The Bloodied Rose Novels & Stories

A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. ✾ “Your arm?” I blink reluctantly at the woman in front of me. Biting my bottom lip, I slowly raise my hand and show her my wrist. She grabs onto it, pulling it towards her. She smiles at me, or I think she does, the only part of her that I could see either way was her lips, the bottom part of her nose, and everything below her ankles. Then she pulls a small sharp pen from her pocket, stabs it on my wrist, making me flinch. The pen starts turning red, and just like that she had taken some of my blood.

The only thing she actually admired about the display was the object hanging securely on the wall, proudly standing out amongst the pictures aligning the walls with fond memories, the simple center piece of the room that drew it all together. It was the beautiful rose painting that Chris had found stored away in the closet beside the stairs. Lifting up her hand, the brunette gently brushed away the dust that had collected on its oak frame, the specks of gray fluttering past her vision. Alina still didn't have a clue where it had come from, but she had to admit, upon closer inspection, that it definitely had a certain appeal to it. Floating in the middle of a black lake with realistic ripples

When the bedroom door opened, immediately the sweet smell of flowers, which spread across the floor of the room stung Liam's sense of smell. But apart from the sweet smell of the flowers, there was another smell that was much stronger. Blood. Yes. This room was filled with the strong smell of blood. And as if Liam had already predicted what he would see, he didn't even flinch at the sight that was presented before his eyes. There, on Elena's bed, was a young man lying limply with blood oozing from the open wound in his neck. His naked body indicated what had actually happened between them before the young man died.

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.

She was his responsibility to look after and promised the Lord that he would protect her like a daughter. Rose’s training went well! She thought Cain took it too easy on her, however she was grateful. Her muscles had muscles that hurt, and ones she never knew she had, hurt! By the end of the day she was able to flip that big giant over her from a charge and get away! Next step will be to do it from standing still and then learning to attack back! Rose could barely contain herself, this was happening! Everything she had dreamt about someday accomplishing is on the right track! As she ignored Madame Gruage and went right for a hot soak bath, Rose reflected on that for a minute. “Everything has

The valley convulsed in death throes. In the final moment, Lucien’s voice carried on the wind: “Evelyn… this time, I won’t lose you.” Light exploded. Then — silence. When the blood-dust settled, Bloodroot Vale was barren. No blood. No cries. Only a white rose blooming in ash, petals streaked red like an unfinished promise. Seraphine knelt, trembling fingers brushing a petal. “Both gone… but perhaps, the world was just saved.” --- From afar, Liora and her resistance arrived too late. They saw only the flattened valley and the lone rose at its heart. Liora stared, tears falling.

He took two down easily, and for a moment, it looked like he had them beat. He looked towards the roses, as if he knew she was there. The rogue from the market took his opportunity, swinging a blade up. It was silver. The sound it made when it sank between Xavier's ribs would live in Rose’s bones forever. Her eyes had met his in horror. “Rose,” he had screamed out in horror. Pack warriors crashed into the clearing seconds later, drawn by the noise. The remaining rogue ran, and the roses released her as suddenly as they had claimed her. She stumbled out, gasping, dress torn.

To an outsider they'll think it's just a red rose, but in reality it was a white Blackthorn rose stained with the intruders’ blood. No

"I am allergic to rose oil! Dad knows about it! And Avril was the one who told the maids to smother my bed in rose oil! Dad was the one who found out about it…" Layla exclaimed, crying pitifully as she nursed her stinging cheek. "You're still trying to lie about it!" Eric roared, suddenly stepping forward and grabbing her by her collar. He tightened his hold on her, lifting her up. And since he was very tall, Layla was almost lifted off the ground.

"The roses are feeding." The abandoned wellhouse crouched in the clearing like a waiting predator, its mossy stones shimmering with unnatural dampness. Every rosebush in the Highlands seemed to have converged here, their thorned stems twining through cracks in the mortar like veins through rotten flesh. The air hung thick with the cloying scent of decaying petals undercut by something metallic,the unmistakable copper-tang of fresh blood. Damien moved like a wraith between the pines, his rifle slung across his back, every muscle coiled for violence. I struggled to keep pace, each step sending white-hot pain through my swollen abdomen. The baby kicked violently, as if sensing the danger.