Beauty's Beast

by Amanda Ashley

  “Kristine . . .” Heart aching, he drew her into his arms and held her close.

  He felt the pain moving through his right shoulder, slowly, insidiously, spreading down his arm. And knew that his time was almost gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was midmorning the following day when the wizard again summoned them to the tower room. The chairs, table, and fireplace of the night before were gone. The wizard sat on a high stool in the middle of the floor, hunched over a high table upon which were spread dozens of scrolls and manuscripts. A white raven with amber eyes perched on a corner of the table.

  The wizard looked up as Erik and Kristine entered the room.

  “Have you found anything?” Kristine asked anxiously.

  The wizard stroked his beard. “I have found a few incantations that look promising but, in all honesty, I must warn you that I doubt any of them will be effective.” He glanced at Erik. “Know you the name of the witch who cast this spell upon you?”

  “Charmion du Lac.”

  “Ah.”

  “You know her, then?” Erik asked.

  “I have seen the results of her magic in times past. Much of what I know, I learned at her hand.”

  “You are friends, then?”

  A myriad of emotions flickered in the wizard’s eyes. “Not exactly.”

  “What, exactly?” Erik asked.

  “We once explored the ancient arts together. During that time, we became friends, but we found it difficult to maintain that relationship, so we became . . . ah . . . more than friends. I’m afraid that liaison did not work out well, either.”

  Kristine clutched Erik’s hand, unsettled by the wizard’s disclosure. “And now?”

  “We are, at best, congenial enemies.”

  For a moment, Erik considered telling the mage that Charmion was dead, but quickly decided against it, thinking that, if the mage still had feelings for the witch, he might send them away. “Can you help me or not?”

  “I shall do my best.” In a fluid motion, the wizard stood. “Disrobe.”

  “Again?”

  “Please.”

  Erik glanced at Kristine, then turned so that his left side was away from her. Jaw clenched, he shed his clothing. It was humiliating to stand naked before the mage, to stand exposed as if he had no more feelings than the beast he was all too rapidly becoming.

  The wizard smiled at Kristine. “Stand away, my dear.”

  Kristine moved to the far side of the room, her hands clasped at her breast. Slowly, the wizard circled Erik. Three times to the left. Three times to the right. With a wave of his hand, he sprinkled a handful of what looked like crushed dandelion fluff over Erik’s head and shoulders. And then he began to chant softly. He had a most pleasant voice.

  Kristine tried to understand the words of the incantation, but they were in a language she had never heard before.

  The wizard circled Erik again, three times to the right, three times to the left, his voice rising, becoming higher and more intense. A hail of multicolored sparks flew from his fingertips; golden lights danced around the two men, enclosing them in a shimmering circle of brilliant amber fire.

  Kristine folded her arms over her stomach, felt all the hair on her body rise as the wizard’s power filled the room.

  Erik’s head fell back and a long, low groan rose from deep inside his chest.

  Kristine leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the man she loved, the words please, please, please pounding in her head as the golden lights grew brighter, changed to swirling silver flecked with blue. The air pulsed with energy. There was a sharp crack that sounded like lightning, a sudden whoosh as a ribbon of rainbow fire engulfed Erik.

  Her breath caught in her throat as, for the space of a half dozen heartbeats, Erik stood before her, tall and straight, his body whole, perfect, and beautiful.

  The spell was broken! Relief gushed through her. And then, between one breath and the next, the rainbow fire turned black as pitch. The air filled with the acrid odor of smoke and ash.

  The wizard stumbled backward, as if pushed by an invisible hand.

  A cry of pain was torn from Erik’s throat as his body changed back to what it had been. Fighting for breath, he dropped to his hands and knees.

  For every tear my daughter wept! For every drop of blood she shed.

  The words, filled with unrelenting hatred, echoed from the floor, the ceiling, the very walls of the room.

  Kristine covered her ears in a vain effort to shut out that horrible, vengeful voice. She looked at Erik. He was writhing on the floor, his body convulsing beneath a hideous greenish-black aura.

  “No!” She screamed the words. “Leave him alone! He’s suffered enough!”

  For every tear my daughter wept! For every drop of blood she shed!

  The words vibrated through the air, exploded off the walls, shattered the windows.

  Erik curled into a tight ball as waves of excruciating pain ripped through him.

  “Lady Trevayne!” the wizard shouted. “Come to me, now!”

  The urgency in his tone compelled her to his side. He put one arm around her shoulders and held her tightly against him. A wave of his hand enclosed them in a shimmering silver cloud.

  “My curse cannot be broken.” Charmion’s voice, brimming with evil, slammed into Erik.

  “Please,” Kristine begged. She shook off the wizard’s grip on her arm and took a step forward, intending to go to Erik, only to find that she could not move through the cloud that surrounded her. “Please. He’s suffered enough.”

  “Not yet,” the voice said. “Not yet.” Hideous laughter filled the air. Power slithered through the room like a living entity. The force of it pressed against the shimmering silver cloud protecting Kristine and the wizard. She held her breath, afraid the witch’s power would strike them down, but nothing happened.

  An angry wail echoed off the walls, and then there was a great silence, broken only by the sound of Erik’s labored breathing.

  “She is gone,” the wizard said.

  “It can’t be Charmion,” Kristine said, confused. “I . . . I hit her. I killed her.”

  “Apparently you did not,” the wizard remarked. A wave of his arm dissolved the shimmering cloud.

  Kristine hurried to Erik’s side, one hand reaching out for him.

  “No!” He backed away from her. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Why?”

  “I can feel her power crawling over me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid for you, afraid you’ll feel what I’m feeling if you touch me.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “You don’t want to know.” He closed his eyes, fighting the sharp, stabbing pains that grew more intense with every breath. “She’s punishing me,” he said. “Punishing me for coming here, for trying to cheat her of her victory.”

  Kristine stared at Erik. “How can she be alive?”

  He shook his head. It didn’t matter how. It was enough to know Charmion still lived, that Kristine and his child were still in danger, and he was helpless to protect them.

  “Erik . . .”

  “Leave me.”

  “No.”

  “Please, Kristine.”

  “Come, child,” the wizard said, “I believe he needs to be alone.”

  “I just want to help.”

  “I know,” Caddaric said, his voice laced with sympathy. “I know.” Draping his arm around Kristine’s shoulders, he led her from the room.

  Left alone, Erik collapsed on the floor, surrendering to the pain that lanced through him with his every breath, every heartbeat. They had come here seeking help. He knew now that no help would be forthcoming.

  It will be less painful if you stop fighting. Valaree’s words rose in the back of his mind. Was that the answer, to simply give in? If he stopped fighting the transformation, would it take place more quickly? It would be so easy to give in, to stop fighting and accept the inevitable. So easy . .
.

  Closing his eyes, he sank into the velvet blackness that waited for him.

  “What are we to do now?” Kristine asked. They were sitting in the wizard’s chambers. It was a large, square room, the walls lined with bookshelves crowded with books, scrolls, and manuscripts. Plush gray carpets covered the floor. Several flowering plants added splashes of color. The white raven regarded them from a perch in the corner.

  Kristine stared into the cup of green tea the wizard had conjured for her. “It’s useless to fight her, isn’t it?”

  “Fighting evil is never useless,” Caddaric replied.

  “But you can’t help Erik, can you?”

  The wizard blew out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid not, my child. But I might be able to help you.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “I cannot reverse the curse Charmion has put upon Erik, but she has no power over me. She cannot enter my keep, nor can she harm those in my protection.”

  “She hurt Erik.”

  “Only because she had power over him already.”

  “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

  “For Erik? I am afraid so. You are welcome to stay here, within the protection of these walls, until your child is delivered.”

  “I had hoped my daughter would be born at Hawksbridge.”

  The wizard sighed. “If you wish, I shall see you safely back to Hawksbridge. I can seal the castle against her evil. You and all who dwell there will be safe from Charmion’s power so long as you do not admit her to the castle.”

  Kristine nodded. There was no hope for Erik. She must think now of their child. His child. “Thank you.”

  “I am sorry, Lady Trevayne. I wish I could do more.”

  “Kristine. Call me Kristine.”

  “And you must call me Caddaric.”

  She smiled faintly. “For a moment, I thought the spell had been broken. For just a moment, he looked as I had always imagined him to be, as he must have been before Charmion’s evil curse.”

  “You have never seen him as he was?”

  “No. I wish . . .” She fought back a wave of hopelessness, blinked back the tears that were ever close to the surface. “You and Charmion, you’re so different, it’s little wonder you did not get on well together.”

  Caddaric nodded. “Her magic has always been as dark as the place she calls home. Did you know we are the only two witches left in the land? I was the light to balance her darkness.”

  “Has she always been so . . . so evil?”

  “Sadly, yes, though I thought there was hope for her when first we met. She could have done so much good, yet she preferred the dark arts. I fear they will yet be her downfall.”

  Kristine thought about Charmion’s castle, shrouded in mist and darkness, so different from Caddaric’s home. It was hard for Kristine to comprehend evil, harder still to understand why a witch as powerful as Charmion—a witch who could, with a word, surround herself with beauty—chose to live in the darkness of Cimmerian Crag.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly weary.

  “You should rest,” Caddaric suggested.

  “Yes, I think I will. Thank you for everything.”

  Rising, Kristine made her way to her chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, the drapes were shut against the sun. With a sigh, she sat down in the chair beside the hearth and removed her shoes. When she stood up, she saw that the bed had been turned down, the pillows plumped.

  Magic, she thought. She’d had enough of magic, both black and white.

  Erik woke with a cry, the images of his nightmare all too vivid. He had been fully a beast in his dream, and yet he had been capable of human thought. He had seen himself running with Valaree, killing a deer, fighting over the fresh meat, and all the while what little humanity he still possessed had been appalled by his actions. He had run through the night, had howled his anguish at an uncaring moon. And then he had seen himself lying at Kristine’s feet, his tongue licking her palm, his tail wagging as she stroked his head. . ..

  Rising, he glanced around, noting that he was still in the tower room and that night had fallen. He padded toward the window, only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw himself reflected in a shard of broken glass. Nothing remained of Erik Trevayne save for the right side of his face and his right arm. The curse had swallowed up the rest of him, clothing him in coarse black fur.

  Why was he fighting it?

  He took a deep breath, and Kristine’s scent flooded his nostrils. Kristine. She was worth the pain each breath cost him. He would endure anything to have one more day with her, one more hour.

  Charmion would win the fight. He knew it, knew it was futile to resist. But he would not surrender. He might be beaten, but he would not give up.

  He was reaching for his trousers when there was a rap on the door. “Lord Trevayne?”

  “Enter.”

  Caddaric stepped into the room, and the door closed behind him. “I am most truly sorry that I am unable to break the curse.”

  Erik nodded. Back turned to the wizard, he drew on his trousers and reached for his shirt.

  “Kristine tells me she wishes to return to Hawksbridge. If it is agreeable, I shall take you there. As I told her, I can cast a spell that will protect your castle and all who dwell within its walls from Charmion’s magic.”

  Erik slipped his shirt over his head and quickly secured his mask in place before turning to face Caddaric. “You can do that?”

  “Yes. I regret that, since you are already under her power, I can do nothing for you.”

  “My life no longer concerns me. It is Kristine and the babe who must be protected now.”

  “Then we are in agreement?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I believe we should leave on the morrow, early.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  “Kristine tells me she has never seen you as you were. Is this true?”

  Erik nodded.

  “I do not wish to offend you but, if you like, I can conjure a temporary spell that will enable you to be as you once were for a brief period of time.”

  “I am not offended.” Erik looked at his left hand, felt excitement stir within him at the thought of being as he had been before the curse, of holding Kristine in his arms, of touching her and having her touch him in return.

  “This evening, then?” Caddaric asked.

  “Yes. How long will it last?”

  “It is a difficult spell to maintain, but I believe I can assure you of an hour, say, two hours before midnight?”

  Kristine looked up at Erik and shook her head. “How can he do that?”

  “I don’t know. Does the thought displease you?”

  “Of course not. But how does it work?”

  “He didn’t say, only that it is a difficult spell to maintain for long.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Near ten.”

  She stared up at him, her heart pounding. To see him as he had been, to be able to touch him . . .

  “Erik.”

  “I know.”

  He gazed into her eyes, hardly aware that the lights in the room had dimmed. Soft music filtered through the air. A fire sprang to life in the hearth. He heard a soft whisper, like the rustle of silk, as Kristine’s dress was magically transformed into a long white sleeping gown.

  He knew the moment his own transformation took place, felt it in every fiber of his being, saw it in the wonder that spread over her face, felt it in the tremor of her hand as she removed his mask and stroked his cheek. His left cheek.

  “Erik,” she murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Am I?”

  “And I can touch you, can’t I?”

  He nodded, hardly daring to breathe as she lifted his shirt over his head and flung it aside, then slid her hands over his chest, his shoulders. His reaction to her touch was immediate and evident.

  “Erik, oh Erik.”

  He heard the wanting in her voice. Not trusting himself to speak, he swept her i
nto his arms and carried her to bed. Lowering her to the mattress, he stretched out beside her, raining kisses on her brow, the curve of her cheek, her nose, her lips—ah, but she tasted sweet, so sweet.

  And her hands. There was no hesitation in her touch, no holding back. She ran her fingertips over him, and there was no mistaking the delight she found in caressing him.

  He groaned with pleasure, gasped with aching need as she removed his trousers, then shed her gown.

  For a long moment, Kristine let her gaze move over him, admiring his broad shoulders and chest, his flat belly and long, muscular legs. And then she was touching him again. His skin was smooth and warm and firm. Looking at him, caressing him, made her ache deep down inside. Desire unfurled within her when she saw the visible evidence of his need, and then she was stroking him again, her hands trembling in her eagerness to touch, to explore the depth of his navel, the fine curly hair on his chest. She traced the line of hair that arrowed toward his manhood, held him in her hand.

  “Kristine . . .”

  She heard the urgency in his voice as he swept her into his arms and positioned her beneath him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight, her hands moving restlessly over his back and shoulders. Never before had she been able to caress him, to see his face as their bodies merged into one flesh. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away, afraid he would not understand why she wept, afraid she would not be able to explain that they were tears of joy and gratitude for this moment, of regret for the years that they might have shared, years that had been stolen away by a vindictive witch.

  He claimed her lips in a long, passionate kiss as his flesh melded with hers. It had been too long since he had made love to her, too long since he had held her like this. The fire’s glow cast warm golden highlights over her skin and he knew she had never been more beautiful than she was now, her eyes filled with love, her belly swollen with his child.

  He wanted to savor each moment, to make it last and last, but his body betrayed him. Unable to restrain himself, he convulsed within her. Her arms tightened around him, holding him closer, closer.