Page 3 of The Black Lotus (Fatal Florals Duet #2)

TWO

SERENA

M y hands cover my mouth, tears threatening to fall once again and stealing the breath from my lungs, as I gaze upon the room before me.

Behind the bookshelf door is my very own kill space.

The walls are painted a deep red, with splashes of blues, greens, oranges, and yellow splattered around random spots.

The artist in me is in awe of the abstract design, while the killer in me is excited to explore the rest of the room.

In the corner, bolted to the ceiling, are hooks similar to the ones I used on Bradley.

Walking over, I reach up to touch the tip of the pointed metal, hissing at the bite of steel.

Before I can place my finger in my mouth to stop the bleeding, Aster's hand wraps around mine, his tongue lapping at the bead of blood before his lips curl around my wound.

The action alone makes me moan, my panties becoming damp.

He takes my finger out of his mouth with a popping noise, his eyes locked on mine, he says, “Your blood still tastes as addicting as I remember, but I prefer it mixed with your essence instead.”

A blush rises up my neck, and before he has the chance to entice me further, I spin around and go explore. As much as I would love to have him taste me, my curiosity is stronger. I want to continue looking around my new space, my domain.

Playtime can come later.

Gliding my fingers across the metal table sitting in the middle of the room, feeling the cool surface, I head towards the drawers on the far wall of the building not far from his.

I wonder if the structures are connected or how far my space is from his?

Opening them one by one, I find an array of weapons of every kind.

Aster must be more concerned about his mom putting a hit on me than he has been letting on .

With all the lessons, and now my very own kill room, he says we have nothing to worry about, that he will protect me.

Yet, when push comes to shove his actions are speaking louder than his words, like they always do.

I glide my hand over the handle of the blade, noting how they’re stacked shortest to longest. He can say he’s not scared, that he is ready for whatever is thrown our way, but this level of preparation in such a short amount of time shows me otherwise.

He feels the same way I do, he is afraid, but he is more rational than me, and when the time comes I know he will have my back.

I know he would eliminate everyone in his path to keep me safe.

That thought alone has a stray tear falling from my eye.

I wipe it away, and slowly shut the drawer, my hands shaking.

I am met with green eyes of remorse, a feeling I know he’s never felt before.

Tears threaten to fall once more and I look away.

Not ready to face the feelings we share, to face the truth of the situation.

I want to live in denial a little longer.

Being a serial killer, he usually doesn't have those emotions. I’ve learned myself that I don’t feel any regret for the lives I take.

Giving into my need to touch him, feel him, I cup my hand to his cheek, his eyes shuttering closed as he nuzzles into my palm.

“Everything is going to be okay, Aster.” The lie rolls off my tongue as easily as the truth does.

Part of me believes we will make it out of this, the other part fears we both will meet our maker, and part ways forever.

His eyes slowly open. “We don’t know what my mother is capable of.”

“No, we don’t, but she’s behind bars. Her reach can only go so far.”

He takes my hand off his cheek, and grips my fingers with his, looking at me with eyes that tell me to shut up and listen, without ever saying those words.

“She may be behind bars, but we don’t know who her connections are. Or how many serial killers she sent after you. We know Zephira is keeping tabs on us, but we don’t know if she is going to try to kill you. I don’t want to kill my sister I just found out about. But I will. To protect you.”

Zephira is ten years younger than Aster, but you’d never guess she was so young because of how she holds herself.

After we found out who she was, we researched Salem’s Man Eater.

Salem may be where she got her start, but she hasn’t locked herself to one city.

She has killed all over Massachusetts, and her number is high despite being so young.

She has mutilated fifteen men and counting.

Although she’s never killed a woman, I wouldn’t put it past her.

To gain more love from a mother she never knew, she wouldn’t hesitate to gut me where I stand.

Aster’s hands squeeze mine. “My own flesh and blood could never stop me from loving you, or being with you.” His thumb brushes over my skin, sending a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “I would kill them all, to know you were safe.”

Squeezing his hands back, I look up at him with softened eyes. “I know you would, Aster, but I’m not scared of anyone coming after me. Your mother’s never getting out; she's in a high security prison, like the one Hannibal Lecter was in.”

He brings my hands to his lips, breathing onto them as he whispers, “I know, but I just got you. I won’t lose you. For the first time in my life, I am scared. I love you, my little vixen.” He kisses my knuckles, closing his eyes and leaving his lips planted.

“I love you too, my fox,” I whisper back. His eyes open at my words, a feral look darkening his face as he walks me over to an incinerator in the far corner of the room, one I didn’t notice before.

“I know how much you love fire, so I thought, when it is necessary, you can watch your victims burn.”

Releasing his hand, I bend down to caress the machine. “I do love watching flames lick away at bubbling flesh.”

“For the ones dumb enough to attack in the open, I thought we could come up with a calling card. Something to let everyone know, we are ready, and they are next.”

Standing back up, a grin plasters my face. I already know what I want my calling card to be. I wanted a flower, like Aster, but I needed it to embody my story. My truth. My strength. Something that showed the beauty of darkness, rebirth, and transformation.

“Black lotus. That is what I want as my calling card,” I say, leaving no room for argument.

A smile twists his features, a look of approval passing over his face. “My little vixen, we really are one in the same. I was hoping you would choose that flower. It describes you perfectly.”

“Oh, yeah? Why is that?” I say teasingly, jabbing a finger into his chest. Instead of answering, he grabs me and drags me out of the kill room. He picks me up and throws me back on the comfy chaise and walks away.

“What are you doing?” I ask, wanting to get up but knowing if I try, he will push me back down.

He walks over to my killer bookshelf and grabs a box hidden on top.

Even if I wanted to, I’m too short to even reach up there.

I didn’t even think to look on top of the shelf.

What’s in the box? I sit up on my knees, peering up at what I can only assume to be another surprise, but before I can get a good look at it, he hides it behind his back, I fall back into the position he left me in as he kneels right in front of me.

Oh god, I hope he isn’t going to propose.

I back further into the chaise, away from the crazy man on his knees.

Before I have a chance to escape, he stops me, his calloused hand digging into my knee.

I look down, my breath caught in my lungs.

Unable to move, unable to speak, I’m stuck, suspended in time with Aster.

“Serena-”

He takes a big breath preparing himself for his proposal.

He only says my name when it’s serious, but this isn’t a romcom, for fucks sake.

We are both killers; ones who are just starting to get to know one another.

It is too soon. I haven’t even thought about marriage.

Sure, I’d risk my life for him, kill for him, even die for him, but marriage ? I am not ready for that.

“-I need to ask you a serious question, one I don’t know if you’re going to say yes to.

” He rakes his fingers through his hair.

Fuck, he’s nervous. “You are the most important woman in my life, and I can’t see myself doing this with anyone else.

I will go to war for you, with you. I would give my last breath to save yours. ”

I lift my hand to silence him, my heart pounding so hard I swear he can hear it. I don’t want to hear those four words. I’m not ready. He grabs my hand and places the box in my palm. I pinch my eyes closed. “Aster, I’m not-”

All I hear is his deep laugh. I slowly peek one eye open.

This mother fucker is full on belly laughing on the floor .

Shock spirals through me, my fingers shaking around the box I debate throwing across the room.

I didn’t know marrying me would be so funny.

Before I can get mad at him for something I didn’t even want to begin with, I look down and realize the box is way too big to be holding a ring.

This box is long and sleek; a ring would be too small to fit in a box this big.

I wouldn’t put it past him to put the ring in a box, inside another one, like one of those Russian dolls.

I glare at him, opening the box with a stilted yank. My body freezes. Inside is a shiny, serrated hunting knife with a blue handle. I chuck the box at his head, and he dodges it, like I knew he would. Fucker is always in my head, knowing what I’m going to do before I do it.

“I thought-”

“You thought I was going to propose?”

I look at him wide eyed, nodding in shock.

He sits back on his heels. “Of course I knew.”

“Why did you let me think you were doing something so crazy?” I wave the knife between us, and he captures my wrist.