The Haunting of Brier Rose (25 page)

At last the rope came free from around Bea's torso. Rose unwound
it, dropping it to the floor, and then knelt at Bea's feet to unfasten the bonds
at her knees and ankles. Whoever had tied Bea had made certain she would not
wriggle free on her own.
And that whoever was most likely
Seth Bastyr.

Rose rebuked herself as she struggled with the knot. Why hadn't
she listened to Bea's fears and left Brierwood when they still had time? Why
had it taken so long for her to accept her past and believe in the dangerous
power of the Bastyr family? This was all her fault. If it hadn't been for
Taylor, Bea would surely have died in the fire. What if she still didn't make
it?"

"Hang on, Bea," Rose urged, finally freeing the older
woman's legs. She jumped to her feet and looked down at her grandmother.

Bea panted and opened her eyes.

"Rose," she croaked. "The emerald—"

"Never mind that. Can you walk?" Gently she took Bea's
left arm. "We've got to get you out of this smoky hallway."

In answer, Bea held out a hand and clutched Rose's forearm. With
great effort, Rose managed to hoist Bea out of the chair.

"All right so far, Bea?" Rose asked.

Bea nodded, her eyelids fluttering. Though her skin was tinged
with ruddiness from the fire, Rose was not fooled by the appearance of color.
Bea was on the verge of collapse from shock and lack of oxygen, and she had to
get her some fresh air as quickly as possible. Rose drew Bea's arm across her
shoulder and stooped slightly to support her, in case Bea suddenly lost
consciousness.
She only hoped she could withstand Bea's
weight should the old woman collapse.

Together they staggered down the hall to Rose's room. Rose pushed
opened the door with her foot and urged Bea to the bed, where she helped her
lie down on the comforter. Carefully she lifted Bea's legs and straightened her
housecoat. Then she rushed to the bathroom to get a glass of water and cool wet
towels, denying her own parched throat until she saw to Bea's care.

"Bea, drink this," Rose said, helping her sit up. Bea
opened her eyes and tried to reach for the glass, but her arms sank to the
counterpane, too weak and trembling to function.

Rose held the glass to her mouth. Bea gulped down the water and
sighed. At least her breathing was less labored now. Rose eased her back
against the pillows and then draped the hand towels on Bea's pink arms and
legs, and covered her flushed face. She could see Bea relax beneath the
soothing terry cloth.

Rose leaned closer. "Bea, I've got to call the fire department.
I'll be right back."

"Okay, Rose." Bea's voice was reedy and weak, not at
all like her.

Rose hurried to her writing desk and picked up the receiver of
the phone. She dialed 911 and held the plastic handset to her ear, and only
then noticed that the line sounded dead. Frowning, she depressed the button and
waited for a dial tone. Nothing happened. Frustrated, she depressed it again
and again. Nothing.

"Bea, my phone isn't working. I'll be right back."

Unnerved, Rose sprinted down the hall, her bare feet chilled and
tender. She fled to Taylor's room and dashed to the side of his bed, to the
phone on the nightstand. She grabbed the handset and listened. His phone had no
dial tone, either. All the phones were out. Had the fire caused a short in the
wiring? Or had someone cut the line? Rose felt the bottom of her stomach curl
with fear. What should she do now?

Bea needed medical attention. Taylor might, too. And what if he
couldn't get the blaze under control? Would Brierwood burn to the ground?

Frantic, Rose ran back to her room to check on Bea. She lay in
the bed, still covered by the damp towels.

"How are you doing, Bea?" Rose queried, peeling back
the cloth on her face.

"Better." Bea opened her eyes. They were dark with
worry. "Much better."

"Shall I refresh the towels?"

"They're fine, Rose." She lifted the fingers on her
right hand in an effort to touch Rose's hand in reassurance, but she was still
too weak to move. She sighed and then looked up at Rose. "Mr. Wolfe saved
my life," she said in wonder.

"Yes, he did. He's trying to put out the fire now. The
phones are down, Bea, so I can't call the fire department."

"Oh, dear!"

"Rest, Bea." Rose straightened. "I'm going to see
if Taylor is all right. Then I'll be back.''

"But the emerald—" Bea put in.

"Later, Bea." Rose left the room, hoping she would find
the box and the emerald unharmed by the fire. If Taylor had managed to put out
the blaze, she would search the apartment for the emerald until she found it,
just to ease Bea's fears. In her condition, she shouldn’t be worrying
needlessly about a gemstone.

A haze hung in the parlor as Rose entered the apartment. But at
least the heavy, rolling smoke had dissipated to reveal a war zone of debris.
Furniture lay upended and one of the windows was hung with half a curtain.
Shards of Bea's prized china figurines littered the floor. But Taylor must have
made some headway, if she could see this much of the parlor. Heartened, Rose
walked across the floor, careful not to step on any of the broken china, while
her eyes watered anew, for the acrid odor still permeated the air. She could
hear Taylor banging around in the kitchen and continued in that direction.

The kitchen was in worse shape than the parlor. Taylor had dumped
flour into the blackened wastebasket and poured it over the tile floor,
creating a weird nuclear fallout effect. He had flung water on the now-steaming
refrigerator and counter, making a sticky paste of the flour and ash, and was
standing at the sink with his back to her as he filled a bucket with water. The
stove and refrigerator were streaked with soot, as were Taylor's bare back and
tattered jeans.

Before she could speak, he turned with the bucket and hurled the water
against the counter near her, unable to stop in time when he spotted her
standing in the doorway.

She cried out, more surprised than anything, as the water
splashed over her. She froze, holding her arms up in the air as her filmy
nightgown was instantly sealed to her skin by the cold water.

"Rose!" Taylor gasped, horrified that he had drenched
her.

For a moment they gaped at each other. She probably looked like a
drowned rat and she was sure that Taylor could see the outline of every part of
her body beneath her sopping nightgown. He, on the other hand, looked like a
clown, with his face smudged by soot and his hair and lashes dusted in flour.
His lips appeared cherry red in contrast to the flour. Suddenly those lips
turned up in a grin.

He dropped the bucket, and it rolled around the floor, unheeded,
as he began to chuckle. Rose grinned in return, crazy with relief that the fire
was out and Bea and Taylor had survived. Taylor waded across the debris on the
floor and swept her into his arms, laughing hysterically as he held her. She
clung to him, the wet cotton of her clothing sticking to his dusty coat of
flour and making a terrible mess. She couldn't have cared less, however. Taylor
was safe. The fire was out. For the time being, everything was going to be all
right.

"Sorry, Rose!" he gasped, shaking with laughter.
"Oh, God!"

She pressed against him, her laughter abating as quickly as it
had begun. She could have lost Taylor and Bea. She might have come into the
kitchen and found him sprawled on the floor, dead. The thought doused the
chuckle immediately.

"Taylor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Taylor, you're all
right!" Desperate and shaken she clutched his neck and stood on tiptoe to
reach his lips, yearning for a kiss to reassure
herself
.

"Rose!" He gathered her still closer. She could feel
her limbs and torso molding to his touch as he brought his mouth down on hers.
She kissed him, not in gentle surrender, but in harsh desperation, as if
the kiss had to encompass everything she felt at that moment—fear, glory,
love, relief and a great shattering need brought on by the calamity they had
just survived. She felt as if this was their first real kiss and might very
well be the last one she would ever share with him. She had to tell him
everything with her lips—everything that burned in her heart and lit up
her soul. Everything.

Taylor's hands spread across her back as his tongue entwined with
hers. She could feel need and fear in both his kiss and the rock-hard way he
held her, as if he, too, realized how close they had come to losing each other
and how soon they would be tested again. His chin and nose grazed
hers,
branding her with dust and smoke as his lips claimed
her. She wanted to be claimed. She wanted to be his.
Forever
and ever.
But tonight, if she didn't find a way to escape, she would be
lost to Taylor, never to know his touch again.

She longed to tell him how she felt about him.
I love you, Taylor.
The words sang in
her heart and threatened to fly up her throat. But how could she reveal her
feelings now? It wouldn't be right. Her love would only bind him closer, make
him even more determined to help her fight Seth Bastyr. She knew now that
Taylor's sense of honor and duty would never let him turn his back on her. And
if love were involved, he would probably sacrifice himself to save her. She
couldn't take that chance. She swallowed back the words she yearned to say and
squeezed her eyelids shut, pressing out tears of frustration and sorrow. What
could she do? How could she save the life of this man who had become so
precious to her?

The only way to save him was to run from Brierwood. If she left,
she would take the Bastyr curse with her, allowing Bea and Taylor to resume
their normal lives. The trick was in leaving. She couldn't call a cab. The
phones were down. She would have to make a run for the carriage house, where
the Jacobys' car was parked, and hope to escape the wild dogs. She knew her
chances of succeeding were almost
nil
,

But she had to try. And if the dogs killed her, she would still
succeed in a way, for certainly with her death, both Taylor and Bea would be
released from danger.

Resolved to leave Brierwood as soon as possible, Rose gave Taylor
an extra hug, knowing the embrace would have to last her forever. He squeezed
her back and then looked down at her. All laughter had died in his eyes as
well, and his mouth was set in a grim, straight line.

"Rose, do you have to be a virgin to become a bride of the
patriarch?"

"Yes."

"What would happen if lost your virginity before tonight?"

She felt a hot shaft of desire course through her at' the mere
mention of making love. "I—I don't know."

"If you weren't a virgin, old Seth Bastyr would probably
reject you."

"Yes, but-"

"And if he's some kind of vampire, he only comes out at
night, right?"

"Yes."

Taylor brushed a strand of hair from the side of her face.
"If you lost your virginity today, Rose, when Seth wasn't around, we might
just save you yet."

She stared at him, longing to tell him to ravish her, to tear off
her nightgown and take her on the floor right now, regardless of the flour and
ash. But she recalled the warning in her mother's letter and was afraid to take
the chance. So far, her mother's information had been correct. If she had
heeded the advice in the first place, she might have avoided much of the
trouble they'd experienced. She glanced away, distraught.

"Unless," his voice lowered, "you don't want to…do
that with me."

His words hung in the air, awkward and challenging.

Rose met his smoldering gaze and saw two patches of red blossom
beneath the dust on his cheekbones.

"I have been warned not to," she put in.
"Something terrible might happen."

"Like what?" He cupped her elbows. "Don't you
think it sounds like an empty threat, the kind a worried parent makes?"

"I don't know. I just shouldn't do it. What if you get hurt!
Or killed?"

"I've never suffered any damage from a woman yet. And
neither have they. In fact, we rather enjoyed ourselves."

Rose blushed. "But I'm not your run-of-the-mill woman,
either."

"That's right," he replied softly. "You aren't.
But, Rose—"

"I've got to check on Bea," she interrupted, afraid
that he would press her further. She knew she should leave immediately, before
she changed her mind. When she pulled away from him, he reluctantly let her go.
She headed for the parlor.

"Rose?"

She paused and looked back at him. He sighed and gazed at her as
if he wanted to say something. Then he seemed to think better of it and stuffed
his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "The virginity idea—it wasn't
just a ploy to get you into bed."

"I know." She smiled sadly and hurried out of the apartment,
promising to look for the emerald after Taylor was finished.

Rose saw to Bea's comfort and then stood near the bed, deep in
thought as she considered Taylor's offer. No one really knew what would happen
if Seth found out she had lost her virginity. So far, all the Bastyr women had
been maidens when taken during the ritual. Of course, Seth would be enraged to
find her virginity stolen from him, but why should she care? At that point, her
life would mean nothing to her. Her memory would be wiped out, Taylor would be
lost to her, and she would be Seth's prisoner for the rest of her life. If Seth
killed her out of spite and rage, it really wouldn't matter.

Rose crossed her arms and looked out the window at the sundial in
the back garden. What if she ran to the carriage house and the dogs attacked
her and killed her? She would never know Taylor's love. To die before knowing
him intimately was too painful to think about. What if she did give herself to
Taylor? Would Seth reject her? If he did, she would be free to live her own
life. If he didn't reject her and chose to punish her or kill her, at least she
would have had the opportunity of knowing what it was like to make love with
Taylor. Any way she looked at it, she wanted to give herself to him.