Page 3 of Beast of Blood and Roses
Someone knocked hesitantly on the door, the sound barely audible over the storm raging outside. The ancient hinges creaked in protest as it inched open, the sound grating againstmy sensitive ears. Marcel looked at me with fear swimming in his gray eyes, his body half-hidden behind the doorframe as if ready to retreat at any moment. His fingers trembled against the wood.
“Monsieur? Is everything all right?” he asked, the familiar French lilt in his voice wavering.
I turned to face him fully, unable to miss how he flinched at the movement, how his heartbeat quickened with instinctive terror. A wave of fresh despair burned through my chest.
“Nothing’s all right. You know that, Marcel.” The words came out as a growl, deeper and more animalistic than I intended.
Marcel stood silently for a moment, clearly struggling with whether to burden me with more problems. Finally, he straightened his shoulders with the resolve of someone who’d served me long enough to know duty came first.
“I’m afraid I have more troubling news,Monsieur,” Marcel said grimly as he wrung his hands. “We have another problem.”
“What?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I could handle more bad news.
“David Volaris.”
My eyes met his. Volaris was supposed to be collecting money from my various business interests while I was cursed, but something in Marcel’s tone suggested that wasn’t happening.
“What about him?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
“He’s been stealing from the businesses,Monsieur. For months.” Marcel’s weathered face was tight with anger. “He thinks there’s some new mysterious owner who took over afteryour…death. He’s been pocketing the money, probably figuring this unknown boss won’t notice or track him.”
The betrayal sent dark fire coursing through my veins. “How much?”
“At least ten thousand dollars, probably more. When I confronted him about the missing funds, he denied everything. Claims he doesn’t know who the new owner is, says he’s just managing things as best he can.” Marcel’s jaw clenched. “But I had some of our contacts check on him during the day. He’s been seen at the casinos regularly, betting amounts that suggest he’s pocketing far more than any legitimate management fee.”
“So he thinks he can steal from some faceless owner who won’t hunt him down.” I cast him a dark smile. “He’s about to learn exactly who that owner is.”
“Exactly. And I suspect when his gambling debts pile up, he’ll get even bolder about taking money, thinking this mysterious owner will never catch him.”
Another betrayal—though this one was born from the witch’s curse as much as Volaris’ greed. The man had no memory of our previous arrangement, no recollection that I’d once shown him mercy by letting him work off his gambling debts through managing my businesses. To him, I was simply dead, and these businesses were ripe for the taking. But his ignorance wouldn’t save him from the consequences of his theft. It was a mistake that would cost him dearly.
My claws extended involuntarily as rage built in my chest. If I could, I would hunt him down. Unfortunately, it was almost dusk and Marcel and Colette would turn into statues. Volaris would have to wait. “Bring him to me tomorrow. Tell him the new owner knows exactly what he’s been doing and he’s demanding immediate payment.” My voice dropped to adangerous growl. “If he tries to run or flee, make it very clear that there’s nowhere he can go where he can’t be found. Nowhere he can hide where the new owner won’t track him down and rip out his lying, greedy tongue.”
Marcel nodded grimly, clearly satisfied to see his master’s fury directed at the man who’d been stealing from us. “And if he doesn’t have the money,Monsieur?”
“Then he’ll learn the price of stealing from someone who doesn’t forgive debts.” My eyes blazed with the promise of violence. “One way or another, he’ll pay what he’s stolen.”
I flicked my hand toward the door, claws glinting in the candlelight. A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, making the flames dance wildly, casting monstrous shadows across the walls. “Go now.”
Marcel bowed deeply, a habit from centuries past, but his eyes never left mine—watchful, wary, as one would observe a wild beast. “Oui,Monsieur. At once,” he murmured, backing away before turning to hurry down the corridor, footsteps fading into the symphony of rain hammering against the roof.
Alone again, I sank into my chair, the wood creaking ominously beneath my transformed body. The portrait on the wall seemed to mock me with every passing glance, a timer counting down to my eternal damnation.
I left my study, my claws scraping against the wooden floor as I pushed through the French doors and stalked onto my wraparound porch. The weathered boards creaked beneath my enormous weight as I lowered myself into a rocking chair that groaned in protest. The evening air was thick with humidity, carrying the scent of magnolias and wet earth from the recent rain. Fireflies blinked lazily across my property, dancing between shadows as twilight descended.
I had eight acres here—once a symbol of wealth and status—but it now felt like nothing more than an elaborate prison. My eyes traced the invisible boundary I knew existed just beyond the line of cypress trees. When I’d tried to walk outside the barrier only yesterday, I’d hit an invisible wall that had hurled me back into the house with such force I’d crashed through a table, splintering it to pieces. The memory of that impact still made my shoulder throb.
I’d tried everything in my desperation. Just last week, I’d scaled a tall Spanish oak, my claws digging into the ancient bark, my muscles straining as I climbed higher and higher. The branch had swayed precariously beneath my weight as I’d gathered myself to leap to the neighboring tree—to freedom—only to experience the same maddening frustration. The barrier had thrown me back with such violence I’d fallen thirty feet, landing with a bone-rattling thud that had sent Marcel and Colette running from the house in alarm.
Only Colette and Marcel could leave the confines of this prison, their faces always pinched with guilt when they returned, as if tasting freedom was a betrayal to my captivity.
I dug my claws into the armrests of the chair, wood splintering beneath my grip. Loneliness, hatred, and anger consumed me, burning through my veins like acid, especially toward witches. They were my downfall. My lips curled back from my fangs in a silent snarl as I imagined encountering another witch. If I discovered another of their kind, I would kill her without hesitation. I couldn’t drain her like I usually did with my victims since I couldn’t drink blood, but there were other ways to kill them—methods I’d learned over centuries of existence.
Perhaps burn them alive.
Or maybe I’d take my frustration out on David Volaris. Inever should have listened to his pleas. But I had needed someone to help me with my accounts since Marcel couldn’t manage everything while turning to stone every damn night.
I could almost smell the acrid scent of burning flesh, hear the screams that would echo through the night. The fantasy brought a cruel smile to my twisted face. There wasn’t much more Tinker Bell could do to me now. I was already living in hell; what worse punishment could she possibly devise?
