Page 37 of Beast of Blood and Roses
I thought for a moment, considering what would be safe and manageable for her first time. “Something simple like making something rise,” I said, pushing back from the table. The nervous energy that had been building in my chest all morning finally had an outlet.
I took Rosalie’s hand and led her toward the library. She didn’t recoil from my touch. Maybe she was warming up to me? I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Nervous energy thrummed through me. Teaching magic was something I’d never done before, but I hadn’t lived for hundreds of years without learning a thing or two about witchcraft. Seeing the eager anticipation in her eyes made me want to succeed almost desperately.
“Magic begins with connection,” I said, settling into the chair across from her while she opened the spell book with reverent fingers. “Not just to the spell, but to the energy around you. Feel it first.”
She closed her eyes, her breathing slow and deliberate. I found myself holding my breath as I watched the subtle changes in her posture: shoulders relaxing, face softening as she reached for something I couldn’t see.
“I can feel...something,” she whispered, wonder threading through her voice. “Like warmth, but not quite.”
“Good.” Relief flooded through me. She was just untrained. “Now, open your eyes and focus on that.” I gestured to a small leatherbound journal on the side table. “Don’t think about making it float. Think about...inviting it to dance.”
Her brow furrowed in concentration, one hand extended toward the book. For several deep breaths, nothing happened, and I saw frustration begin to tighten her features. Evenwithout success, she remained determined, a quality I found surprisingly attractive.
“Breathe,” I said softly, surprised by my own gentleness. “Magic isn’t about force. It’s about asking nicely.”
She exhaled slowly, stuck out her palm, then suddenly the journal trembled. Then, as if awakening from sleep, it lifted gently into the air, hovering a foot above the table. I knew she could do it. She was definitely a powerful witch, and she was mine.
Rosalie gasped, her eyes wide with delight, and the book bobbed higher as if responding to her joy. “I did it! I actually—” The book dropped with a soft thud as her concentration broke, but she was laughing, practically glowing with achievement.
Something warm and proud swelled in my chest as I watched her. “Very good. Again.”
Once again, she held out her palm, fingers spread wide with newfound confidence. This time, the book didn’t just rise, it twirled around in graceful circles as it floated, spinning like a dancer caught in an invisible waltz.
My heart stuttered as I watched the effortless display. She was even more powerful than I had anticipated, and the realization sent both excitement and unease coursing through my veins. Through the Santi family’s alliances with witches, I’d seen how difficult magic usually was. Most witches took weeks to get a book to even move and had to chant elaborate spells, their faces strained with effort. But Rosalie was different; magic seemed to flow from her as naturally as breathing.
I leaned forward in my chair, hands gripping the armrests as a troubling thought took hold. Could she be as powerful as Tinker Bell had been? The comparison made my chest tighten with both hope and dread. I had a feeling once her magic hadbeen fully opened, it would grow even more powerful. Had she been under some kind of spell that kept her from using magic? It was possible, but who would have done such a thing? And why?
Once again, my thoughts returned to Volaris, and my jaw clenched so hard I felt my teeth ache. Had he known what she was? The scars on her back suggested he was capable of terrible things. Would binding her powers have been beyond him? If he had done this to her, if he was responsible for suppressing her gifts all these years, then he was already a dead man.
Once the curse was broken, there would be nowhere he could hide.
No pleas I would listen to.
No mercy I would give him.
The promise settled into my bones like cold steel, and I felt my claws dig deeper into the chair’s armrests as I imagined Volaris’ terror when he realized what was coming for him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosalie
Tingles swept through me, even more powerful than last time, racing up my arms like electricity under my skin. The book twirled and dipped as if it were alive, and I held my breath, afraid any sudden movement might break whatever spell I’d somehow cast. My heart beat against my ribs as I watched it dance through the air.
I couldn’t believe I was doing it. Me...Rosalie. My hands trembled with the effort of maintaining control, or maybe just from the shock of it all. I had never been able to do anything like this my whole life, had never even imagined I could.
A laugh bubbled up in my throat, half hysterical with disbelief and joy. Slowly, carefully, I lowered my hand, watching as the book responded to my will and landed gently on the table with a soft thud.
I stared at it, then at my still-tingling fingers, waiting for someone to tell me I’d imagined thewhole thing.
My attention was drawn to the book and what it said about dark and white magic. I thought of Marcel’s disapproving frown at breakfast. But what was the beast? Good or evil? The answer could mean the difference between trusting him with my life or planning my escape before it was too late.
I looked at Beast, my fingers still tingling from the magic, hoping he would tell me the truth. My throat felt tight as I forced out the words. “I have to know.”
He frowned slightly, his dark eyes studying my face. “Know what?”
I gestured toward the magical book on the table, my hand shaking slightly. The weight of what I’d just done—what I was apparently capable of—pressed down on my chest like a stone. “This magic you’re teaching me, is it good or evil?”
Beast was quiet for a long moment, and I held my breath, dreading his answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. “Magic isn’t either. It’s the person wielding the magic that determines whether it is good or evil.”
