the sweetly scented killer

the ringmaster

flora

The study I walk into with Alora does not at all match the rest of the palace-like house.

The color scheme is lavender and gold, but not too much of it to the point where it's overwhelming. We sit on the lavender upholstered couch that is framed by gold embellishments.

"So how was your first night last night?" Alora smiles, pouring me a cup of tea. I thank her.

"It was nice. We did not...jump into anything too quickly."

"Really," she sits back in amusement. "So he didn't pressure you into anything?"

"Not at all," I shake my head. "He made me feel very comfortable."

"I'm glad," she smiles in surprise. "Seth has had his fun, and as much as he tries to deny it to me, mothers know everything. But this is different. You're his mate, and don't you ever let him disrespect you, or force you into doing things that you're not comfortable with. And if he does, you tell me, okay?" I nod.

We talk about my mother, the humans, and a little bit about Seth's brother Damien's mate, Erica.

While we stand in the larger than life kitchen getting more tea, Alora smiles at me. I smile back. "I've always wanted a daughter," she says. "I love my boys, but I hoped for a girl each time." She looks at me again with a smile of admiration. "You are a beautiful angel, Flora. I'm not just talking about your beautiful face, I mean you're beautiful on the inside as well. You're part of our family now, and I'm lucky to have a daughter like you." I can't help but blush.

"Thank you, Alora." It is everything I could only dream of my own mother saying to me. I am not sure what I did to go so wrong with mother, but I will not make the same mistake with Alora.

***

Seth is off...doing whatever it is that demons do with their time, which leaves me to my own company. I have been struggling to make plants since being here. Well, except the lenta flower because it exists through the strength of my connection with Seth. So as long as we are mates, the lenta flower will never die, and nothing will be able to break it. And we will be mates for eternity.

I decide to try again with my flowering. I pick out a brown silk dress that reminds me a lot of my nightgown. Lace outlines my bust, and the silk falls beneath it graciously over my body, giving the illusion that it is liquid spilling beautifully.

I pair it with a black cloak that reaches the ground. I do not believe it was intended to drag, but also I will assume that this was made for a resident of the underworld, and not an angel like me. It does not look horrible. I quietly make my way to the ground floor. I smile at the guard before the door, and he steps in front of me like a brick wall.

"Where are you off to, Lady Flora?"

"I was just about to take a stroll of the grounds," I smile at him again.

"Without shoes?" I look down at my bare feet.

"Do I need shoes?" I cock my head at him. He cocks his head back at me, as if he is discombobulated.

"She is only an angel," a woman's voice says from down the hall. There is no one in sight behind me. I turn back and jump at a redheaded woman beside me.

"I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to startle you," she smiles. She is noticeably taller than me, with striking green eyes, and fiery red curly hair spilling over her shoulders. She wears a black velvet dress that so starkly contrasts her pale white skin, you cannot help but look. The dress comes to an end at her mid thigh with a slit that reaches much higher. It is not only long sleeve, but extends to her hands and gives her gorgeous black gloves. I have never seen anyone look so perfect. "Enjoying the view?" she arches an eyebrow.

"I apologize," I blink. "You are quite beautiful."

"Thank you, Miss Flora," she nods her head once at me. "You are quite a beauty yourself. I'm Erica."

"Erica," I repeat. "You're Damien's mate?"

"I am, yes," she affirms.

"I have heard quite a lot about you."

Erica turns her head to the side and raises one eyebrow, smirking down at me. "All good things, I hope." I tilt my head and frown, unsure how to tell her that they were not all good things. But when she speaks again, I realize this was a rhetorical hope, and not literal. "This dress is sexy on you, beautiful," she opens my cloak. I smile, my cheeks going a bit hot.

"Thank you."

"It matches your skin tone a bit, but I knew you would be able to pull it off when I put it in there. And the cloak is a little long, but that can always be hemmed." I smile and nod, unable to look away from those bright green eyes.

There's just something about her that draws you in and makes you thirsty for her power. Everybody talks about her as though she's a figment, or a myth they strongly believe in. She is the mate of the eldest son of a highly respected devil in hell, which, on paper, does not give her much "power". But simultaneously, she is the unspoken ringmaster, and you feel lucky to be in her presence.

"Let's get you some shoes," she says. "Then we will take a stroll through the grounds."

It hurts a bit to walk outside the mansion. I feel overwhelmed with anger and fear, as one of my abilities as an angel is heightened empathy. And I can feel it from miles away.

Erica and I sit on a bench in the former "gardens". Acres of dead branches and dehydrated soil. I lift my fingers and try to sprout even a leaf from a branch, but it is too painful to try. Erica and I must talk for hours while I try my best. I am exhausted.

As we stand to leave, I turn back once more and survey the community of long passed vegetation. I wonder if it was ever even alive in the first place. I try once more. I lift my hand, and try to make something grow. The branches shake and the ground rumbles just a little when I become frustrated. Erica's balance is compromised, but I hold her steady. Nothing happens. We head inside.

After about twenty minutes, I head out on my own with little hope to see if anything happened after my previous disappointment. And that is when I spot a little pink flower. It dances innocently in the wind while I approach it. A drop of hope that serenades my name like a love song. The corners of my lips raise, while my hopes follow close behind. I take in the energy of that little pink flower, and I am stricken. Kicked in the stomach by my own optimism. Disoriented by the saccharine smell of the sweetly scented killer.

It wells up inside me, the anger I felt at the mating ceremony, the frustration I felt earlier when I could make nothing grow. The anger of the people miles away, yet digging their way into my heart, and my conscience.

My vision darkens, and my focus closes around the killer before me. I close my hand into a fist, and watch as the oleander disintegrates into nothing but dust, blending in with the barren environment that surrounds it.

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