Page 36 of Roses & Ruin

“Yes,” I say softly, scooting closer to him. “Love conquers all.”

“Even death?” He eyes my scuffed copy of Frankenstein.

“Yes,” I say uncertainly. “Yes, I think so.”

Hayden shoots to his feet abruptly. He knocks his hip against the pew as he exits the row, displacing the entire bench, an uncommon show of clumsiness. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, making his way to the aisle. He starts to pace. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but his brows are gathered, his eyes flashing and hot.

“Don’t you think,” he starts slowly, “that if love could conquer death, there would be less pain and suffering in the world?” He gives his head a single, bitter shake. “Don’t you think that there has been at least one out there who has loved another so desperately, so ruinously, so…” Hayden’s fingers curl into fists. “So absolutely, that their love could resurrect countries? Continents?”

“I…” My voice is threadbare. “Have…you known a love like that?” I don’t want to know if the answer is yes.

Hayden lets out a shuddery breath. When I stand and lay a soft hand on his rigid shoulder, he whips around to face me, his face schooled into something pained.

“You know what you do to monsters, Rose? That.” He stabs a finger at the stained-glass spear buried in the demon’s chest. “Do you understand? Monsters are selfish, weak creatures.” Hayden steps into my space, his gaze dropping to my lips, and his eyelids fall to half-mast. “They want, Rose,” he murmurs. “They want…so much. And they take. And take. They don’t care who they destroy.” I’m quivering from the spell of his voice, my lips parted. I can taste his breath, hot and sweet. “Don’t fall in love with monsters, Rose. Stay away from them. Stay far away.” Hayden steps back, suddenly out of my reach.

I’m still trembling from my own want as his boots echo against the ancient walls. I jerk into action when I realize he’s heading for the door.

“Hayden,” I cry, chasing him. “Hayden!” I manage to cut him off, stepping into his path. I grab the leather lapels of his jacket, shoving him toward a wall. Hayden lets me. He lets me slam his back against the stone, his brow furrowed, his chest rising and falling, his eyes agonized.

I keep my grip tight on his jacket, slipping my thumbs beneath the leather to press against the thin T-shirt below. I have no plan for what to say, I just need him to stop walking away from me, but the words slip out, unbidden.

“You’re not a monster.” My desire makes me bold. I reach a hand to his face, cup his cheek. “You’re not a monster, Hayden.”

Hayden’s skin is like glass: cool, smooth as water. My heartbeat pulses hard and hot as I stroke my thumb across the shelf of his sharp cheek. His eyes wrench shut, and he lets out a low, anguished sound. I part my lips, swallow the noise. It makes me greedy for more. So much more.

“Hayden,” I barely breathe, tipping back my head, offering. His hand flies up to cover mine where it lies on his face. At first I think he means to tug my hand away. Instead, he presses it hungrily against his skin, turning his face into my palm, his brow furrowing like he’s in torment.

I want to soothe his ache. I want every inch of my skin against his. I want to take away whatever sorrow this might be, the wounds of a past love. I want to eradicate every memory of that love, replace it with the feel of my body intertwined with his.

Chasing a wild instinct, I touch the plush rise of his bottom lip with my thumb. I drag it along the softness, pushing, wanting to feel the scrape of his teeth, the heat of his tongue. He sucks in a ragged breath, mouth dropping open. He stiffens.

Hayden’s eyes open slowly, settling on me. There’s no anger in them, just something hollow that makes my chest cave in. He pulls back from my touch like he knows he shouldn’t be this close.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. His voice is frayed, worn thin. He gently removes my hands from his face, careful, almost apologetic, even as he steps away. “I’m not a monster.” The corner of his mouth lifts, but it isn’t a smile. He looks resigned. “I’m far, far worse.”

He moves past me then, a cold slip of air in his wake. The front door closes with a soft, final click.

I’m left standing there, arms wrapped around myself, like something just ended and I don’t know what.

Chapter 13

Tears splash on my sketchbook as I scrub the charcoal stick against the thick paper. I glance up out the giant round window, catch a glimpse of the benevolent stretch of the angel’s wings in Holyfield Cemetery.

I cry harder, wiping my running nose on my sleeve, and drag the charcoal wildly across the pages. This is why people die alone. Because, my god, if this is what it feels like to get your heart broken after a few stupid moments in a courtyard, in a library, in a church, what must it feel like after one month? One year? One decade?

How do people survive heartbreak?

I hear Delia’s keys in the lock, and my heart warms. It’s nice that this is now one of my favorite sounds in the world. I keep sketching, my feet propped on the radiator as I sit on the sofa, which we’ve turned to face the window. The door clicks gently shut and I hear Delia drop her keys on her desk.

“I got your texts,” she says softly. Her arms go around my neck as she hooks her chin over my shoulder. I press my temple against hers, soothed by her perfume of jasmine and soft woods. “I brought you your favorite.” She reaches around me, placing a small Styrofoam container on my sketchbook. I pop it open.

“Banoffee pie,” I gush, throwing my arms up to awkwardly hug her neck. “I love you so much.” With a soft laugh she disentangles herself and rounds the couch, tossing me a plastic spoon. I dig into the gooey whipped cream and caramel, shoving a heaping pile into my mouth.

Delia leans back against the window, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“So, we’re done with Hayden?” she asks gently.

I blink, a few tears falling into my pie. I shut the container and swallow hard.