Page 53 of Beast of Blood and Roses
I carried her up to her bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time while being careful not to jostle her unconscious form. My arms tightened protectively around her as I shouldered through the doorway and gently set her down on the bed, arranging her limbs carefully so as not to hurt her. Her face was too pale, her breathing too shallow for my liking.
Colette and Marcel crowded right behind me, their faces etched with worry. “Bring me a damp rag,” I ordered.
I perched on the edge of the bed and brushed Rosalie’s dark hair off her forehead with trembling fingers. Her skin felt cool and clammy beneath my touch. “Rosalie, can you hear me?” I said softly. I was afraid that speaking too loudly might somehow hurt her further.
When she didn’t respond, panic began to burn in my chest. What if Tinker Bell had done permanent damage? What if I’d lost her because I hadn’t been strong enough to break through that shield in time?
Colette hurried over to me with a rag. I dabbed Rosalie’s slick forehead with the damp rag. What if Tinker Bell had put her in a magical coma? Damn it. I bowed my head. This was all my fault.
Someone clasped my claw, their grip soft but weak. I jerked my head up, hope flooding through me.
Rosalie looked at me with hooded eyes, blinking slowly as if trying to focus. “Are you okay? Did my magic work?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and fragile.
Relief crashed over me so powerfully I had to swallow hard before I could speak. I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles gently. “Yes. What about you? Did she curse you?”
If she had, I would hunt Tinker Bell to the ends of the earth. I would exact my revenge. Rosalie had done nothing wrong. She was only trying to protect us.
“No.” Rosalie’s brow furrowed with confusion. “She said something strange, though. She said I was a Nightshade. What does that mean? Is that a type of witch?”
Fuck. My blood ran cold. Tinker Bell must have recognized her magic signature, sensed what family she was truly from. I had to know if Tinker Bell held a grudge against the Nightshades or her father’s family—the Ravencrests.
I brushed Rosalie’s dark hair off her flushed face with infinite tenderness. “No. The Nightshades are one of the most powerful witch families in New Orleans.”
She frowned, struggling to sit up slightly. “I’m not aNightshade. My mom’s maiden name was Fontaine. Why would Tinker Bell say that?”
“I don’t know,” I lied, hating myself for the deception. Because Volaris was a liar, and everything she believed about her life was built on blood and lies. But I couldn’t shatter her world while she was this weak and vulnerable.
I had to find Volaris and wring the truth out of him before anyone else got hurt.
Rosalie searched my eyes with an intensity that made my chest tighten. “Tinker Bell said something else...but I didn’t believe it.”
I tensed, every muscle in my body going rigid as I braced for what was coming. I should have told her myself, should have been honest from the beginning instead of letting her hear it from my enemy. I released a long, shuddering sigh. “She told you why she cursed me.”
“Did you kill her sister?” I dreaded this question, this conversation…I had avoided going down this path, but keeping this secret was killing me almost as much as the memory itself. Maybe it was time to stop running from what I’d done.
The look in her eyes—confusion, hope, desperate wanting to believe I wasn’t capable of such a thing—made me want to melt into the floor and disappear forever. In my long, violent life, guilt rarely overwhelmed me for taking an innocent life. Not because I never thought I was wrong, but because it had never mattered to me. Now I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment and fear that would replace the trust in her eyes when she discovered the monster I truly was.
“Beast?” She looked as if she was afraid of my answer but needed to hear it anyway.
I couldn’t meet her gaze. “Before I was a beast, I was avampire and an enforcer for the Santi family.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth.
“So you killed her.” It wasn’t really a question anymore.
I could have lied, could have made up some story to preserve the way she looked at me. But what was the point? She had to know who I truly was, had to understand that beast or vampire, I was still a monster. Something she should fear rather than protect.
“Yes,” I whispered, finally meeting her eyes. “I killed her.”
The disappointment finally came, crashing over her features like a wave. It was brutal, unforgiving, defeating, everything I’d dreaded seeing in those beautiful eyes.
She released my claw as if she couldn’t bear to touch me anymore, her fingers slipping away like I’d burned her. That simple rejection cut deeper than any blade ever had, but I forced myself not to react, not to let her see how much it destroyed me. I couldn’t feel. Wouldn’t feel.
“But why?” Her face cracked with pain and confusion. “Tinker Bell said she came to you for help. She was stranded on the road near here.”
I stared at my hands—these clawed, monstrous hands that had taken so much life. “When I fed on my victims, I didn’t stop. Blood made me powerful and taking it all made me even stronger. It’s what I am.” The words felt like confessing to my own damnation.
I couldn’t look at the disgust and horror dawning in her eyes. Her judgment was suffocating, crushing what little hope I’d allowed myself to feel. I had to leave before I broke completely in front of her.
Standing abruptly, I turned toward the door, my heart heavy as lead. She would never love me now. Not now that sheknew what I truly was; a killer who’d murdered an innocent girl just because I could.
