Page 22 of Beast of Blood and Roses
The beast did as he asked with agonizing slowness, and I could see the tremendous effort it took just to maintain that weak grip. He was barely conscious, swaying dangerously with each bump. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t foolishly run away, none of this would have happened.
Colette slid in front of me and gunned the engine. We tore away from the scene of carnage, mud spraying behind us. I twisted to look back and my blood chilled—something humanoid moved between the trees. Too tall to be a wolf, too predatory to be innocent.
I clung to Colette’s jacket, my fingers digging into the fabric as another spasm wracked my body. My brilliant escape plan layin tatters. I’d never make it past that supernatural pack, not alive anyway. Once again, I was trapped.
But the beast could have let me die out there. Instead, he’d thrown himself into mortal danger to protect me. My throat tightened with an emotion I couldn’t name. No one had ever risked everything for me before—especially not someone I had every reason to consider was my enemy.
Chapter Thirteen
Fierro
Marcel must have hit every single bump between here and the bayou.
Each jolt sent fresh waves of agony through my torn body. Blood seeped steadily from my wounds, soaking Marcel’s shirt where I leaned against him. I gritted my teeth against a particularly vicious spasm of pain.
As a vampire, I would have healed these injuries within hours. But my supernatural abilities lay dormant, locked away by the curse. As a beast, I felt every torn muscle, every puncture wound, and healing crawled at an agonizingly human pace.
I forced myself to glance over at Rosalie as she clung to Colette on the other ATV. Had she really not known she possessed such power? Not many witches could manifest a force field on their first attempt, especially one strong enough to repel a werewolfpack.
She must come from an incredibly strong magical bloodline.
Another bump sent fresh agony rippling through me. My eyes fluttered shut despite my efforts to stay conscious. I slumped heavily against Marcel’s back. My arms slipped from around his waist and fell limply to my sides as the last bit of willpower dissolved into darkness.
Something cold and wet touched my neck. Fire shot through the wound. I snarled, my body tensing for another attack.
“Oh!” someone gasped, and the pressure immediately lifted.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim lamplight. The familiar ceiling of my bedroom came into focus, but it took several disorienting seconds to remember how I’d gotten here. The bayou. The wolves. The impossible shield of light.
Rosalie sat perched on the edge of my bed, close enough that I could smell the lingering adrenaline and fear on her. Her dark hair was swept up in a messy bun, several strands escaping to frame her face. I could sense the adrenaline from our ordeal coursing through her system, masking what must be considerable pain from her injuries. Three angry red scratches marred her left cheek—souvenirs from our escape through the cypress branches. She wore an oversized black T-shirt that I recognized as one of Colette’s, the fabric swallowing her slight frame.
But it was her eyes that held me captive. Those amber depths were filled with something I hadn’t expected to see directed at me: genuine concern. Not fear, not disgust, but worry. For me.
She held a damp cloth in her trembling hand, water stilldripping from the corner. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to clean the wound on your neck, but you’re still so tender...”
I stared at her, struggling to process this scene. The woman I’d terrified in my bedroom, who’d fled into the bayou rather than stay under the same roof as me, was now sitting beside my bed. Tending to my wounds. Voluntarily.
“Why?” The word came out as more of a growl, my voice rough from unconsciousness.
She tilted her head, a curious expression softening her features. “Why what?”
“Why are you tending to me?” The question came out quieter, almost vulnerable.
“Because...” She paused, her fingers fidgeting with the damp cloth. “You saved my life..” When she looked up at me, there was a shy warmth in her smile that made my chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.
“You saved us too,” I said softly, then studied her face more carefully. My gaze traveled over her, searching for any injuries I might have missed besides the scratches on her cheek. “Besides your face, are you hurt anywhere else?”
If any of those wolves had seriously injured her, they’d answer to me. She was mine to protect.
Rage flared hot in my chest. The thought of that creature’s claws tearing into her skin, of her trapped and helpless beneath its weight, made my hands curl into fists. “Show me,” I growled.
She shook her head quickly. “It’s really not that bad. Colette already cleaned and bandaged it.”
“Colette,” I called out, my tone leaving no room for argument. When she appeared in the doorway, I fixed her with a stern look. “How badly was she injured? Don’t sugarcoatit.”
She glanced over at Rosalie and gave her a sympathetic look. “Monsieur, the claws went deep and I had to stitch up her wounds. But she will heal. I promise you that.”
“Other wounds?” I pressed.
