CHAPTER 2: SIIRA
When she woke up, she was back at her house. The sweet smell still lingered in her nostrils as she lazily reached for her cell phone. She gawked at the device, confused by what she saw.
Was I dreaming? It’s still the morning of Friday the nineteenth… I should stay away from the Prosecco,
Rosaline thought, groaning as she rubbed her temples.
Just then, the phone rang.
“Hello? Ros? Are you okay?” James asked worriedly on the other end.
“I-I think so. I had an awfully strange dream and I have a hangover. Though, it’s nothing a good southern breakfast won’t fix,” she cheerfully replied, putting on a cute southern accent.
James let out a heavy sigh and Rosa demanded to know what was up.
“Nothing. It’s fine really. I just… Well, I woke up this morning and found the spare room unlocked. A few things were missing, but Amari hasn’t arrived yet and the security cameras showed nothing.”
“Okay… So what’s this got to do with me? Do you think I—”
“No. I’d never think that of you. I thought maybe someone might have followed you home too.” His panic eased a bit, but it was clear he was shaking. “Hey, I’m taking the day off to sort myself out. Come spend the day with me, beautiful,” he requested, stumbling over his words.
Rosaline had never seen him like this, so she dared not refuse. The two agreed to meet at a quaint spot on the south side of the city.
Once they met up, Rosa could immediately tell that something was off with James. When he arrived, his hair was disheveled, he hadn’t shaved, and it honestly didn't look like he had slept a wink. Regardless, Rosaline didn’t look much better. She couldn’t get her brown hair to lose its frizz and there were multiple scratch marks on her arms.
The pair waited to be seated and Rosaline noticed he was rather distant. He hadn’t touched her one bit, and there was an odd fear in his eyes every time she reached for his hand.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you last night,” Rosa said, breaking the awkward silence after their food had arrived.
“You didn’t.” He was being short with her; the usual sign that he wasn’t happy.
She let it go and devoured her biscuits and gravy in a rather unladylike manner. They received a few stares, but it didn’t bother her. She was absolutely ravenous.
They left the restaurant in silence and headed for the shops. Rosaline tried multiple times to start a conversation, but his answers remained curt, assuming he acknowledged her at all. Over the course of a few hours, he had bought her several pieces of jewelry and a few designer purses—something that was done if she had pleased him excessively. James’s wishy-washy attitude was making her uneasy.
“I’m tired,” she complained. “Let’s go back to your place and order takeout.”
“No. I don’t think y—we should.”
Rosaline stared at him for a long while.
“My place then? I’ve got the new—”
“No,” James replied, his voice stern and cold. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. You’re a distraction and with me, you have no goals or ambitions… I need something more.”
Shocked, Rosaline sat silently in the car. She wasn’t sure if she was sad or angry.
I have ambitions! I have goals. I’ve…
“I’ve been working on myself. It was a condition outlined in our contract.”
“It’s too little, too late, Rosa. I’ll drop you off at home and Amira will drop off your things tomorrow afternoon. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again.”
James’s body trembled as he said this. It was clear this wasn’t his decision. Tears streamed down her face as the black town car pulled into her driveway. She wanted to say something, but words eluded her.
The car didn’t pull away until she was safe in her plantation style home. As the vehicle’s tires crunched over the gravel driveway, Rosa slumped down at her front door and cried. That strangely sweet smell of perfume gently surrounded her, putting her into a state of calm. Before she knew it, Rosaline had fallen asleep amongst the large pile of shopping bags that she had accumulated earlier in the day.
* * *
James woke up the next day, hungover from a full night of drinking. He regretted abandoning the only woman he had truly every loved on his own volition. However… he had no choice.
The rhythmic tapping of heels echoed in the hallways and James’s face froze in terror. The crystal doorknob to his bedroom slowly turned and a tall figure appeared in the half-lit doorway.
“Good morning, my love,” a titillating voice called out to him. “Did you do what I asked?”
“Yes, but—”
In an instant, the woman appeared next to him. Her stiletto nails were shaped like razors and softly digging into James’s throat.
“There are no buts, Jameson. I ask, you answer.” She inched her fingers up to his cheek and made a small cut. A slow trickle of blood ran down his face and the lavender-eyed beauty giggled with excitement before licking him clean. “Do you understand, peasant?”
James winced in pain. It had been awhile since he had to submit to anyone, especially Siira.
“Yes, Mistress,” he responded, throwing himself to the floor to bow at her feet.
Siira sighed.
“Stand,” she demanded, pulling him up by his wrinkled shirt collar.
He did as he was instructed, sobbing all the while.
“I’d have let you keep her if you had kept your feelings in check. But falling in love with a disgusting mortal? Tsch, you’d have me the laughing stock of all the Underworld. Embarrass me again and I’ll make sure that loving heart of yours gets fed to the hounds.”
With a flick of her wrist, James’s body flew across the room like a ragdoll. Quickly recovering himself, Jameson curled up in the corner of his bedroom, weeping like a wounded calf. Siira snarled at his insolent behavior. Slamming the door behind her, she ventured back into her room—the spare room at the back of the penthouse.
Its interior was fit for royalty. The bed was soft, yet thick and firm. The cherrywood posts and headboard were intricately carved with unknown ancient symbols and demonic beings. The entire structure gave off a hellish glow that kept the room in a permanent lavender radiance.
The rest of the room seemed normal. There were a few pieces of furniture also made from cherrywood, accompanied by a tall floor to ceiling mirror that stood six feet wide. Its design matched that of the bed. Although it reflected the room’s interior, it failed to produce a reflection of Siira.
When she stood in front of it, everything in the frame became pitch-black. Flames instantly ignited on the other side, lighting a pathway towards an enormous palace in the distance. Siira stepped through and a large black horse, armored in gold, trotted over to greet her. A small servant girl with ruby-red eyes stood beside it and helped her atop the steed.
“Welcome home, my queen,” the girl crooned, anxiously bouncing about.
“I hope you’ve been well, Janai,” Siira said with a wink.
She gently stroked the girl’s soft, white hair before handing her a simple gold necklace. Janai squealed with joy, tucking the necklace away. Siira helped her mount the stallion and the two rode off towards the palace.