Chasing Rose Read online

  She tried to chase his image out of her mind, but as fast as she ran, his gentle smile continued to pursue her. She ended up finishing her fifteen laps with two songs to spare on her playlist, and her heart beating so hard it was a struggle not to let herself collapse in the grass and watch the clouds for a little while.

  Instead, she clung to her routine and crossed the street to go to Sanctuary’s best coffee shop. The title wouldn’t have been hard to claim as it was Sanctuary’s only coffee shop, but the staff there truly made it worth coming from the farthest part of the domain for a delightful cup or two. If Rose hadn’t known any better, she might have believed the rumor that the barista’s power was to brew the perfect cup for anyone who entered the shop. But no, Heather was a regular shifter who just had a special touch with brewing coffee.

  As always, the shop was busy when she walked in, but being a Littlewings did have its advantages… She only needed to catch the barista’s eye across the room, and the nod she received confirmed her latte would be the next thing Heather prepared. Rose stood a little to the side to wait, observing the people around her, nodding here and there as she met their eyes.

  Lightning seemed to strike her when she met the very same pair of eyes she’d spent two of her laps thinking about. The next second, she finally knew what Pierre’s voice sounded like as he crossed the few feet that separated them to come talk to her.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he offered with a charming smile.

  Caramel. That was what he sounded like. Warm, ooey-gooey caramel sliding over ice cream.

  He’d found the time to relax his attire a little, getting rid of his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to reveal a triangle of bare skin at his throat. He wouldn’t have been out of place on the set of a high fashion photo shoot.

  “Neither did I,” she managed to reply despite her tight throat. Her heart was suddenly hammering as hard as when she’d just finished her run. “I see you’ve found Sanctuary’s best hidden secret.”

  He laughed at that. She could practically taste the caramel on the back of her tongue.

  “We drove past this shop when our guides took us to the Leader Center down the street. It’s a fascinating place, but I needed caffeine so I excused myself.”

  “And the twins let you go alone?” she wondered aloud.

  His impish grin betrayed that, maybe, he hadn’t given them much of a choice.

  “Are you going to report me to your mother…” He stopped mid-teasing, his smile wavering a little as he turned apologetic. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t recall your name.”

  Should she lie? It was such a silly thing to lie about, especially when he’d be in her home in a few hours and the likelihood of Lily not correcting him if he called her daughter by the wrong name was slim to none. At the same time, though, if she told him her name his reaction would undoubtedly reveal whether it was the same name he wore on his wrist or not. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want mate tattoos and all they represented hanging over her like a sword doomed to fall down someday.

  The decision was taken out of her hands when Heather called out from the counter behind her, “Rose, your latte’s ready, honey.”

  All she needed was one look at Pierre’s widening eyes, at the way his suddenly rigid body turned at once toward the counter, obviously trying to see whom Heather had been calling.

  There was only one reason why he’d react in such a manner to her name. The same reason she’d feared since hearing his name.

  Excusing herself with a whisper, she all but ran to the counter for her drink and out the door before he could react. She wasn’t proud of herself, far from it, but it didn’t stop her from stepping in an alley on the side of the shop to hide behind a car parked there. From this spot, she could see Pierre follow her into the street and look around for her. After a few seconds, his shoulders dropped and he returned inside, only to walk out again with two cups of coffee a moment later. He started back toward the Leader Center, a building of glass and steel that hosted Sanctuary’s computer power. She watched him from the edge of the alley, only walking out in the open when he’d disappeared inside.

  She cursed herself under her breath all the way back home, her coffee forgotten in her hand.

  *

  The day seemed to drag on and on. Rose threw herself into her work, intent on tackling in one day a to-do list that should have kept her busy for two or three days at least, but even so her mind continued to obsess over those few moments she’d spent talking to Pierre.

  And the way she’d fled the scene like a criminal, too.

  She alternated between being horrified that she’d been so rude to a visitor who was here to learn about Sanctuary, and defiantly reminding herself that she didn’t owe him anything, regardless of what his name might be.

  Her mother’s attitude didn’t help. If she’d continued to berate Rose about her decision not to attend the formal dinner, it might have been easier for Rose to refuse to be bullied into it and cling to her decision. However, Lily didn’t so much as mention the dinner the handful of times she came into Rose’s office to ask her about something. She was acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened today. It should have been what Rose wanted, but instead it irked her to no end. Something had happened. She didn’t want it to be so, but what use was it to deny it?

  As minutes trickled toward seven o’clock, which was when the guests were supposed to arrive, Rose slowly came to a decision. If she avoided Pierre for the rest of his visit, he might try that much harder to see her. But if she attended the dinner tonight and acted coolly toward him, as though she had no interest in him beyond the regard of a hostess for her guest, he might realize that no, there was nothing between them, nor would there ever be.

  But if that was truly her intent, a little mocking voice asked at the back of her mind, why did she spend an hour in front of the full-length mirror in her room changing into one extravagant dress after the other? With the world of fashion at her fingertips on her phone and her ability to transform her feathers into any clothing she might picture in her mind, her options were simply limitless… which in this case wasn’t a particularly good thing.

  When she allowed her mind to wander, she found herself clad in a sleeveless silk gown in shades of burgundy, red and deep pink, with a heavily embroidered corset and a thigh-high slit in the skirt. Appropriate for a red carpet event, certainly, but not for this dinner.

  She ended up settling on an asymmetrical cocktail dress that sported one thin sleeve that came all the way down to her wrist and left her other shoulder bare. A few embroidered golden feathers adorned the sweetheart neckline and ivory bodice. She tied her hair in a messy bun at the nape of her neck and decided to go without jewelry and keep her heels reasonable. When she stepped out of her room at a quarter ‘til and met her mother in the hallway, she could feel her entire face growing hot at the knowing look Lily gave her.

  “Not a word,” she demanded, her voice trembling.

  “A word about what?” Lily replied, sounding all too amused.

  She took Rose’s arm, and they went down together.

  The housekeeper had outdone herself, as she always did for occasions such as this. A whiff of the smells coming from the kitchen was enough to make Rose’s mouth water, and the reception room could have been used for a state or royal dinner without changing a thing.

  The dinner table, a one-piece, hand-carved wooden monstrosity that had been brought in before the mansion was finished and that was too large to be taken out without cutting it to pieces, easily accommodated twenty people, although only half that number of guests had been invited tonight. They started arriving right as the old grandfather clock struck seven, and the housekeeper led them one by one to the sitting room where Rose and her mother were waiting.

  Millie arrived first; the leader of the squad might be off duty tonight, but she was still wearing a suit that closely resembled a uniform. Next were John, w
ho was in charge of the perimeter security for all of Sanctuary, and his mate, who supervised one of the hydroponic farms. Every guest had been chosen for the information they might share about various topics, and in the next few days the emissaries would be free to request meetings with any number of them if they wanted more details.

  By ten minutes after seven, only the guests of honor were still missing. When the next knock came, Lily went to open the door herself. Rose’s flight instinct slammed back into her, but before she could act on it her mother and the two emissaries entered the sitting room, with Fleur apologizing for their lateness.

  “I’m afraid my colleague insisted on finding a florist before we could come,” she was explaining. “Young men. You know how they are.”

  And indeed, behind her, Pierre’s upper body was almost entirely hidden behind a ridiculously large bouquet of pink roses. He shifted the roses in his arms to be able to see better. His face lit up when his gaze found Rose, and he crossed the room to come to her, ignoring the rest of the guests.

  “Miss Rose,” he said very formally, “it is a pleasure to see you again. You look lovely tonight, if I may say so.”

  Feeling suddenly on the spot, Rose managed to mumble something that might have been a passable thank you.

  “These are for you,” he added, holding out the bouquet toward her, “if you would please accept them.”

  Under the collective attention of almost a dozen people, it would have been more than awkward for Rose to refuse. This time, she offered a more proper thank you, but as soon as she’d taken the flowers from him she excused herself to go find a vase for them.

  Sanctuary didn’t have a florist per se, but one of the nearby farms had a sumptuous garden, whose owner was all too happy to share her flowers with anyone who asked. Was this where he’d found these? What had he told the twins to explain why he wanted to bring such a bouquet to the dinner party? What had he told the farmer, for that matter, when asking for what looked like over fifty roses?

  Alone in a small salon off the dining room, Rose found herself having to divide the bouquet in two so that the flowers would fit in the vases she had on hand. Her heart was beating fast yet again; too fast. Fear was seizing her once more, and the temptation not to return to the dinner increased with each passing moment.

  When she heard steps behind her, she knew, without having to look back, who would be there, and she did her best to steel herself before turning to Pierre.

  “Thank you again,” she said, “they are…”

  She lost her words when she realized he had removed his jacket, leaving him in a perfectly tailored white shirt, deep maroon silk vest and matching tie. He was unbuttoning his cuff—his right cuff—and she knew at once why he was doing so. Her own right wrist itched, covered by her sleeve.

  “I apologize,” he said when he caught sight of her shocked expression. “I’m not sure how things are done here about mate tattoos, but in France when you meet someone who wears the name that’s tattooed on your skin, it’s traditional to just show them the tattoo and wait for them to do the same. Just to know if they’re a set.”

  And sure enough, as he drew up his sleeve, she could see her name spelled out in block letters on the delicate skin at the inside of his wrist.

  Her stomach lurched, and she had to lean back against the cabinet behind her. She’d known for a very long time that someone out there had her name on their skin, but it had never seemed as real as it did now that she could see it with her own eyes.

  Never as scary, too.

  His excited, expectant look slowly turned disappointed when Rose didn’t react. From disappointed, he soon appeared mortified, and stammered another apology as he covered his wrist once more.

  It would have been easy to simply pretend her tattoo didn’t match his name, as her behavior clearly caused him to believe. He’d go on to be embarrassed for a couple more hours, but in a few days he’d leave Sanctuary again and that would be the end of it. It’d be exactly as Rose had always hoped: her mate would be out of her life for good before really entering it.

  So why, then, why did she slowly tug her sleeve upward, exposing her wrist—and his name? Why was she bringing that excited, delighted look back in his eyes and smile when she didn’t want to have anything to do with him beyond this dinner?

  His hands were shaking when he took hers between them, his accent thickening with emotion.

  “I’ve looked for you for so long,” he said quietly. “I so hoped… I can’t tell you how much I dreamed of this day.”

  She couldn’t tell him that she’d had nightmares about it, could she?

  “We should go,” she said instead, pulling her hands free from the gentle warmth enveloping them. “The other guests will be waiting for us to start dinner.”

  Uncertainty filled his gaze, but he did follow her into the dining room, where everyone was ready to sit. He ended up on her right, and Rose couldn’t tell if her mother had planned it that way or if he’d chosen the seat for himself. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore, did it?

  If earlier her mind had been filled with too many thoughts, it now felt empty, the home of ghostly echoes. She helped herself to food as platters were passed to her and ate along with everyone, but she could barely taste anything. Pierre tried to engage her in conversation but she felt dim-witted and slow, unable to reply with more than a few words. At least he didn’t raise the issue of mate tattoos again; she didn’t know what she’d have done if he had—if the entire table had figured out they were mates when the very idea had turned her world upside down.

  In her daze, she was aware that her mother kept sending annoyed glares toward her, while the other guests, who’d never known her to be so quiet, seemed concerned. Staying at the table was the best she could do, however. That, and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before they all retreated to the sitting room for after-dinner coffee and drinks, so that she could finally make a quiet, hopefully unnoticed exit.

  *

  Coming out alone into the backyard, Rose closed her eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath. She didn’t know what she thought anymore, didn’t know what she felt. Something deep and primal within her longed to go find Pierre and be near him again, but everything else in her refused to do so, refused to even consider what the names on both their wrists meant.

  She didn’t want them to mean anything. She’d never wanted it. Never wanted a mate. So why had she come down to this dinner? Why had she shown him her wrist rather than denying she wore his name on her skin? Why did she feel so shaken if she truly didn’t want this?

  “Rose? May I—”

  She never heard the end of Pierre’s question, not any more than she’d heard him approach. At the sound of her own name, barely accented as it passed his lips, she startled and began shifting to her phoenix form before she even knew that was what she wanted to do. She was beating her wings and taking to the air before another couple of seconds had passed, rising quickly to fly over the trees that bordered the back of the property. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew that she had to get away.

  It was the same thing she’d done earlier that day at the coffee shop: running away from him. She didn’t know why she was doing it; it wasn’t as though she was afraid of him in any way. She did realize it was rude, and stupid, but she just couldn’t help herself, even knowing her mother would give her hell about it as soon as she returned home. But by then, Pierre would have left the mansion, in a few days he’d leave Sanctuary, and—

  Her train of thoughts, scattered as it was, suddenly focused on one single realization. She wasn’t alone in Sanctuary’s sky.

  Another winged beast was catching up with her. Soon it was flying alongside her, and she could see at once it was a phoenix, every last one of his wings tipped with fire, a long tail trailing behind him.

  Her thoughts stuttered at the realization.

  Pierre. It had to be.

  He was a little larger than her, and with a powerful beat of his wi
ngs he overtook her. For a few seconds he was directly in front of her. She made to change course, but he changed his path the moment she did, falling back a little so that he was below her, then rolling over in an incredible move that took him above her next. In awe at his dexterity, she slowed down a little, and he adjusted his speed to match hers. The skies belonged to them. It was like a dance, every beat of their wings matched, every air current shared. The only thing missing was music… but not for long.

  A deep, soulful note suddenly filled the air around them, and it took her a few seconds to realize it came from him. Without thinking, without pausing to wonder what she was doing, she echoed the note back at him, lighter, longer. He replied with a trill and a loop around her. She followed with more notes, like an amused laugh.

  On and on they went, singing to each other and with each other, creating music that had never existed before that night and yet it sounded like the most lovingly crafted symphony. Even while she had a part in creating this music, Rose couldn’t help but think it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard in her life. The song entwined around her heart, and little by little all those fears that had been wrapped around her like chains for so long started falling away, leaving her filled with hope and a joy so deep she didn’t have a word for it.

  So instead of trying to put what she felt into words, she continued to sing, joining her voice to his, and even when their rhythms or phrases came out different they still melded seamlessly together, playing off each other and resonating all over Sanctuary.

  She didn’t know how long they flew like this. She instinctively guided him in a wide circle so that they’d stay well within the limits of Sanctuary, away from prying human eyes. Twice, they flew over the main square and the mansion. She wondered if her mother knew who was singing like that in the sky. A few times, when she looked toward the ground, she could see people looking up, sometimes pointing toward her and Pierre. What did they think about this song? Did it feel as special to them as it did to her? Could they hear nascent love in every note, every melody, the way she did?