Page 20 of The Beast Between Us
Something tightens in my chest. Not fear. Something quieter. Heavier.
“I have a feeling that times are changing, my Lady,” Oswin says beside me.
“Why is he standing there?” I ask quietly. “Why not come into the garden and be surrounded by the beauty?”
“He fears his presence will destroy it,” Oswin replies. “He believes even the ground recoils from his steps. He’d rather not take that risk.”
I look back at Mr. Evermere, still standing motionless at the edge of the garden, his gaze fixed.
“Choose a rose, my Lady,” Oswin says gently. “And gift it to him.”
“Won’t he be angry that I plucked a rose from his mother’s garden?” I ask, uneasy with the idea.
“Not at all,” Oswin smiles. “Not if it’s offered in kindness. Not if you’re not doing so to destroy. Remember, he’s halfmanas well.”
I hesitate, then turn back to the blooms. Standing, I slowly move among them until one catches my eye…rich in color, unlike any I’ve ever seen. Carefully, I pluck it free.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the bush. “You make beautiful roses.”
Oswin chuckles behind me before turning and walking off, leaving me alone with the weight of what I’m about to do.
I turn toward Mr. Evermere. He hasn’t moved.
Step by step, I approach.
The closer I get, the heavier the air becomes. It presses down on my shoulders, thick and suffocating. I can already tell I’ll have to fight to spend time anywhere outside this garden.
But I keep walking.
When I finally reach him, I hold out the rose.
“This is for you,” I say.
He stares at it. Then, after a pause, he reaches out and takes it carefully, his large, clawed hands cradling the fragile stem with surprising gentleness.
“This rose is deformed,” he rumbles.
“It most definitely is not,” I say, placing my hands firmly on my hips. “This rose happens to bespecial.”
His eyes flick to mine, curious. “Special… how?” His voice is more Beast than man, but I don’t flinch.
“Well,” I explain, “it’s half red and half black. Something happened between the red rose bush and the black rose bush… and the result was this. Something new. Something rare. Something no one expected.”
He doesn’t respond. Just turns the rose slowly between his claws, the petals delicate against the harshness of his hands.
“Just because the red rose is now half black,” I continue softly, “doesn’t make it any less special. If anything… I’d say it’s more.”
His gaze flicks toward me, but he still says nothing.
“Because of the balance between the two,” I go on, voice steady, “they created something magnificent. Not ruined. Not wrong. Just… different. And maybe even stronger for it.”
“People don’t like different,” he grumbles, still staring at the rose. “These roses wouldn’t sell on the market. The reds would. Even the blacks. But not this one.”
His voice is bitter, resigned.
“Then the market’s blind,” I say simply.
He glances at me again…a slow, guarded look, like he’s waiting for mockery that doesn’t come.
