Page 50 of Beast of Blood and Roses
Another mistake I had made in my assumptions. If Volaris had actually come back here, lurking around the property like some desperate stalker, I needed to know why. What did he want? Money? To take Rosalie back? Had Trystan put out a bounty on Rosalie to pay off Volaris’ debts?
I would have to send Marcel and Colette out to track him down, though the thought of relying on others for something this critical made my jaw clench. It was so damn frustrating being confined to this cursed property, trapped like a caged animal while threats circled around the one person I?—
I cut off that dangerous line of thinking and focused on scrubbing the matted flour from my fur. The water ran gray and white as I worked, my claws catching on stubborn tangles that pulled painfully at my scalp. I scrubbed harder, welcoming the sharp discomfort as a distraction from my churning thoughts.
The knots finally came free and I stepped out. I glanced reluctantly at the mirror. My fur welted against me. I was looking less and less like a human and more and more like a beast. Time was ticking by and I was no closer to becoming myself again.
I wanted to look at the painting, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I tried to dry myself with a towel, though a regular towel did little. I raked a comb through my fur and gritted my teeth at the tangles. Once I looked somewhat presentable, I stepped out of the bathroom.
Steam billowed out of the bathroom like a thick fog as I stepped out, water still dripping from my fur. I nearly jumpedback in surprise when I spotted Marcel standing rigidly in my bedroom, his face pale and drawn with tension.
“What are you doing here?” I growled. Water pooled at my feet as I stood there, every instinct on high alert.
Marcel’s hands were clasped tightly behind his back, his usual composed demeanor cracked with urgency. “Monsieur, I was doing some research on the internet, hunting through missing persons databases.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Several names came up—including a Sophia Nightshade. Her married name was Ravencrest. I recall she, her husband, and her baby all went missing years ago.”
The towel slipped out of my fingers. The Nightshade witches were some of the most powerful magical families in New Orleans—old blood, dangerous magic, the kind of people you didn’t cross without serious consequences. My blood ran cold. I scowled, my mind racing. “Are you sure?”
“Oui,monsieur.” I could see the worry etched deep in the lines around his eyes. “But here’s the strange thing.” He met my gaze directly, and what I saw there made my stomach drop. “I couldn’t find any records of a Rosalie Volaris. None at all. It’s as if she doesn’t exist.”
The room seemed to tilt around me as pieces of a much darker puzzle began falling into place.
“Did you find anything else?”
“When Sophia Nightshade and her husband—Ian Ravencrest—went missing about twenty years ago with their baby daughter, the rumor was that they were all murdered, but their bodies were never found.”
The blood drained from my face as the timeline clicked into place. Twenty years ago. A missing baby. Rosalie’s age matched perfectly.
My hands began to shake as the horrifying truth crystallized. “The baby,” I said hoarsely, already knowing the answer. “What was her name?”
Marcel stepped closer, his hands still clasped behind his back. “Aurora. Her name was Aurora Ravencrest.”
“We need to meet with one of the Nightshades and find out exactly what happened.” I began pacing the small space between my dresser and bed, my mind racing through possibilities.
“Do you think Rosalie could be Aurora Ravencrest?” Marcel glanced toward at the door as if worried Rosalie might overhear.
“Possibly, but it could be a false lead.” I stopped pacing and fixed him with a hard stare. “But Volaris is definitely up to something, and we need to find out what before it’s too late.”
Marcel’s face paled considerably, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “The Nightshade coven is notoriously secretive,monsieur. They probably wouldn’t meet with us—not with vampires. Their history with our kind is...complicated.”
I dragged a hand through my damp hair, frustration building in my chest. “True.” I snapped my fingers as a memory surfaced. “Wait—I remember hearing about Rose Dragan from my enforcer days. She’s a vampire who discovered she was part Nightshade.” I could see hope flickering in Marcel’s eyes as I continued. “Learning about her witch heritage caused quite the scandal. She may be more willing to meet with us than the rest of the coven since she understands being caught between both worlds. She lives in the Garden District.”
Marcel straightened, already preparing for action. “That could work. Her mixed heritage might make her sympathetic to our situation.”
What if Rosalie didn’t believe that Volaris wasn’t her father?The thought made my stomach churn with dread. Rosalie was definitely angry at Volaris for giving her to me—I’d seen the hurt and betrayal flash in her eyes when she spoke of him. But despite everything he’d put her through, despite the abuse and neglect, she still believed he was her father. That twisted bond of blood and familiarity might be stronger than any evidence we could present.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, running my hands through my damp hair as darker questions plagued my mind. If Volaris had taken Rosalie from her parents when she was just a baby, the question that haunted me was why? What could drive a man to kidnap an infant and raise her as his own?
My jaw clenched as the most obvious answer surfaced. Did he have something to do with the Nightshades’ disappearance? Was he the one who’d murdered Sophia and her husband? The timeline fit too perfectly to be coincidence.
And if that was true, then Rosalie had been living with her parents’ killer for twenty years, calling him father, trying desperately to earn the love of the man who’d destroyed her real family. The cruelty of it made bile rise in my throat.
But why keep her alive? Why not kill her with her parents? What had made a baby valuable enough to steal instead of eliminate?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rosalie
Luckily, I didn’t fall down on my face in the bathroom. The hot water had worked wonders, washing away the lingering effects of The Witch’s Heart and the strange, sticky feeling of magic that had clung to my skin. I stepped out of the steamy shower feeling renewed, like I’d shed more than just yesterday’s grime.
