The Beast (5 page)

I squeeze my eyes shut. My hands tremble
holding the book.

“Read,” he orders.

“
The first woman I have ever lain
with
,” I start again, drawing breath for strength to continue,
“
had t-tits that could smother a man. They overflowed my hands
when I held them and sucked until she screamed like a stuck pig.
Her name was Annabel, the best whore money could buy
…”

I read the words and do not allow myself to
think of them. The book is crudely written and difficult to
decipher. But what it describes is far, far worse. Lewd
descriptions of one man’s love affairs, every detail penned in
heavy hand. Down to the color of a woman’s nipples and how she felt
around his member.

And all the while I read Bastien watches me
in silence. He never stirs, never speaks, merely observes my
humiliation; revels in it. Every so often my concentration breaks
and I comprehend what it is I am reading. I stutter and choke on
the words, pausing for long moments in hopes that he will take pity
on me and allow me to stop.

He does not. He makes me read until the very
end. Every last sordid word. When I finish, I snap the book shut
and throw it on the ground. I would never treat a proper book this
way. This one is an abomination. An insult to the written word.

“Well done, Lyssette,” he mocks.

“You disgust me.”

He chuckles. “Do I?”

“How could you possibly enjoy this? How could
a man write such things?”

“So innocent.” He says it as an insult.

I cannot even look at him. My humiliation
runs too deep. If I meet his gaze now, I know I will not be able to
control myself. I do not know which would be worse: to burst into
tears before him, or attack him. I know his strength is far
superior to mine, and I know he would merely enjoy the sight of my
tears so much more.

“Come back tomorrow night. I have something
else for you to read.”

“Are we finished?” I ask stiffly. He demanded
I stay the night. It is not yet morning, though the sun will be
coming up any moment.

“For now,” he says. I can still feel his eyes
on me. It makes me feel unclean. I push to my feet and walk out of
the chamber without looking at him. “Good day, Lyssette,” he calls
after me.

I would slam the door behind me but the sight
of Marguerite out in the hallway stops me cold. “What are you doing
here?”

Marguerite shakes her head with disgust. “You
little whore,” she says.

Her words make resentment coil inside me.
“You were told not to come here.”

“Yes, and now I can see why. So where is your
lover? No need to hide him now. Or do you exhaust him so completely
that he has no strength left to see his guests?”

Before I can utter a cutting remark, a scream
carries from inside the chamber. It saps what little strength I
have left. My heart aches for the Beast. Because I know I am
failing him. Every time he endures that transformation is pain he
should not be feeling any longer. He should be free by now. Why can
I not free him?

Marguerite’s eyes widen. “My God, Lyssette,
what have you done to him?” She shoves past me to the door.

“Marguerite, don’t!”

But I am too late to stop her. She bursts
into the chamber, heading straight for the suffering Beast. I
follow on her heels and we both stop when the screaming stops and
the Beast drops to his hands and knees. He is breathing hard, low
growls rumbling in his chest. I cannot see Marguerite’s face but I
hear her gasp and I can tell she’s not breathing.

My Beast raises his great head, his weary
eyes lighting on the two of us. He growls, hackles rising. “
Get
out!
” he roars so loud the walls shudder.

Marguerite screams and runs. No doubt she
will wake the entire castle with her hysterics. I should be more
concerned, but I am tired. I help the shivering Beast up and to his
bed we do not even look at each other and by the time he is settled
I am so weary I can barely stand.

Marguerite is gone, the servants must be up
already, and my family will soon be asking them many questions. I
curl up at the foot of the grand bed and allow sleep to claim me.
Consequences be damned.

Sounds invade my dreams. A familiar voice
speaks my name. I hear it calling but my mind is too weary to
rouse.

“No,” I hear. “Let her sleep.”

A warm blanket settles over me and I sigh. I
didn’t realize I was so cold.

Then strange dreams once more pull me away
into an unknown land. I see statues weeping. They come to life
before my very eyes, reaching out to me. Wolves howl in the distant
forest, taunting and jeering. They are closing in and I know this
time there is no iron gate to keep them out. They near swiftly and
they are coming for me.

I wake with a start. Candles are lit
everywhere and the windows are wide open to let in the night air.
This is not my chamber. How long have I been asleep?

“Ah, the beauty wakes.”

There is my answer: long enough that the sun
already went down and it is no gentle beast sitting on the bed
behind me.

“I was beginning to think you’d sleep through
the night.” Someone freed my hair while I slept. He eases it to the
side now, exposing my shoulder. His lips brush over my skin. “I
would not have minded.”

I shove away from him, desperate to escape
his hold and his bed. He catches my arm and pulls me back. We
struggle but it is no more than a game to him. He laughs at my
feeble attempts to get away from him. His much stronger body pins
me beneath him. His hands capture mine so easily. I am trapped,
left to his mercy – and I already know he has none.

We stare at each other, his heavy lidded eyes
reflecting the candle light all around. His weight on me makes it
difficult to breathe. Still, I suck in air to scream. Surely
someone is near by. Surely they will be brave enough to oppose
their master and rescue me.

He silences me swiftly. “Ah-ah now, little
bird. None of that. You’ll only worry our guests.”

“Let me go,” I say, unable to disguise the
fear in my voice.

“We have a bargain.”

“For me to read to you. Not… do
this
.”

“Yes, well, that was before you availed
yourself of my bed for an afternoon nap. I’ve decided to amend the
terms slightly.”

“No.”

He merely smiles. “Don’t you want to know
what I’ve come up with?” He leans his face into my neck and inhales
deeply. “Mm, I thought it was quite generous, given our… unusual
circumstances.”

“I’m sure you did. The answer is still
no.”

“Well then,” he says, levering himself up,
“it’s high time you got out of bed. We’ve guests to attend to.
They’ve already been asking about you.” He releases me and I fight
and tug on the tangle of skirts and sheets to escape to
freedom.

“I won’t stay here another minute. I’m
leaving and taking my family with me.” The moment I am standing I
run for the door. I just manage to open it when he slams it shut
again with one hand. His speed amazes me. His strength is
frightening.

“You needn’t bother,” he murmurs in my ear.
“I’ve already instructed the guards to bar the gate. They will not
dare disobey me.
No one
leaves the castle until I say
so.”

“You’re keeping us prisoner?”

He pries my hand away from the handle and
turns me to face him. “That’s one way to think of it.”

“Damn you!”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, my
sweet Lyssette. I’m already damned.”

His new terms are scandalous. As he’d said
last night, he has a new book for me to read, and this one is far
worse than the last. It is written by a woman. This time, he
insists I sit on the bed with him. I refuse, of course, but in the
end he gives me no choice. The one concession I am able to extract
from him is that he will not touch me.

To my surprise, he grants another, which I
have not thought to ask. Moments after I agree to these new terms
there is a knock on the door. He answers it himself and I prepare
myself for another scene like the one last night. I will not be
able to explain my presence here, or my absence all day long. And
with Bastien in his human form, I will not be able to explain what
Marguerite saw this morning.

But when Bastien opens the door there is no
one on the other side. There is only a trolley laden with covered
dishes. He brings it inside. “Don’t get excited,” he tells me,
“
He
did this, not me.”

We dine together. As there are no chairs or
tables, we are forced to sit close enough to bump elbows every time
one of us reaches for something. He does not say a word but I can
see by his expression how much he enjoys the feast. From what my
beast told me, Bastien has not had a proper meal in a very long
time.

But dinner is over too soon and then I’ve no
more excuses. Now sated, Bastien seems almost in good spirits. He
does not rush me or make any more demands. I would be grateful,
except I know why he is so calm and complacent. He set the terms
and I agreed. He might have opened the door, but he will make
certain I walk through it all on my own.

I move all the way to the foot of the bed, as
far from him as I can possibly get. The book lies ready between us.
I pick it up and steady my nerves. “
Memoires of Madame
Bordeaux
,” the title reads. I open the volume to the first
page. There is a dedication penned in an elegant hand: “
To my
Lord Bastien, with fond memories of the nights we spent together,
and covetous wishes for more
.” I look up at him. “This woman
was your lover.”

He smiles. “Yes.”

“And she gave you a book of accounts of all
her other lovers?”

“I believe she gave one to all her
acquaintances. She was quite proud of her writing and, as you’ll
see, not shy about her profession.”

“I cannot believe that—”

“You will. Once you read it you’ll see how
you’ve been deceived all your life.”

“Deceived?”

“You’ve been taught that sex is merely the
means by which humans beget children.”

“And is it not?”

“It’s not all it is. It is quite enjoyable. A
pastime I indulged in often when I was myself. Now that monstrous
bastard has made a monk of me.” He takes a strawberry from the tray
and bites into it. “A
hungry
monk.”

I am coming to understand how Bastien’s mind
works. He despises me for my prudence and what he called innocence.
Any attempt to change him from his wicked ways would only invite
scorn. My only recourse is to stoop to his level and be just as
wicked.

“I would not be surprised if the reason for
your curse was your inability to keep your cock in your pants,” I
say. Though my words are daring, my face burns with an embarrassed
flush. I’ve never said such a thing before. Then again, I’ve never
known about such things until last night.

Bastien laughs. I’ve shocked him. Even amused
him. He does not reply, merely shakes his head. I am heartened that
he does not make jest of me and even smile as I turn the page.
“
Chapter one
,” I read. “
There is an art to making love,
which many men, but few women understand. Whereas a man can avail
himself of any means to his own pleasure, a woman is to make do
with what she’s been allotted, something a man rarely appreciates.
I find this reprehensible
. Hmm, I like her already.
Bringing
his woman pleasure in bed is the very least a man ought to do for
his wife or lover. I consider it my greatest life achievement that
I was able to tutor so many fine men into attentive, expert
lovers
…”

Change is a concept I have become very
familiar with. I thought by now I would have embraced it, learned
that it is a natural part of life. Yet to say that I have become
used to it would be to belie the concept. If one becomes used to
change, then nothing truly changes them.

The truth is that I’ve not gotten used to it
at all.

The truth is that my Beast is not the only
one changing.

It is difficult to think of myself now as
having once been that sure footed girl with a book always in hand,
who never knew a moment’s hesitation. That girl, that innocent –
and I can see now just how innocent she’d truly been – is
disappearing little by little every day. I cannot say with
certainty that it is wholly Bastien’s doing.

Nothing is the same in this ever perfect,
ever cursed castle. When servants whisper now, it is with
scandalized excitement. For the first time in a very long time,
they have something to gossip about. It seems that is enough to put
smiles on their faces. Every duty they perform these days they do
with joy. I even hear them singing sometimes.

My family, too, is different. Marguerite is
gone. Jacques tells me she ran away that night and has not
returned. He’s sent a messenger to our village in disguise to seek
her out. Thankfully, she’s made it home unharmed. Jacques assures
me she is well, if a little unsettled. With the eldest away, Amalia
is flourishing. She spends most of her time in the grand ballroom
where Francois teaches her to dance. Perhaps in another time,
another place, Amalia was meant to be a princess. Dancing becomes
her.

Father is not so easily distracted. Though he
smiles at me and speaks with me the way he used to, there is a
heaviness in his gaze. He strolls in the gardens and his shoulders
seem weighted down. I ask him to confide in me but he waves my
worries away, smiles, and tells me he loves me. He is not easy
here, I know. It must unnerve him, sleeping in the lair of the
beast, knowing that one of his daughters is bound to him. And now
with Marguerite gone…

Aimee let slip today that Father went to see
my Beast. He’s never done that before, not willingly. Aimee will
not tell me what they spoke about, even though I am certain she
must have overheard. Father and the Beast will not tell me, either.
Both deny having spoken at all.