Page 48 of Beast of Blood and Roses
He owed someone money—Trystan, based on what Marcel had discovered. But could he possibly be the intruder? Or worse—was he planning to get her to steal from me?
The thought made my blood run cold.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rosalie
The vision didn’t make sense. Why would The Witch’s Heart show me my father? I stared at the empty air where his image had been. I had asked about the intruder, not my dad. The amulet felt heavy and warm in my palm, as if it was mocking me with its cryptic answer.
I replayed the vision in my mind, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. He almost looked younger. The tight lines around his mouth and eyes were gone. I didn’t recognize those clothes—the crisp white shirt, the expensive-looking fabric. My stomach knotted with unease. Were they new? Where did he get the money for that?
My hands clenched into fists as a bitter realization crept in. He looked like he was living it up on the town after giving me to the beast. While I’d been trapped here, terrified and learning I was a witch, he’d apparently been out buying new clothes and gambling at upscale casinos.
Heat flushed my cheeks as anger began to build in my chest. “He looked...different,” I said slowly, my voice tight with barely controlled emotion. “Clean. Well-dressed. Like he had money to spend.” I looked up at Beast, searching his face for answers. “How is that possible if he owes people money?”
Beast shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The pieces didn’t fit, and the more I thought about it, the more wrong everything felt. “Can The Witch’s Heart show me something in the past?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” I shook my head, confusion and irritation warring in my chest. “I wasn’t asking about my dad’s past. I was asking about who was stalking me. Can I try again?”
“First tell me how you feel.” His look showed a flicker of concern that made me pause.
I scowled, gritting my teeth. “I feel fine. Why?”
“Because The Witch’s Heart can drain you, especially if you’ve never used it before.” He studied my face carefully, as if looking for signs of exhaustion.
“You just used it. Are you drained?” I crossed my arms, challenging him.
He chuckled, a low rumble that would have been comforting under different circumstances. “That’s different. I’m a cursed vampire. It would take using it several times before it affected me.”
Anger and frustration burned through me like fire, chasing away any hint of fatigue. Weariness was the last thing I felt. I was practically vibrating with energy and determination. “Well, I feel fine. I want to try again.”
“You will tell me if you’re feeling drained. I want your word on that.”
“I will. You have my word.” Before he could change his mind, I blurted, “Show me the intruder. Not my father.”
Nothing happened for several long heartbeats, the silence stretching between us like a held breath. Panic began to flutter in my throat. What if I’d lost the ability already? Then The Witch’s Heart began to vibrate in my palm, a subtle tremor that quickly intensified into a violent pulsing that seemed to match my racing heartbeat.
My chest fluttered wildly, as if a trapped bird was beating its wings against my ribs. Tingles shot down my arm like liquid lightning, making every hair on my body stand straight up. The sensation was electric and overwhelming, spreading from the amulet through my entire nervous system.
The dual-colored stone grew warm in my hand, then became burning hot, so hot I could smell the sulfurous scent of singed skin. But I couldn’t let go, couldn’t release my grip no matter how much it hurt. The heat intensified until it felt like holding molten metal, the ruby and black diamond surfaces searing into my palm.
My lungs seized up, refusing to draw air. Each breath became a struggle, shallow and ragged, as if the amulet was stealing the oxygen from my body. My heartbeat seemed to slow to an unnatural rhythm, each thump echoing hollowly in my ears like a funeral drum.
The world around me began to blur and shift. Beast’s concerned face went in and out of focus, his features wavering like a mirage. His voice sounded distant and muffled, as if he was calling to me from underwater. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, growing larger with each labored breath.
My fingers, slick with sweat and trembling uncontrollably, finally loosened their death grip. The amulet dropped from my nervelesshand, hitting the floor with a metallic clink that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
I swayed on my feet, the room tilting dangerously around me. Before I could fall, strong arms caught me, lifting me against a broad chest that smelled of flour and something wild and masculine. The last thing I registered was Beast’s panicked voice calling my name as darkness claimed me.
Warmth fell across my cheeks like a gentle caress, and a loud snarl—deep and animalistic—jolted me awake. My eyes fluttered open to find myself tucked beneath a soft blanket in my bedroom.
Beast slept fitfully in a large leather chair he’d dragged close to my bedside, his massive frame looking uncomfortable in the confined space. He still had flour dusting his dark fur and clothes from his earlier baking disaster, and I could see The Witch’s Heart resting against his chest, the dual-colored stone rising and falling with each of his breaths. Even in sleep, his face was creased with worry.
My palm still tingled where it had burned me, and shame washed over me. I should have respected its power more instead of giving in to my frustration and anger like a petulant child.
