Page 23 of Beast of Blood and Roses (Dark Ever After Fairytales #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rosalie

The dream faded away like mist, slipping through my fingers as consciousness pulled me back to reality.

I blinked slowly, my mind still foggy with sleep, and frowned as I tried to grasp the fleeting images.

I couldn’t remember it clearly...just bits and pieces dancing at the edge of my memory.

A handsome man with deep green eyes that seemed familiar, but I couldn’t make out his features clearly through the haze.

My heart skipped a beat. Had that been Beast? I sat up abruptly, running my hands through my tangled hair. Did this have something to do with my magic? My pulse quickened at the thought. Did my magic somehow know what he looked like beneath the curse?

I stretched my arms above my head, working out the stiffness in my shoulders, then kicked the blanket off my legs. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and my adrenaline spiked. “Oh, shit!” I’d been asleep for two hours, not the few minutes I’d intended.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, then paused as I looked down at the soft blanket pooled around my feet.

A warm flutter spread through my chest. Beast had tucked this around me so carefully.

I touched the fabric gently, surprised by the tenderness of the gesture.

I hadn’t expected him to be so...gentle.

I sniffed, my nose scrunching as a smoky smell invaded my senses.

Something was definitely burning; not just burning, but charring.

The smell was bitter and sharp, making my eyes water.

I looked around my room frantically, checking the corners and windows, but didn’t see anything.

My heart rate spiked as I rushed to the bathroom, but the noxious scent wasn’t coming from there either.

Was the house on fire? Panic crawled at my throat as I yanked open my door and ran into the hallway. The stench hit me like a wall, so much stronger out here that I had to cover my nose with my sleeve. Wisps of gray smoke drifted up from somewhere below, and my stomach dropped.

“Beast! Colette? Marcel?” I yelled, taking the stairs two at a time. My bare feet slapped against the cold stone as I rushed down, expecting to see flames licking at the walls.

Instead, I found black smoke hovering around the kitchen like a storm cloud. The air was so thick I could barely see through it, and it burned my lungs with each breath.

“Colette? What happened?” I coughed, waving my hand to clear the air as I rushed inside. Then I stopped dead in my tracks.

White flour coated every surface—the counters, the floor, even the ceiling somehow—like fresh snow after an explosion.

A metal tray sat on the counter holding what I assumed were supposed to be cookies, but they looked more like hard, black smoking discs that could double as hockey pucks.

Dirty bowls were scattered everywhere, one still containing some kind of lumpy, beige goo that might have once been batter.

Even the walls had mysterious splatters of what looked like frosting.

And in the center of it all stood Beast, looking absolutely defeated. Flour dusted his dark fur like premature gray, and streaks of what might have been pink frosting decorated his shirt and arms. His shoulders sagged as he hung his head in shame.

“I was trying to make macarons for you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of something still sizzling in the oven. “Colette left me the recipe.”

My heart melted completely, warmth spreading through my chest like honey.

No one had ever made me anything like this ever.

I was always the one who had to cook, bake, and clean for my dad.

Here was this beast, a fierce vampire mafia enforcer who could probably tear apart grown men without breaking a sweat, covered in flour and frosting because he’d tried to make me macarons.

I put my hand over my thumping heart, my eyes suddenly burning with tears. “You did this for me?” I was filled with a thick emotion I couldn’t name.

“You were spent, and I wanted to do something special for you, but...” He gestured helplessly around the destroyed kitchen, his shoulders slumping even further. He looked so lost, so completely overwhelmed by the chaos he’d created, that I wanted to wrap him in my arms.

Without hesitation, I walked over and gently clutched his claw, not caring about the flour that transferred to my skin.

His hand was warm and solid, grounding me.

“You don’t know how much this means to me.

” I looked up into his eyes, trying to convey everything I couldn’t put into words. “Thank you.”

The fact that he’d tried—that he’d thought of me, wanted to comfort me—meant more than any perfect batch of cookies ever could.

His green eyes brightened like sunlight breaking through clouds, and he let out a long, relieved sigh that seemed to release all the tension from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

I glanced around the flour-dusted disaster zone that had once been a kitchen and couldn’t help but frown. “Where’s Colette?”

“She and Marcel are out on an errand,” he murmured.

I bit my lip, already feeling guilty about the cleanup ahead. “Maybe we should clean this up before she gets back.”

“You could try doing some magic.” His eyes flickered with a hint of excitement, and I could see him straightening up with renewed interest.

“Magic? What?” I scowled as my hand gestured helplessly at the chaos around us. “I don’t see how I could possibly do that.”

“You made the book dance.” He stepped closer then gently lifted my chin. “Pick something and try to make it do what you want.”

I laughed, the sound bubbling up despite myself. The idea was so absurd it was almost charming. “You mean like in a Disney movie?” I wiggled my fingers dramatically in the air, mimicking a cartoon fairy godmother.

“Yes. I believe in you. You can do this.” He looked at me with such unwavering conviction that it made my chest tighten.

My laughter faded away completely, the sound dying in my throat as the weight of his words hit me. Once again, he did something that no one had ever done for me: believing in me without question, without conditions. My eyes burned with unexpected tears.

“What if I fail?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them as I wiped my clammy hands on my jeans. I didn’t want to disappoint him, especially after he’d made this incredibly sweet gesture that had left flour in his fur and frosting on his shirt.

“You won’t.” His words were so certain, so commanding, spoken with the absolute authority of someone who’d never doubted anything in his life. His confidence made something warm unfurl in my chest. I had to try.

I squared my shoulders and took a shaky breath, looking around the destroyed kitchen with new determination. The best thing to do would be to start with something small, something I could possibly achieve. Maybe tackle the flour coating the walls?

My gaze settled on the dish rag hanging limply over the faucet. I took a deep breath, my heart hammering against my ribs, and focused all my attention on that simple piece of cloth.

Wipe down the walls, I commanded silently, staring so hard my eyes began to water.

Nothing happened. The rag hung there, motionless and mocking. Disappointment crashed over me, but I clenched my jaw and refused to give up.

Please, I begged internally, my hands trembling at my sides. I don’t want to let him down. Not after everything he’s done for me.

Something fluttered deep in my chest—light and electric, like butterfly wings made of lightning. The sensation spread outward, racing down my arm in warm, tingling waves until it pooled in my palm like liquid starlight .

The faucet handle began to turn with a soft squeak, water cascading down in a steady stream. My heart fluttered with amazement as the washrag slipped free from its perch and glided under the flowing water, becoming thoroughly soaked.

I turned slowly, afraid to break whatever spell I’d managed to weave, and watched in amazement as the dripping rag floated through the air like a graceful dancer. It pressed against the flour-coated wall and began to wipe in smooth, methodical circles, leaving clean streaks in its wake.

“I’m doing it,” I whispered, my body shaking with fear and awe. “I’m actually doing it.”

“ Mon Dieu , what has happened to my kitchen?” Colette’s horrified voice cut through the air like a knife.

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.