Page 34 of Beast of Blood and Roses
“Your shirt was up in the back.”
Her face reddened and she pulled the comforter down tighter around her, shrinking into herself. “From the wolves. You were there. You saw what they did.”
“I’m not talking about those.” I gently touched her shoulders through the comforter. “I meant these older ones, the scars.”
She bowed her head, her shoulders sagging with defeat. “Does it matter?”
I stepped back into the room, my protective instinctsroaring to life. “To me it does.” I narrowed my eyes. “Who hurt you?”
She wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand, her breath hitching. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Rosalie.” Her name came out as a growl. I wanted—no, I needed—to know if it was Volaris. Every protective instinct I possessed screamed for blood. The bastard would pay. For every mark on her back, he’d pay with his own flesh.
She slid off the bed carefully, keeping at arm’s length from me as if distance could protect her. Her eyes darted toward the door like a trapped animal seeking escape. The sight made something primal surge through me. I moved at lightning speed and clutched her arm, my grip firm but not bruising. “Tell me.”
“Let go of me.” She tugged against my hold, panic flashing in her eyes.
But I wouldn’t let go. Her skin was so soft beneath my rough palms, so warm and alive. My breathing grew heavier as possessiveness flooded my veins. “No one hurts what’s mine.” The words escaped before I could stop them, raw and claiming.
Chapter Nineteen
Rosalie
The look in the beast’s eyes and his words sent a deep chill through me, turning me ice cold. I shivered involuntarily.
“I want to know who hurt you,” the beast repeated again, his eyes burning with cold fury.
I didn’t want to think about that terrible night when Dad had lost control. My stomach clenched as the memories tried to surface. It had been a nightmare. Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over. I blinked rapidly, fighting them back. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why?” His grip grew tighter, his fingers like a predator’s hold around my arm.
I flinched at the pressure, my heart racing. “You’re hurting me.” Not quite the truth, but I needed to get away from him. I pulled harder against his hold, desperation creeping into my movements. I needed to not relive that horrible night—not here, not with him watching me with those intense eyes.
He slowly released me, his fingers trailing across my skin as they let go. “You will tell me who hurt you.” Something in his tone made me believe he’d find out one way or another.
Not likely. I never told anyone about that night. My throat tightened just thinking about it.
I backed away from him on unsteady legs, then fled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. The sound echoed through the small space. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as I gasped for air. My hands shook as I pressed my palms flat against the wood, as if I could keep the world out.
But the memory came anyway, crashing over me like a wave. My knees buckled and I slid down the door until I was sitting on the cold tile floor. That night...the wild look in Dad’s eyes when I’d taken the money he wanted and put it in the bank. My hands had trembled then too as I’d stood my ground. We needed it for the rent. I wouldn’t tell him the new PIN number to get it out.
But he got it anyway. My stomach lurched as I remembered his fists, his belt, the way he’d kept hitting until I was screaming the numbers through my sobs. I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to make myself smaller, trying to disappear.
“Rosalie, are you okay?” The beast’s voice was soft, almost caring, filtering through the thick wooden door. The gentleness in his tone caught me off guard. He could easily break down the door if he wanted. I’d seen his strength.
I took a shuddering breath and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m fine.” Another lie, but the memory was too raw, too painful to share. I pressed my forehead against the cool door. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Luckily, my tone didn’t quiver even though my hands still trembled.
The heavy thump of his claws on the hardwood faded away,each step echoing until silence returned. I forced myself to stand on unsteady legs, my knees still weak from the flashback. At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, watching the droplets fall like tears I refused to shed.
I grabbed the small hand mirror from the counter with shaking fingers, then lifted the back of my shirt. Angling the mirror, I could see the reflection of my back in the larger mirror above the sink. Heat flooded my cheeks, knowing Beast had seen this. The fresh bruises and scratches from the wolves seemed to highlight those awful scars—raised white lines that crisscrossed my back like a roadmap of pain. Scars that would never go away and would always remind me of that terrible night when everything changed.
My hand holding the mirror trembled as I stared at the evidence of my father’s rage. I quickly set the mirror down on the counter with a sharp click, unable to look any longer.
Shower. A nice hot shower might chase the memories away. I turned on the faucet with jerky movements, my fingers fumbling with the handles as I waited for the water to get warm. Steam began to rise, fogging the mirror and mercifully hiding my reflection.
I carefully peeled off my clothes, my movements slow and deliberate as I avoided looking at my reflection in the mirror. Each piece of fabric felt heavy in my hands.
The hot droplets cascaded over my skin like a spring rainstorm, washing away the salt of my tears and chasing the dark memories back into the corners of my mind. I let the water run over my shoulders, feeling some of the tension ease from my muscles. Ten minutes later, I reluctantly stepped out of the steamy cocoon, immediately missing its warmth and protection.
