Page 40 of Beast of Blood and Roses
I nodded, studying the dark circles under her eyes. “You’re not used to wielding it, so it will for a while. That’s why you need to be well rested and well-fed in order not to feel so drained.” I paused, watching her sway slightly on her feet. “Youalso had an emotional trauma that contributed to you feeling drained.”
She put the back of her hand on her forehead, pressing as if trying to ease a headache. “I am so tired.”
She swayed dangerously, and I immediately lifted her into my arms, one beneath her knees, the other supporting her back. She was so light, barely weighed anything; too light, I realized with concern.
“I can walk.” The protest was weak, her head already drooping.
I cradled her closer to me and she rested her head against my chest. She felt like she belonged there. “No, you can’t.”
“Please, I don’t want to be any trouble.” Her words were muffled against my shirt.
“You’re not.” The only trouble was what she was doing to me. I needed to be focused, not thinking about how soft she was, how tempting she was.
She lay her head against my chest with a soft sigh, and something in my chest tightened. It was as if this was the most natural thing in the world, as if she belonged there. Her scent drifted up to me: something soft and calming, almost like lavender mixed with something uniquely her. My heart rate quickened despite my efforts to stay composed.
What was she doing to me?
I gently laid her down on her bed, my movements careful and deliberate. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight as I pulled the soft blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders with more care than I’d ever shown anyone.
She yawned, her eyelids already fluttering closed. “I’ll just sleep for a few minutes.”
Her dark hair fanned out against the white pillowcase likespilled ink, and she snuggled into the blanket with a contented sigh. Something warm and unfamiliar twisted in my heart as I watched her face relax, the tension finally leaving her features.
I wanted to lie next to her and wrap my arm around her, to pull her close and keep her safe while she slept. Without thinking, I stretched my hand toward her face, aching to stroke the soft curve of her cheek, but I froze mid-motion. She still had those scratches from the wolf attack and I didn’t want to hurt her.
My claws caught the light, sharp and deadly. One wrong move, one moment of lost control, and I could scratch her delicate skin like the damn wolves had. I could hurt her.
My hand trembled as I slowly pulled it back, clenching my fist at my side. The beast in me wanted to touch, to claim, to protect, but the man in me knew better. She was too precious, too fragile for someone like me.
I quietly left her alone and slipped out the door, my hand lingering on the doorknob before I closed it softly behind me. The click echoed as loudly as a gun being cocked in the silent hallway.
Marcel and Colette were waiting outside, their faces tense with concern.
Marcel gave me a hard stare, his arms crossed over his chest. “What happened,monsieur?”
I stiffened, my jaw clenching. I didn’t like to be judged, not by anyone, not even Marcel. The urge to remind him exactly who was in charge here burned in my throat.
“She was doing fine until she talked about her mother who abandoned her.” I turned my narrowed gaze on Colette, my jaw clenching. The betrayal cut deeper than I’d expected. She should have pulled me aside and told me when she found out.
Dread flashed into Colette’s eyes and she stepped back, her hands clasping together nervously. “She told me not to tell you.”
Marcel immediately stepped in front of Colette as if to shield her from my anger, his stance protective. “I’m not sure teaching her magic is the right thing to do. That’s not what Tinker Bell said.”
Frustration washed over me like a wave of heat. “I know what Tinker Bell said.”
Marcel’s shoulders tensed, and he glanced over at Colette nervously before meeting my eyes again. “I checked the painting,monsieur.” He swallowed hard. “It’s gotten worse.”
My blood ran cold. The implication cracked my hope, and I had to steady myself against the doorframe.
Colette and Marcel took two steps back warily, exchanging worried glances. I headed back to my room to check the painting myself, my footsteps heavy on the stone floor. “She’s powerful. I think she has the power to break the spell.”
I glanced over my shoulder. They remained rooted where they were as if they were afraid I would explode in rage when I saw the painting. They might not be wrong.
I stood in front of the painting, my chest tight with dread, then stretched out my shaking hand to pull back the curtain. My heart dropped like a stone. All my fingers had turned to claws, long, curved, and deadly. More fur had grown across my face, covering what little human skin remained. There weren’t many human features left. Soon this would be all I was.
Anger surged through me like molten fire, a snarl escaped my lips before I could stop it, but then I caught a whiff of something soft and familiar. Lavender. It was Rosalie’s scent, still clinging to my shirt from when I’d carried her.
The rage faltered, replaced by something else entirely.
