Ruby Rose Volume 7 Novels & Stories

I held my breath, breaking out in sweat as his proximity made fear spread through my now shivering frame. "You see... The Black Rose is a bad crowd to stick with. They'll lead you to your death. As a friend and a man who's insanely attracted to you... I advise you to cut all ties with them." His smile remained on his face, his voice still the same low, soft lilt it had been since he started speaking. Yet... There seemed to be venom in every syllable, burning through my skin like acid, making my heart pound painfully against my chest. I was afraid. This man... there was something about him, something sinister. He was going to hurt me. He wanted to hurt me.

At the end of the hall, a door sat slightly ajar. I pushed it open… and froze. The room was filled with portraits of me. Me dancing on stage. Me reading quietly in the library. Me sitting alone on a park bench, lost in thought. Every angle of me, every moment… Jordan had captured in painstaking detail. I stepped closer to one painting. That was seventeen-year-old me in mid-dance, skirt flying, laughter radiant. In the corner, there was a line of tiny words that read: My rose has finally come to me.

“Welcome to the fight, prima.” Marco’s voice was weak but real. “You’re a Vasquez.” I kissed Rosa’s forehead, blood and tears mixing. “My sobrina.” Alexander’s arm encompassed us. “Our home.” Lila’s nod was solemn. “Our army.” But the subway grate hissed. A single red thread drifted out. It landed in the ash. And wrote, in Rosa’s handwriting: VOLUME VII: THE NEW BLOOD. Rosa’s chest burned. She looked down.

"In case you don't know why I hate you. It's before you're the one to bring an end to black magic" "Wh......wh" Rose pushed the sword deeper until she gave up the ghost. After making sure she wasn't alive, Rose asked for the body to be disposed of. Although her body was disposed of, it got missing, a few hours later and no one could say what happened. **

Like he'd been caught in one of the explosions. Rose grabbed his chart, calling for Sonya in a strained voice, anger and sadness battling inside of her as she read. A dark haired woman, her eyes large and pure white and a thin, almost gaunt face with blue skin. "Sonya, Xav, Xav, Sonya." Rose introduced dismissively, turning the page. Sonya held out a slender hand and smiled a sharp grin. "Rose's told me alot about you." Her hand was oddly warm, almost comforting as I shook it.

V. ***** ~Time skip 02:30 p.m. Rosaline was cleaning the library since the past six hours. She was totally exhausted and was walking with heavy steps while carrying a pile of books in her hands. There were countless books and the poor girl was finding it so difficult to arrange them herself. All the almirahs and shelves had been vandalized so she was just keeping the books in one corner. The pieces of the flower vase which was broken by that freak were still lying on the floor. The maids and guards kept watching the poor thing with pity and guilt.

ROSE Rum whispered back, “This isn't some Power Rangers or X-Men shit… it’s just the way we are. Some people can count twice as fast while others have an eye for details. That sort of thing. It’s a biological difference. We do not have special powers.” “Okay. Let me rephrase: what other abilities do you have?” The sheer curiosity was burning my head. Rum sighed and muttered, “Goddamn it, Rose. We just had a close call. And I’m still feeling traumatised by it. Can we not talk about this right now?” His head was resting on the headrest and his eyes were closed.

A white rose lay on the floor dripping with blood. A small, shiny blade lay beside it. A beautiful object in such a terrible and painful condition. The blood stain on it did not hide it's immaculate and beautiful nature. She puffed smoke in the air and took a sip of the liquor beside her, as she glared at the bleeding rose with sad and anguish filled eyes, it told a lot about her and her agony. She was as beautiful as the rose in front of her.

"You want hunger? Feed on this." I closed my eyes. I let the day pour out — not as grief, as fuel. The anger at Selene's poison, the protectiveness toward Mason, the calculation in Riven's crimson gaze, the clinical hunger in Aurel's blue eyes. The refusal to be nothing. The absolute zero of composure that had carried me through the seminar and the refectory and the corridor. I let it all flow toward the rose. Not asking. Offering. The flower pulsed. Faint at first, then stronger. An iridescent light that wasn't violet, wasn't black, but something between — the color of bruises and midnight and power that didn't bother with names.