Page 31 of Beast of Blood and Roses
I looked at her then, really looked. At the earnestness in her amber eyes, the way she leaned forward slightly, trusting me to have answers. She wasn’t cruel or calculating. She wasn’t the witch who’d destroyed me.
She was just...Rosalie. Scared and alone and asking for help.
“You learn,” I said finally. “Carefully. With someone who can guide you.”
“Someone like you?”
I should have said no. Should have told her she’d need another teacher, someone who hadn’t been broken by magic.
But then a thought struck me—dangerous, desperate, but possible. What if teaching her magic was the key? Not love, not some fairy tale ending but knowledge. Power. If she learned to control magic, truly master it…maybe she could undo what Tinker Bell had done.
It was a long shot. But it was something I could control, unlike the mess of emotions between us.
I shrugged, careful not to let the dangerous spark of possibility show in my expression. “If you want.”
The smile that spread across her face was small but genuine, and it did something dangerous to the ice around my heart.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I was walking straight into another trap.
But as she reached for another piece of bread and asked me about the history of magic in hushed, curious tones, I found I didn’t care.
Finally, I felt I had a fucking chance to be human again.
Chapter Seventeen
Rosalie
Since arriving here, I felt myself truly smile for the first time, not the polite, careful expressions I’d been wearing like armor, but something real. “Yes, I really want you to teach me.” I picked up my glass of wine and looked over the rim at him, afraid to blink in case this moment disappeared. His eyes lost some of their anger and his shoulders relaxed, as if my genuine enthusiasm surprised him. The transformation was so subtle, yet it left me speechless. He looked less like a monster and more like…someone who understood what it felt like to be lost.
The beast finished off the last of the chicken fingers then wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin that looked more like a hand towel. His movements were surprisingly careful, almost delicate despite his size. “If you would like, I have a book on magic in my sitting room and you can start reading that first.”
My heart leaped at the possibility, though doubt crept in immediately after. I remembered some of those books when Ihad explored the house, but they had been in languages I couldn’t read—strange symbols and scripts that meant nothing to me. I didn’t want to say that and risk losing this chance, but I really needed one I could understand. “Yes, absolutely.”
He gestured toward my plate with one clawed hand. “Are you finished?”
I set down my fork, unable to finish the last few bites despite how good everything tasted. Anticipation had knotted my stomach, making it impossible to focus on food. I just wanted to get my hands on that book. There had to be answers somewhere. “I can’t eat another bite.”
He led me out of the kitchen, his careful movements across the stone floor creating a rhythm that somehow didn’t seem menacing anymore. The sitting room felt different in the moonlight—warmer, more intimate than during the day. Towering bookcases lined the walls, their leather spines gleaming in the silver light.
“You need to understand the basics of witchcraft before you can tap into your magic.” He moved to one of the shelves with purpose, scanning the titles before pulling out a leatherbound book. The binding was worn smooth from handling, and strange writing crawled across its cover like living things.
When he handed it to me, our fingers brushed. His claws were thick and sharp, but warm, so much warmer than I’d expected. The contact sent a small shock up my arm. “Thank you.” I held the book carefully against my chest, afraid it might disappear if I wasn’t gentle enough.
The silence stretched until he cleared his throat with a rough sound, then put his hands behind his back, as if he didn’t trust them near me. When he glanced back at me, the intense stare he gave me was unnerving, searching, almost desperate.There was something raw in his expression that made my pulse quicken.
“We will start your first lesson tomorrow. You should go to bed. Witchcraft draws on your energy and you need to be well rested before you can cast a spell.”
My heart rate spiked at the memory of my encounter with the wolves. Had I been well rested then, or just moving on pure nervous energy and terror? Those creatures had been seconds away from ripping us apart.
“Goodnight, Rosalie.”
The beast walked away from me as if dismissing me, his shoulders rigid with tension. He headed back toward the kitchen with deliberate steps, possibly still hungry despite having devoured what seemed like two dozen chicken fingers and, I swear, a pound of french fries. The way he moved suggested he was fleeing rather than simply leaving. Was he that anxious to get away from me?
I clutched the book tighter to my chest and called after his retreating form. “I’ll see you in the morning.” My voice echoed in the empty hallway.
No response came back. Not even a pause in his stride.
He had already disappeared into the shadows of the kitchen, and I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me. Or worse, he did and didn’t care. Disappointment settled in my stomach like a stone. There was nothing left to do tonight but retreat to my room, though part of me wanted to follow him and demand to know why he’d pulled away so abruptly. Was it because I had brushed my fingers over his claws? Could he not bear to touch a lowly waitress?
