Page 1 of Roses for the Damned

Prologue

O nce upon a time, when man was still learning how to walk, the Devil made a deal with God to split the world in two. The condemned would be banished to an eternal life in Hell, while the worthy would ascend to Heaven, their souls residing in blissful oblivion.

Sentries were placed at the gates of both realms – angels for the heavens, and demons for Hell. A special breed of demons gave birth to ruthless creatures called gargoyles, the mightiest of them all for their impenetrable stone–like skin and vile nature. They were merciless, powerful, and indestructible beings.

One such gargoyle stood out the most for his especially blood-thirsty reputation and overwhelming scope of destruction that he left behind when reaping the souls of men.

The Devil warned him to tame his appetites, to control his despicable urges. But he wouldn’t listen, and so, the Devil was forced to do the only thing that would make him obey – he confined him to a temple of God, where he was doomed to live out the rest of his wretched days.

Ch. 1

T he church bells rang their eerie tune, jolting her from her dreary thoughts.

“Shit,” she glanced out the window, “I’m going to be late.” She had been so caught up in the night’s activities that she had failed to realize the time.

Her father would be waiting for her by now, the spoon and medicine bottle held tightly in his hands as he lay motionless in bed, counting down the minutes until Rose finally made it home from one of her never ending shifts at the city’s brothel.

Each day it was the same old routine – she would wake up at the rise of dawn, tend to her sick father before leaving for one of the many markets to purchase the day’s necessities, making sure all was ready for the man before she hurriedly made her way to Madame Roche’s at the strike of midnight.

Were it not for the money, she never would have even stepped into such a place of business. But her father was ill and absolutely helpless to do anything but lie in bed, leaving Rose the sole provider for the two of them. Her mother had died while giving birth to her, and seeing as Rose was an only child with no other living relatives, it left her with little options.

Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

Snatching up her purse and meager belongings, she sought out her friend and the brothel’s most requested courtesan. After a few moments, her eyes landed on the woman in question.

Anita was seated in the mayor’s lap, a vile man in his late fifties whose soul was as hideous as his outer appearance. Dark eyes that seemed void of life and a balding head with a stomach so big it reached his bent knees, it was a miracle that the woman was even able to find a spot on his leg to sit on without being pushed off by the bulging piece of fat.

Grimacing, Rose rushed to her, making sure to keep just out of reach of the many lecherous customers ogling her as she wound her way through the densely packed lounge area.

“Anita,” she leaned in, whispering in her friend’s ear, her hand covering her ass as she bent over, “I must leave, father’s waiting for me.”

The busty blonde nodded, her gaze still on the slimy man beside her, never once openly acknowledging Rose lest it bring unwanted attention to her. She knew all too well what depraved tendencies the mayor had, and she had always done everything to protect Rose, even offer her body up in place of hers.

Rose would be forever indebted to the petite woman, for were it not for Anita, she and her father would have long starved to death. The blonde courtesan had not only found Rose her current job, but had also kept her away from the more despicable customers, sending only the younger and more tender men to her chambers.

Rose was no innocent virgin and had plenty of experience with various appetites, but she had been spared the ugliness of their business.

Hesitating for only a moment, she hurried through the back door, making sure no one was following. She had been unfortunate enough on a number of occasions to have a stray customer wander after her, and it had been painstakingly slow work persuading them to cease their stalking tendencies.

If only she could get rid of all of them in the same manner; there was one persistent chaser, however, that seemed to be a constant leach in Rose’s side, one disgusting male specimen that seemed to think that he was entitled to everything just because his father ran the city – Florent, the absolutely grotesque mayor’s son whose very presence caused Rose’s stomach to turn from nausea.

He was as depraved as his father, if not more, and it was only by some miracle that Rose had been able to avoid him for as long as she had. But she knew the time would come when he would take matters into his own hands, when Florent wouldn’t be willing to wait any longer and would take what he wanted from her without consent.

Shuddering at the notion, Rose marched along the dimly lit narrow street, her shoes clicking on the gray cobblestones, her eggplant colored thick shawl wrapped tightly around her upper body.

It was a chilly night, as was usual for the early autumn months in old Paris, but it wasn’t solely for warmth that she wore the damn thing. No, it was to cover herself up, to hide those ample curves that mother nature had gifted her with.

Her long skirts billowed around her, long black locks swaying in the cool breeze as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She hated the late hour, not knowing what lurked in the night. The occasional lantern did nothing to illuminate her surroundings, allowing Rose’s mind to wander until she imagined horrid creatures crawling out of the dark alleys, dragging her screaming into the pits of Hell itself–

A large form stepped out of the shadows in front of her, her steps faltering as it came near. Wide shoulders and an unnaturally slim waist that connected to absurdly long legs appeared first, the pale face and white hair with alarmingly blue eyes staring back at her causing warning bells to go off in her mind.

“Florent,” she muttered low, her voice betraying her as unease crept into her system.

“Hello, Rose,” his voice was like nails scraping over chalk, the shrill sound only heightening her level of apprehension.

She glanced around, sudden awareness striking her when she realized that they were completely alone on the street, not a soul in sight, as if every resident knew that this was the hour that the true monsters came crawling out of the dark.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, false bravado making her stand taller, her voice firmer, stronger.

---