The Beast (27 page)

Reaching LeClair House, Friar Clemens dropped her off at the lighthouse, then drove the carriage into the stable. He would care for the tack and see to all of the horses. His own small room was there—an alteration to the original plans since he refused to take up space in the house. He was safe even in the stable though, which was fortified with as much steel protection as the house. It gave the Hunters peace of mind to sleep beneath the sea, but Clemens insisted that if the stable were ever attacked, it would hold long enough for them to rescue him.

Belle opened the lighthouse door, wondering what Hunter was keeping a lookout from above, and stepped into the drafty building. Momentarily she flashed back to the dark tower of Castle Vakre Fjell. Uncomfortable shivers skimmed down her spine. Quickly, Belle used her rosary key to unlock the elevator and entered the steel chamber.

Normally, after exiting the lift, Belle went to the armory to remove her cloak and weapons. But her impatience was too much. She first wanted to check on the Prince. Down the grated hall and up the wooden stairs she went to the spare room he’d been given.

The blankets were thrown off Aleksander. His shirt was open and pushed aside. The doctor had a wet sponge, which he was pressing to the Prince’s torso. Another damp cloth rested on Aleksander’s forehead. Belle rushed over and put her hand to his cheek. It was hot to the touch though the wet cloth was cold.

Aleksander murmured unintelligibly, his eyes creasing with distress. Then he suddenly relaxed and rested soundly. Belle looked in horror at the doc.

“That’s new,” Doc said, bringing himself upright and dropping his sponge into the bucket at his feet. “He’s been doing it every few minutes for the last half hour.”

“What is it?” Belle gestured for the bucket, intent on taking over so that Doc could rest.

He passed it willingly and slumped into his chair. At only a glance, the doctor looked rough. His shirt was damp. His sleeves rolled haphazardly up to the elbow. Belle went to work as he pulled a silver flask from inside his unbuttoned vest.

“Hallucinations…Fever dreams.” There was a pause as he gulped whatever was in the container. “The fever is overheating his brain, making it overactive. It can cause a person to imagine all manner of strangeness.”

“Could it kill him?” Belle rung out the sponge, then gently ran it over the Prince’s stomach and chest.

Aleksander’s muscles were tone, defined by the many forms of combat training he was required to learn growing up. His broad chest expanded with his breathing. His stomach muscles tensed with whatever wildness tormented his mind. It was impossible not to notice how beautiful he was, as she attempted to cool his hot skin.

“I imagine that it will actually.” Doc was staring at her when her gaze shot to him. He was not jesting. His abrupt answer was meant to be like the quick setting of a bone; painful, but fast. With a sigh, he removed his glasses—wiping his forehead with his sleeve in the same motion—and began to clean them. “I’ve been monitoring him closely, Belle. At the rate this fever is progressing…he won’t make it to daybreak.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Belle stared at the doc. Suddenly the whole world muted and grayed. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“I’m trying to keep his fever down, but I don’t know what’s causing it or the coma.” Doc leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “As a normal patient, he’s perfectly healthy. But he’s not normal, is he?”

Belle dropped the cloth back into the bucket and went to the head of the bed. She cupped Aleksander’s cheek, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin against her palm. This was the Aleksander she knew. Not that beast in the castle. That was something she didn’t know at all.

“Aleksander has two halves. There’s this half—his human half.” She grazed her knuckles over his cheekbone, wishing she could see his eyes. Finally, she looked at the doctor, who watched her thoughtfully. “But his other half is cursed. Maybe this fever isn’t coming from his healthy human form, but from the beast he was before?”

Doc opened one of his hands, then dropped it. “I’m a man of science, Belle. What you suggest isn’t something I know anything about.”

“Perhaps not, but if anyone knows anything about this curse, they’ll be living at Castle Vakre Fjell.” Belle turned toward the door. “And I know just who to ask.”

“What do you mean?” Doc questioned, but she was already out of the room and headed toward the armory. He jumped up and followed after. “You can’t mean to ride for the castle tonight?”

“You said it yourself, Doc. He’ll be dead by sunrise.” The doc was close on her heels, as she went down the stairs. “If I wish to save him, I see no other option.”

“But, Belle, you just got back and it’s too dangerous.” They turned into the armory.

“What’s too dangerous?” Gastone stood within, one leg propped on a bench where he was just sticking a blade into the sleeve of his boot.

He slid his foot back to the floor, drawing himself to his full height and not looking in any mood for games. He wasn’t alone either, the rest of Belle’s hunting party was there. They’d returned early from the celebration to perform the nightly hunt; she knew this without having to ask. They each stopped their preparations to look at her and the harried doctor.

“She’s riding back to the castle,” Doc blurted, his eyes bulging. “Tonight!”

“What?” Gastone scowled, a vein appearing in his forehead.

“The Prince is dying,” Belle said calmly. She addressed the entire group, refusing to give Gastone her sole attention. After all, he answered to her and not the other way around. “Doc says he won’t make it to morning. I’m going to ride swiftly, straight on to Castle Vakre Fjell. If anyone knows how to help him, they will.”

Belle expected Gastone to fight her immediately, but he shook his head and turned away. Roughly, he shoved a hand through his black hair.

“We’ll go with you then,” Jack said, patting the new pistols at his side.

“No, this is about speed. There and back, as quickly as possible.” She grabbed her cloak, throwing it over her shoulders. “Also, our border still needs to be protected. The hunt can’t be delayed.”

“It would still be wise to take a few of us with you.” Andre had been tinkering with the inner workings of his mechanical arm. He snapped the metal door shut, tugged up his glove, and returned the tiny screwdriver to his jacket pocket. “We won’t slow you down.”

Belle considered this. “Fine. You, Jack, and—”

“Me,” Gastone volunteered.

She’d been about to pick Jean, wanting her second-in-command to stay with the other group. But seeing the determination in Gastone’s eyes made her concede. He was picking his battles. He knew he couldn’t convince Belle to stay, but he wouldn’t let her go there alone again.

“Fine. Jean, Delano, and Nicolas will stay and hunt our borders.” She looked them each in the eyes, making them all nod their understanding. “Let’s get to it then.”

Silently, they went through their weapons, checking for problems and ammunition. The doctor wished them luck and returned to his patient. Belle asked after her father, as they walked to the elevator. Nicolas said he was still at the tavern, having some drinks in honor of his fallen Hunters. Belle was disappointed she couldn’t say au revoir, but it was probably for the best—no doubt, Henri would have refused to let her go.

Charming was well rested when she found him in his stall. Belle hated to ask more of him, but he was still eager for duty. With steady but swift hands, she ran a heavy brush across Charming’s black coat. Each stroke brought the many strands into perfect alignment. Next came the blanket and then the saddle. The smell of dust and oils wafted around Belle as she carried it to her stall. The leather creaked with each movement. Aside from their working, the stable was quiet. Each rider was lost in their own thoughts and tasks.

Finally, Belle slid the metal bit into Charming’s mouth and drew the crown of the bridle over his long ears. Taking the reins, she steered her Friesian out of his stall. Gastone was exiting at the same time; the others were about to do the same. Belle met his gaze. After all these years, their movements had been synchronized. But only their movements, their thoughts—and emotions—certainly weren’t the same. She looked away.

As she’d always done, Belle led them out of the barn. With one discreet motion, she buttoned her skirt over her right hip, then placed the toe of her boot into the stirrup. In the cold night air, beneath the light of a single lantern, they mounted together.

Riding to the border, Belle waited for her Hunters to settle. She then lowered her head, “Oh Holy Angel. Attendant of our wretched souls and afflicted life.”

The others then joined and her heart beamed at being beside them once more.
Poof. Poof. Poof.
The gas lamps began to illuminate, turned on by Friar Clemens in the stable.

Signing the cross over their chests, they finished. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence, then Belle said to the three who would remain behind, “Good hunting.”

They each nodded and Delano replied, “Same to you.”

Without another word, Belle cued Charming. Gastone, Andre, Jack, and herself galloped into the dangerous forest of Vakre Fjell. This time it was not with the intent to kill, but to save—if they were fast enough.

They’re focused, watching for my wolves, but not intent on engaging them. No, their goal was speed. I can only guess as to the reason, which is why I followed.

The rage inside me wanted to kill them though—To step before them and slaughter each one with my bare hands. I could. It would be easy. Like crushing a snowflake.

I stared at the head rider, watching her search for the blur of me she’d just seen. I wanted to kill Belle the most. She was supposed to kill the Prince—not fall in love with him. The fool of a girl. I needed Prince Aleksander out of the way and both her and Henri failed to do what they were trained to do. Worse yet, the Prince had been able to do something impossible. He fought the curse and became human again. All because of the beauty I watched now.

Oh how I wanted to kill her; punish her for messing with my fate. But then, the Prince wasn’t with them and he was the real threat. Fenrir was still intent on bringing Aleksander to his side though. I could disobey Fenrir; I answered to the Universe—not some god. But such bad blood that would cause. No, if I wanted to rid myself of Prince Aleksander I’d have to, once again, rely on someone besides myself.

My wolves could do it. Fenrir could not fault them for their wild hunger, nor could he blame me. Yes, they will kill the Prince for me. And I will kill the beauty.

I breathed deep, savoring the idea of a good slaughter here in the woods. I reached over and petted the wolf who’d come to my side. He growled at the passing riders, his hackles rising down the spine of his back.

“Let’s wait for your siblings,” I said to my spawn. “I’ll call some from the mountains. When the Hunters attempt to return the wretched prince to his castle, you’ll have a feast. And I’ll have my way.”

Gastone was just off to her right and Andre on her left. Jack followed close behind from the rear. They too gave their horses rein, letting them run without hindrance. Thick puffs of breath rolled from the nostrils of each stallion, only to be swept up by the passing wind.

Turning her eyes to the trees, Belle searched for hellhounds. They hadn’t seen any. Except once, they’d seen something. Something that looked human. Then there was the growl. It was low and rippling, flowing over them with all its yearning hatred.