Chasing Rose

  CHASING ROSE

  Fiery Blooms

  Kallysten

  Who needs a fated mate? Not this phoenix girl.

  Rose doesn’t care about the name tattooed on her wrist since birth.

  She doesn’t care that there’s a man called Pierre somewhere out there, maybe—probably—looking for her.

  She just wants to live her life as she sees fit, without following the path ‘fate’ or whoever else designated for her. Besides, she’s too busy running Sanctuary, this safe-haven for people with paranormal powers, to worry about romantic entanglements and a fated mate.

  So when emissaries from France visit Sanctuary and one of them introduces himself as Pierre, there’s only one thing this phoenix shifter wants to do: fly away.

  The only question is, will Pierre allow her to flee?

  Copyright © 2018 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First Published 2018 as part of the Shades of Pink charity anthology

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Kristin W.

  CONTENTS

  Chasing Rose

  Offer

  Fiery Blooms Series

  Excerpt

  Other series

  About the author

  CHASING ROSE

  In Rose’s opinion, few things in Sanctuary reached a higher level on the boredom scale than what her mother called ‘diplomatic visits.’ Not that anyone had ever actually asked her what she thought about them. Thankfully, they were few and far between.

  As a rule, she didn’t mind the tasks needed to govern Sanctuary: meetings about supplies, about construction and infrastructure, about agriculture and manufacturing, about health issues, about entertainment, about safety, and a dozen other things. It was all about taking care of Sanctuary and its inhabitants, about keeping them all safe, and Rose had always taken her responsibilities in that regard with the utmost seriousness. Sanctuary was private land that did not technically have any right to self-governance, but bureaucracy could be flexible with the right contacts… and the right amount of money.

  From their childhood, Rose and her sister, Violet, had been taught that one day they’d have to take care of this land the way their mother did, the way their grandfather had before her, and his mother before him, all the way back to the ancestor who had bought these lands, bit by bit, and had grown and fortified a domain where paras could live free. But while Violet had taken the first opportunity to run out to the outside world, Rose had taken her duties to heart. She’d learned at her mother’s side, gaining confidence over the years, so that today they worked together—ruled together, really.

  It was one of the first thing paras who asked to live here were told: Sanctuary wasn’t a democracy. Everyone was free to disagree with the leadership and to make their opinions known, even to ask other people’s support on petitions asking for something to be changed, but in the end the Littlewings family was in charge. These were their lands, they owned every building ever constructed here, and the fact that they’d welcomed more and more people here over the years didn’t change that.

  All this, and how they made it work, was in part the reason for this diplomatic visit, two emissaries from a group of paras in France coming to learn how Sanctuary functioned, day in and day out. But why Rose and her mother needed to be waiting here on the tarmac for their plane way too damn early in the morning, Rose still couldn’t fathom.

  Her mother made it a point of meeting every person who entered Sanctuary for more than a few hours, because her particular power allowed her to immediately know if they were a threat to Sanctuary in any way. These two visitors had already been vetted, and they had crossed the world to come here. Surely they could wait a few more hours and meet them during the already scheduled dinner they’d share that night?

  Lily Littlewings clucked her tongue when Rose suggested as much. She drew her tinted glasses down her nose and gave her daughter a severe look over the rim.

  “We’re their hosts. It’s as simple as that. Have I been such a terrible mother that I haven’t taught you to respect your guests?”

  “Isn’t the dinner tonight proof enough of that respect?” Rose countered. “I just don’t get why we have to welcome them when we’re not the ones who’ll be giving them a tour of Sanctuary. It’s weird to just say hello, then hand them over to the twins.”

  The twins in question were the Johnson brothers, whose Sanctuary-branded minivan was even now parked next to the jeep, waiting along with Rose and her mother. They’d already been working as Lily’s assistants when Rose was just a child, and they were as much family to her as her actual cousins. They knew everything there was to know about Sanctuary and how it worked—which, Rose supposed, was why they were in charge of this ‘tour’ today.

  “I used to show guests like these around myself,” Lily said, still a little reproachfully. “I figured this way they’d be able to ask any question they had directly to the person who could best answer. And do you know what happened? Emissaries wouldn’t ask those questions, because they were somehow afraid of offending me if they pried too much or seemed too critical. So all in all, that was a waste of my time and theirs. But if I’m there to welcome them and then leave them in the care of my assistants, they seem to be more relaxed. They know we value their visit because the person in charge was there when they arrived, but they don’t feel like they have to watch what they say all day long. And if there’s anything the twins can’t tell them, they can ask tonight at the dinner, or in the next few days.”

  Somewhat grudgingly, Rose conceded that it did make sense. Not that her objections mattered anymore now that a small plane was approaching the tarmac. Sanctuary’s small airstrip would never be able to accommodate commercial aircrafts, but anything up to a medium-sized private jet could land and take off here easily.

  With the plane still in approach, Rose and her mother joined the Johnson brothers outside, and they all started toward the edge of the tarmac. The airstrip workers were already waiting nearby, ready to help the passengers disembark, refuel the plane, and whatever else was necessary.

  “Should we have unrolled a red carpet?” Rose murmured for her mother’s ears only. “Or bring in a fanfare, maybe?”

  Lily rolled her eyes at her behind her glasses but didn’t dignify the tongue in cheek suggestions with a reply. The tinted glasses looked a little out of place in this early morning light. After all, the sun was still low enough on the horizon to be hidden behind distant trees. Rose knew, however, how sensitive her mother’s eyes were; she’d once gazed too long and from too close at her mate’s phoenix form, and paid the price to this day. If asked, she always said it had been worth it.

  The door soon opened and two people started down the steps. Both of them were clad in business attire, the woman in a pencil skirt, blouse and jacket, the man in a three-piece suit and tie that looked impeccable even after what Lily assumed had been a long flight. It was enough to make her feel a little undressed in her black slacks and dove-gray shirt. Her mother, as ever, wore a perfectly tailored pantsuit, today in a navy color that matched the twins’ business attire.

  As the two emissari
es reached the ground, Rose gave the man a closer look. He had clear brown eyes and a lovely smile. His light brown skin and close-cropped black hair were not exactly what she’d expected a Frenchman to look like… and she chastised herself as soon as the thought surfaced in her mind. She may have been raised in this sheltered domain, with only rare excursions beyond the walls, but stereotypes had no place in her life.

  “Bienvenue!” her mother said with a smile that immediately turned self-deprecating. “And I’m afraid that’s all I remember of three years of learning French, so you’ll have to forgive me for continuing in English.”

  Both the man and woman smiled back, though it was the latter who stepped a little closer, her hand extended toward Lily.

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself about it, Ms. Littlewings,” she said in a barely accented voice as she shook Lily’s hand. “Meeting you is an honor, whatever the language. I’m Fleur Dupont, and this is my colleague, Pierre Leonard.”

  Rose froze as she heard the man’s name. Her ears buzzed, drowning out the man’s voice as he took a turn at shaking her mother’s hand and offering platitudes. It was all she could do not to turn on her heels and get away—fast.

  What were the odds that he might be the Pierre she’d dreaded meeting for more than half her life? It wasn’t a very common name, at least not in the United States, and she’d never met anyone named this before today. Could he be—

  She was brought back to the here and now when her mother turned to her with an extended hand. Their eyes met, and Rose realized something in that moment: her mother had known the emissaries’ names before they had even started their journey, hadn’t she? She’d known a man named Pierre was coming to Sanctuary. And not only had she not told Rose about it, she’d insisted for her to come this morning when for previous visits she’d left it up to her.

  “The pleasure is all ours,” she was saying. “May I introduce my daughter—”

  A jolt ran through Rose. She all but leapt forward, taking the hand the woman was offering her with both of hers and giving her a bright smile as she interrupted her mother.

  “Welcome to Sanctuary! Did you have a pleasant trip?” She just allowed Fleur to reply before she turned to gesture to the twins, motioning them forward. “I’d like to introduce Gordon and Victor Johnson. They’ll be your guides today to discover Sanctuary.”

  In the ensuing exchange of handshakes, it might have appeared like an innocent accident that Rose didn’t shake Pierre’s hand. It was anything but, and judging from the exasperated glance her mother threw her, Lily knew better. She didn’t say anything however, and merely issued a formal invitation to both emissaries to have dinner at the mansion that night. They parted with more thanks and handshakes, and this time Rose couldn’t avoid shaking Pierre’s hand. She tried to keep the contact as brief as possible, avoiding looking at him directly and calling herself silly when the touch of his hand sent a shiver through her.

  *

  “So.”

  The word seemed to echo in the jeep. Rose kept her eyes on the road and continued to drive just a little over the speed limit. The sooner they got home and out of this car, the better.

  “His name is Pierre,” her mother added after a few seconds of silence.

  Rose gritted her teeth and still didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to have this discussion, not now, not ever, and her mother knew that perfectly well.

  “Come on, don’t be like that. You knew you’d meet him someday. You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious to know what he’s like.”

  “He’s not the only person called ‘Pierre’ in the world,” Rose argued. “There’s no proof he’s anything more than someone who wants to learn about Sanctuary before going back to his own country.”

  “True enough,” Lily conceded. “But there’s no proof either that he isn’t your Pierre.”

  “He’s not my anything. Nor is he going to be.”

  The vitriol in her own words startled even her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from apologizing. She probably did owe her mother an apology for coming so close to shouting, but if she showed any weakness now, Lily would take advantage of it instantly.

  They drove another half mile before Lily spoke again.

  “You’ve seen how happy finding her mate made your sister. And you’ve heard Idris. He was like you, he didn’t want a mate, but now that he’s found Violet—”

  “Just because he changed his mind doesn’t mean I will,” Rose interrupted.

  “And just because you’ve decided you don’t want a mate doesn’t mean you won’t fall in love with him,” her mother said with an indulgent sigh. “Once you get to know him tonight, you might realize he’s everything you might ever want from a man.”

  Rose snickered at that.

  “There’s nothing a man can give me that I can’t get from my vibrator.”

  She’d expected her mother to be outraged, and for the conversation to veer toward what topics were or were not appropriate to share with one’s parent. Instead, Lily sighed again. This time, though, she sounded sad.

  “I truly hope you don’t really mean that, sweetie. If you really think that all a mate is for is providing satisfaction in the bedroom, then your father and I failed you.”

  The mention of her father tightened like a not-so-gentle hand over Rose’s insides. She didn’t reply, and her mother did not continue the conversation. It had been close to ten years since Lily’s mate and husband had passed, but the wound of his absence was still painful—for all of them.

  It was without another word that they reached the heart of Sanctuary: around a large, park-like square, a small village had grown over the years, although it didn’t have a formal name. An imposing, centuries-old mansion dominated the space, which was the de-facto town hall, but also the Littlewings’ homestead. Rose parked in the driveway and killed the engine, although she didn’t exit the car quite yet and instead told her mother, “I won’t be attending the dinner tonight.”

  Lily, who had unbuckled herself and was pushing the door open, turned a sharp look to Rose.

  “Don’t be childish. Of course you’ll be there.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, but no, I won’t be. You don’t need me to entertain your guests.”

  “Do you really think you can run away from him?” Lily asked with a snort. “If he’s your mate, hiding in your room won’t change anything, you know.”

  She stepped out of the car without another word, closing the door behind her with more force than strictly necessary. Leaning back against the headrest, Rose closed her eyes and sighed.

  “I know,” she murmured to the empty car. “But I can still hope, can’t I?”

  *

  They had work to do—they always had work to do; things went smoothly in Sanctuary, but only because everyone worked hard to make it so. Still, Rose’s mind was in too much turmoil to focus right now. She convinced herself that, since she’d had to skip her morning run to be on the tarmac at the crack of dawn, she was allowed to get her exercise in now before she started working in earnest. That the run would get her out of the house and away from her mother for a while was entirely coincidental.

  Changing into her running gear took a matter of seconds, and little more than a thought: her feathers rearranged over her skin, changing from the slacks, blouse and low heels she’d worn to the meet and greet to a pair of exercise pants, tank top and running shoes. She bound her hair in a high ponytail that would get it off her neck, strapped her phone to her wrist with her earbuds plugged in and her running playlist already queued, and off she went, running around the large square on the other side of the street from the mansion.

  In the center of the square, the statue of an eagle in flight was dedicated to her ancestor, a few generations removed, who’d had the foresight of carving out a territory where she and her descendants could shift to their winged forms and fly free, without fear of being spotted or hunted by humans. Brick-paved paths curved all around
the square around fountains, picnic areas, playgrounds and trees as old as Sanctuary.

  Growing up, Rose and her sister had spent as much time out here in this park as they did in their actual backyard, more often than not under the vigilant eye of their father. Children were safe to play without supervision in Sanctuary; everyone knew everyone, or just about, and few people bothered to lock their doors at night. But James had not been raised here, and he couldn’t help but worry about his girls.

  As Rose ran around the perimeter of the square—her usual routine was fifteen laps, then she treated herself to her favorite latte at the coffee shop on the far side of the square before walking back home—memories resurfaced, familiar and welcome.

  She’d once sat on that bench with her father, reading a book while Violet rode her bicycle around them. There was a spot, halfway down this side of the square, where she’d once tripped over a brick that was sticking out higher than the rest, skinning her knees in the process. Before the day was over, her father had found someone who knew how to lay paving bricks properly, and they’d stripped a small area around the offending brick before repaving it. To this day, the bricks still lay perfectly flat. That tree over there was where she and Violet had carved their initials with a folding knife borrowed from their dad. A spot, a little farther in, was where they’d had family picnics on Sundays, their mother leaving her work behind for a few hours to relax with them. They’d tried continuing the picnic tradition even after James passed on, but it had never been the same. That was when Violet had started distancing herself from their mother, while Rose did the opposite and took a greater interest in learning about running Sanctuary.

  Today however, those childhood memories soon receded while much more recent ones rose to the front of her mind. She’d only met Pierre Leonard’s eyes for a split second, so how could she recall their color so precisely? How could she still feel the phantom touch of his fingers against hers when that contact had been so brief? And on the other hand, how could she not recall at all what his voice had sounded like? She knew he’d spoken when first arriving, but she couldn’t remember a word he’d said.