Because there, on the dark wood deck not a meter away, is another golden rose. Eyes narrowed, I look around. He was here? The killer? When and why…? How did he even know where I lived?
I slide the door shut and lock it, but I hesitate before quickly unlocking it, grabbing the flower, and slamming it closed once more. I latch it again, and to be safe, I cut my finger and press it to the runes and spells around the door handle, activating their protective barrier.
Is this how he got to the others? He stalked them and teased them by leaving little presents so they would know he was here? But this almost feels like a good gesture, not one with evil intent. As I stroke the solid gold rose, noting the incredible detail on the petals and stem, I get the impression of lust and…hope?
Not hate, not anger, or even the need to kill like I would expect.
Who is this man?
It’s clear I have caught his attention though, and either way, I don’t think that’s a good thing.
However, I’m unable to throw the rose away or destroy it, so instead, I place it in a tiny container in the kitchen and step back. The wooden counter I had made is filled and overflowing with my plants and herbs. The teapot I brewed when I walked in is sitting there ready to be poured, surrounded by my crystals and the tomes I’ve been reading. Along the back brick wall are more plants, which are hanging down into the sink and cooking area with an old-style SMEG fridge to the side. My cottage is cute and just what a green witch like me loves.
Stepping across the cool brick floor and onto the fluffy carpet in my yellow living room, I throw myself onto the macramé chair hanging from the ceiling. My pink sofa, which is placed opposite me, is covered in decorative funny witch pillows, and the golden coffee table boasts yet more books about witchcraft and—you guessed it—more plants. There’s no TV, but the whole back wall is covered in built-in bookshelves, constructed into the wall itself, with candles, crystals, magic balls, and skull decorations interwoven with sparkling lights.
I love my home. I made it my own since I moved here when I was sixteen after leaving the coven’s house. I stuck out there, I always felt alone, but here I’m happy, though a lot find it an unusual place. Like the fact that my bathtub is out on my deck. Or that my bedroom is up a small, wooden ladder with only two rungs, more decorative than anything like a step, on a raised area off the side with only a sheer curtain and twinkling lights to obscure it.
In there I have my low bed with more runes painted across all the walls for protection, and yes, to test my spells. There are more books and plants, and a fluffy white rug to keep my feet warm. I even have a tree growing in the corner of the room, with hanging baskets of plants and lights happily twinkling away. There’s also a fire on the back wall, opposite the glass windows which look out into the forest.
The bathroom is attached with a sliding door made of reclaimed wood inlaid with runes and diagrams for protection and healing. With only a toilet, sink, and storage, it’s a smallish place, but I managed to fill it with me. Plants dangle from the ceiling, as do strips of white cloth with lights built inside of it. The brick wall has a black mirror hanging on it, and there is a small, free-standing shower just before the window with a rainforest showerhead on the ceiling.
I spent so much money on making this my home, to have a place to live where I can be happy, and even just stepping foot into my cottage does that. Here, no one judges me, no one makes snide remarks or looks down on me. Here, I can be just me.
Sighing, I force myself to get up and grab my tea before sitting down to read as I drink. I’m hoping I might find some information on the ritual that was clearly performed with those witches who died.
I have to figure out what’s happening, and how does the flirty golden man fit into this?
“I told you not to play with it,” I mutter to Salem as he has a tantrum. He’s glaring at the enchanted idol that came alive and chased him around the shop after he swiped at it. “You’ve spent too long as a cat, my friend.” I laugh as I gently push the idol to the side before stroking along Salem’s furry back, making him purr.
The shop is quiet. Most of the witches are at work, and the tourists are stuck inside, the rain beating down across the cobblestone streets too thick to venture out in. So that leaves me bored. After cleaning and rearranging the shop, I decide to carry on my research regarding any rituals that may cause black veins. So far, I’ve had no luck.
But all morning, I’ve had a weird feeling, like eyes are on me. The hair stands up on my neck, and I know I’m being watched, stalked, and hunted… A small part of me hopes it’s the golden flower maker, while the other half of me thinks he probably killed my fellow witches.
Nobody likes a psychopath…especially with golden hair, bright blue eyes, and muscles that make your pussy drip like a waterfall. Shit, stop, Cassie.
Shaking my head, I focus on the black scrawled words in the ancient tome I’m reading. It’s not very exciting, but beggars can’t be choosers. I can’t ask any other witches, they will report me to the elders and I’ll be punished for disobeying them. No, I have to do this alone.
Salem bats my hand, trying to get my attention, so I reach out and stroke him as I flip through the pages. My other hand is fisted under my chin as I languidly read the script, skipping over the unhelpful parts. I have over a thousand books and diaries to check in here. “You’re super cute, but I need to read,” I murmur to Salem as he steps on the book and brushes across my face, obscuring my vision with a determined meow.
Laughing, I pick him up and stroke his belly as I cradle him in my arms. “You’re so adorable, yes you are, so freaking cute,” I coo as I hold him.
“Why, thank you. I thought you hadn’t noticed,” comes a dark, sultry male voice.
I turn with a yelp, open-mouthed, to see the man who was arrested, the sexy rose beast, standing in the middle of my shop. He trails his hand along the displays, those blue eyes locked on me with determination and hunger. He wears a shirt which is unbuttoned and open, even in the rain, showing off his impressively wide chest and golden skin…and all those abs.
And that V, the Adonis belt that makes smart girls dumb. I just stare…and stare, until Salem bites my hand, making me squeal as I drop him with a glare. “Asshole,” I mutter, as he flicks his tail and storms off, now that he’s not the center of my attention.
“Me or the cat, my blue rose?” He chuckles as he moves closer and leans against the counter I’m perched behind, his blue gaze trapping me, even as I hold up my bleeding finger.
His eyes flicker down to it, and with a smirking glance at me, he grasps it, the heat from his hand making me shiver. A shock travels through me at the touch, the pulsing of my bitten finger matching the pulsing of my clit, the traitor.
Eyes still on me, he sucks the finger into his mouth, and with a hum, I feel his tongue wrapping around it, lapping the wound clean. I can’t speak. My mouth hangs open, and my body is very aware of him. My nipples are no doubt poking through my shirt, my panties are damp, and I’m leaning into him.
Murderer, remember?
I yank my hand away, and he chuckles, licking his lips. “You taste like magic and nature, Rose.” His eyes darken as he runs them over me. “I wonder what you taste like elsewhere. Tell me, little witch, is your pussy as sweet?”