Page 19 of Beast of Blood and Roses (Dark Ever After Fairytales #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Rosalie

The look in the beast’s eyes and his words sent a deep chill through me, turning me ice cold. I shivered involuntarily.

“I want to know who hurt you,” the beast repeated again, his eyes burning with cold fury.

I didn’t want to think about that terrible night when Dad had lost control. My stomach clenched as the memories tried to surface. It had been a nightmare. Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over. I blinked rapidly, fighting them back. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?” His grip grew tighter, his fingers like a predator’s hold around my arm.

I flinched at the pressure, my heart racing. “You’re hurting me.” Not quite the truth, but I needed to get away from him. I pulled harder against his hold, desperation creeping into my movements. I needed to not relive that horrible night—not here, not with him watching me with those intense eyes .

He slowly released me, his fingers trailing across my skin as they let go. “You will tell me who hurt you.” Something in his tone made me believe he’d find out one way or another.

Not likely. I never told anyone about that night. My throat tightened just thinking about it.

I backed away from him on unsteady legs, then fled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

The sound echoed through the small space.

I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as I gasped for air.

My hands shook as I pressed my palms flat against the wood, as if I could keep the world out.

But the memory came anyway, crashing over me like a wave.

My knees buckled and I slid down the door until I was sitting on the cold tile floor.

That night...the wild look in Dad’s eyes when I’d taken the money he wanted and put it in the bank.

My hands had trembled then too as I’d stood my ground.

We needed it for the rent. I wouldn’t tell him the new PIN number to get it out.

But he got it anyway. My stomach lurched as I remembered his fists, his belt, the way he’d kept hitting until I was screaming the numbers through my sobs. I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to make myself smaller, trying to disappear.

“Rosalie, are you okay?” The beast’s voice was soft, almost caring, filtering through the thick wooden door. The gentleness in his tone caught me off guard. He could easily break down the door if he wanted. I’d seen his strength.

I took a shuddering breath and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m fine.” Another lie, but the memory was too raw, too painful to share. I pressed my forehead against the cool door. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Luckily, my tone didn’t quiver even though my hands still trembled.

The heavy thump of his claws on the hardwood faded away, each step echoing until silence returned. I forced myself to stand on unsteady legs, my knees still weak from the flashback. At the sink, I splashed cold water on my face, watching the droplets fall like tears I refused to shed.

I grabbed the small hand mirror from the counter with shaking fingers, then lifted the back of my shirt.

Angling the mirror, I could see the reflection of my back in the larger mirror above the sink.

Heat flooded my cheeks, knowing Beast had seen this.

The fresh bruises and scratches from the wolves seemed to highlight those awful scars—raised white lines that crisscrossed my back like a roadmap of pain.

Scars that would never go away and would always remind me of that terrible night when everything changed.

My hand holding the mirror trembled as I stared at the evidence of my father’s rage. I quickly set the mirror down on the counter with a sharp click, unable to look any longer.

Shower. A nice hot shower might chase the memories away. I turned on the faucet with jerky movements, my fingers fumbling with the handles as I waited for the water to get warm. Steam began to rise, fogging the mirror and mercifully hiding my reflection.

I carefully peeled off my clothes, my movements slow and deliberate as I avoided looking at my reflection in the mirror. Each piece of fabric felt heavy in my hands.

The hot droplets cascaded over my skin like a spring rainstorm, washing away the salt of my tears and chasing the dark memories back into the corners of my mind.

I let the water run over my shoulders, feeling some of the tension ease from my muscles.

Ten minutes later, I reluctantly stepped out of the steamy cocoon, immediately missing its warmth and protection.

I dried off with quick, efficient movements, then wrapped a fluffy towel around my body like armor. My heart pounded as I crept to the bathroom door and peeked out. I exhaled slowly, my shoulders sagging with relief—the beast was gone.

I hurried over to the new clothes on tiptoes, my bare feet silent on the cold floor. My hands shook slightly as I grabbed some undergarments, a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that would cover my back completely.

The towel dropped to the floor as clothes were quickly pulled on, eyes darting nervously toward the door. The lock. The door should be locked, it had been before, but as I walked over and turned the knob, I was surprised to find it wasn’t. Since I was his prisoner, why was it unlocked?

After smoothing the rumpled bedsheets, trembling fingers reached for the magical book. Its weight felt heavier somehow, as if the morning’s revelations had changed everything about it.

The door opened with a soft creak, and a sharp gasp escaped my lips at the sight before me. The beast was there, leaning against the opposite wall like a patient sentinel.

“What are you doing here?” I gasped, my heart racing at his unexpected presence.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right.” He gestured down the hallway with a sweep of his clawed hand, the movement surprisingly gentle. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Good.” My shoulders tensed, bracing for more probing questions about my scars, but the beast remained silent. Each step down the wooden stairs echoed softly, the only sound our careful descent.

The aroma hit me halfway down: buttery, flaky croissants mingling with the salty sizzle of bacon.

My stomach responded with an embarrassing rumble that seemed to echo in the quiet stairwell.

Saliva pooled in my mouth as the rich scents wrapped around me like a warm embrace, temporarily pushing away the morning’s dark memories.

Sunlight streamed through tall windows into the dining room, illuminating fine china plates arranged with military precision on the polished table.

A silver tray held fluffy scrambled eggs that still steamed, their surface dotted with fresh herbs, while crispy bacon strips lay in neat rows on another platter.

Colette bustled in, her footsteps light and quick, carrying a basket lined with pristine white cloth.

The smell of chocolate and butter intensified as she set it down with a satisfied smile.

“ Mademoiselle , you’re up!” Her voice carried the musical lilt of her accent.

“I made homemade croissants. My mama’s secret recipe.

” She beamed with pride, flour still dusting her apron.

The normalcy felt surreal after everything that had happened upstairs.

“They look wonderful,” I said quietly, still raw from the morning’s emotional turmoil.

The beast moved behind me, his large hands gripping the back of my chair as he pulled it out with surprising gentleness.

My eyebrow arched in surprise, my head tilting slightly as I studied his face.

He was many things—fierce, dangerous, an enforcer—but a gentleman? That caught me completely off guard.

“Thank you.” Heat crept up my neck at the unexpected courtesy. The chair cushion sank slightly under my weight as I settled in, carefully placing the leatherbound book on the polished table surface. Its dark cover seemed to absorb the morning light.

Marcel’s footsteps approached, the soft clink of porcelain announcing his arrival.

He carried a gleaming silver coffee pot in one hand and a delicate cream pitcher in the other.

His eyes immediately found the book, and I watched his expression shift.

His jaw tightened and deep lines creased his forehead in a pronounced scowl.

“Morning, mademoiselle .” He bowed slightly. “Would you like some coffee with cream?”

“Yes, please.” My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my napkin as I spoke. Marcel’s disapproving gaze remained fixed on the book, as if it had personally offended him.

A chill ran down my spine. Was there something wrong with the book? Was it evil?

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the chair creaking softly beneath me, my mind racing with unsettling possibilities.

Marcel’s hands shook slightly as he filled the beast’s enormous coffee cup, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. The beast leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight, his predatory gaze fixed on the trembling man.

“Colette, tell me, when you bandaged Rosalie’s back, did you notice any scars there?

” The beast’s question picked at my memory again.

I could see tension radiating through the room.

I tensed, not wanting to go down this road again.

That night was one I didn’t want to remember. Some secrets were best tucked away.

Colette’s face drained of all color, becoming as white as the porcelain plates. Her eyes darted nervously toward me, wide with panic, before snapping back to her master. “She was badly injured, monsieur .”

He flicked his claw dismissively, the sharp tip catching the light. “I realize that. Answer the question.” Each word was precise, cutting .

“Yes...but...I—” Colette’s hands twisted her apron into knots, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid.

I winced and wanted to disappear into my chair.

“Never keep anything from me about her again, Colette.” The beast’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. “Otherwise...I will be very put out.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on us like a heavy storm cloud. Even the morning birds outside seemed to stop singing.

From across the table, I could see Colette’s entire body trembling like a leaf in a winter wind. Marcel immediately stepped closer, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders, his jaw set with quiet determination. “It shall not happen again, monsieur .”

My stomach clenched with guilt; this was all because of me.

“Please don’t be angry with Colette. She might have seen the scars but she didn’t ask any questions. Not...like...”

He gave me a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You mean like me?”

The memory of that night came flooding back, turning the delicious breakfast to ash in my mouth. I pushed my plate away, appetite completely gone.