Page 38 of Beast of Blood and Roses
I sank back in my chair, relief and uncertainty warring in my chest. My hands clenched in my lap as I tried to process his words, tried to figure out what kind of person I was, what kind of person I wanted to be.
But really there was only one choice. Hurting people had never been my thing. That was Dad’s. I wanted to help people.
“You never knew you were a witch?”
I shook my head, my throat suddenly dry. “No. Nothing magical ever happened around me.” The words felt strange to say now, after what I’d just done.
Beast leaned forward, his expression growing more serious. ‘You’re very powerful. Do you recall anyone binding your powers when you were young? Sometimes the memories aresuppressed along with the magic, but if we can figure out what was done, we might be able to fully unlock your abilities.’”
“What do you mean?” A chill ran down my spine at the intensity in his eyes.
“When a witch’s powers are bound, it’s extremely painful. The magic fights against the binding.” His eyes never left mine. “Do you recall anything medically being really painful? Something that might have seemed like an illness or injury but felt...different?”
My stomach dropped as understanding began to dawn. The memory of that day—the one I never talked about, never let myself fully remember—came flooding back. My dad torturing me, the leather, the pain that had felt like it was tearing me apart from the inside, suddenly took on a different meaning. I gripped the edge of the table, holding on as if it could anchor me.
Something bubbled up inside me, hot and urgent. A memory pushing against the walls I’d built, demanding to be seen. My mind was at war, part of me desperately trying to keep the door locked, the other part knowing it was too late to stop what was coming. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.
The beast got out of his chair and gently clasped my arm, his touch warm against my suddenly cold skin. “Are you okay? You’ve turned pale.”
His face blurred at the edges, the room spinning around me like I was caught in a whirlpool. My hands felt numb, tingling strangely. “I…I just need to sit…down.” The words came out breathless like a soft breeze.
My legs wobbled beneath me, no longer able to support my weight. Strong arms caught me before I could fall; someonemoved me along or was I picked up? The world felt distant and muffled. I don’t even remember sitting down, only the relief of something solid beneath me and Beast calling my name from what felt like very far away.
Someone rubbed my back in slow, soothing circles. “Stay here.” Beast’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.
I put my head between my knees, hands gripping my shins as I tried to not pass out. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I remembered the horrible pain, white-hot agony that had felt like my very soul was being torn apart. I remembered something hitting my skull, pressure building until I thought my head would explode...forcing something back inside me. Something wild and powerful that didn’t want to go back in, that had fought against what was happening with every fiber of its being.
My breathing came in short, sharp gasps as the memory fully crystallized.
“Rosalie, drink this.” The scent hit me first: something warm, oaky, and bold, with hints of caramel, vanilla, and a touch of smokiness. I lifted my head slowly, blinking to clear my vision. Beast held up a tumbler with amber liquid. His expression was concerned but patient.
I wrinkled my nose, still shaky. My hands trembled as I reached for the glass. “What is this? Is this whiskey?”
“Bourbon.”
That definitely wasn’t my drink of choice. I hesitated, staring at the amber liquid swirling in the glass. Taking a small, cautious sip, I immediately coughed as it burned a fiery path down my throat. My eyes watered and I clutched my chest, gasping. “God, that’s awful,” I wheezed, but I could already feelsome of the warmth spreading through my body, steadying my nerves slightly.
Beast’s mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “It gets easier.”
Silence stretched out between us as I finished the drink, the burn in my throat fading to a dull warmth. I set the glass down with trembling fingers.
“Those scars on your back…”
I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper and looked away from him, my shoulders hunching defensively. “I don’t…actually know. There are flashbacks. But it was about money. He needed money.”
His gaze locked with mine, searching, and I had to fight not to sink into the chair under his intensity. “Was it really money?”
I rubbed my temples with shaking hands, trying to ease the growing headache. “Yes…it was. It had to be. My dad’s not a warlock.”
“Unless he’s evil, he would be a witch.”
My mouth fell open slightly. “Seriously? Men can be witches?”
“Being a witch doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be female.”
“Really?” I shook my head, still trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. “But Dad’s not magical. I don’t even think he believes in witches. For him it was always about money.”
Beast leaned forward slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You’ve mentioned Volaris…but what about your mother? You have never mentioned her.”
