Rosalie spent the next hour becoming acquainted with some of the other club members. Finally, Lexie stopped babbling, nudged Rosalie in the arm, and nodded her head in the direction of the hall doorway.

  Rosalie followed Lexie’s gaze, right to Steele. He gestured for her to come to him. She took a step in his direction, then looked back at Lexie.

  "Aren't you coming?"

  "Nope. This is your council, not mine."

  Rosalie's mouth dropped open. "But . . . ."

  "Go on." Lexie nudged her toward the hallway. "You're keeping the council waiting."

  "Jesus," Rosalie said under her breath, sounding like Steele.

  All eyes were on her. She felt as if she were on trial. But once Steele smiled and put his arm around her, she felt a bit of relief.

  He led her to the end of the hall where he opened a door to an attic staircase. Rosalie peeked inside.

  "Oh no, not another hidden staircase." She looked at him skeptically.

  He grinned. "This one leads to a different kind of Hell."

  He motioned for her to go ahead.

  At the top of the narrow stairs, Rosalie found herself on a landing, facing a wooden door carved with the Paladins' logo. Steele opened the door. Rosalie gripped the leather at the ends of her sleeves in her fists, and bit the inside of a cheek as she walked into the small, rectangular room to stand before her judge and jury.

  Six others, all wearing multi-patched vests, sat at a long, dark, wooden table, passing around a joint. Wisps of blue smoke hung in the air.

  Various Paladin insignia adorned the surrounding walls. Rosalie allowed her gaze to wander to the eight sets of antlers, each one slightly different, hanging on the wall behind each council member. A brass plate sat below each one, inscribed with the name of the council member, their position, and the date they killed the animal. Two chairs were empty. The one at the opposite end of the table from Lithium's was Steele's. Above the other empty chair, the plaque carried the name Blaze. Rosalie shuddered.

  Steele didn't take his seat. Instead, he stood off to the side, leaving Rosalie feeling alone and vulnerable.

  Lithium came to her rescue. He wore sunglasses, like Steele, and she wanted to laugh. He also carried a leather jacket.

  He stopped in front of her, towering over her, and spoke. "Rosalie Lockwood."

  So formal, she thought.

  "Your request to become a full-patch member of the Fallen Paladins has come to the council's attention."

  Rosalie felt as if someone shot off fireworks in her stomach. She wished he'd just skip the formalities and get on with the sentencing.

  As if knowing how she felt, he gave her a grin. "You've already proven your loyalty to the club more than once; however, you still have to face a period of adjustment, which could take up to a year, before the council will consider making you a fully patched member. In that time, you will live and breathe our world and learn our secrets."

  Rosalie's heart did a backflip.

  "You will either become an advantage to us, or . . . a disadvantage. If the latter, you will be asked to hand back your patches and leave Nowhere."

  It's just routine, Rosalie told herself. Something he has to say in front of the council.

  The line of his lips softened. "In the event that we feel you are an advantage to us—and we have no doubt you will be—you will become a full-patch member of the Paladins for life. Do you accept this, Rosalie Lockwood?"

  "Y-ye-ess," she said, backing up the barely intelligible word with a nod.

  Lithium held up the jacket by the shoulders. Rosalie bit her bottom lip to keep from gasping.

  On the front of Jade's jacket was a set of small, rectangular patches. A tiny thrill replaced the nerves inside her as she read her own name—Rose—on the first patch. The patch sewn on just below that gave her an equal thrill of pleasure. The Fallen Ones. For Rosalie, the jacket with those two patches made it official—she was now a full-fledged member . . . a Fallen One. To the left of the zipper, one other patch had been sewn on: Nowhere.

  After reading the patches, she fixed her gaze on two shiny objects. On each point of the stand-up collar, a tiny, black, metal star gleamed. Rosalie didn't know whether to be proud of her two kills or distressed by them. They were demons, she reasoned with herself. The thought allowed her to will away the tears that wanted to spill down her cheeks. She looked up at Lithium's sunglasses. She could just make out the shadowy image of his eyes behind the shades, but not their color. She fought to suppress a grin but lost the battle. Lithium apparently couldn't hold his back, either.

  Steele, still behind her, hadn't so much as uttered a word since they'd entered the council room together. Neither had the seated council members.

  Lithium turned the jacket over, showing her the two patches on the back. On the very bottom, where the others said, Colorado, hers had the word Prospect stretched across the width of the jacket and arching upwards, like Flash's did. It's only temporary, she told herself, not that she truly cared. She would have been just as proud had it read Clubhouse Clown.

  Steele's hands were on her shoulders now. He helped her off with her own jacket, which he held while Lithium helped her on with her new one.

  She'd never had a prouder moment in all her life, not even when she had been voted valedictorian her senior year. Lithium hugged her and gave her a peck on the lips. One by one, each council member followed suit. After Lithium, came Serge, the clubs' Sergeant at Arms—Rosalie learned by reading the lettering on his top patch—then T-Bone, the Treasurer, followed by the club's Secretary, Blake. The line of well-wishers ended with Patch and Thorne. After each one congratulated her, they left the room.

  Rosalie let out an enormous, breathy sigh once she was alone with Steele and Lithium.

  "Sorry to put you through that, Rosebud, but we have to follow code," Lithium said, then he hugged her again and gave Steele a soft pat on the arm before leaving.

  * * * * *

  Steele straightened from holding up the wall and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. He set the jacket he held on the table and let his gaze wander down the front of Jade's jacket, which now officially belonged to Rosalie. The coat fit her perfectly, as if it had been custom-made for her. Just like his world seemed to be custom-made for her. She was in it for keeps now; there was no turning back.

  Rosalie touched the two metal stars, the two reminders she had killed, displayed so prominently on the tips of her collar for the world to see.

  "I'll always remember how I earned these first two stars," she said.

  "Rose." Steele took a step closer, pulled her hands away from her collar, and held them. "I hope you never have to add to them."

  Frowning, she looked at the collection of hardware on his vest; there were too many stars to count.

  "Killing isn't something we do for sport. Sometimes, it's necessary to stay alive, and other times . . . well, let's just say if we kill, then it's necessary."

  She gave him a skeptical look.

  His attention shifted to the patch with her name on it. A lock of her hair obscured the letters. He brushed it away with a swoop of his hand and let his eyes linger on her name, not fully believing what he saw. His gaze moved to the center of her chest. Sitting proudly, framed on either side by decorated leather, hung the gold cross her grandmother had given her. He smiled at the object, then he pulled something out of his jeans pocket.

  "I have something for you," he said, pulling his gaze from the cross back to her eyes. He held up his hand, and in it sat the delicate but sturdy white gold chain, upon which hung two pendants: a wing and a dagger.

  He watched her eyes glaze over as she stared at his offering.

  He fastened the chain around her neck, and held onto the pendants a moment before letting them rest against the cross.

  "I'm sorry. The cross belonged to Jade, but with the time shortage—"

  "Steele."

  His heart swelled a little more each time she called him by his chosen name.

  "I'm more honored to have Jade's things than I would be if they were new." She toyed with the wing and the dagger hanging around her neck.

  Steele smiled and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her on the lips as the others had.

  "There—now it's official," he said, looking affectionately into her eyes.

  "Are you sure you're okay with this?" she asked.

  He took a deep breath before answering. "I didn't think I would be, but I am. I really am. I've never been happier than I am right now."

  "Me either."

  * * * * *

  Rose shoved Lexie's hand away, along with the cold, wet cloth she pressed to Rose's forehead. "I'm fine!"

  "You don't look fine!" Lexie snapped back.

  "It barely hurts," Rose lied.

  The inking hurt like hell, but she passed the point of fainting long ago and felt proud of her new tattoo. She took a gulp of purple soda, which she stocked at the clubhouse, then admired her first piece of body art in the mirror Candy, the tattoo artist, held. About a dozen others who had accumulated at the clubhouse that afternoon admired it with her.

  The tattoo over her left breast, which she'd designed herself, showed a male and a female angel embracing, their wings concealing most of their nude bodies. Besides being pretty, and reminding Rosalie of herself and Steele, the tattoo served another purpose: working to camouflage her new scar.

  Candy did a final wipe, then sat back, stretching her neck.

  Rose looked at Steele, who slouched in a chair next to her. He tapped his fingers on the side of the pool table to the beat of Pearl Jam, looking completely relaxed, as if Russ had just inked him using butterfly wings instead of a tattoo gun.

  Miraculously better now that the torture was over, Rose got up and stood beside Russ. She watched him adding amazing artistic detail to the white rose cradled by two gray wings, like a baby cradled in two loving arms. Steele's tribute to Rose. At least, that’s what he had called the design when he'd described his vision to Russ.

  He smiled, obviously approving of her new ink. His response made her nerves loosen, and she relaxed.

  "Are you satisfied now?" he asked.

  She nodded. "For now."

  The following weekend, the Paladins held a party in Rose's honor. They also celebrated Flash becoming Slash. All Paladin members joined in the celebration, including several out-of-state chapter members. Even Willy, Nowhere's police chief, made an appearance. Finally, Rose felt at home in their biker world.

  Later that evening, after a mild protest from Rose, Steele snuck her away from the party, telling her he had a surprise for her.

  Blindfolded by Steele's hands, she let him lead her to a dimly lit corner of the garage. When he released her, she opened her eyes and gasped, taking in the sight of Jade's glossy black Harley. The word Jade adorned one side of the gas tank, while a pure white wing decorated the other side.

  "It's yours," he said, his tough voice edged with rare excitement. "Of course, I'll buy you a new one, but I thought this would be good to practice on."

  "I don't want a new one."

  Rose stared at the new-to-her bike. No doubt, Steele had a difficult time coming to the decision to give her the motorcycle. By providing her with Jade’s bike, Steele had guaranteed she'd be on the road almost every day, riding her own motorcycle, living dangerously like the rest of them. That thought alone must have given him pause.

  She looked at him as she touched Jade's name with her fingertips.

  "I mean, it would be silly to let this perfectly good bike go to waste. I love it." And she did.

  "I can get Patch and Thorne to give it a custom paint job," he said thoughtfully.

  She shook her head. "Maybe they can just paint my name below Jade's."

  Smiling, he nodded. "Get on. See if it fits."

  From the bottoms of her feet to the tips of her fingers, it fit her like everything else she’d borrowed from Jade's belongings—as if it were made for her.

  "Can I cry now?" As she asked the question, she blinked, releasing the tears flooding her eyes.

  Steele straddled the seat behind her and slid his arms around her waist. Rose leaned against him, resting the back of her head on his shoulder, perfectly content.

  "You know, most girls would have wanted all new everything."

  "I'm not most girls."

  "No, you're not. You're my delicate Rose. And I love you." He breathed the words against her neck, working his way to her eagerly awaiting lips.

  Rose twisted around until their faces met. "And I love you."

  Steele had worked his hand up under the front of her T-shirt. She quivered at the touch of his palm, lying flat against her stomach.

  "But I'm not so delicate," she said.

  Their cheeks brushed lightly together. He brought his lips to linger a fraction of an inch from hers. "You'll always be delicate to me. And I'll work extra hard for the rest of my life to keep you safe, because I can't imagine being in this world without you."

  "We're special," Rose whispered against his lips. "Blessed of the seraphim."

  "It doesn't get more special than that," Steele breathed back.

  Despite Rose’s newfound contentment—and the fact that she was melting under Steele’s kiss—uneasiness settled in her, . She'd chosen a path edged with danger, a lifestyle she knew little about. The sense of evil still lingered. Had they really killed Abaddon? Or had they temporarily thwarted his plan to take over Earth with his spawn? Rose didn’t have answers, and Eloa hadn’t given them any.

  Tingles covered her skin under Steele’s touch. She pushed the anxious thoughts to the back of her mind and indulged in the pleasures before her. She would deal with the danger when and if it came for her, but in the moment, she would be happy.

  ~The End~

  Lisa is a native of Nova Scotia who takes daily ocean views for granted. She left her urban life far too early and finished growing up in rural NS, where she met her husband and had their son. But a big chunk of her soul remains in the city.

  Besides riding on the back of her husband's Harley (because she doesn't yet have her own bike license), Lisa’s passion is writing. Her imagination is like an unleashed pet demanding her attention every waking hour. Whether she’s at her day job, in a store line-up, or driving from point A to point B, her pet plays on the fringes of her mind, attempting to capture her attention with story after story.

  Lisa can't imagine writing without an element of magic. In addition to that, she likes to transport the reader back to their first love. There's nothing like a captured glance, or the brush of an arm, or that first time when her lips touch his, to send shimmers of tingles over your body and release those caged butterflies.

  Enter Lisa's imagination where light ends and fantasy begins. But heed these warnings: It's dark . . . It's magical . . . You may experience tingles.

  Acknowledgements

  To all who’ve read The Devil’s Flower as it progressed. You listened to my ramblings, and gave me advice and praise. He’ll always be DS to us ;)

  To Georgia McBride, who has a way with words.

  To YALitChat for giving me, and people like me, the opportunity to be discovered.

  To Erica Galpin for discovering me.

  To my Noble YA team.

  And most importantly, to everyone who purchased this book. You’ve turned my dream into a reality.

  From the depths of my soul, I thank you all!

 

 

  Lisa Collicutt, The Devil's Flower

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
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