Rubi Rose Erome Novels & Stories

They came far after Erebus began to feed the rose by dropping blood on its petals, and the rose grew more and more of a bloodred scarlet, somehow looking enticing and delicious. Suddenly, Erebus stopped where he was, looking horrified.

Bright, pretty, vivid, like a flower in full bloom. She handed me a drink. Rose-flavored sparkling water, the pink liquid catching the light in the glass, cool and inviting. I was allergic to roses. A compound in synthetic rose fragrance would irritate mermaid skin. Ryan knew this. "Be gracious about it," he murmured close to my ear. "She was practically forced here to apologize. Of course she's not happy. She agreed to come, so don't make a big deal out of every little thing." I smiled.

Like I had the power of life and death. The third one, however, I did not allow to burn entirely but only the edge of the petals. Half red and half black. Roses on fire. Suddenly, I let out a hysterical laugh until my cousin walked into the office, perhaps brought on by the smell or even my outbursts. “What the hell are you doing, Rick?” “Killing them!” I replied, keeping my fanatical grin on my face. “Killing roses…” he repeated as he approached. “You okay, bro?”

I shrugged with a small on my face. “I don't think it's just about the colour. I believe there's more to find out about your wolf. We just need to wait,” Rowena told me. Riona was indeed special, given her colour, but I wasn't aware of what I should be expecting from her. “I almost forgot,” Rowena said, handing me a bottle of what seemed to me like strawberry juice. “This is strawberry juice, but it also contains drops of the Juliet Rose extraction,” she explained to me. Juliet Rose. The plant that provided each werewolf with extra strength and faster healing abilities.

As I put one of my feet inside of the warm and welcoming water filled with the petals of the beloved and most beautiful rose. I sometimes wonder why it has so much love being given to it. It is so imperfect, yet that is its perfection just like all of us--We are perfect and one because of the imperfections of us. I also wonder why a rose just steals my heart every time I look at it--it's just so magnificent. Is it because of the color that it possesses or because of the way it possesses the frail heart of mine? So melted in my thoughts that I was, I didn't realize that I had to get out of the bath to get ready.

City A, 15 years ago, in a dilapidated house, the firelight was slowly spearing to every corner. The fire made a crackling, crackling, ticking sound that echoed in the stillness of the night. Suddenly, the fire flared up violently. It engulfed everything it passed through. In that deadly fire, the image of a rose playing in the sea of ​​​​fire slowly appeared. It shone extremely brightly and then began to fade to ashes. That rose was like his heart. Since that day, his heart had died, left only the animosity.

I took the first drag and blew the smoke towards her face. That seemed to do the trick, her eyes snapped open. Revealing the puffiness and redness it had hidden. "ah, I see. You want a smoke right? " I lifted the cigarette to her face. Her sullen gaze metamorphosed into a glare. I chuckled softly and took another drag of the cigarette and dispelled the smoke in her face again. Her eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, when she finally glared back at me again, there was moisture shining under her lower lids. I was sure the moisture wasn't because she was crying.

Blood roses. Rafael’s hand tightened around the fragile flower, crushing it slowly between his fingers. A symbol. A secret. Not grief. Not loss. Love. Defiance. War. His lips curled into a dangerous smile. "So," he said softly, almost lovingly. "The game has only just begun." He tossed the crushed rose onto the floor, grinding it under his boot. "Bring me Matteo," Rafael ordered, his voice sharp as a whip. "And this time... bring the girl too."

A hefty tip. The woman's eyes widened slightly, but she took it and uttered a low thanks before going back to do her job. "Yes," I murmured, still getting used to being associated with a name I knew almost nothing about except for the power and protection that came with it. "Nikolai," he held out a hand. "It is nice to meet you, Black Rose." I took his hand, not wanting to be rude. His palms were soft, dry, and the warmth of it caught me off guard. He held me longer than necessary before letting go.

She was wearing a pair of tіght bluе denim Lеvі jеаnѕ which dіѕрlауеd hеr mаrvеlоuѕ fіgurе. Rose hаd оn short red lеаthеr boots wіth ѕеmі-роіntеd tоеѕ wіth a walking hееl, ѕtуlіѕh, соmfоrtаblе аnd sexy. Rose's blouse was whіtе voile cotton. Thе еmbrоіdеrеd peasant blоuѕе hаd satiny ѕkу bluе embroidery оn thе frоnt, the ѕlееvеѕ аnd аrоund the neck. Thе ѕmосkеd neckline hаd a ѕkу-bluе tasseled nесklіnе tіе аt thе center front. There were mаtсhіng trailing tаѕѕеl ties оn the thrее -ԛuаrtеr sleeves, thе hem-unadorned.