Page 5 of Beast of Blood and Roses (Dark Ever After Fairytales #1)

Chapter Five

Rosalie

The walls of the mansion closed in on me, stealing my breath like a thief in the night. I couldn’t think straight. My mind kept stuttering, trying to process what sat across from me while my body screamed at me to run.

This couldn’t be real. Had to be a nightmare. I blinked hard, expecting to wake up in my cramped bedroom, but when I opened my eyes, he was still there.

Huge. That was the first coherent thought I managed. At least seven feet tall, maybe more. My gaze darted frantically over his form—curved black horns jutting from his forehead like something from hell itself. I swallowed hard, bile rising in my throat.

Don’t look at the claws, I told myself, but my eyes betrayed me, fixing on those yellowed talons as they scraped against the leather armrest.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape .

The sound sent a quiver down my spine.

My fingernails dug into the couch cushions, anchoring me when every instinct screamed to bolt. The doorway was maybe ten feet away. Could I make it? My legs felt like water.

No. No. No.

I’d never make it past those…those weren’t hands. They were weapons.

A whimper escaped my throat before I could stop it. His emerald eyes—predator's eyes—snapped to mine, and I felt pinned like a butterfly to a board. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it. Probably could smell my fear too, the way his nostrils kept flaring.

This was happening. This was really happening. The thought hit me in waves, each one making me dizzier than the last.

But when I looked at Dad—small, terrified, helpless—something shifted inside me. The same instinct that made mothers lift cars off their children, that made ordinary people do extraordinary things. My fear didn’t disappear, but it took a backseat to something stronger.

How could I really remain his prisoner? The thought made bile rise in my throat, hot and bitter.

I glanced sideways at Dad, who sat small and defeated beside me on the couch, our thighs almost touching yet separated by miles of unspoken fear.

He looked at me with his pleading eyes—bloodshot and watery.

Those were the same eyes that had once checked under my bed for monsters.

If I didn’t stay, he’d forfeit his life.

My throat constricted as the reality crashed over me like a tidal wave.

He was the last parent I had, and I couldn’t lose him.

Mom’s absence already left a gaping wound that never fully healed; it throbbed anew at the thought of being truly alone in the world.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with fear.

Dad may not be much of a father—his shoulders perpetually stooped with grief, his attention always elsewhere—but he was the only family I had left.

My hands trembled as I clenched them into fists, my chipped nail polish a reminder of the normal life I was about to leave behind.

The beast’s emerald eyes narrowed from his recliner throne, boring into mine.

I forced myself to meet his gaze even as I fought the urge to sink deeper into the couch cushions.

The living room’s heavy silence pressed against my eardrums like cotton wool, broken only by the thunderous pounding of my heart and the occasional shift of his two servants’ expensive shoes against the hardwood floor as they stood like sentinels by the doorway, watching the drama unfold.

I took a quivering breath, my lungs burning as if I’d inhaled fire instead of air.

There was really no choice. A hot coal of anger ignited in my chest, spreading through my veins like poison.

Dad’s gambling had reached a whole new level of despair.

Now it hadn’t just cost us all our money, it had cost me my freedom and possibly my life.

Years of broken promises and emptied savings accounts culminated in this moment, this impossible choice.

I braced my shoulders and held up my chin, feeling something harden inside me—a seed of resentment crystallizing into resolve. “I will stay,” I declared, my voice steadier than I felt, each word dropping like a stone into still water.

“Done.”

The single word sliced through the air like a guillotine.

Before I could process what was happening, the beast sprang forward with shocking speed.

The leather recliner groaned as he launched his massive frame from it, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat.

I gasped, recoiling against the couch cushions as he seized my dad’s wrist with brutal efficiency.

“Wait!” I cried out, the word tearing from my throat.

But it was too late. With a casual strength that made my stomach lurch, the beast tossed my father toward the door as if he weighed nothing. Dad stumbled, his thin frame crashing against the doorframe with a sickening thud that would bruise by morning.

“Leave or die,” the beast growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.

My father’s eyes met mine one last time—wide with panic and guilt—before the male servant stepped between us, blocking my view.

A primal scream built inside me, clawing its way up my throat as I realized I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.

The unfairness of it all slammed into my chest, doubling me over with its force.

“You monster!” I shouted, leaping to my feet, fury temporarily overpowering fear.

The female servant seized my wrist, her fingers like steel bands biting into my flesh, yanking me to her side with such force that my shoulder joint protested with a sharp stab of pain.

Her crimson nails dug half-moons into my skin as her perfume—too sweet, cloying like rotting flowers—invaded my nostrils.

“No, you mustn’t interfere,” she whispered, her French accent thickening with urgency. Her lips barely moved, but her eyes blazed with a warning that chilled my rage to ice.

Through the gap between the man’s imposing silhouette and the doorframe, I caught a final glimpse of my father.

His gaze darted frantically between me and the beast, a kaleidoscope of emotions flashing across his weathered face—fear, shame, relief—before survival instinct won out.

Without a word—not a goodbye, not an apology, not even my name—he turned and fled, his footsteps fading down the hallway with indecent haste.

Just like Mom, he didn’t even say goodbye or apologize for what he had done. The parallel sliced through me, reopening old wounds alongside fresh ones. My legs trembled, suddenly unable to support my weight as the last tether to my old life snapped cleanly in two.

“Colette, take her to her room.” The Beast command thundered through the space as he towered over me, his massive shadow swallowing me whole.

He leaned in until his snout was inches from my face, close enough that I could count each whisker, close enough that his hot breath—smelling of copper and something primal—washed over me in humid waves.

His lips peeled back to reveal teeth like yellowed daggers, each one capable of tearing through flesh with terrifying ease.

“Never, never call me a monster again,” he growled, each word distinct and deliberate, vibrating through my bones like the warning rumble before an avalanche.

Something dangerous flickered behind his emerald eyes; not just anger, but a wounded pride that somehow seemed more threatening than simple rage.

Colette dragged me up the stairs, her grip so tight I could feel tomorrow’s bruises already blooming beneath my skin.

My feet stumbled over each other as I struggled to keep pace, half running, half being hauled like a rag doll, my shoes slipping off with each frantic step.

She was unbelievably strong—inhuman—confirming my suspicions that she must be something supernatural too.

My chest constricted with each step we climbed, panic wrapping around my ribs like a corset pulled too tight.

The grand staircase that had seemed so elegant when I’d first entered now felt like a gallows walk, each step taking me further from freedom, from normalcy, from everything I’d ever known.

The ornate wallpaper with its swirling patterns began to swim before my tear-blurred eyes, morphing into mocking faces that witnessed my descent into captivity.

She threw open the door at the front of the stairs, the heavy wood crashing against the wall with a bang that made me flinch.

Without ceremony, she tossed me inside, my hip colliding painfully with the edge of an antique dresser.

I caught myself before I fell, fingers gripping the polished wood as my legs threatened to give way beneath me.

“You don’t want to make him mad, mon chère ,” Colette warned, her beautiful face a mask of deadly seriousness. A flicker of what might have been pity—or perhaps just pragmatism—softened her eyes for the briefest moment. “Obey and you’ll survive.”

Her words were like a lifeline and a noose. Before I could respond, she stepped back, pulling the door closed with a decisive click that echoed like a judge’s gavel. I heard it lock behind her, the mechanical sound of my imprisonment.

I was a prisoner of the beast.

A car engine grumbled to life outside, the sound slicing through my shock like a knife.

My heart lurched painfully as realization fully dawned.

I scrambled to the window, my stocking-clad feet sliding across the polished hardwood floor in my haste.

Moisture from my breath painted the glass as I pressed my face against it just in time to watch my dad’s beaten-up Chevy peel down the long driveway, tires kicking up gravel in his desperation to escape.

Leaving me .

My fingernails scraped uselessly against the glass as I watched the taillights grow smaller, twin red eyes disappearing into the gathering dusk.

There were bars on the window—ornate wrought iron that might have seemed decorative if it wasn’t so obviously meant to keep someone in rather than out.

No way to escape. The realization settled over me like a shroud.

Tears—hot, angry, terrified—slid down my face, tracking silent paths along my cheeks before dropping from my chin. Each one felt like a piece of me falling away, leaving behind something hollow and afraid. Despair settled in my heart, heavy as lead, cold as winter.

I pressed my palm against the glass, feeling its cool solidity, the barrier between captivity and freedom.

Would Dad try to find a way to rescue me, or would he scramble to find another way to raise the ten thousand dollars?

He’d been a gambler all his life and a bad one at that.

The knowledge twisted in my gut like a knife.

If he simply returned to his life, I’d be stuck here forever, but how long was forever?

Colette said I had to obey to survive. The words replayed in my mind, each repetition more ominous than the last. My silhouette wavered in the darkening glass, a pale ghost with wide, frightened eyes.

The question that formed behind those eyes sent ice through my veins: If I disobeyed him, would I sign my death warrant?

I hugged myself tightly, pressing my forehead against the cold windowpane as darkness fell outside, matching the shadows gathering in my soul.