Page 94 of Roses & Ruin

Delia considers me a moment before pushing off the altar and sauntering to me. I recoil against the back of the pew when she reaches into the pocket of my jeans, pulling out my phone. She gives it a fancy twirl, smirking down at me.

“You tracked me,” I realize, staring at my phone. “I…” I look down at the chalice veil in my hand, that rough cloth, not bothering to hide my tears, to wipe them away. Pain and shock make me blunt. Fear for Hayden makes me blunt. I look up at Delia. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You…you’re breaking my heart, Delia.”

The smirk falls from her face. She jerks back, her face becoming murky. Unreadable. But then her lip curls with disgust, and she presses close, looming, gripping the back of the pew on either side of me, the wood cracking dangerously.

“This is just as much Hayden’s fault as it is mine. You know what else would have stopped the curse? Moving on.” Delia’s fangs go down past her bottom lip, sharper than anything I’ve ever seen. “Instead, he keeps your trash. Old papers and combs with your disgusting hair still stuck in the teeth. Won’t even clean your blood off your old wedding rings. He’s the reason you have died over and over and over, that selfish prick. He could have found another human. Let you live your life. He could have become a monk. I mean, sure, I would have made sure he regretted it, but point is, I hardly had to try. You had to meet your bloody end nearly a dozen times before he even considered it. I mean, I had a serial killer shove a knife in your eye!” Delia’s obsidian gaze scrapes wildly over my face. “And still, he couldn’t leave you alone. Even when it killed you. Even when it killed him. He couldn’t…Let. You. Go.” Her lovely face contorts, inches from mine. “I never understood.”

“Don’t you?” Her fangs are so close to my jugular. I’m shocked my voice works through my terror. “I mean…have you ever asked yourself if this is what Nico would want for you?”

Delia’s snarl of rage ricochets off the cold stone walls. Her hand flies to my throat and she lifts me into the air, squeezing. Another crack of thunder shakes the church.

“How dare you,” she breathes, her eyes wide. “You know nothing about me. Nothing.”

When my lungs start to burn, I kick, my hands clawing at hers, desperate for air. Delia hardly seems to notice. My vision’s tunneling, but I can see a strange flash of fear in her eyes.

I hit the ground painfully on my shoulder, and I suck in deep, sweet breaths as I watch her ballet flats silently glide toward Hayden. My vision clears, and I push up on an elbow just in time to see Delia snatch something from atop the altar and then duck to grab something from behind it. She faces Hayden, who is still ashen faced on the floor.

In one hand, she holds a crystal bottle labeled Holy Water. In the other is a long wooden cross—sharp as a stake.

Terror floods me. I fight through my feverish pain, the nausea of dread, and scramble to my knees. I swallow the flood of saliva that rises from my throat.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, Delia.”

“Didn’t I promise you that this time would be different?” she whispers. “That I’d make sure of it? You don’t think I can let go?” Her voice trembles. “Watch me.”

Delia pops the cap off the holy water with one thumb and dumps the entire contents onto Hayden.

His shriek of pain is so horrible, so inhuman, I fall on my hands with a vicious, tear-filled dry heave.

“Please,” I wrench out as Hayden arches violently off the ground, smoke rising from his skin. I crawl toward him, sobbing, as Hayden convulses in agony, fighting the handcuffs, the metal opening gashes in his weakened skin, his blood pooling on the stone floor near his wrists and ankles.

Delia drops the empty bottle on Hayden’s writhing body. It bounces off his torso and clatters onto the floor. She leans back on one elbow against the altar, watching me, her face unreadable.

“You know,” she says, “you did this to him.” Delia kicks him lightly, and he lets out a tormented moan. “You made him weak. Love makes him weak.”

I can’t let her words get to me. I swallow hard against the nausea, close my eyes.

“Please, Delia.” I keep my voice as steady as possible. “Please don’t hurt him any more.”

“Oh, Rose,” she whispers. There’s a whoosh, and when I open my eyes, Delia’s crouching before me, our gazes level. Her face is nearly tender, and it hurts, how much it reminds me of our late nights together, the comforting weight of her chin on my shoulder, her soft finger pads dabbing my eyelids. Delia takes my hand in both of hers. “I won’t, I promise.” She presses something cold into my palm. I look down to see what it is.

It’s a knife. Curved and deadly, shaped like a monster’s claw.

“I’m not gonna hurt Hayden,” Delia says, eyes glittering. “You are.”

Chapter 32

All the breath in my lungs leaves me. Delia springs to her feet, jubilant.

“Wakey, wakey!” she singsongs, kicking Hayden hard in the stomach. Hayden jerks with a groan. He blinks his eyes slowly open, his gaze hazy, rolling about the room. When they land on me, he freezes.

“Rose?” he slurs.

“Hayden,” I gasp, relieved at the sound of his voice, even if it’s thick and sluggish. The panic in my voice has his gaze sharpening.

“Are you hurt? Why do I feel so…” Hayden tries to get up, wincing when the handcuffs dig into his wounds. He frowns, confused, and when he looks down at the cuffs, his confusion only grows. “What’s happening?” he grunts, shaking his head.

“I mean, I get it, Rose. He’s kinda cute.” Delia tsks down at Hayden. “Not too bright, though.”