Blood and wings (A Shaded Rose Series Book 1) Read online

  My response is automatic. I lift my arm, throwing my palm against his chest to push him away, but as I do, his hand covers mine, where it holds me still, allowing me to feel the rhythmical beat of his heart. After a short while, with the edges of my hand held tightly between his fingers, he guides my touch until it rests against his lips, almost giving me a reassurance, and just as quickly he withdraws the hold he has. I cannot help the glide of my fingers as they pass against the stubble on his face and trace the outline of his narrow lips. It has been so long since I have had such closeness with a man. Sensations build within me and momentarily I feel myself losing control as my body leans into him. My senses have taken leave, and on regaining them I am quick to pull away.

  “It’s no good; I’m just not feeling this.” My head shakes in unison with my words. “Tristan, you can’t un-break what has already been broken, and I can’t love you with a broken heart.”

  I feel both embarrassed and awkward, and he doesn’t wear his disappointment well. His eyes close against my words and I see his lips fall.

  “It’s probably not a good move on my part, being the day that it is,” he mutters whilst playing with the pocket of his denim jeans. “I didn’t plan this, you know.”

  I move forwards to the edge of the settee and slowly stand to regain my space.

  “Rose, tell me, is it still Jai, or is it that you need time … or is it me?”

  “I don’t want to lose what we’ve got. We’re too good together as friends.”

  I open my mouth to continue, but I think I’ve said all there is to say. The air around us feels heavy, stifling. I know he’s hurting, but there is nothing I can do about that. I didn’t ask him to feel the way he does. I don’t turn to meet his pain; that’s something for Tristan to come to terms with. I leave him with The Notebook for company and amble out of the lounge, along the narrow hallway towards my bedroom.

  I turn the brass handle closing the door on the day, and let out a loud sigh. I open my arms and allow myself to fall back onto my bed. I’m swallowed up by the warm quilt as I snuggle down into it and I cross my arms around my chest. My low mood is lifted momentarily as once again my eyes catch the canvas on the wall to my left.

  “Jai, you are looking down at me from the day of our wedding. Nobody would have known how ill you were from the photos, and nobody could even imagine the pain you were in. You told me later that day, but your face hid it so well. It was the last perfect memory you were able to give me, to give us.”

  I always wanted the fairy-tale ending, and it’s such a shame we never reached our goal, our happy ever after. I lie here looking up at Jai, but it is Tristan’s face that flashes before me. A pang of guilt surfaces and I turn onto my stomach, burying my head in the thick fibres of my pillow.

  “Well, are you going to invite me in?”

  I surmise that I must have slept for a while because darkness has fallen. The vivid highlights of the sun are now replaced by the silvery glow of the moon, which dances its way towards Tristan’s silhouette. I watch as he walks towards me, towards the bed. I gasp as he nears. His masculine physique sends tingles of pleasure up and down my spine. I throw back the quilt and invite him in. Reaching for his hand, I enjoy the touch of his fingers as they glide across mine. I strain my eyes through the gloom and make out the outline of his jersey boxers as they slide their way past his muscular thighs and fall, discarded, to the floor. The mattress dips as he slips in next to me. Turning onto his side, he shuffles closer. I feel his muscular physique as he leans against me. My breaths falter as I sense his warmth, his firmness, his body seductively rubbing against my own. One finger at a time, I explore the rippling muscles of his back and torso. My nails rip into his skin, followed by his pleasurable moans. I feel his hand on my head, the gentle spiralling of hair between his fingers, and my head lowers in response. We lie face-to-face and he places a solitary kiss on the tip of my nose,

  “Rose,” he whispers.

  My moans rise and mingle with his own. His hand disappears down the bed, tugging off my lace panties. His fingers adjoin like a bracelet around my ankle. Lifting my calf up and onto his shoulder, he sits high on his knees. My groans heighten as I open up to his advances. With a sweep of my lashes, my eyes gently close, opening briefly to gaze up into his face whilst his body lowers itself over me. I feel his hands as they push my legs apart, and in an instant we are as one as we lie amidst the night shadows and share one another’s pleasure.

  My eyes snap open and I lie panting, in a cold sweat. But both the night sky and Tristan have vanished.

  “God!” I clasp my hand over my eyes. “That felt far too real to be a dream.”

  I can still feel Tristan’s touch and taste his kisses, and surprisingly I’m not sure that I really wanted to wake up.

  A heat rises to the pores of my face, and my cheeks flush red. The sun has moved slightly in the sky, its rays still managing to shine in; they flicker on Jai’s face, who looks down at me from the canvas. I’m wracked with guilt; it’s almost like I’ve betrayed him. I’ve never dreamt about anybody else, well, not like this. I can’t help wonder how Tristan found his way into my bed, into my dreams.

  I’ve had the best; Jai gave me it all, romance, love, lust and fire. It’s almost too hard for me to think about, but maybe the dream is a sign that it doesn’t get any better than him, and I should settle and just live my life being content. Tristan … why not? He’s good in so many ways, he’s always there and will do anything for me, and all I have to do is ask. I lie back as my head mulls over his many pluses, and maybe, just maybe in time there could be more between us.

  I feel my phone vibrate and reach down into the small pocket of my onesie. Struggling to set it free, I gaze at its illuminated screen. My battery is about to die, but it allows me long enough to scan my inbox while I plug in my charger. My eyes are met by a number of sympathetic messages. Can’t they all leave me the fuck alone? Because to be honest I can’t be arsed to read any of them. What gives people the right to comment on how I’m feeling when they haven’t got a clue? Before switching my phone off, I read a message from Gloria, Jai’s mom. It’s a shame really, for I don’t see her nearly as much as I did when he was alive. I miss that closeness, having a family. I used to look forward to driving down on a weekend. She keeps asking me to visit any time I’m free, and just because he’s gone she doesn’t want me to become a stranger. I guess having two sons she looks upon me as the daughter she never had, and losing my own mum so young she became the next best thing. I know she’s feeling as low as me.

  “Why did you have to leave us so soon?” I ask him with a returning glance to the wall.

  I clutch my phone with my hand, about to turn it off. My finger is poised ready, and then I notice a text from an unknown number:

  I’d totally forgotten about the job. I’ve got a couple of hours to make up my mind whether to go or give it a miss. Can I be arsed? I shrug my shoulders as I think of the bills piling up on the hall table. They aren’t going to pay themselves, so I suppose I have little choice.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and stretch my arms. I can hear my stomach growling in hunger. I haven’t eaten all day apart from a few segments of a mandarin orange, but that didn’t satisfy me. My mouth waters at the scent of curry that greets me as I walk into the hall. I’ve got to admit that Tristan’s culinary skills aren’t bad, and it saves me cooking. I chuckle to myself; he’s like the perfect house husband. We complement each other in so many ways, and I’m sure an outsider would think we’d been married for years.

  It wasn’t long ago that Tristan was homeless, down on his luck. I used to see him hanging out by the shops on my way back from the cemetery. He would be wandering around and always looked so lost. I’d overslept and was late one particular Friday morning, so I didn’t reach the shops till near lunchtime. I saw Tristan and thought he looked pale. Surmising he was hungry, I threw him a sandwich on the way out and that was how we broke the ice. Every day after that he would meet me at the cemetery and walk me home. Me being me, I asked him in for a coffee. He sat in the lounge, staring into the kitchen as I boiled the kettle. When I placed his coffee before him, he would look down into it, stirring with a teaspoon until it went cold; apparently that was the way he liked it. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He didn’t smell, but his hands and face were dirty, his hair greasy and ruffled. We were only a couple of weeks into our coffee mornings when I asked him to move in.

  Dad had not long moved to Jersey with his fiancée, Becky, and my sister. When I phoned him and just happened to mention Tristan, he went mad, gave me a right earful, said I must be out of my mind to let a strange man into my flat. I’m sure he thought I hadn’t pulled myself together and said I could move to Jersey with them if I wanted. His girlfriend and I had never really seen eye to eye. I thought it was just too coincidental when Dad finally got the money from the sale of his steelworks company and she began hanging around like a dog on heat. Twenty-five, only two years older than me … does she think I’m fucking stupid? There was no doubt she was in love with him, but it wasn’t my dad who had won her heart. Shame of it is, even now he’s still too blind to see. Knowing what I know, I thought it best I give his offer a miss. I didn’t care what he said, and didn’t intend kicking Tristan out. He had made his bed with Becky, and I’d made my mind up about Tristan.

  I enter the lounge.

  “Yours is in the microwave,” he utters from the settee without looking up.

  I glance over at the TV. It seems he’s far too engrossed in the highlights of today’s football to spark up a conversation.

  I stand for a moment or two and actually take the time to look at his face. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him, probably because he isn’t looking at me. I f
eel so alone I’m almost swallowed up by emptiness. I’ve never needed to be held more than I do at this moment. Maybe it’s the day, maybe it’s the dream, I just don’t know, but I want the feeling of a man’s arms around me. I yearn to feel whole and at one with somebody. I want to inhale their scent and know as they breathe that they’re taking in mine.

  “Tristan…”

  I watch him as he sits forward, reaches out towards the coffee table, picks up the remote control and presses his index finger on the pause button; the football is forgotten.

  With a slight turn of his head, he repeats, “Yours is in the microwave.”

  “Damn it! Kiss me, won’t you?”

  I watch the arch of his eyebrows as they knit together. I know he is in shock, but I can’t help but smile as his lips are only seconds away. I feel the swoop of his arms, their embrace helping to take away this awful pain. His lips are velvety soft and graze against mine with such growing intimacy. He steals my breath away. I close my eyes as he lifts me up into his arms. My arms are circled around him, my lips kissing him back.

  I picture my waltzing lashes as my eyes flicker ever so slightly, and then momentarily I allow them to open. The leather upholstery groans as he lays me down so gently between the cumbersome arms of the settee. We lie entwined on a makeshift bed of his choosing, the cushions dipping beneath me. He rests his first two fingers on my chin and tilts my head. I don’t wish to pull away, and allow his minty kisses to float in waves across my neck. I enjoy the moistness of his lips as they weave their way from one side of my collarbone to the other. In the next moment my head is held within his firm palms.

  “Rose,” he whispers.

  I open my eyes; it’s a searching look I see and yet somehow I’m unable to read its meaning. His eyes are etched with such feeling as I gaze into their watery mist.

  “Rose…” His whisper fans out, reaching my ears.

  His fingers slip away, releasing my face. Now I find my hands clasped between his and my brows rise, for he radiates sincerity. I’m confused as he shakes his head and cannot fail to pick up on the sudden look of disappointment on his face. There is a pause in our intimacy as our eyes meet, and again I see the shake of his head, though reading between the lines it seems more of an apologetic gesture.

  “I really want this,” he murmurs as he pulls me closer.

  I lose sight of his face as it falls into my neck, though I am still able to make out his muffled words.

  “Rose, you’ve no idea how much I want you.” Each word, each syllable is filled with such raw emotion. “But not now…”

  His body tenses and he pulls himself away from me.

  “Not today,” he continues as hard edges emerge around the contours of his face. “How can I possibly compete?” He pauses, evading my eyes. “How can I create special memories with you, with us? Because, Rose, you have already created these with somebody else, and the thought breaks my heart. It was wrong of me to kiss you earlier. It’s your day, Jai’s birthday, so on this occasion my head wins over my heart and I’ll have to pass.”

  It is only the briefest of kisses that his lips leave to ripple upon my brow. I can feel an abruptness to his release, and feel my heart drop and an emptiness return. He lifts himself from me and stands briefly, looking down.

  “No regrets, eh?”

  Figuratively speaking it is almost as if time has the ability to rewind itself. It’s as if nothing has happened between us as he sits and un-pauses the football. I lie alone on the settee with my thoughts.

  I guess it’s really myself I have to blame as I think back to his attempted kiss earlier today. I was so quick to brush him off, yet this evening I’m asking him for the very same intimacy.

  I hear the sound of the microwave and its repetitive turn, and gather Tristan has retreated to the kitchen to heat up my dinner. It’s uncanny how well I know him. Moments later, Tristan rests my plate on the table. I hear the football commentary continue, and the lounge is awash with the sound of chanting fans.

  I glance up from my dinner.

  “I’ve got a job interview at eight,” I remark.

  It seems I have interrupted the football again, as Tristan picks up the remote and mutes the sound.

  “What job?”

  I imagine his ears pricking up as he sucks in his bottom lip.

  “What hours?” His forehead creases.

  “The Silken Kite, just a few hours every evening, well, maybe a few more than that,” I say between bites of chicken. “The money’s not too bad; it’s more than the minimum wage, and time and a half after midnight.”

  “Not that sleazy club…” He clicks his tongue loudly. “That’s no place for a girl like you.”

  His voice grows louder as he swivels round in his chair to face me.

  “You haven’t walked around those parts of town at night, not on your own.” He waves his finger. “It’s certainly an eye-opener.”

  He rubs his chin between his thumb and fingers.

  “Blue lights,” he pipes up, “sirens, the cops are everywhere.”

  He edges forward on the chair.

  “I’ve seen the drunks as they leave the bars and clubs, the druggies hanging in small groups getting their next fix. The street corners come alive; it’s a hooker’s paradise.”

  “Tristan…” I attempt to interrupt.

  “Look,” he talks over me, “if you’ve got to get a job, get one in the day. Shop work, an office maybe.”

  “I haven’t had the interview yet.”

  Anger bites into the pit of my stomach. The flat is all I have left of Jai and I’ll do whatever it takes, because I’m not going to lose this.

  “Somebody’s got to pay the bills,” I snap. “Might have suited you living on the street…” My eyes narrow into a cat-like stare.

  “Whoa, Rose…” Butting in, he holds up his hands. “I’m just looking out for you, but if that’s what you want, go for it.” He gives a contradictory shake of his head.

  I’ve talked myself out of so many jobs lately, but not this one. I’m determined, and really can’t be arsed to answer. I fidget in the awkward silence I’ve created, strumming my fingers on my lap. I can hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece as the seconds pass. If I don’t get motivated soon, I’ll never make the interview.

  “Let’s say we compromise.”

  “Whatever, Tristan, I’m going to get ready.”

  I sit up straight on the settee. The curry I fork around my plate has suddenly lost its appeal, and I gag on the lukewarm chicken pieces and gloopy onions.

  “I’m not stupid, I know we need money, I just worry about you.”

  “Oh, Tristan, shut up, I don’t need a protector,” I joke; I can’t help feeling annoyed with him, yet it’s kind of sweet that he cares.

  “But that’s what I’m here for… Tell you what, if you get the job, text me when you’re close to finishing and I’ll come and meet you, okay?”

  I smirk in response. “Yeah, that’s okay I guess.”

  Darkness is like a shadow around me. It’s 10 p.m., the start of yet another night-shift. I stand in the doorway of the club with my legs apart and fold my arms across my chest. My eyes glance down the long street and the queue before me. People fidget and chat while waiting for me to let them pass.

  There is such predictability to a night on the town for mortals of the twenty-first century. Skirts get shorter, voices grow louder. Etiquette, speech, all the niceties of my time are long gone. I no longer speak like a nineteenth-century Earl, and am as much a commoner as these urchins of today.

  “You letting me in then?”

  Another pisshead, I think to myself as I look into his dark eyes and at his ruddy complexion. His hair is black, sleek and tied in a short ponytail.

  “No, I don’t think so, mate, try again next week,” I reply as he attempts to push past.

  I move to the right and block the door with my body. This does not put him off, and he stumbles closer. I can smell his breath; it reeks of neat spirits as he splutters for me to get out of his way.