Beauty's Beast (19 page)

The witch gasped in pain, then crumpled to the ground amid a shower of broken glass.

“Erik, what have I done?” Kristine stared at him, a look of horror on her face. “Is she dead?”

Dropping to his knees, he reached through the bars to check the witch's pulse. There was none. For all their power, witches were frail creatures. He quickly searched her pockets, looking for the key to the lock, but it wasn't there.

“Kristine. Kristine!”

“She's dead, isn't she? I didn't mean to kill her.”

“Kristine, listen to me. You've got to find the key or something we can use to break the lock.”

She nodded. Then, with a glance at the fallen witch, she turned and hurried down the corridor.

Erik stared after her, then blew out a sigh. Charmion was dead, and all hope of breaking the curse had died with her.

He swore softly as he ran his hand over the lock. If Charmion had cast a spell over it, he would never get out.

Minutes later he heard the sound of Kristine's footsteps on the stones, and then she was there. She held up a large brass key. “I found it!”

Erik nodded. “Hurry, love.” He held his breath as Kristine slid the key into the lock. An eternity seemed to pass as he waited for her to turn the key.

His breath whooshed out in a sigh of relief as the lock opened. A moment later, he was out of the cell, holding Kristine in his arms.

“Let's go,” she said. “Please, Erik, let's get out of here. Now.”

He nodded, as eager as she to put this place far behind them. Hand in hand, they left the dungeon.

“Find me something to wear and pack us some food,” Erik said when they reached the top of the stairs. “I'll go saddle the horses.”

“Hurry.”

“I will.” He walked through the silent house toward the front door, the hair along the back of his neck prickling. He could feel Charmion's dark magic all around him. He paused in the hallway, his gaze drawn to a life-sized portrait of Dominique.

He stared at the painting, wondering how she had grown up in this place of evil witchcraft and still remained so pure and sweet. He knew there were witches who practiced white magic, just as there were others, like Charmion, who delighted in evil. Dominique had been born to be a witch, but she had refused to acknowledge the magic she possessed. He had never truly realized until now how difficult it must have been for her.

With a sigh, he touched a finger to her painted cheek. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “I never meant you any harm.”

Leave here. Hurry.

With a start, Erik glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Dominique standing behind him, so clearly had he heard her voice. But there was no one there.

Filled with a sense of urgency, he left the house and headed for the stable. Ten minutes later both horses were saddled and he was at the back door.

“Kristine?”

“Here I am.” She stepped out of the kitchen, a basket and a heavy cloak on one arm. “Here.” She thrust a pile of clothing at him. “Hurry.”

She felt it, too, he thought as he dressed, the need to be gone from this place as soon as possible. He wondered briefly whose clothing he was wearing and what had happened to the former owner.

When he finished dressing, he draped the heavy cloak over Kristine's shoulders; then they hurried toward the horses. Erik lifted Kristine onto Misty's back, stuffed the contents of the basket into the saddlebags, and tossed the basket away.

Taking up Raven's reins, he swung onto the stallion's back and led the way out of the yard.

He didn't look back.

They rode as fast as they dared down the narrow, winding trail. Kristine let the mare have her head, knowing Misty didn't need her hand on the reins to follow Erik's big black stallion. Tears blinded her eyes. She had killed Charmion. It didn't matter that the woman had been a witch, or that she had planned to take Erik's child, or that she had probably planned to kill Kristine, herself, once the babe was born. She hadn't wanted to kill Charmion, and yet, at the time, it had seemed there was no other choice. She couldn't have left Erik in that awful dungeon, couldn't have left him there knowing what the witch had in store for him.

A shiver raced down Kristine's spine that had nothing to do with the cold. She had never been given to violence, yet she had killed twice. No matter that the first time had been to defend her honor, the second time to defend Erik and her unborn babe. Murder was a sin, and the guilt of it weighed heavily on her conscience.

She lifted her gaze to Erik's back. The dreadful curse had almost fully consumed him. Only the right half of his face, neck, and hand remained human. The rest of his body more closely resembled that of a man-sized wolf. And soon, too soon, the transformation would be complete and he would be lost to her forever.

What would happen to him then? What would he do? Where would he go? Would he stay with her at Hawksbridge Castle, condemned to live as a beast for the rest of his days? How would he bear it? How would she? And if he left . . . How would she go on, never knowing where he was, always wondering if he was dead or alive?

She wanted to scream out her anguish, to rail at fate, to curse Charmion for her wickedness. Sin or not, she was suddenly glad she had killed the witch.

Blinded by her tears, she almost pitched forward over Misty's neck when the mare came to an abrupt halt. Snorting softly, Misty danced sideways. It was then that Kristine saw the wolves. Four of them. Three sleek black ones and a large gray one. They stood side by side across the foot of the trail, blocking their passage. Fear slid down her spine. Were they Charmion's pets, put there to prevent their escape?

“Erik?” She gathered Misty's reins. “Erik?”

“It's all right, Kristine,” he said reassuringly.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and then stared, mouth open, as one of the black wolves transformed into a beautiful young woman with luminous brown eyes. Thick, waist-length black hair fell down her back and over her bare breasts.

Feeling suddenly light-headed, Kristine clutched the reins. A gasp escaped her lips. Darkness gathered around her. “Erik . . .”

He glanced over his shoulder, then vaulted from the saddle and ran to Misty's side. He caught Kristine as she toppled from the mare's back.

Valaree came to stand beside him. “Is she all right?”

“She's fainted.”

Valaree smiled. “I didn't mean to frighten her.”

“It's not just you. She's been through a rather bad time in the last few weeks.” He stared down at Kristine's pale face. “She killed Charmion.”

“The sorceress is dead?” Valaree exclaimed. Her gaze ran over Erik, her brows drawing together in a frown. “But the curse is not broken.”

“No,” he replied heavily. “I fear there is no way to break it now.”

“I know of a powerful mage who lives on the far side of the River Onyx. Perhaps he can help you.”

With a shake of his head, Erik muttered, “I doubt it.” His arms tightened around Kristine. “But I'm willing to try.”

He glanced down at Kristine as she stirred in his arms. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

She stared at him a moment, and then she frowned. “The wolves . . .”

“They are friends of mine,” Erik said.

“Friends? Of yours? But one of them changed into a woman. I saw her.”

“They're werewolves, Kristine, but there's nothing to fear. They will not harm you.”

Kristine peered over Erik's shoulder. The black-haired woman stood near Misty, her brown eyes serene. The other wolves sat in a group, tongues lolling, ears pricked forward.

“Are you feeling all right now?” Erik asked.

“I guess so.”

“Can you ride?”

She nodded.

Gently, he placed her on her feet, then put his good arm around her and drew her close to his side. “Don't be afraid, Kristine. Valaree saved my life not long ago.”

Kristine looked up at him through narrowed eyes, unaccountably jealous of the affection she heard in his voice. “When? How?”

“Later.” He glanced up the narrow path, a shiver of unease slithering down his spine. “Let us get away from here and find a place to spend the night.”

Kristine nodded. She, too, was anxious to put as much distance between them and this place as possible. Erik lifted her onto Misty's back, then mounted his own horse. Kristine looked around for Valaree, but the girl was gone, having transformed herself into a wolf again.

With a sigh, Kristine took up Misty's reins, wondering if her life would ever be normal again.

 

 

They sought shelter in a small cave that was known to Valaree and her family. Erik tethered the horses to a nearby tree, fighting the despair that threatened to overtake him. Seeing Valaree again only served to remind him of what he would soon become. But unlike Valaree and her family, he would not have the advantage of changing into human form.

He shook the morbid thoughts from his mind and ducked inside the cave. A small fire burned near the entrance. Valaree knelt beside the fire, stirring something in a pot. A tall man rested with his back against the cave wall. One of the wolves lay beside him, its head resting on his lap, its eyes closed. A girl of perhaps two and twenty sat on his other side, brushing her hair. She sent Erik a friendly smile.

“Hello,” she said, “I'm Valaree's sister, Elsbeth. This is my father, Ulric, and that,” she pointed at the wolf, “is my mother, Yolanthe.”

Erik nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Elsbeth.” He hesitated a moment, then offered Ulric his hand.

The werewolf sniffed Erik's fingers, then took his hand. His handshake was strong and firm. “Are you certain Charmion is dead?”

Erik frowned. “As certain as I can be.”

“Did you take her head and her heart?”

“No.” Erik glanced at Kristine, saw the blood drain from her face.

“It is the only way to be certain she is truly dead,” Ulric remarked.

“But she had no pulse,” Kristine said. “No heartbeat.”

Ulric smiled reassuringly. “No doubt she is dead, then. Come, let us eat.”

Kristine had no appetite for food. Saying she had a headache, she went to the rear of the cave and stretched out on one of the furs spread against the back wall.

Erik sat near the fire with Valaree and her family. Valaree served up bowls of thick lamb stew. Erik recalled passing a small flock of sheep on their way to the cave, and Ulric's subsequent disappearance. No doubt Valaree's father had provided the meat for the stew.

“Your woman's time is very close,” Elsbeth remarked.

“Yes,” Erik said. He slid furtive glances at Valaree and her family. Save for their eyes, which were slanted and thickly lashed, they appeared quite human as they sat across from him.

Valaree had told him this was a cave they used often. They kept a supply of clothing here, along with blankets and furs and several flasks filled with water. It was, she said, just one of the many places where they had supplies.

“You have questions,” Ulric said. “Ask them.”

“I'm sorry, I did not mean to stare.”

“It is natural for you to be curious,” Ulric remarked.

Erik nodded. Curious did not begin to describe what he was feeling, thinking. Fearing.

“When you are ready to talk, we are here to listen.” Ulric stood up, and the wolf stood with him. “Come,” he said, gesturing to his daughters. “Let us run beneath the stars.”

Elsbeth bounded to her feet, her eyes sparkling. “Will you come with us, Erik?”

“No. I should stay here, in case Kristine needs me.”

“Of course,” Elsbeth said.

“Valaree, are you coming?”

“No, Father. I shall stay and keep Erik company.”

With a nod, Ulric left the cave, followed by his wife and daughter.

“It will not be so bad,” Valaree said softly. “I have told you that you are welcome to stay with us when the transformation is complete.”

Erik shook his head, unable to put his thoughts into words.

“You feel alone, as though you will be cut off from humanity, unable to speak, to communicate. But it will not be like that, if you stay with us. When we are in wolf form, we will be able to communicate with you, and you with us.”

She placed her hand on his arm, her dark brown eyes intent upon his face. “If you wish, I will be your mate. Wolves mate for life, Erik. You need not be alone.”

“Valaree . . .”

“You need say nothing now. I spoke only in hopes of comforting you. I know how frightened you must be, how lost you must feel. Though I was born a werewolf, there were still adjustments to be made. It is not an easy way of life, but you can find happiness, if you try. There are wild wolves who are friendly to our pack. If you stay with us, you will meet them.”

Erik drew in a deep breath. “My thanks, Valaree. I will think on what you have said.”

 

 

Later that night, lying beside Kristine, Erik thought about what Valaree had suggested. He did not want to spend the rest of his life as a wolf, but if it was his fate to do so, then he was fortunate indeed to have met Valaree and her family, to know there were those who would welcome him.

But it was Kristine he loved, Kristine whose life he wished to share. Turning on his side, he placed his hand over her belly, felt his child stir beneath his fingertips.

Please, please let me see my child before the transformation is complete. Please let me hold my babe in my arms just once. Please . . .

He closed his eyes as Kristine pressed herself against him, and prayed that, whatever happened to him, his wife and child would make it safely back home.

 

 

It rained the next day. Valaree had suggested staying in the cave to wait out the storm, but Erik had insisted they move on. Time was running out. They had to find the mage soon, before it was too late.

Ulric had agreed with him, a fact that chilled Erik to the core of his being. The werewolf knew, as he did, that the transformation was almost complete.

Erik glanced into the distance. The wolves loped ahead of the horses, running tirelessly, oblivious to the cold and the rain.

Kristine huddled inside her cloak, the hood pulled low over her forehead to shield her face. She had been quiet since they'd left the cave. He knew she was troubled by the presence of the werewolves, by the constant reminder of what awaited him when the curse was complete.

At noon, they paused to rest the horses. The wolves went ahead to explore the lay of the land. Erik lifted Kristine from Misty's back and they sought shelter in the lee of an overhanging rock.

“Are you going to return to Valaree if. . . when . . . ? Are you?”

“You heard what she said?”

Kristine nodded. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop.” Her gaze searched his. “Are you going to be her . . . her mate?”

“I don't know.”

“I think you should.” She looked up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I know you won't be happy staying with me after . . . After. I don't want you to be alone.”

“Kristine . . .”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“Ah, Kristine . . .” Taking her in his arms, he held her close for a long time, gently rocking her back and forth, his throat thick with emotion, and knew he had never loved her more.

“How much farther is it?” Kristine asked.

“Ulric said we would reach the wizard's keep late tomorrow.”

“The mage will be able to help us,” Kristine said. “I know he will.”

Erik nodded.

“And then we'll go home.” She forced a smile. “I want our daughter to be born at Hawksbridge.”

“My mother will be pleased.”

“We must send for her when we get home, Erik. She's lonely at the convent.”

“She is at Hawksbridge already.”

“She is?”

“I went to see her. That's how I knew where you had gone. I sent Chilton to fetch her home.” He let out a sigh. “It was wrong of me to send her away. Hawksbridge was her home long before it was mine.”

“She understood your reasons.”

“Promise you will take good care of her for me.”

“You will be able to do that yourself, soon.” She smiled up at him, though her eyes were sad. “The mage will be able to help us. You must believe that. You must help me to believe,” she said with quiet desperation. “Oh, Erik, I cannot bear this any longer.”

“Kristine, don't. I need you to be strong for me.”

“I'm sorry.” She wiped her eyes with a corner of her cloak, and then she smiled up at him, her eyes luminous with unshed tears. “We should go. The sooner we find the mage, the sooner this nightmare will be over.”