Page 32 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)

Ariel

A mix of different scents assaults my senses. I crinkle my nose, trying to place them as I slowly open my eyes, only to spot a bouquet of flowers on the nightstand.

My eyes widened. Who would give me flowers? I roll my eyes at my own silliness. Who else could it be but Luca, my husband? It still doesn’t feel real, so I stick to calling him by his name.

He must’ve been the one to carry me into the bedroom, because I don’t remember getting here myself. I stretch over and pick up the bouquet, bringing it to my nose and closing my eyes as I inhale deeply.

The scent is intoxicating, soft and sweet, and it pulls a smile from me before I even realize it. When I open my eyes again, my jaw drops. There are more bouquets. All around the bed.

I throw off the covers and step onto the floor, walking toward them. One is a red rose arrangement shaped like a heart. Another—a teddy bear made entirely of white chrysanthemums and baby’s breath.

I spot lilies, tulips, peonies, and delicate sprigs of lavender mixed into the larger bouquets. The whole room smells like a blooming garden in spring. I could practically open a flower shop with the number of flowers in here.

Why is he being so sweet to me? Since we got here, he’s been… kind. Thoughtful. I thought he married me to punish me. But this—this doesn’t feel like punishment.

First, it was jasmine. Then the romance novel. Now flowers. His actions are confusing. It’s making me question everything, even the reason I wanted to leave in the first place.

I have to keep reminding myself, he’s the head of a mob syndicate. They deal in drugs, guns, murder, and a lot of other awful things. I don’t think it’s possible to run something like that without bodies piling up.

I sigh, pouting a little as I place the bouquet with the others on the floor. I give them one last lingering look before turning toward the bathroom. And stop short. Another surprise.

The bathtub is filled with warm milk, and an abundance of rose petals float on the surface, turning it into something out of a dream.

A squeal escapes me before I can stop it—high-pitched and girlish, like something out of a teen drama. I quickly strip, tossing my clothes into the corner, and slide into the bath with a deep sigh.

The warm milk caresses my skin, soft and silky. It feels decadent, soothing, like every inch of stress is being gently coaxed from my body. I don’t think I’ve ever treated myself to a day of relaxation like this.

It feels… indulgent. Luxurious. Good. I stay in the tub longer than I should, not wanting to leave. But when I finally emerge and wrap a towel around myself, my skin feels baby-soft. I hum to myself as I get dressed, unable to hide the smile playing on my lips.

When I head downstairs, I stop in my tracks. More flowers. They’re arranged in small vases and jars across the room—on the console table, by the staircase, even on the windowsills. It’s as if the whole house is breathing with soft color and fragrance.

“My dear, you look…” Griselda says, eyeing me with a warm smile, “like happiness itself.”

I smile, ducking my head. “I feel… good. Really good.” “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many flowers outside of a flower shop,” I add, glancing around in awe.

“You deserve more,” she replies gently.

“Did you have a hand in any of this?”

“Me? No.” She shakes her head with a mischievous little grin.

“Really?”

“Well… this is all his idea. I maybe gave him a tiny nudge, but I think he went a little over the top.”

“You think this is over the top? There’s more than enough in the bedroom,” I say, half laughing, half overwhelmed.

“Then enjoy it,” she says simply.

My smile softens, but then falters. “Did you see him before he left?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Ah, yes. He told me to tell you not to wait up for him, that he’d be home late tonight.”

She must have caught the flicker in my expression.

“Don’t overthink it,” she says with a smile. “Just enjoy the day. Breathe in the flowers.”

I nod, forcing a smile, but something lingers—a question I don’t know how to ask. A tension I can’t quite name. Griselda gently nudges a vase closer to me.

“He’s trying, you know.”

I glance at her.

“He doesn’t say much. Men like him rarely do. But this”—she gestures to the flowers, the air still thick with their scent— “this is his way.”

I reach out, tracing the rim of the vase. A protea, wild and exotic, stands out among the rest. It’s striking. Strong. It would look good in his study.

“It’s just… hard to know what’s real with him sometimes.” Griselda shrugs as she folds a linen napkin.

“Maybe it’s all real. The anger, the silence… this softness too. Sometimes love doesn’t come wrapped in the words we expect.”

I don’t say anything, but something warm presses against my chest spreading just a little wider than before. Does he really feel something for me? Griselda brushes her hands clean.

“Now come. Eat something,” she says, guiding me toward the kitchen. “You’ve been floating around like a girl in a perfume ad.”

That earns a laugh from me—light and unexpected. And for a moment, I forget to worry. For a moment, I let myself feel wanted. Then it hits me—I have to do something.

I turn around abruptly. Before I can second-guess myself, I walk quickly, nearly running toward his study, the protea vase clutched tightly in my hands.

Once inside, I place it gently on his desk, take a deep breath, and begin searching for a pen and paper. I scribble the words: Thank you.

I almost draw a heart then hesitate. I settle for a small smiley face instead. I fold the note in half and slide it halfway under the vase, angling it just right so it’s the first thing he’ll see when he walks in.

Smiling to myself like I’ve just completed a secret mission, I breeze out of his study. And for the first time, I’m actually looking forward to seeing him. I even plan to stay up late… Just to wait for him to come home.

It was well past midnight when they burst through the bedroom door. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Luca—being carried in.

I was sitting on the lounge by the window when the men rushed in, built like tanks, their faces tight with urgency. I didn’t recognize them at first, so I was startled until I caught sight of Griselda’s worried expression.

My gaze followed hers, and then I saw him. My breath caught. My eyes widened. A cold shiver rippled down my spine and my feet forgot how to move.

His head lolled to one side, half-unconscious. Most of his weight was slumped against the shoulders of his men.

He was dressed in all black, and in that moment, I knew where he’d been all night. The answer was bleeding right in front of me.

The left shoulder of his shirt was torn, the shredded fabric wrapped tightly to stem the flow of blood. Another cloth was pressed to his side, also soaked through, dark and still seeping. He could barely keep himself upright, groaning with every step.

By the time I could control my legs to move, they were already beside the bed. I rushed forward, propped the pillows, and helped them lay him down. His head fell to the side immediately it hit the pillow, and then he went still. Passed out.

My heart nearly stopped. I sit on my bent knees beside him on the bed, my hand cupping his face. I willed him to open his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes but they stayed shut.

“Somebody get a damn doctor!” I screamed, voice cracking as I choked down on a sob. Someone speaks, I think it's Griselda.

“He’s here. We need to give him space to work.”

The men were already filing out of the room, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave Luca’s side. This might be my life now. And if it is… I want to see it all.

Griselda glanced at me, and after a moment of quiet understanding, she nodded and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her. I stayed where I was, rooted to his side, as the doctor who looked to be in his fifties approached the bed.

He wasted no time, cutting away the last blood-soaked pieces of Luca’s shirt. I winced as more blood seeped from not just the wound in his shoulder, but also from a fresh one at his side, staining the sheets beneath him.

The doctor poured a clear antiseptic over both wounds, probably iodine or saline. Even unconscious, Luca’s face twisted in pain, and I felt it like a tight fist clenching my chest.

With gloved hands, the doctor reached for a pair of tweezers and carefully probed the shoulder wound. My hands balled into fists as I watched, helpless. Finally, he pulled the bullet free and dropped it into a small metal dish with a faint clink.

Then he moved to the wound at Luca’s side. Blood ran freely as he worked, forcing him to clean repeatedly just to get a clear view.

When he finally located the second bullet and pulled it out, I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

He cleaned the area thoroughly, then stitched both wounds closed with quick, practiced movements he bandage them.

“Luckily, it didn’t hit any major arteries or organs,” the doctor murmured. “He’s lost a lot of blood, though.”

“Is that why he isn’t waking up?” I asked, eyes never leaving Luca’s face.

“I gave him a sedative to help him sleep. He needs a lot of rest. No strain, no heavy movement. Keep him in bed, and absolutely no… vigorous workout.”

He shot me a look. The kind of look that made heat crawl up my neck. I still don’t know how I’m able to blush in a situation like this. I said nothing, just pressed my lips together and nodded. The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle.

“These are painkillers. Administer only when necessary two at a time, no more.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow to change the dressing,” he added, tucking his tools away.

“You should get some rest too. It may take a while for him to regain consciousness.”

I nodded again, barely registering the sound of the door closing as he left. I didn’t look up. All of my attention is on Luca. He looked so pale. So still. I had never seen him like this—wounded, vulnerable and it broke something inside me.

The sheets are stained with his blood. It made me sick to look at it, and yet I couldn’t look away.

I reached for the nightstand and placed the bottle of painkillers down gently, then turned to get out of bed hoping to grab, wash cloth, clean linens or do anything that made me feel less helpless.

But a knock on the door stops me. Griselda entered quietly, carrying a bowl of warm water and a folded washcloth.

“I figured you’d need this,” she says as she places the bowl and cloth on the nightstand.

“Oh… thank you,” I murmur, my voice catching with emotion. Is this my life now? Always afraid every time he walks out that door, terrified he might come back hurt… or not come back at all?

“No—don’t think like that. Always keep a positive mindset; it will carry you through most times.”

I nod slowly, forcing a faint smile. If only she knew I’m a bowl full of positivity—it’s what kept me going through Noah’s treatment. But this… this is different.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” Griselda offers gently.

“The sheets… this one’s soaked in blood.”

“I’ll be back with a fresh set,” she says with a nod before turning to leave.

I reach for the washcloth, soak it in the bowl, squeeze out the excess water, and gently begin wiping the blood from his body.

His skin is cold to the touch, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Still, I clean him with slow, careful strokes trying not to let my hands shake.

By the time Griselda returns with the new sheets, I’ve finished wiping him down. With a lot of grunting and effort, I manage to peel away the bloodied sheet.

Together, we lift him just enough to slide the clean one beneath him, being extra cautious not to jostle his injured shoulder. By the time we’re done, both of us are out of breath, and he’s finally lying comfortably on the fresh sheets, though still in his suit pants.

Hands on my hips, still catching my breath, I glance at her. “I think I can manage from here.” “You should get some rest,” I say quietly.

“And you should change,” she replies, glancing down at me.

I follow her gaze and finally notice my oversized shirt stained with blood. I didn’t even realize it had gotten on me. My eyes fixate on the dark patches, frozen in place.

Griselda reaches for my hands, gently clasping them in hers. She turns me to face her, her voice soft but steady.

“You need rest too. He’s going to be fine. Believe me when I say—I’ve seen him worse, and he always pulls through.”

She leans in and presses a comforting kiss to my forehead, then picks up the bowl and quietly leaves the room. Once we’re alone, the silence feels even heavier.

I take a deep breath and release it slowly, then move toward him.

I reach for the waistband of his suit pants and carefully slide them off.

I find a pair of soft charcoal-gray pajama bottoms in his closet surprising, considering he usually sleeps in nothing but boxers.

I didn’t think he even owned proper sleepwear.

Once he’s changed, I slip out of my blood-stained shirt and pull on a clean one. Then I climb into bed beside him, gently pulling the covers over us. I rest my hand on his chest, careful not to disturb his injured shoulder.

But even as I close my eyes, I know sleep won’t come easily. Every time I blink, I see Luca, covered in blood, barely conscious, slipping away from me.