Page 13 of Beast of Blood and Roses
The muffled sniffles stopped. “What?”
The disbelief in her voice sparked my temper like a match to kindling. Heat rushed up my neck. “I said you will join me for breakfast.”
“Say please.” Colette clasped my arm, her touch gentle but urgent. Her eyes pleaded with me to control my temper.
I forced the words through gritted teeth, swallowing my pride like shattered glass. “Will you please join me for breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
She was defying me?! The audacity was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over my head. First, Colette questioning my orders, and now my prisoner outright refusing me. My vision tinged red at the edges. The beast inside me roared for dominance, demanding I tear down this door and drag her out by her hair.
I slammed my fist against the wooden door with such force that dust rained from the frame above. The sound echoed through the hallway like a gunshot. “Fine!” I snarled, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “If you don’t want to eat with me, you can go ahead and starve!”
But even as the words left my mouth, something hollow opened in my chest—a yawning chasm of disappointment I refused to acknowledge.
“Monsieur?”
Colette called out to me, but I didn’t answer her. My muscles were so tight I thought they’d snap. I stormed back to my room, the floorboards creaking underneath my weight. If I stayed, I was afraid I’d break down the door and drag her to breakfast. And God knows what I’d do her after that.
As a vampire, I had no problem seducing women. A look, a smile, a whispered promise, and they’d melt into my arms. But now, I couldn’t even get my prisoner to eat with me. The humiliation burned in my throat. What if the curse was truly impossible to break?
The hopelessness needled me like porcupine quills. I needed a fucking drink.
Rage boiled up from somewhere deep and primitive. Colette was a fool if she thought this witch could ever fall in love with me or me with her. My lips curled into a snarl. Shewas selfish and cruel like all witches and not to be trusted. Of course she’d rather starve than spend five minutes with me.
I grabbed a bottle of bourbon out of my study with shaking claws, the glass nearly slipping from my grip. The amber liquid sloshed as I headed toward my bedroom, each step heavier than the last. Even the alcohol couldn’t numb the bitter taste of rejection that coated my tongue like poison.
I slumped into my chair like I always did, the familiar weight of dread settling into my bones. My eyes found the cursed painting hanging on the opposite wall—the one thing I both craved and feared to look at.
It had changed again.
My heart lurched in my chest. I had more fur in the picture than I did just a few minutes ago, my face more bestial, more monstrous. The human features I’d been clinging to were disappearing before my eyes. Normally, the painting only changed every couple of weeks, giving me time to mentally prepare for each horrifying transformation. But something was different now.
Panic clawed at my throat. The changes were accelerating ever since she’d arrived. In just one day, the painting had transformed more than it usually did in weeks.
My hands shook as I gripped the armrests of my chair, claws digging deep gouges into the leather. Maybe it was the damn witch. The thought hit me like ice water in my veins. Maybe her magic was exacerbating the painting’s transformations, seeping through these walls like poison.
A cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Which meant this damn amulet was an illusion—a cruel joke. My only protection, the one thing that had given me any confidenceto face her, was worthless.
Terror and rage warred in my chest as the horrible truth sank in. Or was it the truth? My mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. I was being cursed again. I had to be. And this time, I might not survive it.
Chapter Nine
Rosalie
I had moved away from the door, afraid the beast would break it down after I declined his breakfast invitation. Then came a hit against the wood that made the entire door rattle in its frame, the sound echoing through the room like thunder. My stomach growled impatiently, but I couldn’t bear to be near him. He was terrifying—so angry, so furious—and I was so small next to him. I could still see those claws, long and razor sharp, and all I could think about was how easily they could rip me apart, how he towered over me like some nightmare come to life.
Then there was that statue of Colette. I could still see her eyes opening, watching me. This place was a nightmare of things coming to life and my father abandoned me here, sold me to him to save his own hide. I don’t know why that surprised me. David Volaris had always looked out for number one.
I always came in second, third, fourth. I was only importantwhen he needed something from me, usually money, and now me.
I had to get out of here and away from everything—away from New Orleans, away from my father and his endless cycle of gambling and debt. I needed to disappear somewhere no one could find me, start fresh where no one knew my name or my history.
A soft, timid knock brought me out of my thoughts. I moved away from the door, my body trembling.
“Rosalie?” It was Colette. What was she? Definitely not human.
The door slowly opened and she stepped inside.
