Page 6 of Dormeo

ROSE

F ragments of memory filter through the heavy clouds in my mind.

The garden at home, sunshine warming my face as I sit primly on a stone bench, attempting to focus on my book while my younger sister Clara practices shooting with father's bow and arrow.

"You'll never find a husband if you keep acting like a wild creature," I scold half-heartedly, trying not to smile as she deliberately misses the target again, sending our mother's prized roses scattering.

"That's rather the point, dear sister." Clara grins, her newly cropped hair falling in her eyes.

She'd taken father's hunting knife to her beautiful, long tresses last week, leaving them jagged and boyish.

The local hairdresser attempted to shape what was left into something resembling a proper hairdo, but there was only so much he could do.

"I'd rather die than end up married to one of Father's ancient, lecherous friends. "

"Clara!" I gasp, but can't help giggling. She's always been the brave one, willing to risk father's wrath to maintain her freedom. And she’s not wrong. They are all old and sleazy.

"Don't pretend you haven't noticed how they look at you," she says, notching another arrow.

"Like a hungry wolf eyeing a lamb. And father encourages it! Maybe you should butcher your hair before it’s too late.

You know the power you have over men." The arrow flies wide, taking out another rosebush. "Oops."

I shudder, remembering another old man's watery eyes travelling over me at dinner last week. "At least pretend to have terrible aim. Father will be furious if he realizes you're destroying mother's garden on purpose."

"Speaking of the devil..." Clara mutters, quickly hiding the bow behind her back as heavy footsteps approach.

"Rose!" Father's voice booms across the garden. "What are you doing out here? Lord Barlow has come to call."

Clara’s face pales as our father marches toward us.

I scramble to think of any excuse not to obey him, but nothing I come up with will be acceptable.

I could be dying, and he’d still expect me to sit there and make polite conversation.

His fingers dig into my arm as he yanks me to my feet, my open book falling, forgotten, to the ground.

"And you," he snarls at Clara. "Get inside and make yourself presentable.

Though I doubt anyone would have you now, looking like a stable boy. "

"Good," Clara spits, but father is already dragging me away.

"Please," I whisper, trying to dig my heels in. "Father, he's older than you are..."

"He's wealthy and titled," Father snaps. "And he's willing to overlook your sister's reputation. Don't be ungrateful."

The door to the sitting room looms ahead. Through the gap, I can see Lord Barlow's stooped form rising from his chair, liver spots dotting his papery skin as he reaches for me with greedy eyes and clammy hands...

I bolt upright in the massive four-poster bed, heart pounding, bile rising in my throat. Relief floods me when I realise I’m not at home, and my revulsion fades. Even hell is preferable to becoming that man's wife.

Thankfully, Barlow passed before our union could be agreed. This must be Father’s plan B.

"I'm alright," I whisper to myself, though my hands still shake. "Just a memory."

But it's more than that. It's a glimpse of the fate that still awaits me when I return home.

Blinking hard, I sit up. This constant drowsy feeling is something I’m unable to shake, and it’s disconcerting. It takes me a second to remember why I’m so groggy. Drugging someone is a new low, even for him.

The stark reality of my situation comes crashing down on me when I see the dark, slate ceiling above me and breathe in my captor’s musky, masculine scent from the silk sheets around me.

I’m not in my own bed. I’m in his.

Tentatively, I rise. My legs are shaky, and my body feels weak. Whatever they gave me has sapped my energy. Leaving me defenceless, my fearful brain whispers, but I shove that thought away.

So far, I’m unharmed, and that’s even after spending my first night at the gates of hell in a demon’s bed. If he wanted to, he could have taken advantage of me, and yet he didn’t. Maybe my father’s name and status is enough to keep me safe for now, but how long will that last.

Clara’s right. There’s something about me that seems to bring trouble my way. As much as I dislike home, maybe it really is better the devil you know .

“Hello?” I call, opening the bedroom door and padding into the large, open living space. A warm fire roars, set deep into one wall, a bit unnecessary I would have thought, given our current location.

A giant beast, black with an aura of flames, lies on the huge leather sofa, watching my every move.

Shit.

Sharp teeth glisten in the light as he pulls his lips back in a warning snarl, and I back away, edging around the wall rather than risking getting too close to those jaws.

“Nice boy. Don’t eat me. I’m your new friend.

” My sing-song voice is ridiculous, but the beast is huge, with his ears pricked up, and his attention fixed squarely on me.

It’s terrifying. I want him to know I’m not stupid enough to try and harm him.

When I increase the distance between us, he tilts his head, and then drops his chin back to his paws, and I sigh in relief.

It looks like I’m not going to be his dinner, today at least, as long as I can stay well away from him.

“Is there anyone here?” I shout, moving toward the kitchen, where slick black marble glistens, so clean, I doubt it’s ever been used, and the huge sink screams that it’s all for show.

When there’s no answer, I dare to have a look around the surprisingly cosy space. It might be all blacks and greys, but the warm fire and lighting soften the atmosphere.

The hellhound watches as I continue my explorations and climb the steps to the balcony.

I peer out through the glass double doors, not quite brave enough to open them and venture outside.

There’s nothing to see but a vast rocky landscape, broken only in places by the odd slash of lava bubbling to the surface through a crack in the crust. Smoke and steam billow into the air in tall columns, and the sky is painted orange and red from the fires I can see burning in the distance.

It’s beautiful and desolate, all at the same time.

To the west, a violent black sea rages, crashing up against tall cliffs below us.

I’m guessing that’s how we got here, though how a boat managed to dock in such conditions is beyond me.

Rocks protrude from the water, and a ship sags, broken against the jagged stone.

This isn't an easy place to get to, by land or sea, it appears.

On the balcony railing, a large gargoyle keeps watch over the ground below, his stone body chiselled to perfection as he crouches and stares out over the unforgiving vista.

“It looks unforgiving out there. And hot. No chance of escape then?” I ask him, watching as a sharp breeze throws up dust and ash. “I’m glad you’re out there to protect me, because this place looks scary as hell, excuse the pun.”

The artwork is spectacular, though. I'm surprised anyone spent the time to create him in such a stark place. I doubt interior design is high on the list of priorities for those that live here.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

I jump when I hear a deep voice behind me.

Spinning, I gather my nightgown in front of me, suddenly feeling very naked as I stare up at the massive demon from last night.

His dark skin gleams, showing off every tendon and muscle moving beneath the surface. I’ve never seen anyone in such good shape. Anyone who comes to visit Father is wrinkly and soft, nothing like this magnificent, if terrifying, specimen.

I finally gather the courage to look up into his face, taking in his strong features, the sharp jaw, the full lips, and those mesmerising eyes.

If he weren’t a demon, and likely to eat me alive, I’d almost say he was handsome.

I only realise that he’s openly staring at the thin satin nightgown covering my body. When he licks his lips, his red eyes darken, and his nostrils flare.

“Don’t get any ideas. There is no escape,” he says, answering my earlier question. “And nobody here will help you. To defy my father is to wish for death. Even for me.”

Shuddering, I make sure my clothing covers me as much as possible before staring out at the darkness once more.

“I… I… is this really hell?” I whisper, gesturing to the dramatic landscape. "Am I really stuck here?"

He nods, looking unsympathetic to my plight.

“Yes. Your father has done a deal with the devil.” With a chuckle, he continues on, amused by my horrified expression. “Until we see how that plays out, you’ll remain here, for your own safety. You’ve created quite a stir. I’m afraid there will be no sight-seeing excursions.”

Looking at the flames burning in the distance, it’s easy to believe nowhere here is safe for me. I’m not a dare-devil like Clara. I’ll happily stay put if it keeps me alive.

“You’ll get used to the view. If you want to go home, you’ll just have to pray your father delivers on his end of the bargain.”

I bite my bottom lip. My father has never been good at delivering on his promises, but I’m not going to admit that to anyone here.

“And what am I supposed to do until then?” I ask, looking around the sparsely decorated shelves. Ash shrugs, like he couldn't care less how I keep myself entertained.

“Read? Knit? I don’t care. Just stay in here and keep out of trouble.”

He drags his eyes away from my exposed cleavage and stares at me, moving closer until I’m forced to take a step back and crane my neck to meet his eye.

A shiver passes down my spine.

“I’m an upper level demon, which means I have some self-control, but anyone else you come across dressed like that would probably rip that pathetic excuse for a gown from your body and ravish you. I'll find you something more suitable to wear.”