Dark Roses: Eight Paranormal Romance Novels

by P. T. Michelle

  “No need to lie to a guy who knows what you feel before you do.”

  “Alright. She took me to the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “Why?”

  “To tell me to stay away from Marcus.”

  “And look how well that worked.”

  “This is all so easy for you. You know what everyone is thinking already. Me, I have to work without waves. I have to figure out how I feel on my own.”

  “You know what you’re feeling, Em. Desperation isn’t a hard emotion to identify, waves or no waves.”

  “You think I’m desperate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I must be.”

  “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  “Sorry, I hurt you so deeply just now.”

  “Whatever, I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. And I should be more understanding.”

  “Are angels supposed to be understanding?”

  “Ideally.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did she hurt you?”

  “Ameana? No. She just tried to scare me.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Usually she can be very persuasive.”

  “Has she ever persuaded you to do anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t persuade you to do anything that you wouldn’t have done anyway because it was the right thing.”

  “Angels don’t always do the right thing.”

  “Then what separates you guys from us?”

  “Expectations.”

  “Whose?”

  “Omnis’.”

  “What does he except of you?’

  “Everything.”

  “Are you able to deliver?”

  “Mostly.”

  “I can’t imagine you failing at anything.”

  “Actually, I fail at most things. You’re just not paying attention.”

  “I shouldn’t be doing this, huh?” I ask him.

  “No.”

  “I can turn around.”

  “You won’t.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Rio stays in the car and I run out to the house. As I walk up the stairs I see him. He’s helping Ameana with her coat. She doesn’t notice that I’m there. She hugs him tightly. She’s facing away from me while Marcus and I lock eyes.

  Without speaking out loud, I tell him everything with one sincere, pleading glance.

  Marcus, choose me. Choose the path that is perilous and leads to certain annihilation because it’s also the path leads to me. They can’t understand that we are powerless to stop what we have for each other. But we know. We know that if we don’t bend to the will of this love, it will break us.

  He looks back at me and I read the answer in his eyes.

  Go away, Emmy. Please, go away.

  I cover my mouth with my hand. I run out of the house and onto the sidewalk. I try to get my body to stop shaking but I can’t. My body doesn’t take commands from me anymore. It doesn’t trust me. My heart gave itself over to my crazy, outlandish desires, and now it’s broken. I’m broken. I can’t imagine being whole again after this kind of rejection.

  Someone help me. Please.

  “You are not the only one who needs help,” a boy who’s about five or six years old says to me. I’m paralyzed with heartbreak and don’t understand what he’s talking about.

  “I’m talking about Rio. Look over there,” he says. I turn and follow his gaze. Sure enough, Rio is in the car doubled over in pain.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Your pain is too much for him. You are only feeling one emotion right now and it is so deep and so all-consuming, it radiates beyond what the Guardian can handle. In short, Emmy, you’re killing him.”

  “What do I do?”

  “I could tell you to stop hurting but it would be pointless, not to mention rude.”

  Who the hell is this kid?

  “I’m the Sage, my dear.”

  “You’re the Sage? Then help him.”

  “He needs you to feel something else or get as far away from him as you can. Let us take a walk,” he says.

  I follow him down the block. I keep looking back at Rio and I think the distance is helping.

  “How is your father?” He asks.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Ah, youth. So full rage and righteous indication.”

  “I don’t care if you are a thousand years old and all-knowing. Stay out of this!”

  “You’re like Marcus: full of fire.”

  “I don’t want to hear about Marcus. I hate him.”

  “I think Rio would beg to differ. As would Ameana and the rest of them, for that matter.”

  “Yeah, well. That was before. Now I just want him to go back where he came from and leave me the hell alone.”

  “Wish it were that easy.”

  “It is. I hate him. And I will stay as far away from him as I can.”

  “You’ve tried that many times before, have you not?”

  “Yeah, but this time it’s different.”

  “We shall see.”

  “Why did you make that stupid prediction about my being the end of him? You messed everything up.”

  “Well, I suppose I could have lied to him and told him that everything would go as he had planned.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Emerson Hope, who exactly do you think I am? Do you think that I was chosen simply by luck? I have handled cycle after cycle of Guardians. I arm them with information that will enable them to fight the evil that threatens your very existence. I’m not here to help you with your love life.”

  “I can’t stop wanting him, needing him. But he could care less.”

  “Cruel, is it not, ignoring how one feels?”

  “It hurts so bad. I can’t take it.”

  “I suspect Ameana is right: you are stronger than you know.”

  “I’m not. I can’t take this. Marcus, Julian, the Triplex. I just want it all to stop.”

  I sob and the waves hit me over and over again. I need a tissue but I don’t have one.

  He takes out a small new pack of tissues. They’re the brand I like.

  “I know, Emmy. That is why I got them,” he says. I study him for the first time. His power amazes me.

  “Thank you, I try,” he says.

  “You can really read minds and tell the future.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m really going to end his life, little ole me?”

  “Look what you did to Rio.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Your intent is not in question. You have a good heart.”

  “It doesn’t change anything, does it?”

  “Not in the least.”

  *

  The Sage went to check on Rio and told me to take some time to think about what he said. I told him I couldn’t be alone, but he assured me that I would not be attacked tonight. So, thanks to the Sage this is the first time I’ve actually been alone in months.

  I head to the public library on Forty Second Street and Fifth Ave. I spend a few hours reading my favorite passages from various books. Then I head home.

  My eyes are fixed on the floor because I feel like a complete loser. I’m a few yards away when I spot someone standing in the front of my building. I can’t really make the guy out, but I think it’s the janitor’s son, Eric. He’s nice enough, but I’m in no mood to talk. I put my head down and hope that my demeanor will tell him to skip the pleasant banter.

  “Hi” he says.

  I look up. It’s not Eric. It’s Marcus. He stands in front of me with his hands in his pockets and his tie loosened around his neck. He has been running his hands through his hair. His eyes are wild, deeply penetrating. I’m feeling too many things all at once. But the one feeling that prevails is that of being drained.

  “I don’t have it in me to go another round with you. Pl
ease let me go home,” I say to him.

  “I need to say this to you. When I’m done, you can go home and never talk to me again if you want, okay?”

  I don’t answer I just shrug slightly and wait for him to say his piece.

  “I broke things off with Ameana.”

  “What, why?”

  He pauses then speaks again, with painful honesty.

  “When the Sage told me that you would be the end of me, I thought the answer was simple: I just stay away from you. But that hasn’t helped because my every waking thought is of you. And since I don’t sleep, my every thought is of you.”

  “And when I saw you tonight outside the house, I was so angry. I was angry because I didn’t feel true happiness until I saw you standing there. It was only then that I realized I had spent my day praying that you would come see me.”

  “You rejected me.”

  “I tried to. Omnis knows I tried. But I don’t care anymore. You can be the end of me. So long as I get to hold you, none of it matters.”

  “Marcus, you can’t die for me.”

  He walks up to me. We’re inches apart.

  “When I heard the twins’ Core, I thought no death could ever be worse. But I was wrong.”

  “Wrong how?”

  “There is a worse death, Emmy. There’s the death that comes when I watch you walk away from me. The death that comes when I can’t hold you and tell you that I love more than anyone should ever love.”

  “But the Sage said—”

  “I don’t give a damn what he said. Not being with you is killing me. I can’t do it anymore. Please, don’t make me.”

  He strokes my cheek with the palm of his hand.

  “I’m scared,” I confess.

  He leans in to kiss me. And even though it’s what I want with every fiber of my being, I pull away. He looks into my eyes sadly.

  “It’s too late, isn’t it?”

  Before I can answer him, the twins and Jay fly down to us. We know something is wrong because they fly down with no concern for who is or isn’t around.

  “What is it?” Marcus asks his team.

  “It’s Rio, he saw Onyx,” Miku says on her brother’s behalf. Marcus turns to Rio with frustration.

  “Look, I can’t deal with this right now—”

  “‘It was a bus filled with kids, twenty seven of them,” Rio says gravely.

  “Aw, man. I’m sorry. When did they die?”

  “They didn’t. I saved them. I saved them all.”

  And before it could sink in what Rio had done, lightning cracks above. Clouds gather in the once clear night sky and turn a macabre shade of crimson.

  A plane above us has been halted in midflight. The man walking his dog a block away is on pause, as is the dog. Across the street, a lady stands at the kitchen window near a running faucet. Both she and the running water have been rendered motionless. Aside from us, every living thing is frozen.

  Rio bows his head before his leader.

  “I’m sorry,” Rio says.

  His apology is drowned out by the earth-shattering sound of three cloaked figures parting the bloody sky as they descend wrathfully upon us…

  END OF BOOK ONE

  CLICK LINK BELOW TO GET BOOK 2 : “THE FALLOUT” IN ADDITION TO THE OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES.

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  By

  Trisha Leigh

  Copyright 2012 by Trisha Leigh

  Cover art and design by Nathalia Suellen

  Developmental Editor: Danielle Poiesz

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Also by Trisha Leigh

  Young Adult

  Winter Omens (The Last Year)

  Betrayals in Spring (The Last Year)

  Summer Ruins (The Last Year)

  Gypsy (The Cavy Files)

  Adult (written as Lyla Payne)

  Broken at Love (Whitman University)

  By Referral Only (Whitman University)

  Be My Downfall (Whitman University)

  Staying On Top (Whitman University)

  Not Quite Dead (Lowcountry Ghosts)

  Not Quite Cold (Lowcountry Ghosts)

  For Anthony, who was the first person to tell me this story had merit, and who has been a treasured part of my life—even when I’ve done nothing to deserve him.

  CHAPTER 1.

  Before my eyelids crack open I know I’ve traveled again.

  The oppressive, terrifying certainty that I no longer exist is a dead giveaway. The familiarity of the sensation does nothing to dull the roaring panic as sweat rolls off me and a scream begs to erupt from my heaving chest.

  Breathe, Althea. You still exist.

  My heart rate slows as it responds to the calming voice of reason in my head. It sounds like me, only prettier and definitely calmer. At least part of my brain possesses some clarity.

  It’s early morning. It always is. The sound of movement on the floor below forces my fists to unclench, releasing the garish orange comforter wrinkled inside them. Last night I fell asleep at the Hammonds’ house, where the bedding is green and spring is creeping toward an end. I never get used to starting over like this, but as my travels grow more frequent, a kind of numbness settles in as my feet find their way out from under the heavy down and settle into the slippers beside the bed.

  As if I never left.

  I shuffle across the thick brown carpet and kneel on the padded window seat to peer outside. The trees are bright splotches against the vivid blue sky—some crimson, others a sunny yellow—with a few fiery oranges scattered about. Their bold colors verify my suspicions.

  It’s autumn now.

  My breath fogs up the glass, obscuring the view. Despite my best efforts, water wells up in my eyes. This is still Earth, I remind myself. The only world I’ve ever known. It just looks different than it did yesterday.

  Spring was short for me this time, a mere three or four weeks. I haven’t been yanked out of a season that fast in years. Even without control over my season hops, part of me never gives up hope that someday it will stop. That I will stay in one place, find a way to fit in.

  It’s no use, though. The years have taught me that hope is a worthless dream.

  I gnaw on my fingertips and assemble the facts of this life in my mind. Autumn means Connecticut and that means the Morgans.

  Althea Morgan. That’s the autumn me.

  The name rolls around in my head a few times in an attempt to make it stick. It usually takes a few days before it does.

  “Thea, darling! Come and get some breakfast! Opening block starts in less than an hour!”

  A sigh begins deep inside and burbles up until it spills out in a heavy whoosh. Mr. Morgan doesn’t need to inform me what time I’m required to be settled at my desk, ready to listen to fruitless lectures. It hasn’t changed in ten years.

  Not ready to face the breakfast scene, I head for the shower instead, still chanting my name under my breath. The cleansing room contains a frilly robe, some makeup I’ll hardly wear, a toothbrush, and some fluffy orange towels. All items that belong to me but aren’t mine. Without needing to check, I know similar provisions hang in the closet and are stuffed in the dark oak furniture. In my worst moments I want to rip everything to shreds. On traveling days it’s hard to summon the energy.

  Under the stream of hot water, the scent of jasmine fills my nose. All my showers, in all my houses, are stocked with the same homemade shampoo. I asked my winter mother why she made it for me one time and earned a strange look but no answer. The fragrance clings to me whether I wash my hair or not, and
is one of the most constant things in my life, though I’ve never smelled the flower itself.

  It only blooms in the summer. The one season I’ve never seen.

  I press my forehead against the cold white tile and try to stop shivering. The struggle to shake off the traveling knocks me to my knees on the slippery floor. Nagging fear that the shower is imagined, that the orange comforter and the autumn leaves are part of a dream, chokes off my air supply. I’m sure I’m truly gone this time, hidden forever in the black emptiness between seasons. The pain from the scalding water against my face, the sight of blood where the pink razor nicks my skin, both offer a trembling belief that my body exists here—now—at the Morgans’.

  Going to sleep one place, with a certain family, and waking up in another life often tips me sideways for the first couple of hours. I don’t recall the traveling, but rather the endless dark void of the process. As though my body dissolves into a million pieces, and no matter how many times it happens, my brain frets I won’t get put back together.

  The familiarity of my morning ritual helps as I stand in front of the mirror and conquer the tangles in my sopping red hair. Next, I cover my damp body with jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, dry my hair and then brush my teeth. Ready to face the day, I leave the cleansing room, cross to the bedroom door, and push it closed.

  My locket works loose from beneath the shirt collar, dropping into my palm as I flop down onto the mussed bed. This necklace alone joins me on my strange travels.

  A jeweled, four-pointed star, no bigger than my thumbnail, dangles off the end of a gold chain so delicate it could snap with almost no effort at all. Gold flecks litter the surface of the reflective black jewel. I pry it open with practiced care and pull out the tiny folded square of paper lodged inside. Rereading it on travel days has become a ritual.

  Althea,

  You feel different because you are Something Else, a Dissident. But you are not the only one. There are more, and you will find each other when it is necessary. In the meantime, trust no one.