The Black Rose Book Novels & Stories

They seemed to express that I didn't want him anymore. Facing 50 acres of land, Jeffrey finally realized that I, like these departed roses, would not return. The roses had been given to another woman by him casually, and its owner would not return because of himself. I would no longer plant flowers for him. He would never see me holding roses and asking him, "The roses are ripe. When are we going to get married?" He realized that roses had feelings too. I was willing to be trapped in a greenhouse by him because of my love for him.

From the glow rose a single spark that drifted upward, caught in the wind, and vanished into the clouds. A signal. “Let the packs see it,” I whispered. “Let them know the moon bleeds again.” Varyn’s men moved to the edges of the ruin, lighting torches, feeding them to the storm. The smoke curled crimson, thick and deliberate, rising into the gray sky. Far away, I knew, he would see it Ares in his fortress, watching the same smoke climb the horizon like a scar. I turned my face toward the forest, where the goddess’s silver still slept.

John walked up to me with a box that contained a withered rose. "The caregiver said that he was holding this in his hand when he died." Thud! I gently closed the lid. "Put it in my study." It soon began raining. The rain landed on my black veil and shoulders, but I didn't seem to notice. I got into the car, closed the door, and removed the hat, revealing my indifferent face with delicate makeup. I said calmly to John, who was in the passenger seat. "Let's head back to my office. The meeting this afternoon will happen as usual."

She had passed the usual red, pink, yellow, and orange roses. One rose bunch that caught her eyes was such a deep red, it was black. The edges of the peddles you could only see a slight hint of red and blue. She became mesmerized by these roses since she has never seen such a rose before. She could not identify the type of rose it was. She thought about a poem she once wrote when she saw a picture of the black rose, Baccara. Darkness blankets it’s peddles tainted, darkened, blackened

Inside the bag, besides all the explosives that were carefully placed in there, I saw two roses crossed over each other, just lying there on top of everything. However, these weren't just your run of the mill roses that you could find in a bouquet or flower shop, no. These were elusive black roses. And they had been well taken care of during their time. The petals were still soft and smooth as I ran my fingers over them. They were also well preserved too. The steams were healthy and prickly, but also without their thorns. I had always admired them throughout my life and bought some whenever they ever popped up and stored them away.

he explained to her about the existence of that black rose. “But when the information about this black rose and its extreme powers started scattering everywhere, some selfish people tried to get it but these woods and its curse didn't let them walk alive out of this place because the black rose’s magic works according to the intention of its possessor’s heart,” he revealed, stunning Raelyna even more.

Lawrence stammered, his face turning an ash-gray color as he looked at the blood splattered across my tactical vest. His eyes drifted to Rodah, taking in the smoking gun in her hands, her bare, blood-stained feet, and the fierce, protective anger radiating off her body. "Look, dear.... look at me. I was trying to get you away from this savage. I was giving you an out since you were forced into his arms." "Man don't get me into your shit. That's too cheap to pass for a blackmail." A dark, savage satisfaction bloomed in my gut. I reached out, my large arm wrapping around her waist from behind and pulling her bare back flush against my chest plate.

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.

However, before the food was served, the waiter brought over a bouquet of red roses. "This is for Ms. Stafford, sent by one Mr. Pennington in congratulations for the successful art exhibition." Heather did not take the flowers. She told the waiter to send them back. "Tell Mr. Pennington that I don't like red roses." Red roses were Anne's favorite, not hers. She only liked pink ones.

The only sounds were the clinks of knives and forks against porcelain plates. After a long, uneasy stretch, I gathered the courage to speak. “You don’t plan on keeping me here with nothing to do, do you?” He looked up, smirking faintly. “Oh, you can talk,” he said sarcastically, his tone dripping with arrogance. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Then, without warning, he reached into his coat and placed something on the table. A black card.