Page 43 of Beast of Blood and Roses
My concentration shattered like glass, and the dishrag dropped from its magical suspension, hitting the floor with a wet splat. The spell broke so abruptly that I stumbled backward, my hand flying to my chest where the magic had been flowing moments before.
Marcel and Colette stood frozen in the doorway, their faces a perfect mirror of shock and disbelief. Marcel’s mouth hung open as he took in the flour-covered walls, the burnt cookies still smoking on the tray, and Beast’s guilty, frosting-streaked appearance.
I smiled sheepishly at them, heat flooding my cheeks. “Beast tried to make me macarons.” I gestured toward the disaster zone that surrounded us, flour coating every surface from his culinary catastrophe.
A slow smile spread across Marcel’s weathered face, transforming his expression from shock to something tender and knowing. “So he did.” His tone held a warmth I’d never heard before, almost like pride.
“I was trying to clean it up with magic,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself as embarrassment crept in. “But I lost my concentration when you came in. I’m not very good at being a witch.” The admission stung, especially after that brief moment of success.
Marcel stepped forward and gently clasped my shoulders, his hands warm and steady. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked at me with something that made my throat tight. “No,ma chérie, you are weaving a spell that I never thought possible.”
He turned slowly, his gaze shifting past me to fall on Beast, who stood perfectly still among the wreckage of his baking attempt. Marcel’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper, thick with emotion. “One I’ve waited for my whole life.”
His words settled over the room like a blessing, and I felt something shift in the air around us—something deeper than magic, something that felt like hope.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fierro
Marcel’s stare spoke volumes, his knowing eyes holding decades of hope and concern. He and Colette had wanted me to find a mate even before I was cursed, convinced it would ground me, make me more than just Enzo’s weapon of choice. They thought it would save whatever humanity I had left.
I had never wanted to settle down, had scoffed at the idea of fated mates like it was some fairy tale nonsense...until I met Rosalie. Now, standing in this flour-dusted kitchen watching her discover her magic, something deep in my chest ached with a longing I’d never felt before.
But I was a hideous beast. My chest tightened as I looked down at my hands—fur, claws, features that belonged more to nightmare than man. How could Rosalie ever fall in love with me…at least in this form? To break the curse, she would have to offer her blood to me willingly, out of love.
I shook my head, pushing that dark thought away. No, theonly way for the curse to be broken was for Rosalie’s powers to get stronger, then she could break the spell. It had to be magic, not…the other way.
Rosalie picked up the dish rag that had fallen on the floor, wringing out the excess water into the sink. “We should get started cleaning this up.” She smiled cheerfully, practically, as if flour explosions were an everyday occurrence.
“No, I can do it,” Colette insisted, already reaching for her apron with the efficiency of someone who’d cleaned up countless messes.
“I want to help.” Rosalie straightened and gave me a warm smile that made something flutter in my chest. “Why don’t you get cleaned up?”
I looked down at myself, flour coating my shirt, frosting streaking across my arms. “I can help. I made the mess.” This was also something I never offered to do.
She stepped closer and gently clutched my arm, her touch sending warmth through the fabric of my shirt. “Please, you’re a mess.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement rather than disgust. “Then maybe we can have some dinner together.”
The word together hit me harder than it should have. I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward under her caring gaze.
Marcel stepped closer to me as Rosalie turned back to washing the walls, his movement deliberate and quiet. “Monsieur,I must speak with you,” he murmured low enough that only I could hear. The tension in his shoulders told me that he and Colette must have found something significant.
My stomach knotted. Whatever they’d discovered about Sophia Volaris, it wasn’t good news.
I put my hand on Rosalie’s shoulder as she rinsed out theflour-covered rag, her skin warm even through the fabric of her shirt. “I’ll return in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She looked at me with that radiant smile that never failed to make my chest tighten. “We’ll probably be done cleaning.”
I nodded, reluctantly pulling my hand away, and headed out of the kitchen with Marcel right on my heels. I headed up the stairs and Marcel remained silent, obviously he didn’t want Rosalie to overhear what he was about to tell me about her mother.
My pulse quickened with each step. The urgency in his voice downstairs had set my nerves on edge.
I stopped just short of my bedroom, turning to face him. My jaw clenched as I braced myself for bad news. “Tell me what you found out.”
“Nothing.”
I cocked my eyebrow, confusion and frustration warring in my chest. “You didn’t find anything? How can that be possible with our resources?”
Marcel’s face was grim, his usual composed demeanor cracking slightly. “I realize that,monsieur. That’s what’s so strange.” He ran a hand through his graying hair. “I couldn’t find out anything about her. No family. No friends. Nothing.”
