Page 10 of Beast of Blood and Roses
She swallowed hard, the delicate column of her throat working visibly. Her thumping heart echoed in my ears like a pounding headache—a metronome of panic that both annoyed and satisfied me. “Rules? What rules?”
I gave her a smile, or at least what smile I could manage as a beast. It was mostly teeth; sharp, gleaming points designed by the curse to inspire nightmares, thanks to Tinker Bell.
“The kind that keep pretty little things like you alive undermy roof.” I took a deliberate step forward, watching as she tried not to stare. “And the kind that’ll make you wish for death if you break them.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks despite her fear. Was that anger? Interesting. Most would have cowered completely by now.
“I didn’t ask to be brought here,” she whispered, a spark of defiance flickering behind those wide eyes.
“Nobody ever does, little one.” The curse tightened around my chest as I moved closer. “That’s what makes it so goddamn tragic.”
I made my way toward her. The chandelier’s light cast my shadow over her trembling form; a monstrous silhouette that stretched across the polished floor between us. “Rule number one, you can’t leave.”
She lifted her head to meet my gaze, a flicker of recognition—or perhaps resignation—crossing her features. “Yes, you mentioned that one earlier.”
I raised two fingers, the gesture almost comically human from a creature like me. “Two. No witchcraft.”
She laughed nervously, the sound brittle like thin ice cracking. “That’s an easy one. I’m not a witch.”
Was she playing games with me? I could smell her magic, brewing inside her like honeyed wine—untapped, perhaps unconscious, but potent nonetheless. I drank in the scent that made my curse pulse with recognition.
“I’m not a fool, Rosalie.” Her name felt dangerous on my tongue, like an incantation. “If you try to perform any spell, I will kill you. Am I clear?”
“Are you serious?” A tremor ran through her voice, confusion mingling with her fear. The power in her blood called to the beast in mine, a siren song neither of us fully understood.
I put my hand around her slender throat, her pulse fluttering against my palm like a trapped moth. “Yes. I am.”
A tremor ran through her, but she didn’t try to pull away.
“I promise I won’t,” she squeaked, her eyes huge pools of amber in the dim light, reflecting my monstrous form back at me. “I promise.”
I held up one finger, the claw at its tip catching the light. My voice dropped lower, a dangerous whisper that seemed to make the shadows in the room grow longer. “The last one: don’t ever...don’t ever...go into the north wing.”
The words caught in my throat as unbidden images flashed through my mind—the ever-changing portrait hidden away in the darkness, brush strokes altering, attempting to complete their transformation. If the painting were to be finished with me as a beast, the curse would become permanent, my monstrous form sealed for eternity. I couldn’t risk her seeing it, couldn’t risk her latent powers sensing what needed to be done to complete my damnation.
She frowned, a tiny crease forming between her brows. For a split second, she looked more curious than afraid. “What’s in the north?—”
I growled, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest, primal and threatening. The beast momentarily overtaking the man. “Your death if you don’t follow my rules.”
The mansion seemed to creak around us, as if responding to my threat. In the distance, a clock chimed, marking another hour closer to my potential damnation—or salvation.
Chapter Seven
Rosalie
The clock stopped chiming, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. I was sure he could hear my rapidly beating heart. It thundered in my own ears, a desperate rhythm that seemed to echo off the mansion’s ancient walls. The way he cast his gaze over me was pure predator, his emerald eyes unnaturally bright against the darkness of his twisted features.
How did he become like this? The question burned in my mind even as I pressed myself harder against the wall. He was taller than any man I’d ever seen, his massive frame blocking the light from the hallway, casting his face in shadow. His feet—no, his claws—scraped against the polished wood floors, leaving faint marks with each shift of his weight.
Was he a werewolf? Working nights at Crimson Stakes Casino, I’d seen my share of monsters—drunk high-rollers, desperate addicts, predatory suits, especially the owner of the casino—Angelo Santi. He was deadly handsome, but I heardstories about him that made my toes curl, so I tried to avoid being assigned to his table. I wasn’t always lucky.
But this beast…he made Angelo Santi look harmless.
Something about him made my skin tingle strangely, like static electricity gathering before a storm. It wasn’t just fear—though god knows there was plenty of that—but something else I couldn’t name. Something that felt almost like recognition.
“Stay in your room tonight.” His voice rumbled through me as he put his massive hand on the doorknob. His claws clicked against the brass, scratching the metal. “It’s not safe for you to wander around at night.”
I frowned, a spark of defiance cutting through my fear. Did he think I was planning a midnight stroll through this nightmare of a mansion? “Why not?”
