Becomes the Rose Read online

  Becomes the Rose

  Pelaam

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  Cover Artist: Reese Dante

  Editor: Devin Govaere

  Becomes the Rose © 2010 Pelaam

  ISBN # 978-1-920468-99-6

  All rights reserved.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.

  PUBLISHER

  http://www.silverpublishing.info

  Dedication

  For my partner,

  who always said “I knew you could do it.”

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Rolls Royce Phantom: Daimler AG

  Chapter One

  Tarin trudged wearily along the road. He was lost, and he knew it. He roundly and comprehensively cursed his boyfriend. His ex-boyfriend.

  Lexis had suggested they get away for a weekend. Tarin should have known it was destined for disaster when the date fell on Halloween. They’d recently split, but Lexis had wanted to keep the friendship and go on one of the camping trips they had enjoyed so much.

  “Witches and curses,” Tarin muttered darkly under his breath. “Lexis will know a curse when I get my hands on him.”

  Their relationship had been spiralling downwards at a rapid pace. Tarin could not explain it, but he had known Lexis was not The One. They had found plenty of mutual interests, including hiking and camping, and they’d enjoyed casual lovemaking. However, Tarin had realised very quickly that it was not enough.

  “I should’ve kept the relationship platonic and just enjoyed the camping,” he sighed. “My own stupid fault.” He looked around. It was starting to get dark.

  He and Lexis had been booked into a motel the previous night, but Tarin had insisted on single beds and been angry Lexis had booked a double. He then paid for a room of his own and a big argument had ensued. Tarin had not even been sure the trip would go ahead.

  When he’d gotten up, however, Lexis had already left, taking the hired car. Tarin indulged in another round of heartfelt cursing. Because Lexis was the designated driver, Tarin hadn’t worried about his driver’s licence when packing. After Lexis left he found it was not where he had thought it would be, but he would worry about it when he got home. To add insult to injury, his cellphone battery was dead.

  Now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, unable to hire a car to get to civilisation; assuming he could have found a town to hire a car in.

  The motel had been helpful, indicating the nearest place he might be able to catch a local bus into one of the bigger towns that had buses into the city. Just getting home was likely to take the whole weekend.

  Tarin wondered where he could pitch his tent. He didn’t have much in his pack beyond dried fruit and nuts, some beef jerky, and a few bottles of water. If the trip had gone to plan, by now they should have passed through a town and stocked up on foods. The primus stove was in the car, so he couldn’t have anything hot. Tarin hoped his thermal bedroll and a small fire would be warm enough.

  He gave a soul-deep groan.

  Ahead the road was vanishing into mist. That was all he needed.

  “Cold and wet is my world,” he muttered forlornly. He was surprised to find a tear slipping down his cheek. Resettling his camping gear securely on his back, he headed forward. He was not branching off into the woods in the fog.

  He pulled out his flashlight as the fog closed in. It was a strange, eerie sensation. The mist felt neither cold nor wet. He was in it for several minutes before it vanished as suddenly as it descended.

  He looked around. The forest had thinned totally, something he would not have expected so quickly. There were a few trees in a grouping on the left of the road and a single tree on the right. That tree inexplicably gave him the shivers. It was devoid of leaves, its bark dark and gnarled, and for all the world, it looked like an old, bent figure, with its arms reaching in supplication to the trees across the road.

  “Hello there.”

  Tarin started at the greeting, not having seen the figure approach. The man’s voice was dark and seductive, seemingly modulated to go straight to Tarin’s groin. He gave himself a mental shake. Let’s not go there, he admonished himself. He was in enough trouble.

  He looked at the newcomer. The man was every bit as attractive as his voice suggested. Blond hair reached to his shoulders, and he had a well-trimmed goatee. Although tall and slender, he gave the impression of power and strength. However, it was his eyes that really caught Tarin’s attention, until he realised he was staring. The green gaze held a mesmerizing, almost indescribable quality that Tarin could easily become lost in.

  “Hi,” Tarin said with a slightly nervous smile.

  “We rarely get visitors. We’re… off the beaten track, so to speak,” the blond added with a smile. “My name is Anton.”

  Tarin swallowed. Even in the gathering dusk, the newcomer’s teeth flashed white.

  “I… er… I got lost, somehow,” Tarin offered, unsure whether he wanted to turn and flee or accept the offer implicit in those hypnotic eyes.

  “You need a place to stay then. My Master has a small guest house.”

  Tarin jumped nervously. He had not seen this newcomer either. However, he relaxed at the sight of a matronly woman who beamed at him.

  “I guess I do at that. I’d love a bath, too, and a meal?” he added hopefully. “I have a credit card, but not my driver’s licence.”

  “Let’s worry about all of that later, dear,” the woman said, hooking her arm around Tarin’s elbow. “It’s not often I get to have such a handsome young man on my arm.” She winked at him. “It’s this way.”

  “I’ll be seeing you,” the blond said.

  “Sure,” Tarin replied. He gave a small shudder. Somehow the words sounded more like a promise, or threat, than a farewell. Tarin gave himself a mental shake. He was getting overly spooked.

  The woman’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Now we don’t hold much with exotic food here. It’ll be a rabbit stew with some vegetables. There are some apples that I can turn into a dessert, too,” she added.

  “That’ll be wonderful,” Tarin said wholeheartedly. Hot food, a bath, and a bed for the night; paradise. Hopefully he could get the directions necessary to a town with a shuttle bus in the mor
ning.

  Chapter Two

  Tarin loved the bath. It was a long, deep, antique bath standing on clawed feet. He didn’t consider himself particularly tall, an inch or so less than six feet, yet sometimes modern baths seemed so cramped. He could stretch out fully in this beauty and idly wondered whether he would ever be able to afford one. Deciding that if he remained in the water much longer he would be a wrinkled prune, he eased from his watery haven.

  He perused himself critically in the full-length mirror. His chestnut hair, normally in waves, hung dark and straight, dripping onto his shoulders. He had a modest dusting of chest hair and a piercing in his right nipple. He was slender, without being skinny or gangly, and his camping activities ensured his arms and lean legs were also toned. He looked into his own espresso eyes and sighed. He spent a lot of time in groups, occasionally giving surreptitious, jealous glances at couples who were so obviously right together. His parents divorced when he was a child, and his mother remarried twice thereafter. He wondered whether that was why he needed to be sure he had found the Right One for him.

  He dried himself with the large, fluffy towel provided. Was the fact that thirty was fast approaching the thing causing him to think so much about a lifetime partner and commitment? Perhaps he needed to start going to the more up-market bars and change some of his leisure activities to places where he might find more single guys. He pulled on the single pair of dark pants he‘d packed and a white shirt that would have looked good without the myriad of creases from being stuffed hurriedly into his backpack.

  His room sat at the back of the small house, and the room he‘d been shown in which he could dine was the next one on the left from his bedroom. The house was clearly not intended to look after guests, but he knew he would be warm and comfortable and the aroma of hot, cooked food was so tantalising that his mouth was beginning to water.

  The meal was unexpectedly excellent; a rabbit stew with chunks of carrots and onion and mashed potatoes on the side that tasted every bit as good as looked and smelt. Eating with relish, Tarin felt glad he’d stumbled on the tiny hamlet. As he had not been able to truly see it before, he would explore in the morning; unless a very long walk lay ahead. He would ask Martha, who was looking after him so well, whether there was anyone who might be able to drive him at least part-way to the nearest town if he gave them petrol money.

  “Good evening. I hope you are enjoying Martha’s hospitality?”

  Tarin stared at the man who had addressed him. Part of his brain wondered if there was something in the water that made the men of the town so attractive. He wore his light brown hair long, but tied in a ponytail high on the crown of his head. With a similar build to the blond Tarin had met earlier, maybe a little taller and broader, he was clean-shaven, but his eyes… Tarin was sure he could drown in the deep blue, oceanic depths.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Tarin found the newcomer’s voice soft and melodic, but he heard strength beneath the surface. It was the voice of a natural leader, Tarin decided.

  It was also as sexy as hell.

  “No problem.” Tarin smiled.

  “Anton met him first, sir,” Martha offered as she replaced the emptied dinner plate with a bowl of strewed apple dusted with cinnamon.

  “Indeed. My name is Boyce, Boyce French. Welcome.”

  “I’m Tarin Medway. Thank you. Your guest house is very nice. I love the antique environment. Nice touch.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Boyce said, and Tarin got the impression the pleasure was genuine. “Do you play chess?” Boyce asked.

  “Actually, yes I do.” Tarin smiled.

  “Good. We don’t have a bar of any kind. However, I do have some excellent brandy and a chess board that I will probably have to dust to use. My home is not far. It would be my pleasure to have you spend the night in my home as my personal guest in exchange for a game or two of chess.”

  “I… that would be… yes, yes I’d like that,” Tarin said, caught off-guard. His libido cheered the unexpected turn of events, and Tarin silently willed it to behave. He did not sleep with anyone on a first date. But there’s always tomorrow, an inner voice reminded.

  “Excellent. I will get one of my le… one of my other servants to bring my car ‘round and we can put your stuff in and drive over. The car does not get enough use these days. Finish your meal while I make the necessary arrangements.”

  It did not take Tarin long to finish his meal, or have his meagre belongings packed. He was walked to the door by Martha who then bade him a goodnight.

  It was with a gasp of surprise and delight that Tarin looked at Boyce’s car. It was a pristine 1920’s Rolls Royce Phantom. In the driver’s seat was a blond of Herculean proportions, who Tarin took to be the chauffeur.

  “She’s a beauty,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He loved vintage cars, and this one was immaculate.

  “I’ve hardly used her since I got her,” Boyce said softly. “I’m glad you like her.”

  Hesitating, with his hand hovering over the car’s chassis, Tarin looked over his shoulder for permission. For a second, the azure orbs seemed to be looking at him with such warmth and affection that Tarin almost forgot to breathe.

  “You may drive her if you wish,” Boyce said. “Flynn will not mind,” he added, looking away.

  “Thanks,” Tarin said.

  He was certain Boyce was about to say more, but the older man’s attention had diverted to the blond Tarin met earlier. Once again he had appeared silently, but now he was flanked by two other men that Tarin took an immediate dislike and distrust to. They looked mean and cruel and, suddenly, so did the blond with them, as if a mask or a veneer had been stripped away.

  “Surely you’re not going to monopolise all our unexpected guest’s time, Boyce?” the blond asked.

  “Tarin is going to be staying in my home, Anton,” Boyce said, his voice increasing in timbre and taking on a menacing tone.

  “Maybe we can meet up tomorrow,” Anton said, flashing his white, now chilling, smile at Tarin.

  “Maybe,” Tarin said non-committally, giving a shudder and getting into Boyce’s car. Although he did not want to offend anyone, he was quite sure he would be well away before needing to spend any time with Anton. He hoped Flynn might drive him while he sat with Boyce. He fully intended to leave his details with the attractive and enigmatic older man, hoping he was picking up on the right signals.

  Chapter Three

  Looking around Boyce’s house, Tarin was stunned by the number of antiques the man owned. There was art deco everywhere; glasses, crockery, art, it was like stepping back in time. His fingers ran over a gold candlestick telephone set.

  “Does it work?” he asked.

  “It used to, but it’s not connected now,” Boyce said with a smile. “Over here,” the older man indicated, showing Tarin to an ornate wooden table. The table’s top was carved into a chess board, and Boyce reached underneath to remove a wooden box of chess pieces and began to set them out.

  “Boyce, are these made of ivory?” Tarin asked as he turned a piece in his hand.

  “Ivory with gold leaf,” Boyce said as he saw Tarin’s finger trace the yellow band that ran around each piece.

  “This must be almost priceless,” Tarin breathed, suddenly afraid to touch the pieces.

  “It is old.” Boyce nodded. “And if I was so inclined, I could probably get a very good price for it. However, I have no plans to sell it. I wish to play with it.”

  They played steadily, time flying by as Tarin relaxed. He still found it surprising just how much of what he would consider antique pieces Boyce used as everyday items. The large radio did not work, but the phonograph did. When they tired of chess, Boyce put on records and they played cards instead as Tarin sipped an excellent port served from a beautiful cut-glass decanter.

  If he was honest, Tarin felt himself increasingly attracted to Boyce. It was unusual for him to be drawn to a more mature man, someone pr
obably near forty. His preference was for his own age group. Yeah, and look where that got you, a little voice niggled.

  “Something wrong?” Boyce asked.

  “Not at all,” Tarin said smiling. “I was just thinking that I called my ex for everything, but if he hadn’t left me, I would never have met you.” He blushed furiously, dropping his head. “Your little hamlet, I mean,” he added quickly.

  “It has been an equal pleasure to meet you, too, Tarin,” Boyce said. “However, you’ve had an eventful day and I think it’s time to retire.”

  Unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed with Boyce’s response to his indiscretion, Tarin stood, and inadvertently, the men came chest to chest. It was almost like feeling an electrical charge from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and Tarin arched his head back with a soft groan. He shuddered as he felt cool lips press against his throat and then he was eye to eye with Boyce.

  “You are everything I could have dreamed of, and more besides. But not here, and not now,” Boyce said. “You need sleep.”

  Swaying in Boyce’s embrace, Tarin felt a soul-deep lethargy wash over him.

  “Sorry, so tired,” he mumbled.

  “Let me help you.”

  Tarin barely felt the journey to his bedroom. He was quickly stripped to his boxers and laid in the bed. He was uncertain whether it was just imagination that Boyce’s lips caressed his cheeks before he plunged unresistingly into sleep.

  * * * *

  The nightmare was awful; a beautiful, dark-haired girl crying for help before her sightless eyes stared accusingly at him. A man shaking his fists at the sky and shouting, his angry words unheard, before dropping his head and holding his arms out in supplication. Then Anton’s face, cold and cruel, grinning at him, red tongue licking suggestively over pink lips and sharp, white teeth.