Beauty's Beast (20 page)

The River Onyx appeared as black as its name. Erik knew it was simply a trick of the light reflecting off the black stones that lined the bottom of the river; still, it was disconcerting to gaze at that murky ribbon of water and think of crossing it.

Though the water was only thigh-high, it ran swift. The horses balked at entering the dark water and only Erik's firm hand, and the stallion's trust, enabled him to lead Raven across the river. When he reached the far side, he went back for Misty. Fearing the mare might panic, Erik told Kristine to wait. In the end, he had to blindfold the mare to get her across the river.

He went back one more time to get Kristine. Lifting her in his arms to keep her from getting wet, he carried her to the other side.

Valaree and her family, in wolf form, swam across easily enough. Standing close together, they shook the water from their coats, then ran off toward the woods that edged this side of the Onyx.

“You're cold,” Kristine said as Erik put her down.

“I'll be all right. We'll rest here a few minutes.”

“Are you hungry?”

Erik nodded.

“Me, too.” Delving into one of the saddlebags, she withdrew a loaf of brown bread and a square of yellow cheese.

Erik drew his knife and sliced the bread and cheese. It would satisfy his hunger, but what he craved was meat. Only days ago, he had insisted Valaree cook the venison she had offered him; now he found himself yearning for a hunk of meat that was raw and dripping with the juices of life. A part of his mind was disgusted by the mere idea of eating uncooked meat while another part, a part that was growing more dominant with each passing day, hungered for the taste.

“Erik?”

He glanced up to find Kristine staring at him. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head again. How could she explain it? How could she describe the feral look she had seen in his eyes? For a moment, his eyes had looked just like those of the werewolves.

They washed the bread and cheese down with wine. Kristine put the remainder of the food back in the saddlebags, and then Erik lifted her onto Misty's back. She took up the reins, watching as he climbed into the saddle. Once he had moved with effortless grace; now his movements were sometimes awkward as he tried to adjust to his changing form.

“What about Valaree and her . . . her family?” she asked.

“They'll find us. Are you ready?”

Kristine nodded. “Yes, let's hurry.”

It was a dark, forbidding region they traveled through. Huge boulders dotted the landscape, looming out of the swirling mists like nightmare creatures ready to pounce. Trees rose up out of the ground, misshapen by a devil wind.

Kristine shivered, wondering if they had made a mistake in coming here. Surely nothing good could dwell in this accursed place.

She glanced at Erik. He rode beside her, careful, now that he had lost his mask, to ride on her left side so that she was spared the sight of his disfigurement as much as possible.

She had told him it was unnecessary, yet she knew it bothered him when she saw the ruined side of his face. It bothered her, too, but not in the ways he imagined. She felt only pity for him, and an increasing sense of sadness.

The setting sun had turned the sky to crimson when the wolves materialized out of the shadows. They trotted beside the horses for a few minutes, and then the big gray one barked and veered into the woods to the right.

“They must have found a place to spend the night,” Erik remarked. Two of the black wolves ran after the gray, while the third kept pace with the horses.

A short time later, they reached a large cave carved out of the side of a rocky hill.

Dismounting, Erik lifted Kristine from her horse, and they went inside.

Valaree had changed into human form. She wore another long gown, this one a pale shade of blue. The other wolves sat in a half circle behind her. A small fire blazed cheerfully near the rear of the cave.

“Why don't the others change?” Kristine asked.

“It is more difficult for them than it is for me.”

Kristine looked at Valaree, puzzled. “I don't understand.”

“And I don't know how to explain it,” Valaree replied. “Only that it is easier for some of us to change from wolf to human than it is for others. My sister prefers the wolf form.”

“And your parents?”

“My mother has lost the ability to change.”

“Lost it?” Erik asked. “Why?”

Valaree shrugged. “No one knows. That is why my father rarely transforms.”

“Is this another of your dens?”

“Yes.” Valaree glanced around. “We come here often. It is the largest. Come, sit. I will prepare something to eat. Elsbeth has killed a deer.” She looked at Erik, her expression thoughtful. She started to speak, glanced at Kristine, and changed her mind. “Why don't you rest awhile, Kristine?” she suggested.

“Yes, I think I will.”

“There are blankets in the back of the cave.”

“I'll get them,” Erik said. He stared at Valaree a moment, then walked to the back of the cavern.

There were several furs and blankets piled against the cave wall, as well as a small cask of wine. He also noted several clay jars filled with water; others held herbs and dried meat.

He picked up two thick wool blankets. “Here.” He spread one of the blankets on the floor of the cave, out of the way of the smoke.

“Thank you,” Kristine replied. “I am a little tired.” More than a little, she thought, but she didn't want to worry Erik. He had enough to worry about.

He brushed a kiss across her lips, then covered her with the second blanket.

“Erik?”

“What is it?”

“You won't leave me?”

“No, beloved, I won't leave you.”

She smiled at him; then, with a sigh, she closed her eyes. Moments later, she was asleep.

“This journey must be difficult for her in her condition,” Valaree remarked when Erik returned to the fire.

“Yes.”

“Yet she never complains. She is a brave girl.”

He nodded, thinking brave did not begin to describe it.

Valaree regarded him through eyes that were dark and wise, eyes that knew him better than he knew himself. She cut off three thick chunks of venison and placed them on the ground. One by one, the wolves came forward, accepted the meat, and then went outside to eat.

Valaree looked up at Erik, the knife clutched in her hand. “Do you want to have yours now, while she sleeps?”

Erik stared at Valaree, his heart suddenly beating faster. He knew what she was asking. He looked at the haunch of venison. Unable to help himself, he sniffed the air, his mouth watering as he inhaled the rich, gamy scent of the meat. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to sink his teeth into the raw meat, to taste the warm bloody flesh and then, with a groan, he shook his head. “Cook it.”

“It will be less painful for you if you stop fighting,” Valaree remarked softly.

“I can't stop. I can't give in.” He clenched his good hand into a tight fist. “Don't you understand? I cannot let her win.”

“The witch has won already.”

“No!” Erik stared at his left hand. With a low-pitched growl of pain and resignation, he turned and left the cave.

Valaree stared after him, her heart aching with sympathy and understanding.

 

 

Late that night, long after the others were asleep, Erik stood outside the cave, staring into the distance. They would reach the mage's castle on the morrow.

He refused to let himself believe the mage would be able to break the spell. Better to expect the worst. At least then he would not be disappointed. And yet a tiny spark of hope burned deep in his heart. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to be a whole man again, to have the use of two good hands, to return to the company of men, to associate freely with his friends and neighbors. To make love to Kristine without fear, to feel her hands upon his flesh . . .

Kristine . . . She had made the last few months both heaven and hell. How had he ever lived without her? He prayed she would be delivered of a healthy child, that she would not grieve overlong for him, but go on with her life, find a man who would love her and be a good father to her child . . . the child he would never see. He had hoped the curse would not be complete until after the babe was born, but he feared it was not to be.

He glanced over his shoulder as a soft sound alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. “Valaree.”

“I woke and you were gone.”

He nodded.

“It will be all right,” she said quietly.

“I wish I could believe you.”

“You must be strong. You must have faith.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Faith? In what? The mage's ability to reverse Charmion's spell? I know it cannot be undone.”

“Then why are we seeking his help?”

“Because I have to try. I'll do whatever he asks, pay whatever price is demanded, endure any pain.”

“You love her very much, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“I shall add my prayers to yours that he may be able to undo the witch's spell. And if he fails . . . if the spell cannot be broken, our pack will welcome you. You need not be alone.”

He nodded, remembering her offer to be his mate. What would it be like, to live as a wolf, to surrender, once and for all, to the beast growing within him, to know, as he hunted prey and howled at the darkness, that he had once been a man? And if he were to relinquish the memory of his humanity, would he become, at last, fully a beast?

“Erik?”

“Leave me, Valaree.”

“As you wish.”

“Valaree?”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate your help, your concern.”

She nodded, then turned and walked away.

He stared up at the dark sky. “Please,” he whispered, “please don't let the transformation be complete until I've seen my child.”

 

 

The mage's castle was located at the top of a high mountain. Witches and wizards alike seemed to have an affinity for high places, Erik mused as he climbed out of the saddle. He helped Kristine dismount and then he turned the horses loose in a fenced paddock that materialized in front of them.

“I guess he's home,” Erik muttered as hay and water magically appeared.

He took Kristine's hand in his and they stared at the fortress. Three stories high and made of shimmering white stone, it seemed to glow in the faint light of the winter sun. Colorful stained-glass windows were set like rare jewels in the white stone. Alders and beeches dotted the property; wildflowers bloomed on the hillside. Several cats roamed among the bushes or basked in the sun. Brightly colored birds flew among the treetops.

“What an amazing place,” Kristine whispered. “So different from Charmion's dark abode.”

“Indeed.”

Hand in hand, they walked up the stone steps to the castle. The door opened of its own accord.

“Ready?” Erik asked, and at Kristine's nod, they stepped inside.

“Welcome.”

Erik stared at the woman before them. She was small and petite. Plain of face, she had long white hair, a beak of a nose, and golden eyes.

“I am Fidella. Caddaric has been expecting you. He bids me make you welcome. Warm baths await, as well as food and wine. If you will come this way.”

The woman did not wait for their reply, did not look back to see if they followed.

After a moment, Erik and Kristine followed the woman down a wide corridor. Two doors stood open at the end of the passage.

“The one on the right is for you, my lady,” Fidella said with a wave of her hand. “The one on the left is for you, my lord.”

Erik felt Kristine's hand tighten on his and knew she did not wish to be separated from him.

“Your master is most generous,” he said, “but we will not need two rooms.”

“The rooms are connecting, my lord.” The woman offered Kristine a reassuring smile. “You need have no fear, my lady. When you are ready, ring the bell, and I shall bring you refreshment.”

“Thank you,” Erik said. “But before we do anything else, I should like to see your master.”

“He understands your impatience, my lord, and bids me tell you he will see you this evening.”

“Why not now?”

“He is in the tower, in the midst of preparing a spell, and cannot be disturbed. Please, make yourself comfortable. If there is anything you need, you have only to ring the bell.”

“Thank you,” Erik said again.

The woman inclined her head, then took her leave.

Erik watched her walk away, then, still holding Kristine's hand in his, he stepped through the doorway on the right. The room, painted a soft shade of pink, was large and airy. And round. A canopied bed stood in the center of the floor. Three multicolored windows were set in the wall. Several thick furs covered the floor. A fire blazed cheerfully in the raised stone hearth. There was a small cherrywood table and two chairs on one side of the bed, a full-length mirror on the other side. A large round wooden bathtub stood beside the hearth; a delightful fragrance wafted from the water. There was also a small four-drawer chest covered with a fine linen cloth. A gown of soft mauve velvet was laid out on the foot of the bed.

“It's lovely,” Kristine murmured.

Erik grunted softly, wondering if she meant the room or the gown. The very air reeked of magic, of power. It crawled over his skin, yet he detected no undercurrent of evil or malice.

Dropping his hand, Kristine went to test the water. It was hot, but not too hot. A froth of bubbles swirled over the top of the water, iridescent in the lamplight.

Erik crossed the room and opened the connecting door. A quick glance showed that the second room was exactly like the first, save that it was blue.