Page 20 of Beast of Blood and Roses (Dark Ever After Fairytales #1)
Chapter Twenty
Fierro
Her barely touched plate, tight lips, and the lines around her eyes told a story of pain that ate away at something deep in my chest. This was something I had to find out, needed to understand with a desperation that made my hands curl into fists.
As a vampire, I would have been able to hunt down Volaris and wring the truth from him, would have felt his throat beneath my fingers as I demanded answers.
But since I couldn’t leave my cursed estate, that was impossible.
The familiar weight of my prison settled over me like chains, and I had to force myself not to slam my fist against the nearest wall.
I couldn’t even call Enzo to find out since he didn’t know who I was. The bitter irony of it burned in my throat—surrounded by people who should have been allies yet made me feel more isolated than ever.
The direct approach with her wasn’t working. Frustration coiled tight in my shoulders as I searched for another angle, another way to crack through her defenses. I needed to find another tactic to get the answers I wanted.
I met her tense gaze, letting a hint of authority creep into my voice despite the careful restraint I maintained. “You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” Her chin lifted in defiance, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands.
“To do magic, you must not only be rested, but your body needs to be satisfied.” I kept my tone measured, though every instinct screamed at me to demand compliance. “You won’t be able to perform magic on an empty stomach.”
She glanced at Colette and Marcel, and I felt a flicker of satisfaction when they both nodded in agreement with me.
They knew better than to cross me. After all these years, they understood when not to push.
The subtle shift in the room’s energy wasn’t lost on her, and I watched her shoulders sag slightly in resignation.
Rosalie reluctantly pulled the plate back toward her, her fingers hesitating before she finally tore off a piece of chocolate croissant.
I found myself holding my breath as she took that first tentative bite, watching as the sharp lines of tension around her mouth and eyes gradually melted away while she chewed.
She swallowed, wonder dawning across her features. “Colette, this is delicious.” Her eyes widened and she licked her delicate lips. “This has to be the best croissant I’ve ever tasted.”
Something about that simple happiness—the way her whole face softened, the unconscious hum of pleasure as she reached for another bite—warmed something deep in my chest that I’d thought long dead.
This was a woman who I suspected didn’t have much joy in her life, and seeing even this small moment of contentment stirred something protective within me.
That neglect would soon change, I vowed silently.
The fear that had been haunting Colette’s eyes finally faded away, replaced by a pleased flush that brightened her entire demeanor. “I’m glad you approve,” she said, practically glowing under the unexpected praise.
“Colette is quite the baker,” I said, unable to keep a note of pride from creeping into my voice as I watched Rosalie’s enjoyment. “She makes the most delightful strawberry and coconut macarons.”
“You do?” Rosalie’s eyes lit up with an enthusiasm that transformed her entire face, and she leaned forward slightly in her chair. “I love to bake, but with my work schedule, I rarely got to do it. I’ve always wanted to make those. They’re my favorite cookie. Could you teach me?”
Her eagerness surprised me, sent an unexpected jolt through my system. Most women I knew would never want to be in the kitchen doing what they considered servant’s work. Yet here she was, practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect.
Colette’s gaze darted to me, uncertainty flickering across her features as she waited for permission. The familiar weight of being the one who controlled every aspect of life in this place settled over me again.
I bowed my head, though something twisted painfully in my chest as I spoke.
“If it pleases her, teach her.” The words came out rough, and I had to swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat.
I wished I could teach her something besides just showing her how to use her magic, wished I could be the one to put that spark of joy in her eyes instead of always being the source of fear and constraint .
Before I could respond, Marcel cleared his throat. “Perhaps Colette could teach you both,” he suggested quietly, his knowing eyes meeting mine. “The master has quite the sweet tooth himself.”
Something warm and unexpected struck my chest at his words—gratitude mixed with a longing I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge. To be included, to be part of something normal and simple like learning to bake. I found myself nodding before I could second-guess the impulse.
Rosalie’s forehead crinkled as she tilted her head, studying me with newfound curiosity. “You like to bake?”
Something so simple, so out of character for me—yet the question made my pulse quicken with nervous anticipation.
But for her, I’d risk exposing this softer side of myself, even though my claws could easily destroy delicate pastry.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I chuckled, but there was no warmth in it.
“Let’s just say this would be a new adventure for me. ”
Rosalie’s fingers drummed against the table as excitement seemed to build within her, then she placed her hand protectively on the spell book beside her plate. “What about learning magic?”
I leaned back in my chair, feeling lighter than I had in months, maybe years. “Finish your breakfast, then you’ll have your first lesson…” A genuine smile tugged at the corners of my mouth—something that felt foreign but surprisingly natural. “Then we bake.”
The way her eyes brightened at my words sent warmth spreading through my chest, and I found myself actually looking forward to what the day might bring.
She finished a piece of bacon, dabbing her lips with the napkin before looking up at me with curious eyes. “What will be my first lesson?”
I thought for a moment, considering what would be safe and manageable for her first time. “Something simple like making something rise,” I said, pushing back from the table. The nervous energy that had been building in my chest all morning finally had an outlet.
I took Rosalie’s hand and led her toward the library.
She didn’t recoil from my touch. Maybe she was warming up to me?
I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Nervous energy thrummed through me.
Teaching magic was something I’d never done before, but I hadn’t lived for hundreds of years without learning a thing or two about witchcraft.
Seeing the eager anticipation in her eyes made me want to succeed almost desperately.
“Magic begins with connection,” I said, settling into the chair across from her while she opened the spell book with reverent fingers. “Not just to the spell, but to the energy around you. Feel it first.”
She closed her eyes, her breathing slow and deliberate. I found myself holding my breath as I watched the subtle changes in her posture: shoulders relaxing, face softening as she reached for something I couldn’t see.
“I can feel...something,” she whispered, wonder threading through her voice. “Like warmth, but not quite.”
“Good.” Relief flooded through me. She was just untrained. “Now, open your eyes and focus on that.” I gestured to a small leatherbound journal on the side table. “Don’t think about making it float. Think about...inviting it to dance.”
Her brow furrowed in concentration, one hand extended toward the book. For several deep breaths, nothing happened, and I saw frustration begin to tighten her features. Even without success, she remained determined, a quality I found surprisingly attractive.
“Breathe,” I said softly, surprised by my own gentleness. “Magic isn’t about force. It’s about asking nicely.”
She exhaled slowly, stuck out her palm, then suddenly the journal trembled. Then, as if awakening from sleep, it lifted gently into the air, hovering a foot above the table. I knew she could do it. She was definitely a powerful witch, and she was mine.
Rosalie gasped, her eyes wide with delight, and the book bobbed higher as if responding to her joy. “I did it! I actually—” The book dropped with a soft thud as her concentration broke, but she was laughing, practically glowing with achievement.
Something warm and proud swelled in my chest as I watched her. “Very good. Again.”
Once again, she held out her palm, fingers spread wide with newfound confidence. This time, the book didn’t just rise, it twirled around in graceful circles as it floated, spinning like a dancer caught in an invisible waltz.
My heart stuttered as I watched the effortless display.
She was even more powerful than I had anticipated, and the realization sent both excitement and unease coursing through my veins.
Through the Santi family’s alliances with witches, I’d seen how difficult magic usually was.
Most witches took weeks to get a book to even move and had to chant elaborate spells, their faces strained with effort.
But Rosalie was different; magic seemed to flow from her as naturally as breathing.
I leaned forward in my chair, hands gripping the armrests as a troubling thought took hold.
Could she be as powerful as Tinker Bell had been?
The comparison made my chest tighten with both hope and dread.
I had a feeling once her magic had been fully opened, it would grow even more powerful.
Had she been under some kind of spell that kept her from using magic?
It was possible, but who would have done such a thing? And why?
Once again, my thoughts returned to Volaris, and my jaw clenched so hard I felt my teeth ache.
Had he known what she was? The scars on her back suggested he was capable of terrible things.
Would binding her powers have been beyond him?
If he had done this to her, if he was responsible for suppressing her gifts all these years, then he was already a dead man.
Once the curse was broken, there would be nowhere he could hide.
No pleas I would listen to.
No mercy I would give him.
The promise settled into my bones like cold steel, and I felt my claws dig deeper into the chair’s armrests as I imagined Volaris’ terror when he realized what was coming for him.