A Rose for the Beast

A Place To Belong

A cool breeze swept over Rosalie as she laid peacefully on a comfortable fluffy surface. The smell of roses saturated the air, awakening some of her senses. She felt exhausted, though her body was numb. A low whining filled her ears, drowning out all other noise. Her eyes remained sealed shut. She feared having to face the afterlife, unable to relinquish her hold on the ones she'd left behind. An ache in her throat caused her to swallow, but it failed to dull the dryness in her mouth.

"Are...thirsty...Chére?"

Voices began to pierce the low-pitched droning in her ears, though she only caught a few words. Her heartbeat skipped at the familiar sound, though she was too afraid to hope. She knew she should be dead, because...

The moment she tried to remember the battle, every detail came rushing back to her; the surprise attack against the hunters, her failed attempt at slaying the queen, and the dagger plunging into her chest. A sharp pain sprung from the very spot she'd been stabbed. She reached up only to have her wrist captured.

"I know...hurts...can't touch...need...drink this."

Her head was gently lifted as something pressed against her mouth. Liquid passed over her lips, but she had trouble drinking any. It spilled past her mouth and down her chin. A cloth quickly wiped away the wasted drink.

She expected whoever it was to give up, but then she felt soft skin gently touching her lips. Their mouth closed around hers as they transferred the liquid. Though stunned, she managed to swallow it. Her parched throat burned, but she was more than grateful when the mouth approached hers again with another sip.

After several shared drinks of what tasted like an herbal tea, she finally opened her eyes and peeked at her caregiver. She'd already guessed who it was, but seeing Michel gently lay her back against the bed and carefully tuck her in melted her heart.

His short hair and light stubble had grown out a little while his clothes were slightly disheveled as if he hadn't tended to his appearance in a couple of days. Despite that, his rugged look seemed to fit him, accentuating his wild nature.

She smiled up at Michel, appreciating the blessing of a second chance with him. After he finished making sure she was comfortable, he met her gaze. Relief swam over his features as he smiled at her.

"Rose, mon deui," he breathed heavily as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"Michel...," she said, blinking away tears as emotion overwhelmed her.

"You have know idea how grateful I am that you are still alive, Rose."

"How did I survive that?," she asked, then she noticed their surroundings. The room looked familiar, but all of the furnishings had been replaced. The entire bed chamber was decorated in red velvet and gold trimmings, from the hanging tapestries to the blankets and pillows. A large cherry wood dresser sat across from the bed, topped with several vases full of blooming roses.

"What happened to your room?," she asked before he could answer her last question.

He grinned and kept his eyes on her as he responded, "Madame Plume demanded to give my chambers a makeover, since I refused to place you anywhere out of my sight. She didn't think 'a disaster zone' would do well for your recovery. I couldn't argue with her since she has helped tend to your injury for the past two weeks."