Page 54 of Beast of Blood and Roses
She wouldn’t use her magic to break the curse.
And I would remain a beast forever.
As I reached the doorway, I couldn’t help but think maybe that was exactly what I deserved.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rosalie
The beast left me, his massive frame moving with defeated slowness as he headed toward the door. He paused for just a moment at the threshold, his shoulders sagging, before he quietly slipped out of my room and closed the door behind him with barely a whisper of sound.
I wanted to call out to him, to say something—anything—but the words stuck in my throat like thorns. A bone-deep coldness settled over me, seeping into my chest and making it hard to breathe. I’d known he had killed people—that much had been clear from the beginning. But knowing he’d murdered an innocent girl who’d only been seeking help was deeply unsettling.
The feelings churning inside me were at war with each other. Before he was a beast, he’d been a vampire enforcer, killing indiscriminately without mercy or conscience. A predator who fed on the helpless.
But he’d also done so much for me—protected me, risked his life for me, shown me tenderness I’d never experienced. The way he’d stayed by my bedside all night, the flour-covered disaster of trying to bake me cookies, the gentle way he touched me as if I were something precious.
Who was he really? The monster or the man?
Colette sat gingerly on the edge of my bed, her weathered face creased with concern. “How are you feeling,ma chérie?”
I focused on her. “Did you and Marcel have anything to do with Tinker Bell’s sister’s death?”
Colette didn’t waver in her gaze. “No, we didn’t.”
“Then why did Tinker Bell curse you?” I pushed myself up higher against the pillows, wincing slightly at the lingering weakness from using my magic.
“I believe she did it to hurt him as much as he hurt her.” Colette’s eyes grew distant, sad. “She wanted him to suffer the way she suffered.”
I nodded slowly, my throat tight. “I can understand that. If I lost a loved one to such a brutal death, I’d be consumed with rage too.” The admission felt heavy on my tongue.
Colette studied my face carefully, as if weighing her next words. “MonsieurBastia has many faces,ma chérie, but there has been one face I haven’t seen until you came.”
Confusion and turmoil churned in my chest. “What?”
“Compassion.” Her eyes softened. “He has never shown that toward anyone until you. He’s also never shown the kind of protectiveness that he’s shown toward you.”
Marcel had been waiting in the corner, but now he slowly approached the bed. He placed his hand gently on Colette’s shoulder. She glanced up at his weathered face, and somethingpassed between them—a shared understanding born of decades together.
“Not even us,” Marcel added quietly, his admission carrying the weight of years. “You’ve changed him.Monsieuronly cared about himself and the consumption of blood before the curse. He enjoyed draining people, reveled in being one of the most feared enforcers in New Orleans.”
“He was so evil,” Colette shook her head, “so dangerous that even other vampires gave him a wide berth.”
The words jumbled in my mind, each one adding another layer to the impossible puzzle of who Beast really was.
Colette gave me a knowing look, her gray eyes holding depths of wisdom earned through decades of experience. “But vampires and monsters aren’t the only ones who are evil,ma chérie.”
I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to ease the tension building behind my temples. “True, but I’ve never known anyone who committed murder.” The words felt strange and heavy leaving my lips.
Marcel sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of years was pressing down on him. “I have knownmonsieurfor a very long time. I’ve seen him have numerous relationships with women—meaningless encounters that lasted days or weeks at most.” He paused, meeting my eyes directly. “But I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
Heat bloomed in my chest, followed immediately by a cold wash of fear. Beast was a murderer and had hurt other people who couldn’t pay their debts. How could I have feelings for someone who killed people? But I couldn’t deny that I did. What was wrong with me?
“I agree,” Colette said softly, reaching over to gently squeezemy hand. Her touch was warm and comforting, grounding me in the midst of my swirling emotions. “He’s never tried to make anyone happy the way he does you. The baking disaster, staying by your bedside all night, and the way he touches you like you’re made of spun glass.”
She leaned closer and rubbed my back. “You’re going to have to decide whether you can accept him for who he is now instead of holding who he was against him. He may have been a monster,ma chérie, but he would do anything to keep you safe and make you happy.”
“We will leave you with your thoughts,” Marcel said gently. He took Colette’s weathered hand in his, their fingers intertwining with the easy familiarity of decades together. They moved toward the door with quiet steps, leaving me alone with my troubled thoughts and the weight of an impossible decision.
