Beauty's Beast (18 page)

Charmion smiled. Smiles were meant to be expressions of joy, of delight, but there was nothing of happiness in the smile the witch bestowed upon Kristine.

“And so you shall,” Charmion exclaimed. She held out one hand. “Come.”

“He's here?” Kristine stood abruptly, her sewing falling to the floor in her haste. “Erik is here?”

“Indeed. He is waiting for you.”

She was afraid to believe, afraid to hope.

“Come along.” The witch's black eyes were filled with dark merriment and expectation as she led the way out the door and down the corridor.

Kristine followed behind, her heart pounding with anticipation and dread. A part of her was filled with hope, while another, more sensible part feared that it would not be Erik she was going to see, but his body.

Fear coiled deep within her as Charmion led her down a winding staircase and into a dungeon ablaze with light.

Charmion's castle was dimly lit at best and Kristine blinked against the sudden, unexpected brightness.

Charmion paused at the foot of the stairs. “He is waiting for you. Stay as long as you wish.” She smiled, a smug, immensely satisfied smile, and then she vanished.

Kristine stood there for a moment, afraid to move, afraid this was some cruel hoax and that she would not find Erik here at all, but his corpse.

She took a tentative step forward. “Erik? Erik, are you here?”

“Stay where you are, Kristine. For the love of God, stay where you are.”

Weak with relief, she put a hand against the wall for support. He was here, he was alive! Thank God.

“Are you all right?” she called. “Has she hurt you?”

“I am as I was when I arrived,” he replied, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Go now. Do not come down here again.”

Confused, she stared down the narrow corridor. There were cells on both sides of the stone walkway. All were empty of life. All were filled with mirrors, though she could see nothing reflected in them but the light of a dozen lamps. Curious, she took a step forward.

“No!” The word, filled with panic, sounded as though it had been ripped from his throat. “Go back!”

Alarmed, she ran down the narrow corridor, her footsteps echoing off the walls. And then she saw him, standing in the far corner of a small barred cell, his back toward her, his head bowed. There was nothing else in the cell—no bed, no chair, not even a blanket, only iron bars and a cold stone floor.

“Erik?” She took a hesitant step forward, certain this was a cruel joke. “Erik, is that you?”

“Go away, Kristine. Please, if you have any feeling for me at all, go away and never come back.”

She took a step closer, staring in morbid fascination at the creature standing with its back toward her. She could not see its face. The form, though human, was covered from head to foot on one side with thick black fur. Only they weren't feet, but paws.

It had to be a joke, she thought, some horrible monstrous joke. And even as she tried to convince herself that it was some cruel jest on Charmion's part, her memory spewed forth a kaleidoscope of images she had tried to forget: The sight of Erik coming home naked in the dark of a rain-swept night. The creature she had seen in the lodge the night she'd fainted, a creature who had worn a mask and whose left side had been covered with thick black fur. Nothing she had seen before, nothing Lady Trevayne had said, had prepared her for what she saw now.

It was not a trick at all. It was Erik.

“No.” She felt suddenly faint and she stumbled forward, grabbing at the cell door to keep from falling. “No . . .”

At her touch, the door swung inward. With a cry, she fell forward, landing on her hands and knees inside the cell.

Erik whirled around, his gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, time ceased. He watched the blood drain from her face, watched her expression turn from fear to horror as her gaze swept over him and she saw him as he really was, saw the thick black pelt that covered the left side of his body, his wolflike ear, his feet that weren't feet at all, but paws with thick black nails. Saw it all in the bright light of a hundred flickering candles. Saw his ugliness reflected back at her a hundred times over.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she backed away from him, only to be brought up short by the cell door, which had closed behind her, trapping her inside the cell with a monster.

Laughter echoed down the corridor of the dungeon. Charmion's laughter.

Erik turned his back on Kristine, unable to abide the fear and revulsion in her eyes. He could hear the harsh rasp of her breathing, smell the sharp scent of her fear. She had scraped one of her hands on the rough stones when she fell, and the metallic odor of her blood rose in his nostrils, hot and thick and sweet. He licked his lips, horrified by the urge to lick the blood from her palm.

Silence stretched between them, a horrible silence that wore on his nerves. He sent a silent plea to Charmion, begging her to open the cell door so Kristine could escape, but the door remained closed, kept shut by another bit of witchery.

He pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall, his right hand clenched close to his side. Despair washed over him, engulfed him, and with it an all-consuming sense of shame and humiliation that Kristine had seen him as he was.

And then he heard her voice, small and frightened. “Erik?”

He closed his eyes, praying that this was a nightmare, that when he opened his eyes, he would find himself at home, in his own bed.

“Erik?”

He heard the tears in her voice and wished he could offer her some small measure of comfort, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing anyone could do.

“Erik, it is you, isn't it?” He heard the pity in her voice, the desperate need for reassurance. “Talk to me, please. Say something, anything.”

“Kristine . . .” He breathed her name on a sigh, felt every muscle in his body tense as he heard her take a hesitant step toward him. “Stay there!”

“Won't you hold me? I'm so afraid.”

“It's me you should be afraid of.”

“You? Why?”

“Look at me!” He whirled around to face her. “Look, and tell me you're not afraid of what you see.”

“I see my husband.”

“You see a monster!” He thrust his left hand toward her. “Tell me this doesn't frighten you! Tell me you're not repulsed by what you see.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I am afraid, terribly afraid, but not of you.”

“Kristine, Kristine . . .” He lowered his hand and turned his back to her once more. “Don't you understand? I'm changing on the inside, too.” He groaned deep in his throat. It was the dark, feral thoughts that plagued his mind more and more often of late that frightened him the most.

His breath caught in his throat when she placed her hand on his back.

“There has to be something we can do,” she said quietly. “Some way to break this terrible curse. There has to be.”

He shook his head, his eyes closing in pleasure as her fingertips stroked his back. He wondered how she could bear to be near him when he was in this hideous state, wondered how he had lived all these months without the tender touch of her hand.

“We've got to find a way out of here,” Kristine said.

“There is no way out.” Despair washed over him. He was trapped in a living nightmare, at the mercy of his worst enemy. The knowledge filled him with a strange lethargy.

“There has to be! We can't just sit here and do nothing.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, the full extent of what had happened to him hitting her with renewed force as she felt smooth, warm skin beneath one hand and thick fur beneath the other. She fought down her own panic as she forced him to turn and face her.

For a moment, she could only stare at him. Without the mask, she could see the entire right side of his face, could see what a devastatingly handsome man he had once been.

He tried to turn away from her, but she cupped his face in her hands. “No. Look at me. We have to find a way out of here. Don't you see? We have to find someone who can break Charmion's curse before . . .” She took a deep breath. “Before it's too late.”

Erik stared down at his wife. She was beautiful, with her eyes flashing fire. And she was right. He couldn't waste time lamenting the inevitable. He had to get Kristine out of there before it was too late. Perhaps, if one witch could cast a spell, another could break it.

“All right, my little warrior wife,” he said with a wry grin. “We'll fight our way out of here.”

Or die trying.

Charmion sat before the fire, staring at the dancing flames. The big black cat lying in her lap purred softly, its back arching as she ran her fingertips up and down its spine.

“Vengeance is truly sweet, my pretty one,” Charmion murmured. “Sweet, indeed.”

Lifting one hand, she sent a trickle of power into the fire. Immediately, her daughter's image sprang to life within the flames.

“He will pay dearly for every tear you wept, my Dominique, for every drop of blood you shed.”

She stared at the image until it faded from sight.

Soon she would have another child. Erik's child. She would raise it as her own, love it as her own. The babe would never know its true parents but would grow up thinking that Charmion was its mother. And Erik . . . once the transformation was complete, he would be her pet. It would give her great pleasure to watch him, to see the intelligence in his eyes, the knowledge of who and what he had been.

It would be interesting to see how long it took for him to surrender his humanity, to forget he had once been a man and finally, fully, become a beast. In truth, she had expected him to succumb to the full effects of the curse long before now. She had underestimated him, she mused. She had known he would fight against the inner change with every fiber of his being, just as his body fought the outer transformation. She had not realized how strong his will was, how deep his instinct for survival. And yet, no matter how fiercely he resisted, in the end, he would succumb. Her victory would be complete. Her daughter would be avenged.

She smiled, pleased, knowing that the intense inner struggle must be causing him even more pain and anguish than the physical torment he experienced as his body underwent the outer transformation. And the harder he fought it, the more painful it would be.

And now the woman was here, come of her own free will. Charmion laughed softly. She had never thought of taking the child until the woman showed up at her doorstep. She had known, in that moment when she ascertained the child's sex, that she would take the babe. A baby, she thought, a baby for Christmas. It would be the best gift of all.

Sitting back in the chair, she closed her eyes. Things were turning out even better than she had foreseen.

Charmion stood outside the cell, unable to believe her eyes. She had expected to find the girl cowering in a corner, in fear for her life. Instead, she was asleep on the floor, her head pillowed on Erik's chest.

And Erik, now more monster than man, had the gall to smile at her.

An oath hissed through Charmion's teeth. “You dare mock me?”

Erik shrugged. “Did you hope I would tear her apart?”

“Of course not!”

“Of course not,” he repeated. She wouldn't want him to harm the child. “What will you do with Kristine, after the child is born?”

“When that time comes, you will no longer care.”

Fear's cold, clammy hand knotted his insides. “The transformation is nearly complete, then?”

“Before the New Year, I should think.”

“And when it happens, will I remember that I was once a man?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Let her go, Charmion. Kristine has done nothing to you. She poses no threat. Send her away.”

“I might have, had you not asked it of me.”

“Please, Charmion, for the love of heaven—”

“Don't speak to me of love! Your love killed my daughter as surely as if you had plunged a knife into her heart! I have thought of her, grieved for her, these past five years. Be glad I do not destroy the mother who bore you, as well!”

With a wave of her hand, Charmion disappeared in a swirl of thick, dark smoke.

 

 

Days passed. Food appeared in the cell once each day. Raw meat for Erik; rich, nourishing meals for Kristine. Erik refused to touch the meat, though with each passing day it grew more tempting. Kristine offered to share her food with him, but he accepted only a little, not wanting to deprive her or the child of the sustenance they needed.

They clung to each other, not knowing how much time they had left, how long Charmion would allow them to be together. He watched Kristine constantly, wanting to imprint her image so deeply in his mind that, man or beast, he would never forget the smoothness of her skin, the clear green of her eyes, the beauty of her smile.

At night, while she slept, he paced the length of the narrow cell, his soul sinking deeper and deeper into despair. He could feel the curse creeping over him, feel it working its hideous magic on his body, his mind. His dreams were dark, filled with the scent of blood and death. In his dreams, he was no longer human, but fully a wolf. He dreamed of stalking his prey, of bringing it down, of burying his fangs in warm flesh and tearing it to shreds. He dreamed of Valaree, of hunting alongside her in the light of a full moon.

Valaree
. Her name whispered through his mind.
I need your help again, Valaree. . . .

 

 

Too soon, Charmion came to his cell and took Kristine away. The witch had let them spend a week together. It had not been kindness on her part, Erik knew that well enough. Never kindness. She had given him a week to bask in Kristine's love, to grow accustomed to her nearness, to the company and comfort of another human being, and then Charmion had taken her away, knowing his loneliness would be all the more awful to bear when she was gone, and he was again alone.

He howled his anger and frustration, the sound of his rage echoing off the damp stone walls, reverberating in his own ears until the wild animal sound penetrated his mind and he clamped his mouth shut, horrified that such a beastly cry had come from his lips.

Left alone, he padded restlessly back and forth, and everywhere he looked, his image stared back at him, mocking him, tormenting him. Though still manlike in stature, he was not a man. His whole body was covered with thick black fur now, his feet and his left hand were paws. His left ear was wolflike. Only his right hand and the right side of his face remained human. For now, he looked like a man in the costume of a wolf, but soon, soon . . . The horror of what he was becoming made his stomach churn, made him long for death, for the forgetfulness of oblivion.

He wrapped his right hand around one of the bars, wishing he could bend it to his will, wishing he could sink his teeth into Charmion's black heart. He cursed her for taking Kristine from him. As much as it had bothered him to have her imprisoned in the dungeon, he had treasured Kristine's company, had loved her all the more for letting him hold her when he was in such monstrous form. Sometimes, he had caught her staring at him, her beautiful green eyes filled with pity and compassion, but never with revulsion or fear. He had the feeling that her presence had been the only thing keeping him sane, feared that being alone with nothing but his own hideous reflection would soon drive him mad.

His fingers tightened around the bar of the cell, his knuckles going white with the strain. He had to get out of there!

“Please,” he prayed, “if I am damned to be a wolf, then let me forget that I was once a man. Let me run wild with Valaree and her pack. Please don't leave me here, in Charmion's power, to know that she has destroyed my love, to see my babe and never be able to hold her.” He groaned low in his throat. “Please, please . . .”

He wondered if Charmion would grant him the opportunity to see a priest and confess his sins before the transformation was complete. Would she think it punishment enough to condemn him to hell on earth without damning his eternal soul as well?

Without Kristine, the days passed with agonizing slowness. He paced restlessly back and forth, hour after hour, oblivious to the rough stones that scraped the pads of his feet until they bled. A harsh, bitter laugh rose in his throat. His paws, he amended as he stared at the bloody paw prints that stained the cold gray stones.

“A fine end you've come to, my lord of Hawksbridge Castle,” he muttered. “If only your father could see you now!”

He was going quietly mad, he thought, and welcomed the madness that would wipe away the memories of his past, of Kristine, of his unborn child.

He smiled as he thought of how disappointed Charmion would be if he lost his mind. She was looking forward to the time when his mind would be trapped in the body of an animal, but it would never happen if he went mad. Insanity would cheat her of her final victory.

 

 

Kristine paced her chamber, her arms wrapped protectively over her womb, her throat and eyes aching from the tears she had shed. She couldn't seem to stop crying.

She looked around the room, at the sumptuous furnishings, and thought of Erik, locked in a damp cell in the dungeon below. She had a warm bed to sleep in, a soft mattress, fluffy pillows. He had a cold stone floor. She had a wardrobe filled with dresses of the finest silks and satins and soft wools. Erik was naked. Her meals were served hot on plates trimmed with gold; she had clear, cool water or wine or tea to drink. Erik was given a bowl of water and a platter of raw meat.

She would have refused to eat, refused the comfort Charmion offered, had it not been for her child, but she could not starve herself without harming the babe, and she could not risk her child's life. Even knowing Charmion would take it from her, even knowing she would never see the baby again once it had been born, she could do nothing to cause harm to Erik's child. Charmion might kill her, might kill Erik, but their child would live, proof that they had once lived. And loved.

She sought forgetfulness in sleep, but her dreams were dark and troubled. Sometimes she dreamed that Erik was a werewolf, that he was stalking her through dark shadowed woods. Sometimes she dreamed they had escaped from Charmion's castle and returned home and that she was forced to keep Erik locked behind bars to prevent him from tearing their newborn child to shreds.

Charmion came to visit her morning and evening, making certain she was well, asking if there was anything she needed. A midwife had been summoned from the village. A nursery was being readied. Dominique's cradle was being refinished.

Kristine didn't know which was worse, the nightmares that haunted her sleep, or the waking nightmare that her life had become.

She thought longingly of Hawksbridge Castle, of Mrs. Grainger and Leyla and Lilia, of Nan and Yvette.

She missed riding Misty.

She missed falling asleep in Erik's arms. . .. Erik, Erik. Waking or sleeping, he was ever in her thoughts, her prayers.

Daily, she begged and pleaded and demanded to see him again, and finally Charmion agreed.

Kristine's heart pounded with anticipation as she followed the witch down the narrow flight of stairs to the dungeon. She had forgotten how bright it was down there with the candlelight reflected in the mirrors, candles that burned but never went out.

Charmion halted at the bottom of the stairs. “Enjoy your visit, my dear,” she said, her voice filled with mockery. “I shall return for you within the hour.”

Kristine nodded, the witch already forgotten as she hastened down the narrow corridor toward Erik's cell.

She knew what he looked like. His image haunted every dream, yet she stared at him in shock when she saw him, only then realizing she had been hoping that the image she saw in her dreams was only make-believe, that she would find him whole when she saw him again.

He whirled around at the sound of her footsteps. A myriad of emotions flashed across his face—joy, hope, shame, despair—as he slowly walked toward her.

“Erik.”

“My Kristine.” He reached through the bars, his good hand resting on her swollen abdomen. “Are you well?”

“I'm fine. Truly.”

His gaze searched her face. “She's not mistreating you?”

“No.” She blinked back her tears, knowing it would distress him to see her cry. Knowing that he needed her touch, needing to touch him in return, she reached through the bars and caressed his right cheek. “I miss you.”

He caught her hand in his. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed her palm, then rubbed his cheek back and forth against the back of her hand. Her skin was smooth and soft, so soft. He inhaled her fragrance, remembering the evenings they had spent together in the library, the nights he had shared her bed. Desire stirred within him and he dropped her hand. Wanting her now, in his present form, seemed obscene somehow.

“You shouldn't have come here,” he said.

His voice was deeper than she remembered, almost a growl. “Don't be angry with me. I had to see you. Oh!” She gasped as the baby gave a lusty kick. Reaching through the bars again, she took his hand and placed it over her womb. “Can you feel it?”

A look of wonder spread over his face as he felt his child move beneath his hand. “Does it hurt you?”

“No, it feels wonderful. I hope it's a boy, Erik. A strong, healthy boy.” Fighting tears, she smiled up at him. “The next lord of Hawksbridge Castle.”

“The next lady of Hawksbridge, if Charmion is to be believed.”

“What do you mean?”

“She says the child is female, a girl to replace the daughter she has lost.”

“A girl. You have failed, then.”

“Failed?”

“You married me to beget an heir to Hawksbridge.”

“I have not failed. My daughter will be my heir.”

“You are not disappointed, then?”

“No.”

Kristine smiled. “Perhaps we will have a boy next time.”

Erik nodded. His daughter would never see Hawksbridge, and there would be no next time. He knew it, and so did Kristine, but he nodded just the same, willing to play the game if it would make her happy, even as he quietly cursed his father. But for his father, none of this would have happened. Left to his own devices, he would never have married Dominique. She would never have conceived, never died in childbirth, and he would not be here now, his body slowly being transformed into that of a beast. . .. He felt the baby move again, drew in a sharp breath as he realized that had he entered the priesthood, Kristine would have died on the gallows.

He blew out a deep sigh and realized that her life, the time they had spent together, was worth any price he had to pay.

“I won't give up hope,” Kristine said. “I won't stop believing that there's a way out of here, a way to break the curse.”

He smiled down at her, but his eyes were filled with sadness.

“Don't give up, Erik! Think about the baby. You want to see her, don't you? We can't let Charmion win. We can't!”

“But I've already won.” Charmion materialized out of the shadows. She stared at Erik, a smug smile on her face. “Haven't I?” She glanced at Kristine. “Even if you could escape, even if you kill me, there's nothing you can do to save him.” Head cocked to one side, she nodded slowly as she studied Erik. “I should say the final transformation and the child will arrive within days of each other.”

Erik forced himself to endure the witch's scrutiny without turning away, though it was humiliating to stand there, without so much as a scrap of cloth to hide his nakedness. Hatred boiled up inside him, filling him, until he thought he would choke on it.

“It grows more difficult each day, does it not?” Charmion mused. “More difficult to maintain your humanity. Well,” she said brightly, “soon you won't have to worry about it at all. You shall make a delightful pet. No doubt I shall have to keep you tightly muzzled at first, but you will soon learn your place, and if you don't, why, then I shall destroy you. A wolf skin would look well in front of my hearth, don't you think?”

Kristine backed away from the cell, sickened by the image conjured up by the witch's words, by the evil laughter that filled the dungeon like thick oily smoke.

A growl rose in Erik's throat, a horrible, inhuman sound filled with impotent rage.

The witch cackled with delight as he lunged forward, his left arm reaching through the bars, claws straining to reach her.

Horrified, Kristine watched Charmion taunt him, watched him throw himself against the bars in a vain attempt to reach the witch. Kristine looked away, unable to watch, found herself reaching for a heavy gilt-edged mirror. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she lifted the mirror and struck Charmion over the head with all the force at her command.