Beauty and the Beast (Demon Tales 1) (16 page)

Cally getting married…it was enough to
buckle his knees. She was his. His memory of waking up on her
bedroom floor was hazy. He remembered collapsing under the force of
his agony and the weakness of his blood loss , and then waking
again in Cally’s arms—pain free. At the time he had felt drugged,
weak and floppy. But he clearly remembered her words of love. He
only wished he had told her how he felt.

What if he never got the chance?

A bright light burst into the darkened
dungeons and Brigg swung his gaze to see a small blonde Maid in
scruffy dress, hurrying along the line of dungeon doors, holding a
tray full of food. Noise burst into the air as prisoners roused for
their evening meal, but the small maid hurried past all doors, only
stopping at his.

“Are you Brigg?” she whispered, looking over
her shoulder to the closed dungeon door. Brigg knew there was a
guard on the other side, so he darted close to his cell door,
closer to the clearly nervous, whispering girl.

“Yes,” he whispered back, feeling a sudden
urgency. His hands shook and his breathing stalled.

The maid put down the tray, looked up at him
and flicked her gaze into the cell where Sam and Torc looked on in
interest. “Are they with you?” she pointed behind him.

“Yes, my brother and friend—they’re with
me.”

The maid bit her bottom lip, clearly torn by
something. “The princess sent me with word.”

Brigg’s heart leapt. “What is it?” he
snapped, getting impatient and slightly irked by the maid’s nervous
hesitancy. If she had something to tell him, he wished she would
just spit it out. He thrust his hand through the bars and pulled
her against the metal. Her eyes flew wide and she whimpered under
his grip.

“For fuck’s sake, Brigg!” Torc growled from
behind. His brother’s hands came down on his shoulders roughly,
pulling him away from the young maid, who now looked petrified.
When he let go, she stumbled back and dusted off her dress. “Are
you okay?” Torc asked and the girl looked up and nodded shakily.
“What word have you for my brother?”

Brigg was thankful for Torc’s control, and
gentle tone. He thought to apologize to the young girl, but his
desperation held his jaw tense. No more talk, he needed to hear
what she had to say.

“The princess asked me to tell Brigg that
she thanks him for showing her what love is. And she thanks you for
showing her what living is—even for a short while…and that—“ The
maid visibly swallowed. Brigg stepped forward and watched her, his
heart tearing at the formal words.

“And that…?” he urged, clenching his hands
as tremors of raw emotion burned him.

The maid looked up and tilted her head,
sympathy and agony in her eyes. “And that—she loves you.” The maid
dipped her head and shoved the tray of food through the hole on the
ground, clearly in a rush to be gone.

Brigg dropped to his knees, his hands
wrapping around the bars that held him from Cally, the woman he
loved. The maid’s words taunted his soul until tears filmed his
vision.
She loves me…
He felt his insides crumple, and his
head spin.

Cally loved him…

“Wait!” He roared as the maid began to slip
away. “Please, take a message to her from me.”

The maid shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Come back!” Brigg roared as the woman
backed away. She looked upon Brigg with a mix of fear and sympathy.
Brigg felt his eyes burn, any hope he had harboured sliding from
his mind. The young maid flinched under Briggs shouted plea, her
head flicked around as if she awaited an attack. Brigg couldn’t
feel bad about a woman he didn’t know. The only person he cared
about in this moment was Cally.

The girl swallowed, her gaze flickering to
Torc briefly before she lifted her chin and spoke. “Enjoy the
bread. I made it myself.” She turned and dashed through the door,
leaving the whole dungeon to erupt into chaos, she had only
delivered food to them. The noise battered at Briggs ears. He
stared at the closed dungeon door for long moments before he sagged
with grief, the weight of emotion a building pressing on his chest.
He fell to the floor, a slow slide down the bars. He kept his eyes
down, aware that his brother and Sam were watching him. The last
thing he needed to see was sympathy—it would flay his soul.

“I’m sorry, brother. If it weren’t for me,
we wouldn’t be here,” Torc said as he paced the dungeon like a
caged bear. Sam reached for the tray and nodded as if agreeing with
Torc. Brigg shook his head weakly, unable to form any words past
the knot in his throat.

She loves me…

Technically, what Torc said was true, but
Brigg held the guilt. He was the reason they were all here. He was
too willing to believe that no one could love him, too willing to
believe that another woman had abused him, too bitter to see what
had been right in front of him all the time—Cally.

Torc ran his hands through his hair and
threw his fist into the wall. Brigg watched his brother pace and
punch out until he could take no more.

“No, don’t apologize, Torc. It was my
fault—“

Sam grunted loudly, snatching Brigg and
Torc’s attention. They both watched as Sam dug into a bread roll
with an irritated frown on his face, and pulled out a metal key. He
held it up and grinned widely.

“I do believe that pretty maid just set us
free.”

Brigg reached over and snatched the key from
Sam’s hand. He dived for the lock and almost sagged with relief
when the key turned in the barrel. “It fucking works!” Brigg pushed
the cell door open and barely suppressed a whoop of joy. Sam butted
into his back and Brigg staggered forward.

“Let’s go get your princess, Briggy-boy!”
Sam laughed and launched toward the cells where his men were kept.
Brigg heard a joyous laugh and turned to see Sam opening all the
cells with one key.

He turned and stalked to the dungeon door,
only one thing on his mind—Cally.

“Let’s go shed some human blood,” Torc said
from his side. Brigg felt a rush of adrenaline wash through his
body.

Bring it on!

“And by the way,” Sam smiled, “Since you no
longer care whether your light-o’-love is human or not, let me tell
you something about her that her dressing-maid discovered…”

Cally walked on shaky legs down the stone
steps leading from her room. Her body felt laden and unresponsive,
as her mind screamed and railed against her fate. Two guards walked
beside her as she made her way to the great hall where the guests
had been placed.

The closer she came, the louder her thoughts
grew. Panic clawed at her throat and despair swept through her in
waves of sudden dizziness. Her body suddenly heated, and Cally
could do nothing to hold back the vomit rising in her throat. She
stopped walking and staggered. One guard yanked at her arm
impatiently, and pulled Cally forward. She bent and retched, the
mess splashing up the impatient guard’s leg. Cally’s head spun and
she reached out to steady herself on the wall. The guards’ bellows
of disgust ripped into her ears, but Cally closed her eyes to ride
out the rolling tide of nausea.

“What’s going on here?” Cally opened her
eyes to see her mother come stalking up the hallway. She was
wearing a tight red dress which pushed up her ample cleavage to an
obscene height. Cally closed her eyes against the disturbing image.
Her head spun and her stomach rolled again. Cally stayed slumped
against the wall, even though her guards were clearly upset that
the queen was coming at them, full speed.

The queen came to a stop in front of her,
and Cally opened her eyes to see disgust clear on her mother’s
face. “What is the meaning of this?” she snapped.

“Sh-she just threw up, madam,” one guard
spoke, his voice a weak stutter. Cally looked at him and couldn’t
help thinking of Brigg, and his strong, wilful voice. This fool was
puny compared to her demon.

“I’m fine,” Cally said—exasperated,
exhausted and sick.

Her mother reached forward and pulled Cally
away from the wall, raising an imperial eyebrow, “Just a little
pre-wedding nerves?” The cold threat of her mother’s ire sat in the
seemingly sweet words. Cally was under no illusion that her mother
barely held her anger in check. She looked up, saw the sadistic
glint in her mother’s eyes, and Cally swallowed back the need to
scream. She nodded weakly.

Just a little pre-throw-my-life-away nerves,
more like.

The queen scowled, looked Cally over, then
turned and stalked off, her long red dress flapping behind her like
a pennant. “Quick, quick,” she tossed over her shoulder. “We have
guests waiting.”

Cally followed, fighting the need to be sick
again. The guard she had thrown up on hung back, walking as if he
had just shit himself, and damned if that didn’t cheer Cally a
little.

The doors opened to the grand hall, and
Cally looked upon the man who she was to marry. He stood at the
altar in black and gold finery, his long dark pony-tailed hair
shining with oil. He didn’t look back to see her, even though he
must have known she had arrived by the slight rustle of sound
running through the crowd. Cally swallowed and forced her legs to
move. The orchestra begun to play, and Cally dragged her heavy legs
up the long aisle.

Don’t throw up—don’t faint. This is for
Brigg and his freedom.
Cally imagined that she was walking
towards Brigg, imagined that the man waiting for her was her demon,
and her steps became a little lighter. She bit her bottom lip and
held her fists in tight balls. The whole hall looked her way now.
The music throbbed in her ears and her heart beat a frantic
drumroll. Blackness winked at her vision as her head swam, but
every time she thought she might faint she reminded herself that
she was doing this for Brigg—and his freedom.

She reached the end, and the prince dipped
his gaze to her face. Hate shone from his eyes and his jaw clenched
tightly. Cally swallowed suddenly, swamped by fear. The prince did
not look at all happy.

Dread sat on her chest. When the priest
began to speak, Cally closed her eyes and brought forward Brigg’s
face.

I love you Brigg.

* * * *

“Fucking hell, Brigg, slow down!” Torc
snapped as Brigg leapt, three at a time, up the stairs to Cally’s
room. Urgency beat in him mind as he came closer to her door. He
swung around the last turret turn and came to a stop. No guards
stood at her door. Brigg felt his heart turn over, knowing that no
guards meant Cally wasn’t here, but he pushed on and shoved open
her door anyway.

He staggered into her room, and the silence
and emptiness hit him square in the chest. He searched the room
frantically, hating the feeling of hopelessness beating inside him.
Torc ran in, breathless, came to a stop next to Brigg and
frowned.

“Are you sure this was her room?”

“Of course it was her fucking room!” Brigg
bellowed, overcome with grief. She wasn’t here—which meant she was
getting married, or was already married. He staggered a little
under the weight of his thought. Torc steadied him as Sam moved to
the window and peeked out.

“Well, it looks like we have a wedding to
crash, brothers,” Sam drawled as he looked down to the castle
grounds. Brigg hurried next to him and stared down at the colourful
scene below. Flags flew all around, the colours of green, red and
gold flapping in the breeze. A red carpet led to a large building
on the other side of the castle, with petals strewn on it like a
light dusting of snow.

“How do you know it hasn’t happened
already?” Torc asked as he leaned out the bedroom door and checked
for guards. He was clearly impatient to get moving, as was
Brigg.

“Because, the red carpet hasn’t been stepped
on yet,” said Sam, “And the trumpeters are waiting like good little
boys to play their merry tune.” Brigg would have laughed at Sam’s
mocking tone, but humour was lost to him right now—probably
forever, if he didn’t get to Cally in time.

Brigg spun and launched himself across the
room. Torc jumped out of his way as he exited the room and they all
flew down the stairs. They hit a long hallway running, not even
bothering to be quiet in their haste. Some of Sam’s men had escaped
to go home, but some had hung on. These now jumped out of doorways
where they had waited and jogged after them, ready to help their
prince and Brigg.

Brigg slowed as they neared the great
hallway where the wedding was happening. He held up his hands to
stay the others and he counted the guards that stood by the doors.
He spun and mentally calculated that it was one demon per four
human guards. The guards were also armed, and Brigg begun to feel a
little intimidated by their task. Who knew how many more guards
were in the hall?

“I got this,” Torc said from behind him.
Brigg turned and watched Torc run down the hallway. Before Brigg
got a chance to stop him, Torc ran through the courtyard and each
and every guard looked his way—some leaving their posts to run
after him.

“Crazy bastard,” Sam laughed. He patted
Brigg on the back. “Go get your princess, and we’ll see you on the
other side.” At that, Sam and his four men all ran in the opposite
direction from Torc, snatching the attention of the last remaining
guards.

Brigg sent up a prayer and sprinted across
the courtyard, where the two remaining guards at the large timber
doors were watching the others chasing Torc. He slammed into them
and caught them by surprise. One of them staggered back, hastily
trying to drag his bow sword from his belt. The other whirled and
threw a metal-covered fist at Brigg. The hard punch connected with
Briggs newly smooth face and Brigg staggered back a step. The two
guards drew out their swords, and Brigg grinned.

“Come on then, you fuckers,” he laughed.
“Ready to take on a Rain Demon?” Their eyes flew wide, and Brigg
saw their sudden reservations. Rain Demons had nothing special in
powers, but clearly these fools didn’t know that. Brigg launched
forward and dodged one of the swords. He dipped and kicked out,
swiping one of the guard’s feet from beneath him. Brigg snatched up
the fallen guard’s sword, and stamped on his head. The guard went
limp beneath his boot. Brigg spun and slashed with his blade, and
drove the remaining man backwards. The guard parried, the blow
connecting with Briggs sword, sending shockwaves up his arm.