Beauty's Beast

by Amanda Ashley

  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.

  “Enjoy your bath, Kristine,” he said.

  “It will be all right,” she said reassuringly. “You’ll see.”

  He nodded, then went into the other room and closed the door. For a moment, he pictured her disrobing, slipping into the tub’s scented water. He wished fleetingly that he could join her in the tub, that he could take the soap from her hand and—

  He jerked his thoughts away from the images that rose in his mind. Though she did not appear repulsed by his appearance, he could not bring himself to let her see him unclothed, could not endure the pity in her eyes.

  He undressed and slid into the tub, noting for the first time that there was no mirror in this room, nothing to reflect his image back to him.

  He washed quickly and stepped out of the tub, shaking the way a dog shakes when it emerges from water. He swore when he realized what he was doing. Reaching for a strip of toweling, he dried off, then dressed in the trousers and tunic that had been left for him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he drew on a pair of soft leather boots that were cut to accommodate his changed feet, as well as a pair of gloves, the left one tailored to fit over his disfigured hand. There was also a mask made of fine black silk.

  He picked it up and slipped it on, grateful for the mage’s thoughtfulness. He had felt vulnerable, naked, without the mask.

  Crossing the floor, he knocked softly on the connecting door. “Kristine?”

  “Come in.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as he stepped into the room. Erik’s gaze ran over her. The mauve gown complemented her skin and eyes. Her hair framed her face like a golden nimbus. She looked beautiful, radiant with the bloom of motherhood.

  She smiled at him, and then she frowned.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The mask. Where did it come from?”

  “The wizard provided it.”

  “It isn’t necessary, Erik. Your face does not frighten me.”

  “It is not for you,” he replied quietly. “I
t is for me.”

  She started to say something, but it was forgotten as a large covered tray appeared on the table.

  “Oh, my,” she murmured. “Fires that burn without wood. Bathtubs that disappear. And now this.”

  Erik glanced around the room, only now noticing that the bathtub was gone, that the fire did indeed burn without fuel of any kind. At least none that could be seen.

  Kristine uncovered the tray, revealing two pewter plates heaped with food, and two goblets of sparkling red wine.

  Erik stared at the meal provided—chicken and dumplings for Kristine, a slab of near-raw meat for him. The sight of it was a blatant reminder of what he was becoming.

  Kristine said nothing, only looked up at him through eyes filled with sympathy and compassion and a quiet, desperate hope.

  Erik turned away, his appetite gone. He knew his host had not meant to insult him, knew the venison, served very rare, was meant to be a token of hospitality. He did not stop to wonder how the mage knew his preference.

  He paced the floor while Kristine ate her supper at his urging. He did not want or need her to refuse her meal because he refused his. She had the child to think of.

  Kristine pushed away from the table, hiding a yawn behind her hand. She was often tired in the afternoon these days.

  “You should rest,” Erik said, divining her thoughts.

  “I could use a nap,” she agreed. Crossing the floor, she sat on the bed, patting the mattress beside her. “Will you not rest with me, my lord husband? You must be weary, as well.”

  It was not exhaustion but the wish to be near her that propelled him to her side. She stretched out on the bed, and he lay beside her, drawing her against him. With a sigh, Kristine pillowed her head on his shoulder. Even now, when she had seen him without his mask, without covering of any kind, he was careful to keep her on his right, careful to keep his mask in place.

  She gazed up at the ceiling, noticing the painting there for the first time. Clouds seemed to drift overhead. And there, amidst the clouds, was a full moon and countless bright stars. A moon that glowed with a silver light. Stars that twinkled.

  “Erik, look.” She pointed upward. “’Tis the most amazing thing.”

  He looked up, brow furrowed. It was, indeed, amazing. And as he watched, the sight grew even more astonishing. The moon and clouds drifted across the ceiling, the moon disappeared, to be replaced by a bright golden sun. After a time, the sun went down, and dark clouds scudded across the ceiling-sky, and then a rainbow stretched above them.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Kristine murmured.

  Erik’s gaze moved slowly over Kristine’s face. Her deep green eyes were filled with wonder as she stared up at the ceiling. Her skin was soft and smooth, her cheeks the color of fresh peaches, her lips slightly parted.

  “No,” Erik replied, his gaze still on her face. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely in my life.”

  “Surely a wizard who can conjure such a wondrous thing will be able to help us.”

  Erik grunted softly. He didn’t want to ruin her hopes, but there was a vast difference between creating an illusion and curing a spell cast by a vindictive witch.

  It was an hour past sundown when the mage summoned them. Hand in hand, Erik and Kristine followed Fidella up the winding stairway that led to the mage’s private quarters.

  With a smile, Fidella opened the door and gestured for them to enter.

  Kristine clung to Erik’s hand as they stepped into the room. It was round and devoid of furnishings of any kind.

  “Welcome.”

  Kristine glanced around, but saw no one. She looked up at Erik, who was staring at the far side of the chamber.

  “What do you see?” she whispered.

  “I’m not sure.”

  A low chuckle floated in the air. There was a shower of red sparks, and a man dressed in a flowing black robe materialized before them. He was tall and lean, with thick silver-gray hair, a short gray beard, and mild blue eyes beneath bushy black brows.

  “I bid you welcome,” he said. A chair covered in red velvet appeared behind him and he sat down. A wave of his hand conjured a pair of similar chairs for his guests. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

  Kristine put one hand on the back of the chair, as if to ascertain its solidity before she sat down. Erik remained standing.

  “Is it cold in here?” the mage asked. Before either of his guests could answer, a fireplace appeared, complete with a cozy fire. “Wine?”

  Another wave of his hand produced a small white lacquer table and a silver tray bearing three crystal goblets. “Please,” the wizard said, “help yourselves.”

  Erik picked up the goblet nearest him and took a drink. It was honey wine, warm and sweet.

  “Now,” the mage said, sitting back in his chair, “what is it you wish of me?”

  “Don’t you know?” Erik asked.

  The wizard smiled. “But of course. However, tiresome as it might be, I cannot grant your boon until you ask it of me.”

  “I want to know if you can break a curse cast by another.”

  “Perhaps.” The wizard gestured at Erik’s mask. “Take that off, please.”

  Erik hesitated; he took a step back so that Kristine could not see his face and then removed the mask, clutching it tightly in his right hand.

  The wizard’s eyes narrowed. Rising, he approached Erik, ran his fingertips over the left side of Erik’s face and neck. “Is this the full extent of the affliction?”

  “No. It covers my left side and most of my right.”

  The wizard grunted softly, a wave of his hand indicating Erik should disrobe.

  With a sigh, Erik removed his garments, his heart pounding as he stood naked to the wizard’s gaze.

  “Did this come upon you all at once, or little by little?”

  “Little by little,” Erik replied. He stared at the back of Kristine’s head, praying she would not turn around. She had seen him as he was in the dungeon, he mused, he should have been used to it, but he could not bear for her to look at him, to see what he had become.

  The mage grunted again. Rising, he walked slowly around Erik, one hand reaching out to touch the thick, dark pelt that covered his back and shoulders. “I’ve not seen a spell quite like this one before,” he remarked. “’Tis most . . . interesting. Did she say there was a way to reverse the spell?”

  Erik shook his head. “She said the spell could not be broken until her daughter forgave me.”

  “And where is her daughter?”

  “Dead these last five years.”

  The wizard let out a sigh, then returned to his chair and sat down. “You may dress.”

  Erik quickly donned his clothing and mask. Only then did he sit down in the chair beside Kristine. “Can you help me?”

  “I will make you no promises. Should I be able to break this spell, what price are you willing to pay?”

  “Whatever you ask,” Kristine said quickly.

  The mage looked at her, a speculative gleam in his mild blue eyes. “Indeed?” His gaze moved over her, resting a moment on her swollen belly. “Anything I ask?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Anything.”

  “What have you to offer?”

  “I have lands and wealth,” Erik said. “All are yours if you can remove this curse.”

  “I have lands and wealth of my own,” the wizard replied.

  “What is it you want, then?” Erik asked, though he feared he knew the answer.

  “Your child.”

  Kristine gasped. “Our child?” She stared at the wizard, mouth agape. “You are jesting.”

  The mage shook his head. “Is it a price you are willing to pay?”

  “No.” Erik stood up, reaching for Kristine’s hand.

  “Erik, wait.” Kristine looked at the wizard. “Why would you want our child?”

  “I am a wizard of great repute, yet I am unable to father a child of my own. Are you willing to sacr
ifice your child to save your husband from the ultimate fate that awaits him?”

  “It is not her decision to make,” Erik said. “The child is mine. The woman is mine. I will not see them separated.”

  “Wait.” Kristine glanced from Erik to the wizard and back again. “Erik,” she said quietly. “If he can end this awful curse, we must let him do it. We can have other children. As many as you wish.” Had her own mother experienced this same heart-wrenching grief when she’d chosen her lover over her daughter?

  “No! How can you even consider such a thing?”

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “It would break my heart to give up our child. The child of our love. But I love you with all that I am, Erik. I would do anything to help you, anything to end your pain. Anything to allow us to have a life together. After all we have been through, I cannot bear to lose you now.”

  “No, Kristine.”

  “Calm yourselves,” the mage said. “I wondered only how deep your love for the woman ran, and hers for you. Sometimes love is the best magic of all.” He stood up, the hem of his black robe flowing like water around his ankles. “Make my home yours. I must study on this. I must confess, I find this spell most intriguing. I myself have transformed people, but never anything like this, and never a spell that could only be broken by one who is dead.” He stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful. “If I cannot help, you may need to seek out a necromancer.”

  “There may not be time for that,” Kristine said anxiously. “Please help us.”

  “I shall do my best, my dear,” the wizard replied kindly and then, amidst a swirl of twinkling red sparks, he vanished from their sight.

  It was an awesome display, but Erik had eyes only for Kristine. “Would you truly have given him our child?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You care for my babe so little, then?”

  “No, Erik, ’tis only that I care for you so very much.”