Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2)

by Brantwijn Serrah

  "Filthy sand rat!" she screeched, swinging her shield. The others cried out in protest, too, but I intended them to see exactly this.

  "You can't win by playing fair, Mara," I taunted. "This isn't an honor match. It's a grudge match. And I'm more than willing to get dirty."

  The blade came down again. I rolled again. Mud flew up between us, and I couldn't help it—I let out a raucous, wicked laugh. Sneaking out with one khopesh I hooked her belt and pulled her to me, raising the other to deflect her axe. It was a bad step, on my part; this time when she bashed me, both my weapons were extended, and she caught me full in the face with a ringing crash. Blood spurted from my nose and stars exploded across my field of vision. I released my holds and reclaimed my khopeshes, laughing still.

  "Nice," I said, wiping blood from my mouth. "But you know me, Mara... I like pain. So come on, sweetie. Hit me harder."

  Disgust filled her face. She lunged and I stepped into it, catching her axe and spinning to twist it from her grip with my sword. As it clattered to the mud I stepped in and threw myself against her shield, pressing her back, keeping her from the weapon.

  "Hit me again. Come on, Mara. Make me feel it."

  She sneered, gripping her shield now with both hands. I pushed harder, sweeping and slashing with both khopeshes against the wooden barrier, forcing her nearly to the edge of the ring. She knew I would soon force her out of bounds, and I saw the desperate flash in her eyes. Her balance shifted; I readied myself for the final step.

  With a roar, Mara shoved the shield at my face, attempting one massive, bone-shattering shield bash to knock me off my feet and away from her. She wanted room to move, to reclaim her axe. She didn't know, though, that I was done with this fight. As she lunged into the strike, I dropped into a backwards roll, leaving her no resistance at all.

  Her swing carried her several steps forward. With nothing to leverage on, she was left open and exposed, and off-balance.

  Rolling back onto my feet, I sprung forward, thrusting both khopeshes straight at her gut.

  I missed on purpose.

  Mara stood stunned, staring at me, the blades of my swords hovering in the air to either side of her. It was obvious, had I meant to, they would have gone straight through her belly.

  "Congratulations," I told her with a grin, blood streaking down my chin. "Your honorable warrior's tactics have just left you with your bowels strewn all over my battlefield. You lose."

  Her face burned. With a furious grunt she hit me in the face again with her shield, knocking me onto my back. I let her, and I lay in the rain laughing, tasting more blood, reasonably certain she'd broken my nose out of spite. Still, I laughed, giddily satisfied.

  The other soldiers seemed uncertain how to feel about our tussle. They glanced back and forth among one another, trading uneasy grimaces, and little by little melting away to go back to other duties. Mara straightened and spat at me before handing axe and shield to one of the other Sanraethi and storming away.

  Rayyan crouched by my side, silent, checking my injuries but offering no congratulations. Ailsa, too, came to examine me, but seemed reasonably certain I'd be all right without extensive medical attention.

  "That was a cheap win," Bannon muttered. I looked up to see him standing over me, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a grim look of displeasure.

  "Whether it was cheap or not is not the point," I told him. The pain, loud as it was in my head, felt right, and it comforted me. "The point was winning. And it helps to know how angry it made her to lose."

  "Seems very petty of you." He offered his hand, and I took it, letting him help me up.

  "I needed the release."

  He arched an eyebrow. "Did you?"

  I wiped more blood from my mouth and lifted my face into the rain, letting it wash away the last of it.

  "When it comes to Mara," I told him, "it's a matter of pride. Perhaps the lion cannot see the significance of the lionesses circling, or the way they swipe and clash with one another. Perhaps it is beyond your notice. That's fine. Just remember, if it ever comes down to a real fight between us, Mara will have to learn to fight just as dirty, or she'll end up dead."

  Bannon's expression darkened. Somewhere inside, I knew I'd done myself no favors with him. In the Sands, such a victory would cement my standing with my mate. It would prove my strength and desirability. If I'd humiliated one of Alaric's favorite officers in such a way, he'd have had me back to his rooms already with a raging erection and wild need to possess every part of me.

  We weren't in Vashtaren anymore, though. The Sanraethi held different views. If anything, my show of force against Bannon's trusted lieutenant would only push Bannon further away.

  Pleasure in my victory turned to sour regret in my gut.

  I found little to ease my frustrations as the days passed by. I wrote in the journal and watched my Master from across what seemed like a vast gulch; a chasm of things unspoken. We shared a bedroll, but a stifling and silent one. Schala slept in the crook of my arm, purring through the night, as though she thought it could heal me.

  I dreamed of my mother again, calling me from somewhere always out of reach. I never reached her—never found the shining light at the heart of the maze in my mind. Always, the creeping, slithering sounds of snakes surrounded me, and their coils ensnared my limbs to hold me back.

  The light—the Light—is dying.

  Sometimes the vague figure from the Drekakona stalked me through my visions instead, skirting the edges of my sight, twisting and changing the pathways around me until all the light faded away, lost behind me as I blindly felt my way through an empty darkness. I called out for my mother, for Rayyan, for Bannon, anyone to come and find me, but the only one to answer me was the being with the white, shining eyes.

  During the day, work on the Drekakona progressed at a good speed. The rain continued for half a week, but it did little to interfere with the interior repairs. We would have to hope it faded before construction began on the ship exterior. Time on shore grew tedious, as we were only allowed to enter the city at certain times in the day. Besides continuing athletic exercise and practice with new weapons, we did little in the camp, and I spent a great deal of time inside, writing in my journal or, quite often, fretting over things I didn't wish to record.

  Bannon remained cool with me. Throwing myself in the path of a fire was far more easily forgiven than the betrayal of his trust, and in his frustration over the lie and my ugly clash with Mara, he seemed to see more of Alaric's slave in me, losing sight of his own devoted kitten. I sat with him by the fire at night, comforted by his nearness, even as I felt him slowly drifting away.

  I'm so lost.

  Again.

  Far from everything I knew, I couldn't find my footing after all.

  I should have stayed home, where I understood the world around me. I should have made a new life in a place where I knew the rules.

  Most mornings I rose before Bannon and lay in the pre-dawn light, staring up at the roof of the tent. Sometimes the rain fell heavily, soothing me with its sure presence all around. Other times, it drizzled, soft and somehow kind, like a companion with a willing ear.

  Today, though, it seemed to have stopped. I listened to the silence in its place: the soft, steady breaths of Bannon beside me, and the tinier, nearly inaudible sighs of Schala, curled up on my belly. Outside the tent, no sound at all rose from the field or the soldiers around us. No early footsteps of the morning watch. No quiet conversations from a few tents over, or the sound of spoons stirring a breakfast pot. No crickets; no birds.

  Have I reached the hour before even nature awakes?

  Stroking Schala, I closed my eyes, thinking it best I simply go back to sleep. Then, though, something outside did make a noise.

  The soft, careful sound of a footstep in the grass.

  My eyes flew open. From her place on my stomach, Schala had also come awake, lifting her head and pricking her ears in the direction of the sound. A dread certainty f
illed my stomach.

  It isn't one of the soldiers. It isn't anyone.

  Something lingered outside, yes. The thing with the bright, moony eyes. The figure moving among the shadows on the ship.

  I held my breath and listened for more. The world around me seemed to wait with me in perfect silence. Until...

  Schala climbed to her feet, stretching briefly before bounding to the floor and heading for the tent entrance.

  "No!" I whispered, reaching for her, but she'd already moved out of my reach. The sense of strange intelligence loomed, and in my head, I pictured a hungry, waiting ghost in the field, silver in the damp mists, salivating for prey. I scrambled to my feet to snatch the caracal back to me before she caught its notice.

  The little gray bob of Schala's tail disappeared through the tent flap just as I grabbed for her, and the icy chill of gray morning cut in like a knife slicing at my naked flesh. I gritted my teeth, bracing myself for the cold, and thrust the flap aside.

  The clearing I stepped into wasn't the field of short grasses and rocky sand above the beach. There was no beach at all, and no city, and no huddled Sanraethi tents. Schala stood only a few steps ahead of me, peering over her shoulder to meet my eyes, and before me stretched a shimmering field of lush, dewy grass, deep sapphire blue in the darkness.

  Anxious suspicion squeezed my heart. I refused to look around me or take in more of my changed surroundings. I made a grab for Schala, determined to reclaim her and duck back into my tent with Bannon, safe from this unwelcome vision. The caracal, though, slipped through my fingers again and trotted several feet away.

  I don't want to look. I don't want to look!

  I didn't have to, though. I sensed it all around me: the hovering, hungry attention of a predator. The thump in my chest quickened to a light, frantic pitch. Run! Run, run, kitten, because the big cats are hunting tonight!

  "Schala!"

  I'd almost lost sight of her in the thick, rich blades of grass. Only her little stub tail and the tufts of her pointy ears gave her away as she wandered ahead. "Just where do you think you're going?"

  Run, elathae. Run fast and hide, because we are going to hunt you down, and if we catch you...

  I straightened. Something like fear gilded by excitement shot through my body, making me stand tall as I searched the empty field around me.

  Run, elathae.

  Familiar words. A familiar thrill from... somewhere. I stood naked in an open landscape, limbs tight and coiled for action. The smell of deep rain carried to me on the breeze, and somewhere, somewhere a hunter—my hunter—lurked, ready to chase me down.

  It is like my vision of the shrine. Part of an ancient past. These hands, her hands, my hands...

  My night. My chase. I know this game.

  So, I took off at a sprint.

  Wet grass flew by beneath me. The cloudy cold raised the hair along my arms and the back of my neck, cutting like a blade as I breathed it in and yet fueling me with brisk, hectic energy. I ran as the deer, as the rabbit, as the fox—prey animals, all, scurrying from the predator, but I had no fear. I knew the hunter. The hunter who named me, who forged my strength and tempered my wild, primal power.

  I am her. Her, and me. Beauty... and beast.

  I ran for the trees which swallowed me up almost before I knew they were there. The scents of sweet pine and stoic oak, of aspen and alder and apple tree and cherry. Their leaves whispered to me as I raced beneath their shelter, and from deep within the tangle of their many branches came the soothing cries of night birds and the fluttering wings of bats. My bare feet thundered against cold, wet earth, sinking into soil, slipping on fallen leaves, and yet each step carried me, sure and true, like a ship cutting across the sea.

  That's one, kitten.

  "Take me," I breathed, surrendering to race with joy. Somewhere ahead was the shelter I sought, and I knew my course would guide me there, as sure as I knew what would happen when my hunter ran me down.

  That's two.

  White stone. Granite? Marble? Tumbled columns and eroded figures carved along an old, broken, fallen frieze. Steps half-hidden in the grass and moss; creeping morning glories closed tight until the sun called them open again, winding up old stone bones of a fallen shrine. This was where my body led. This place, where my hunter would find me, because that had been the purpose all along.

  To be found. To be captured.

  Already I felt his breath at my neck. Hot hands grasping for my ankles. The trees seemed to close in, as they always did just before I emerged on the old temple, and there—

  Before I could leap up onto the altar stone, the hunter closed his grip upon my waist. I struggled and wriggled in his grasp, throwing all my strength against him, and still he held me. Blood roared in my ears; I snarled and bit at him, and he seized my jaw in one big, rough hand. My naked body responded, a flash of heat lighting up my belly, breasts, and thighs.

  It's gorgeous.

  It is, kitten. And that's three.

  He bore me down onto the white stone altar. His mouth found mine, his breath like the breath of my own lungs. He smelled of blood and sweat, of steel and leather and fire. One hand still gripped my jaw while the other seized my thigh, fingers digging into soft flesh.

  He is not the Red Bear. I am not his she-cat. Yet we are, and always have been. Hunter, lover, prey.

  Just as I watched the hands before me change over years, just as I saw the shrine and the serpent skull. So, we have been born into this ancient rite.

  "Yield to me."

  "I never yield," I replied in breathless defiance. "Take what you want if you can. Subdue the beast or go from this place, unworthy. But I will never yield."

  Bind me and hold me down... for a I fear I will break into pieces.

  He forced his way between my thighs, and I raked at his face with my nails, drawing blood. Strong fingers closed around my wrist, squeezing, lifting it over my head to bend me back until I lay completely beneath him on the stone. He kissed me again, and our bodies seemed as one, every heartbeat, every rush of heat, every electric touch shared between us.

  When his tongue met mine, he stole away a taste of my primal, raging power, and when his hand fell to my breast, caressing it, he imbued my heart with a measure of calm, cool peace.

  "Take it from me," I whispered as our lips parted. "Take this fire from my blood... take this wild madness. Soothe my spirit and make my soul still and calm once more."

  He bound my wrists in a length of silk he produced from within his sleeve. Wedging himself between my thighs, he released his cock from his trews and guided it into my entrance. The cry that ripped through my body was part pleasure, part wail, part feral screech, as he grasped me by the hips and thrust into me, claiming me in a hot, yearning rush of power.

  I raged beneath him, despite my utter joy. The beast within cried out to fight, struggled to shove him away, even as I welcomed him deeper, moaning his name, raising my legs to wrap them around him and draw him tighter against me.

  Bind me down on hands and knees. Give me no choice but to submit to you.

  When he kissed me again, I bit his lip, drawing blood, and he seized me by the throat to hold me back down. No panic this time—no fear of distant masters or vengeful ghosts. I laughed, and he slapped my breasts before giving three hard, mean thrusts so deep I thought he might break me. While I twisted against the silk around my wrists, a sweet, salacious heat ran through my loins.

  "Let me go," I snarled. But those weren't the words to bring this play to an end. Again, he slapped my breasts and my body jumped. I arched to take him deeper into me, welcoming him to my very core, twisting beneath his grip and writhing to feel his iron inside me.

  Hold me down... make me yield... give me no choice but to give you all of me...

  For I fear I will fly to pieces...

  "Now, little monster," he rumbled. "Now, come for me."

  The burning steel in his voice, like a blade fresh from the blacksmith's forge, called the re
sponse from me, wringing a swell of pleasure from my whole body. Yet still, I resisted, biting down on my tongue, squeezing my thighs hard around him, desperate to deny his power. Why? Simply for the thrill. The pride. To make him fight—fuck—even harder.

  "I said, come!" he demanded, pressing his body to mine, clasping my chin in his hand to make me look into his eyes. Deep and endless eyes, warrior's eyes, hunter's eyes.

  My Red Bear. Not the Red Bear.

  Without fear, he kissed me again, and I tasted the blood on his lips. His free hand slid beneath my buttocks and held me to him, giving me no room to wriggle or twist away.

  At last, I could resist no longer. I broke our kiss with a high, aching cry of pleasure, tightening around him, thrusting in time to ride his wonderful cock as I came. It swept over me like water over a breaking dam, all pain and tension giving way to overwhelming desire. My nails dug against the stone—my toes curled, and I begged him to complete the act, meeting me with his own climax and filling me with his seed.

  Instead, he withdrew, pulling me roughly up from the altar before turning me around and pushing me down on my belly. He pried apart my legs and plunged this time into my tight, resisting rear entrance, invading me with a sharp, piercing pain. All at once it felt as though my whole body broke beneath his; with each thrust my strength waned and he took over, pushing me down, claiming me completely.

  The strain and struggle burned down and dwindled. The fight in me evaporated, and all that remained was deep, delicious pleasure spiked with pain, sweet and scorching and shining.

  "Yield," he demanded again, and this time I did. I arched to meet his thrusts, moaning, whispering desperate encouragement as he fucked.

  "I love you," I whispered. "I love you... I love you."

  As he reached his peak, he thrust in me to the very hilt and I cried out. I thought I might pass out from the dizzying pain and whirling delight. But he withdrew in a swift motion, leaving my body empty and bereft, until the heat of his seed jetted across my buttocks and lower back.