Page 35 of Beast of Blood and Roses
I dried off with quick, efficient movements, thenwrapped a fluffy towel around my body like armor. My heart pounded as I crept to the bathroom door and peeked out. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders sagging with relief—the beast was gone.
I hurried over to the new clothes on tiptoes, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. My hands shook slightly as I grabbed some undergarments, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that would cover my back completely.
The towel dropped to the floor as clothes were quickly pulled on, eyes darting nervously toward the door. The lock. The door should be locked, it had been before, but as I walked over and turned the knob, I was surprised to find it wasn’t. Since I was his prisoner, why was it unlocked?
After smoothing the rumpled bedsheets, trembling fingers reached for the magical book. Its weight felt heavier somehow, as if the morning’s revelations had changed everything about it.
The door opened with a soft creak, and a sharp gasp escaped my lips at the sight before me. The beast was there, leaning against the opposite wall like a patient sentinel.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped, my heart racing at his unexpected presence.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He gestured down the hallway with a sweep of his clawed hand, the movement surprisingly gentle. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Good.” My shoulders tensed, bracing for more probing questions about my scars, but the beast remained silent. Each step down the wooden stairs echoed softly, the only sound our careful descent.
The aroma hit me halfway down: buttery, flaky croissants mingling with the salty sizzle of bacon. My stomach responded with an embarrassing rumble that seemed to echo in the quiet stairwell. Saliva pooled in my mouth as the rich scents wrappedaround me like a warm embrace, temporarily pushing away the morning’s dark memories.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows into the dining room, illuminating fine china plates arranged with military precision on the polished table. A silver tray held fluffy scrambled eggs that still steamed, their surface dotted with fresh herbs, while crispy bacon strips lay in neat rows on another platter.
Colette bustled in, her footsteps light and quick, carrying a basket lined with pristine white cloth. The smell of chocolate and butter intensified as she set it down with a satisfied smile. “Mademoiselle, you’re up!” Her voice carried the musical lilt of her accent. “I made homemade croissants. My mama’s secret recipe.” She beamed with pride, flour still dusting her apron.
The normalcy felt surreal after everything that had happened upstairs.
“They look wonderful,” I said quietly, still raw from the morning’s emotional turmoil.
The beast moved behind me, his large hands gripping the back of my chair as he pulled it out with surprising gentleness. My eyebrow arched in surprise, my head tilting slightly as I studied his face. He was many things—fierce, dangerous, an enforcer—but a gentleman? That caught me completely off guard.
“Thank you.” Heat crept up my neck at the unexpected courtesy. The chair cushion sank slightly under my weight as I settled in, carefully placing the leatherbound book on the polished table surface. Its dark cover seemed to absorb the morning light.
Marcel’s footsteps approached, the soft clink of porcelain announcing his arrival. He carried a gleaming silver coffeepot in one hand and a delicate cream pitcher in the other. His eyes immediately found the book, and I watched his expression shift. His jaw tightened and deep lines creased his forehead in a pronounced scowl.
“Morning,mademoiselle.” He bowed slightly. “Would you like some coffee with cream?”
“Yes, please.” My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my napkin as I spoke. Marcel’s disapproving gaze remained fixed on the book, as if it had personally offended him.
A chill ran down my spine. Was there something wrong with the book? Was it evil?
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the chair creaking softly beneath me, my mind racing with unsettling possibilities.
Marcel’s hands shook slightly as he filled the beast’s enormous coffee cup, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. The beast leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight, his predatory gaze fixed on the trembling man.
“Colette, tell me, when you bandaged Rosalie’s back, did you notice any scars there?” The beast’s question picked at my memory again. I could see tension radiating through the room. I tensed, not wanting to go down this road again. That night was one I didn’t want to remember. Some secrets were best tucked away.
Colette’s face drained of all color, becoming as white as the porcelain plates. Her eyes darted nervously toward me, wide with panic, before snapping back to her master. “She was badly injured,monsieur.”
He flicked his claw dismissively, the sharp tip catching the light. “I realize that. Answer the question.” Each word was precise, cutting.
“Yes...but...I—” Colette’s hands twisted her apron into knots, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid.
I winced and wanted to disappear into my chair.
“Never keep anything from me about her again, Colette.” The beast’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. “Otherwise...I will be very put out.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on us like a heavy storm cloud. Even the morning birds outside seemed to stop singing.
From across the table, I could see Colette’s entire body trembling like a leaf in a winter wind. Marcel immediately stepped closer, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders, his jaw set with quiet determination. “It shall not happen again,monsieur.”
My stomach clenched with guilt; this was all because of me.
