The Beast (23 page)

She passed no servants and, surprisingly, there were no guards in this portion of the castle. The only sounds came from Belle’s soft footsteps and the wind as it rushed past the great windows.

Sweeping beneath the gazes of stone Valkyries, Belle reached the ominous doors at the end of the hall. Hand held just inches above the gold handles, she looked back. No one came. Not even the statues watched her.

Resolute, Belle pushed. The door swung open with a groan. She stepped in quickly and shut it behind her. It closed so loudly, despite her efforts, Belle was certain that it echoed all through the West Wing. She cringed and then looked at the room beyond, and gasped.

It was a bedchamber, as she expected, an all too familiar bedchamber. Prince Aleksander’s quarters. Except unlike when he met Belle in her dreams, this room was not in perfect condition. Something terrible had happened here.

There were no candles and the hearth was without a warming fire. The only light came from the balcony where the doors were left partially open. Swirls of snowflakes fluttered in. Belle’s visible breath added emphasis to the room’s cold temperature.

Her gaze roamed over the bedchamber, shocked further at its state. Tables and chairs were overturned. Glass glittered on the floor. Books and all sorts of smallish bits had been strewn about. Whoever destroyed this room left nothing untouched.

Then Belle saw the claw marks. They were large, bigger than she’d seen before. They tore through carpet, draperies, and wood. She walked about the room, looking for any hints of where Aleksander had been taken. The room, aside from the destruction, appeared to be mostly untouched. There were no signs that anyone came through here on a regular basis. Belle went to the fireplace.

The mammoth structure was made of stone with carvings of the rose vines that Vakre Fjell was famous for. She crouched into its mouth and raked her hands through the ash. Her fingers came out black, but with no hint of recent warmth. Belle would wager that this room hadn’t been heated in a long time. It was very strange.

The wind picked up and swept into the room. It sent chills over her skin and rustled the pages of the books lying discarded on the floor. Out of habit, Belle went to the balcony to close the doors. First checking the weather, she leaned just outside. The sky had been swallowed up by gray. Snow came down with the wind, soaring at unimaginable speeds. It was going to be quite the storm.

Belle looked down at the stone balcony outside. Flourishing roses spread over the entrance and encircled the small wrapping balcony. They bloomed with glorious red heads, so soft that she wanted to rub them against her cheeks. Their vines were thick and flexible, and dotted with menacing looking thorns. She touched one gently with her fingers, marveling at its beauty. So lovely; thriving in a place as cold and forgotten as this room. It amazed her.

Something scraped on the floor behind her. Belle turned, expecting to find Edvina or Laramie come to retrieve her, but that wasn’t who was there. Belle lunged back in fear, slamming into the balcony archway.

A beast towered over her, only feet away. He was twice the size of any hellhound and he
stood
; not on four legs, like the others, but on two. His physique was more masculine and human in shape than it was wolf. There was no mistaking the claws at the end of each finger, the fangs barely contained in his muzzle, and the predatory eyes that glared at her now.

This was no ordinary hellhound; this was something else entirely. Something new; something worse. As fear grappled her heart, he studied her—instead of attacking, as he should have, with primal instinct.

Belle’s mind raced, grasping at the truth that had come rushing to her. Aleksander had lied. It
was
Fenrir holding him prisoner—no
manner of speaking
about it. The creature before her was exactly what she’d seen in that old book not long ago. Now she knew, and now she understood that she couldn’t fight it—not a god.

Belle had to warn the Hunters. She had to tell them what was hiding in Castle Vakre Fjell. They had to prepare. With well-trained reflexes, Belle drew a revolver. Being only feet away, there was little need to aim. She pulled the trigger.

The beast was fast, leaping to the side, and the bullet struck the wall. He faced her in a crouch and roared. Her instincts erupted, screaming for her to run. Belle rushed for the door, firing with each step. The beast disengaged and took cover.

Grabbing the door handle, Belle ripped it open and dashed out. She held up her skirts and sprinted down the corridor. Only once did she spare a glance behind her. Fenrir wasn’t following. She turned down the hall, unable to get enough distance between her and that
thing
fast enough. Belle whisked past servants, not bothering to apologize for her rudeness.

“There you are, mademoiselle!” Laramie called as he ascended up from one staircase below. “I was just looking for you. Madame Gulbrandsen said you had rushed off.” Belle reached the second-floor landing and turned onto the grand staircase, not missing a step. Laramie looked at her curiously as she neared. “What’s wrong, Belle?”

“You know exactly what’s wrong, I’d imagine,” she said in a rush of breath.

The color drained from his face, making him look pastier than usual. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“All this time you could have said something. You could have warned me,” Belle spat as she stopped two steps up from him. “But you were too afraid and now the world might pay for it.”

Belle shook her head in disgust. She knew her anger was misplaced. They had their reasons for keeping silent, even if it was just fear. But she couldn’t help thinking about what that might have cost everyone else.

Laramie raised his eyebrows, parted his lips just a little, then saw her drawn revolver. His eyes widened and he stepped toward her. “What did you—”

Belle lifted her gun, aiming between his eyes. “I cannot stay here a moment longer.”

There was a heartbeat’s hesitation where neither was sure what the other was planning to do. Then they separated. Laramie hurriedly climbed the steps, rushing the way she’d come. Wasting no time, Belle ran for the castle’s entrance.

No guards tried to stop her. But Liv was there, waiting outside. Charming was saddled, with the few of Belle’s things strapped to the back. A stable hand held him, talking casually with the Lady. Both had their backs to the wind and looked up at the sound of her appearance.

“So it’s true. You’re really leaving?” Liv asked, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, more for warmth than anger.

“Yes.” Belle stepped around the woman and shoved her boot into the saddle stirrup.

“You can’t mean to leave so quickly.” Liv watched her closely, displaying confusion across her face. “You haven’t said au revoir and there’s a storm coming.”

“I’m sorry, Liv, but I cannot stay.” Belle launched herself into the saddle and took up the reins.

She cued Charming into a gallop.

“But you’ll die out there!” Liv shouted. “Wait, Belle!”

Belle dropped her head as tears started to fall. She hated leaving Liv, knowing they’d become friends. She wasn’t the only one; Laramie, Edvina, Ms. Tops, and others. But how could they not have told her what—who—was in that castle? Henri had tried to warn her, tried to tell her that there was something truly evil there. Belle hadn’t listened. She let herself be swept up in the kindness, the grandeur, and the curiosity. It had distracted her.

A loud roar echoed into the air. It was otherworldly. The sound curled with anger but drew out with a keening that seemed somehow sorrowful. It matched Belle’s pain in a rather profound way.

Two guards yanked open the gate, as she raced toward them across the perilous bridge. Charming flew by them and into Vakre Fjell Forest. The road was gone, hidden by snow, and this time there were no hoof prints to lead her. Belle gave Charming his head, allowing him to take her home. Horses always knew the way home. It was instinct.

The storm whistled through the trees and groaned overhead. Already the snow was coming down steadily. Belle leaned into Charming, trying to block some of the wind. Her ears and cheeks starting to burn from the cold, her fingers becoming numb. It wasn’t long before Castle Vakre Fjell was well out of sight and they were in the thick of the forest.

Charming pushed onward, finding a steady pace to carry her home as quickly as possible. The storm was determined though. Soon the falling snow was thick, like a continuous surge of endless white. It became difficult to see. Trees appeared out of nowhere. Branches jumped out, trying to rip her from the saddle.

Belle had to trust in Charming. Only he could keep his senses in the blizzard. But his pace began to slow. His head came up, his ears searching. When Charming stopped completely, Belle knew it was not because of the storm.

She tried to slow her breathing, listening for the coming hellhounds. Her whole body trembled; the cold crawled over her skin and slipped into her lungs. Belle held up her gun, watching the barrel shake within her unsteady grip.

The cold was sobering, freezing the wild emotions from before. Quickly, Belle removed the cap from the bullet chamber of her gun.
Empty
. She’d used all of her bullets shooting at Fenrir. When she’d aimed it at Laramie, the threat had been empty. It was unlike her to be so reckless, and that fact was starting to become apparent.

Not able to think on it further, Belle reached for her bullet pouch. Her fingers touched only the fabric of her dress. Her pouch, of course, wasn’t there. It’d been packed away by some servant. She was entirely unprepared for this journey.

Charming nickered and danced in place. She felt his uneasiness. Quickly, she stashed the empty revolver and retrieved the other. A quick check told her it had been loaded.

There was a blur to her right, the sound of a snarl.
One
, she counted. A branch snapped on her left.
Two.
Then there were multiple growls over her shoulder.
Oh God.

Belle pointed her gun and they come into view.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She fired in rapid succession. Smoke twirled up from the barrel as the bodies dropped. There was no time to breathe. Another hellhound came from the left. Belle swiped two knives from her chest harness and flung them. They buried into the hound’s fur and he went down with a clipped yipe.

Two more hellhounds attacked from different directions, giving Belle little time to react. She put the first down immediately, but her defense was too slow for the second hound. Her bullet lodged in its heart, as the creature barreled into Belle and knocked her from the saddle.

The impact was jarring, but not as bad as it had been the last time a hellhound got the better of her. Belle scrambled to her feet. Another two hounds approached, as though they had decided to attack in teams. She straightened her shoulders and shot the first easily. The second hound ran across its friend without missing a step, gaining speed with its anger. Belle fired.
Click.

Her eyes widened. The gun was empty. Belle stepped back, reaching for the last of her knives—knowing that she wouldn’t be able to draw them in time. The hellhound came within feet, his fangs bared and eyes gleaming.

Charming lunged in front of her, blocking the hellhound. The stallion reared up and slammed his hooves down at it. He stomped, huffed, and grunted. The hound snarled. Charming reared and thrust his hooves down again, pushing the creature away. It growled but cowered from the large horse.

Charming kept on him, forcing him farther away from Belle. The blizzard swallowed them up when they were only meters away. Belle pressing her back against a tree. She listened for the horse and hound, catching their sounds on the wind, then those were gone too.

Pulling the last of her throwing knives from their harness, she gripped them in each hand. Wind howled through the forest, carrying thick snowflakes upon every available inch. There was white everywhere, it filled the air and gathered upon her handmade dress and fallen hair. She was starting to feel damp, and that was dangerous in this cold.

“Charming!” she called. All she heard was wind and snow. Her breath puffed on the air.

Belle was alone.

Charming still hadn’t returned and Belle was left to worry about him. She couldn’t walk home, being as she had no bearing on where she was. Belle would give anything to see those gas-lit lamps right then.

Growls snatched her out of the daze the cold had lulled her into. Belle squinted, attempting to see anything other than white. Then she did. Bits of black. Flashes of yellow. There were many of them and, judging by their growing snarls, they were circling her.

The smell of warm blood had drawn the hellhounds in, but the scent of their dead brethren was making them wary. They knew she was a threat and they were gauging just how much of one. Soon the hounds would decide that the risk was worth it and they would come at her.