’s not the right time, but I’m desperate to throw my questions into the empty space where her presence just lingered. The words wereright there, ready on my tongue.
Rose changes into the rest of her costume, coming out a few moments later with black and white pants and a button-up shirt, both of which seem too big for her, which only adds to her unsettling appearance. She slides her tarot deck and selenite into one pocket, the creepy teeth into the other, then gives me a grin. “Uber is on the way,” she says, holding up her phone. “I’ll see you later?”
