Beauty's Beast (17 page)

He knew without asking that the men who had accosted him were no longer a threat to anyone. “And my horse?”

“He is being well cared for, have no fear.”

“What is this place? Where am I?”

“You're safe, for now.” She raised a slender hand and made a sweeping motion that encompassed the cavern. “I live here.”

“I've told you who I am. Now, who are you?”

“I am called Valaree.”

“And you live in this cave? Why?”

She rose to her feet and walked toward him. She was a tall woman, with waist-length black hair and luminous brown eyes. She wore a loose-fitting white robe that seemed to glow in the dim light of the fire.

“How do you feel, Erik Trevayne?” She peeled back the bandages from his injuries, then bent down and sniffed the wounds. Nodding, she replaced the bandages.

He let out a long sigh. The transformation was spreading. His body was in constant pain as muscle and bone and tissue fought against the Change. But there was no need to tell her that.

“I feel fine, all things considered. Who are you? How did I get here?”

“All in good time, Erik.” She went back to the fire and picked up a bowl and spoon. “You need to eat to replenish your strength.”

She sat beside him and offered him a spoonful of thick, dark broth. He hesitated a moment before swallowing it.

She lifted one brow in wry amusement. “Afraid I'm going to poison you?”

“It doesn't make much sense for you to save my life only to drag me in here to poison me.” He regarded her curiously for a moment. “You're not afraid of me, are you?”

“Should I be?”

He lifted a hand to the left side of his face. “Most people would be repelled by this.”

“I am not most people.”

He nodded. There was no doubt of that. He glanced around the cave, at the wolves sitting patiently nearby. He had the peculiar feeling they understood everything that was being said. “Are the wolves your pets?”

“Pets?” She laughed at that, a deep husky sound that reminded him of distant thunder. She stroked the gray wolf's head. “This is my father. The pretty black one is my mother, and the sleepy one is my sister, Elsbeth.” Valaree cocked her head to one side, her gaze studying him intently. “What happened to you? I've never seen anyone trapped in the midst of the Change.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

She offered him another spoonful of broth. “You're one of us, are you not?”

“One of you?”

“Never mind.” Frowning, she fed him the rest of the thick soup. “You should rest now. You will feel better after a good night's sleep.”

He didn't want to sleep, he wanted answers to the questions tumbling through his mind, needed to find Kristine, but his body, warmed by the broth and weakened from loss of blood, cried out for rest. Valaree covered him with a thick quilt, then went to sit beside the fire once more.

He stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes until sleep claimed him.

It was after dusk the following night when Erik awoke. He sat up, surprised to find himself alone in the cave. A small fire burned near the rear of the cavern. His first thought was for Kristine. He had to find her before it was too late, had to get her away from Charmion while he was still human enough to accomplish it.

He sat there for several minutes, gathering his strength. His right shoulder throbbed painfully, but other than that, he felt remarkably strong. He removed the bandages from his left arm and side. Both were healed, with only faint scars to show he had been hurt at all. He ran his hand down his left side, scarcely able to believe his own eyes.

Rising, he found his clothes and boots and put them on. He searched for several minutes, but couldn't find his mask. He felt naked and vulnerable without it.

He was prowling the cave for something to eat when he caught the smell of fresh blood. Turning, he saw the wolves enter the cave. The gray one was carrying a lamb in its jaws.

Erik frowned. There had been three wolves last night; this evening there were four.

The gray wolf dropped the lamb carcass near the fire, then sat down. Two of the black wolves stretched out beside the male.

The fourth wolf lifted its head and let out a long, heart-wrenching howl and then, while Erik watched in slack-jawed astonishment, the creature began to change shape. It was an awesome thing to watch, frightening yet fascinating to see the thick black pelt recede and become soft human flesh, to hear the pop and crackle of bones and muscles realigning themselves, until Valaree stood before him, her long black hair falling down her bare back and over her shoulders.

She smiled at him, apparently not bothered by her nudity. “Good evening, Erik.”

He nodded, unable to speak. The word
werewolf
rose in the back of his mind. He knew now why they had saved him. They thought he was one of them, trapped between his human half and his wolf half. He had never believed the tales he had heard of werewolves, had thought them only idle tales told to frighten children. Until now. “Does it hurt?”

“The Change?” There was a pile of clothing near the wall of the cavern. She reached for a long gray robe and slipped it over her head. “There is a certain amount of pain.”

She picked up the lamb and the scent of blood and raw meat filled his nostrils. “Do you want it raw,” she asked, “or cooked?”

Erik's mouth watered at the thought of tearing into the lamb's still-warm flesh. Horrified, he shook his head. “Cook it!”

Valaree regarded him curiously. “You have not yet fully accepted what you are, have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“There is no shame in being what we are. Our kind have walked the earth for countless centuries.” She gestured at his left side. “You see what denying it has brought you.”

“I am not like you,” he replied quietly. “I am not a werewolf.”

“No?” She cocked her head to one side in a gesture that was becoming familiar. “What are you, then?”

“Just a man.”

“Indeed?” She glanced pointedly at his left side, and he knew she was remembering the long black hair now covered by his clothing.

“I would rather be what you are than what I am becoming!” he exclaimed. “At least you can be human when you wish. My humanity will soon be lost to me and I will be nothing but a beast.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am under a powerful curse, one that can never be broken.”

Understanding dawned in Valaree's deep brown eyes. “Surely there is a way to break the spell.”

Erik laughed bitterly. “Yes, but only a woman long dead can end it.”

Valaree closed the distance between them and laid a slender hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry. Truly I am.” She regarded him for a long moment, her dark eyes filled with sympathy. “You are welcome to stay here, with me and my family. We will help you in any way we can.”

“You are most generous, Valaree.” Erik glanced at the wolves who were lying beside the fire, watching him through dark, intelligent eyes.

“You will stay with us, then?”

“As tempting as your offer is, I cannot. There's something I must do.”

Valaree looked up at him. He could smell her desire for him. She ran her fingertips over the half of his face that was no longer human, softly stroking his transformed cheek. Her touch, so gentle, so accepting, made him ache deep inside for things that could never be.

“I hope you will come back to us, Erik.”

Not knowing what to say, unwilling to make a promise he might not be able to keep, he didn't say anything, merely smiled down at her.

“I will be here, waiting,” she said softly. “If you ever have need of our help, you have only to call my name, and I will answer.”

It gave him a curious sense of comfort to know that when he was fully a beast, there was a place where he would be welcome, accepted.

 

 

He left the cave that night, his hood pulled low over his face. Without his mask, he dared not travel during the light of day. With luck, he would reach Charmion's fortress at the top of Cimmerian Crag before dawn.

Driven by an unrelenting sense of urgency, he pushed Raven hard, pausing only briefly to rest the stallion. And always, in the back of his mind, he said a prayer for Kristine's safety.

Dawn's fingers were lifting the cloak of night from the earth when he reached the foot of Cimmerian Crag. He stared up the long, winding road, a shiver of apprehension sending icy tendrils down his spine. He had learned to his sorrow just how powerful Charmion was, and only his fear for Kristine's safety compelled him to confront the witch now. He glanced at his left hand, felt the familiar horror unfurl within him. No matter how often he looked at his deformed body, he never got over the shock, the revulsion. Always, he felt the sickening fear in his gut, and with it an overpowering helplessness.

He stared up at the dark fortress that sat atop the mountain like a great bird of prey. Gathering his courage, he urged Raven forward.

Trees dripping gray-green moss grew on both sides of the narrow path, their extended branches hovering over him like the bony fingers of death. He heard the croaking of frogs. The hoot of an owl sounded nearby, ominous somehow. Some thought the screech of an owl signified bad luck; others thought it was an omen of impending death.

He drew in a deep breath. There had been a time when he hadn't believed in such nonsense, but Charmion had changed all that. A shiver of unease snaked down his spine as a huge white owl flew past his shoulder.

As he climbed higher, a strange silence fell over the land. No birds sang in the trees; even the wind was still. Raven snorted as they rounded a sharp bend in the trail. The left side of the path fell away into a deep abyss.

And still the trail climbed upward, higher and higher, winding round and round the mountain until, at last, they reached the top.

Built of black stone, Charmion's fortress rose up from the earth like an enormous beast of prey. Two huge stone gargoyles flanked the entry.

Erik reined the stallion to a halt several yards from the front door. Evil radiated from the fortress like smoke from a funeral pyre. It seemed to reach out to him, beckoning him with skeletal fingers.

The stallion shook his head and backed up.

“Easy, boy,” Erik murmured. He stroked the horse's neck as he studied the fortress. No lights burned from within. The lower windows stared back at him, watching him like dark, empty eyes.

Fighting off a sense of impending doom, Erik urged Raven toward the fortress, but the horse refused to obey. Lowering his head, the stallion pawed the ground and then backed up another step.

It was then Erik saw it, a crypt made of glistening white marble. A single bronze cherub knelt beside the door, its arms folded in prayer. He didn't have to see the name etched above the tomb to know it was Dominique's final resting place.

He stared at the crypt for a long while, guilt rising up within him. A lifetime of regrets lay behind that cold stone edifice. He had never truly loved her. He should never have married her.

With a sigh, Erik slid from the stallion's back. Tethering Raven to a wind-blown birch, he walked across the rocky ground toward the entrance of the fortress.

Kristine was inside, and no one, not Charmion, not the devil himself, would keep him out.

Kristine stood at the window, staring out into the rain-swept night. Why hadn't she listened to Lady Trevayne? Why hadn't she stayed home where she belonged? Why hadn't she told someone where she was going when she'd left Hawksbridge?

Blinking back the tears that were ever close to the surface these days, she looked toward the west, toward home, and knew she would never see Hawksbridge, or Erik, again.

Overcome by despair and loneliness, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and rocked back and forth, a low, keening wail rising in her throat.

Lightning ripped through the dark clouds like daggers. Thunder rumbled through the night like the sound of distant drums. A lusty wind pummeled the grass and the trees, moaning like a soul in torment.

Dropping to her knees, Kristine added her own cries to those of the wind and the rain.

Charmion sat back in her chair, one hand idly stroking the fur of the large black cat sleeping in her lap. He was here. She needed no crystal ball to tell her who approached the castle entrance, no magic of any kind. His hatred flew ahead of him like the wings of the storm, strong and black; a loathing that would have been as virulent as her own had it not been tempered by fear—fear for his young wife and unborn child.

Excitement stirred within her as she contemplated seeing him again. The transformation should be almost complete.

He was at the door now. She lifted one hand, breaking the wards that guarded the front portal so he could enter. She didn't rise, didn't go to welcome him. He would find his way to her soon enough.

And then he was there, striding across the black stone floor, his dark eyes alight with barely suppressed fury. “Where is she?”

Charmion lifted one brow and made a small tsking sound. “I see you have forgotten your manners, Lord Trevayne. Apparently you are even more of a beast than you appear.”

A growl rumbled in his throat. “Where is Kristine? What have you done with her?”

“I have done nothing to the girl. She is quite well.”

“She is here, then?”

Charmion allowed a slow smile to curve her lips. There was no warmth in the expression. “She came here several days ago, demanding that I release you from the curse I had placed upon you.” She sighed dramatically. “Alas, I told her it was quite impossible. There was only one person who could release you.”

Charmion's black eyes burned with fury. “I told her it was most unfortunate that the only one who possessed the ability to end the curse had died at your hand.”

“I did not kill Dominique,” Erik retorted.

“You planted your seed within her frail body, and it killed her.”

“Every woman knows the risks of childbirth. It was a risk Dominique was willing to take.”

Anger flowed from Charmion. The cat in her lap awoke with a hiss, its yellow eyes narrowed.

“I warned you!” Charmion said, her voice echoing off the walls. “I told you she was not strong enough to bear a child!”

“The choice to have a child was not mine alone!” Erik said harshly. “I did not take her to bed by force.” He took a step forward, his right hand clenched. “She came to me willingly, lovingly. I told her of your fears, and she laughed them aside. She said you had always coddled her, but she was not afraid.”

The big black cat leaped to the floor as Charmion surged to her feet.

Eyes blazing, body shaking with fury, the witch extended her arm. Erik's clothes disappeared at a wave of her hand.

She stared at him intently, at the long black fur that covered his left side from his shoulder to his feet. She smiled with satisfaction as she saw his transformed left hand, his feet, which were now paws. His left ear was that of a wolf.

Soon, she thought, soon the transformation would be complete.

Erik called on every ounce of courage he possessed as he stood naked and ashamed before her. But he would not cower. He would not try to hide what he was becoming. She had concocted the hideous curse. Let her look her fill.

“Are you satisfied, Charmion?” he asked quietly. “Does what I am becoming give you pleasure? Does it ease the pain of Dominique's loss?”

“Yes!” she hissed. “Yes, and yes, and yes again.”

She walked toward him, one long-fingered hand reaching out to stroke his furred side. She laughed softly when he tried to draw away and realized he couldn't move.

Frozen in place, he could only stand there, repelled by her touch, as she ran her hands over him, a look of evil delight in her black eyes as she slowly examined the results of her spell.

“What are you going to do with Kristine?”

“Nothing. For now.” Charmion walked around him, her hand stroking his fur as if he were a pet. “She has something I want.”

Fear unlike anything he had ever known churned in Erik's gut. “What do you mean?”

“She's carrying a child. A girl child. I shall call her Dominique.”

“No!”

Charmion stood in front of him. “Oh, yes. I shall have a new daughter to replace the one you stole from me.”

“Charmion, please . . .”

“You wish to beg me for your child's life? It would be more effective if you were on your knees.”

She waved her hand, and he dropped to his hands and knees, forced there by her power.

“Beg me, Erik. Beg me for your daughter's life as I once begged you for mine.”

“Please,” he said hoarsely. “Take Hawksbridge, take all my holdings, only please don't take my daughter from Kristine.”

She laughed in cruel amusement. “How the mighty have fallen!” she said, her voice filled with mockery. “You should see how you look! Erik Trevayne, mighty lord of Hawksbridge Castle. A few more months at most and the transformation will be complete. Perhaps I shall keep you here for a pet. Yes, I think that is a most wondrous idea. You will be able to watch your daughter grow up.” A laugh of pure evil spilled from her lips. “Yes, I shall enjoy watching that. I shall enjoy looking into your eyes when you gaze at her. Think what it will be like! You will remember everything. Everything. But you will be a beast, lacking the power of speech, totally in my power.”

He fought off a sense of growing horror to ask, “And what of Kristine?”

Charmion shrugged. “I fear I shall have no need of her once the child is weaned. Perhaps I shall let her go. Or perhaps I shall turn her into a beast, as well. Would you like that?”

“No!” He struggled to break free of her power, to rise to his feet, but he couldn't move, could only kneel there, helpless, while she stroked his head, her eyes thoughtful.

“Both beasts. Perhaps the two of you will mate and have more children,” she remarked. And then she laughed. “Though I suppose it will be more like a litter, really.”

“No! No . . . please.” A howl of anguish rose in his throat, and with it an overpowering sense of guilt. This was all his fault. He should have ended his life when Dominique died.

“Come along, my pet,” Charmion said. She lifted one hand, beckoning him, and he had no choice but to obey.

On hands and knees, he followed her through the great dark castle. The black cat padded after him, hissing softly.

Erik tried to free himself from the grip of Charmion's awesome power. He willed himself to stop, to stand, but his body refused to obey.

They turned right at the end of a long corridor and went down a winding flight of cold stone stairs that led to a dark, dank dungeon. The cat sat down at the bottom of the stairs, yellow eyes glowing in the dark.

The rough stone scraped his right knee, his right hand. He began to shiver as the dungeon's cold crept into him, and with it the certain fear that he would never see Kristine again, that Charmion would keep him down here until the transformation was complete, until he was fully a beast, incapable of speech, his mind and his humanity forever trapped in the body of an animal.

He heard a whispered word and a candle sprang to life, its pale light illuminating an iron-barred cell.

“Your new home,” Charmion said as she opened the door.

He summoned all his willpower, all his strength, in an effort to resist her, knowing if he entered the musty cell, he would not leave it again, at least not in his present form. “I. Will. Not.”

“Ah, but you will, my lord Erik. You are not strong enough to resist me.” She crooked her finger at him. “Come, my pet.”

“No.” The word was torn from his throat, but even as the sound of his voice echoed off the damp stone walls, he was crawling inside the cell.

The door shut behind him, closing with the finality of life's last breath.

He collapsed on the cold stone as she withdrew her power, his body feeling as weak as that of a newborn colt.

Charmion stared at him a moment, and then she turned away. The candle guttered and died as she retraced her steps toward the stairway, leaving him alone in cold and utter darkness.

Shaking with pain and rage, he grabbed hold of the bars and drew himself up. He was a man still; he would not lie on the floor like some dumb beast. But, try as he might, his legs refused to support him, and he dropped to his knees, his forehead resting against the bars.

“Kristine . . . Kristine . . .” Her name trembled on his lips. What was to become of her, of their child?

Steeped in bitter despair, his body aching as the hideous transformation continued toward its inevitable end, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

 

 

He woke to a blaze of light. He sprang to his feet, a curse issuing from his lips as he glanced around the dungeon. Mirrors, nothing but mirrors. Large and small, gilt-edged, framed in wood, veined with gold. Mirrors everywhere he looked, and for the first time since the curse had made itself known, there was nowhere to hide from what he was becoming. His reflection stared back at him at every turn, mocking him.

When the transformation first began, he had removed every mirror from the castle save the small one he used when he shaved. Never since that day had he looked into a full-length glass, never had he seen just how truly hideous he had become. Daily, he had examined his left hand, his feet, but never before had he seen the sum total of what he now was. It was his worst nightmare magnified a hundred times, illuminated by a hundred flickering candles.

“Charmion!” He clutched one of the bars with his good hand as he bellowed her name. “Charmion!”

One minute he was alone, the next she was standing outside his cell. “Is something amiss, my lord?” she inquired with sugary sweetness.

“Take them away!”

She smiled at her reflection as she glanced around the dungeon, inordinately pleased with her cleverness. Mirrors of every conceivable size and shape hung from the walls outside his cell, from the ceiling above, out of his reach but never out of sight.

“Take them away,” he repeated. “I beg of you.”

Her hell-black eyes met his, filled with hatred. “For every tear my daughter wept, my lord Erik, for every drop of blood she shed.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, he stepped away from the bars. He would not beg, would not humiliate himself before her. He summoned his own hatred, felt it wrap around him, strengthening his resolve. He would not be brought down by his own reflection, monstrous as it was. He would not grovel. Nor would he surrender to the despair that flowed through him. He was still alive, and while he lived, he would resist her. Somehow, he would find a way to escape and free Kristine. Somehow . . .

“Has your lady wife seen you as you are now?” Charmion wondered aloud.

Muttering a vile oath, he lunged forward, his good hand reaching through the bars, reaching for her throat, but she stepped nimbly out of danger, a cackle of laughter spewing from her lips.

And in spite of his resolve, he found himself pleading once more. “I'm begging you, don't bring her down here, don't let her see this. Think of the child.”

“Unlike my Dominique, your little street urchin is made of strong stuff,” Charmion said, her words bitter. “She may scream, she may faint, but the child is well-rooted within her and will be in no danger.” A cruel smile twisted her lips. “Think how pleased she will be when I tell her you are here.”

Laughter bubbled from Charmion's throat, faster and faster, until he thought, hoped, prayed, she would choke on it.

“I cannot wait to see her face when she sees yours,” the witch exclaimed, and with a wave of her hand, she was gone.

Kristine looked up from her sewing as Charmion entered the room. As always, a feeling of dread swept over her when she was in the witch's presence. Charmion had treated her kindly thus far, making sure she had enough to eat, that she had a comfortable bed, clothes to accommodate her rapidly expanding waistline. The witch had provided several yards of soft wool for baby sacques and gowns. She had assured Kristine of an easy delivery, claiming that there were herbs to ease the pangs of birth and bring the child speedily into the world. Kristine didn't know if the witch spoke the truth, but if so, why had the herbs not worked on Dominique?

Kristine shook the disquieting thoughts away. Charmion had been the essence of kindness, save for the fact that she was holding Kristine prisoner against her will.

“Good afternoon, Lady Kristine,” Charmion said. As always, there was an edge of mockery in her tone, a glint of dislike in her eyes.

Kristine nodded. “Good afternoon.”

“I have a surprise for you, my dear,” Charmion said, her voice a soft purr.

“A surprise?” Kristine asked.

“Yes. Tell me, what would please you most?”

“I should like to go home.”

Charmion laughed and made a dismissing gesture with one hand. “What else would please you?”

Tears burned Kristine's eyes. “I should like to see my husband.”