Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1)

by Rachel L. Demeter

  He already relives it in his nightmares. Although he hasn’t had an episode for a week...

  They spent the rest of the day riding Spirit through the dense forest and along the jagged coastline. Isabelle had never felt so free—and with every meter they traveled, Adam’s hardened facade crumbled away, revealing the man underneath. Together, sitting side by side on the outskirts of the forest, they’d watched where the sea and sky coupled as one. The forest, which lurked behind them, soon came to life with night sounds.

  They listened to the gentle rush of the sea, which resembled the breaths of a sleeping creature. Isabelle slipped into the fabric of a dream world and allowed nature’s beauty to wash over her. They’d picnicked, then flown a small kite; how free she’d felt, her soul unleashed, as if she herself were riding the breeze. Within that moment, as Adam’s large body encased her own, her fears had faded away, and her spirit took wing along with the fluttering kite.

  Hours later, he clasped her hand as they lay on an enormous smooth rock. He set their untied grips over his heart, and the entire world seemed to fall away. Hardly thinking, she shifted closer to his strong body and rested her cheek on his chest. Her eyes fell shut as he repeatedly swept his fingers through her hair and combed the curls from her face. Then he bowed his head, so the wisps of his breaths tickled her scalp. A soothing, hypnotic humming swelled the growing night. His voice wrapped around her soul, pulling her closer with the force of a lasso. She tingled all over, battling the temptation to turn her face those last centimeters and press her lips to his.

  She burned to taste him, to mold her body against the hard planes of his chest... to run her palms over his scars and chase the shadows from his eyes—

  Without warning, the clouds slashed open. A sudden rain curtained the world around them, drenching Isabelle and Adam to the marrow of their bones. Laughing, the heavy fabric of her cloak plastered to her tingling skin, Isabelle yelped and scrambled off the stone. Cocking a dark brow, Adam stared into the bruised sky and shook his dark head. Isabelle watched in a state of silent awe and appreciation. His raven locks were glued to his temples and the sides of his face, resembling melted drinking chocolate.

  “Island weather,” he murmured as the rain assaulted them both, mimicking the sound of a thousand echoing heartbeats. “Completely and utterly unpredictable.”

  “Yes.” Isabelle lifted her hands to the heavens and twirled in place. “And I love it.” She felt cleansed... as if the disgrace of her former life was being washed away. Here she stood, at the edge of a new path with the dark, enigmatic man at her side behaving as her guiding light.

  “Yes, well,” Adam drawled, a smile in his voice, “even so, you shall catch your death. And I’m afraid I can’t allow that.” He swooped forward with that mesmerizing, panther-like grace and latched on to her midsection. Tossing her over his shoulder as if she were no heavier than a ragdoll, he strode over to Spirit while the rain beat down in unrelenting sheets.

  Minutes later, Isabelle felt the stinging bite of the air and rain whip against her cheeks. She clutched Adam’s strong torso as Spirit galloped through the dense forest. Their wet bodies sloshed together with each thrust. A chill seeped into her bones—one that had nothing to do with the rain and everything to do with her blossoming feelings.

  Her heart hammered at a fierce rhythm as she glanced up at the towering thicket of trees. The moon’s glow faintly trickled through the dense wood and bathed her wet cheeks. The chill extended and spread through her veins as the sight of the castle’s jutting towers broke through the forest.

  Once they reached the castle, Adam leapt off Spirit’s back with that awe-inspiring grace, then pulled her down after him. Grasping her hand, he tore inside the stable and led Spirit into her stall.

  Listening to the melodic pitter-patter of the rain, Isabelle leaned against the panel, her gaze planted on Adam’s solid back. She watched in wonder as he stroked Spirit’s velvet muzzle and whispered sweet nothings into her shifting ear. After filling her troughs with hay and fresh water, he turned to Isabelle, and the very air crackled with an unspoken tension. Visibly holding his breath, Adam drew toward her, slow and steady, the moonbeams fluttering across the clashing sides of his face. In a few swift strides, he was upon her, his massive body enclosing her against the firm wooden panels.

  “Adam...” she breathed more than whispered, reaching out to cup the marred half of his face. He stepped backward, as if her simple touch had caused him physical pain, and stared at the damp straw flooring beneath his boots.

  He shook his downcast head and remained in silence for several moments. Only the driving rain broke the quiet. Isabelle listened to the melody and awaited Adam’s next words on bated breath. Moonlight shimmered through the stable’s panels and fluttered across his uneasy expression. Desire swam in his brilliant blue eyes—desire and a lifetime of self-doubt. When he at last spoke, his voice was a whisper, and a distinct heartache laced each syllable together.

  “Before you came, Sébastien was my only tie to the outside world. I held a deep hatred for everyone—for no one more than myself. But you being here—simply seeing your beautiful face and hearing your voice—it has changed me. You have changed me. You have made me better.”

  Her own request echoed in her mind: Show me. Become better.

  “Come closer,” she whispered, hardly knowing she’d spoken the words. Adam tentatively stepped forward, eliminating some of the space between them. Beyond the stable, the moon shifted in the bruised sky and caused the light to move away from Adam’s face. There he stood, cast in shadows as dark as night, the ragged sound of his breathing coupling with her own. His unique scents filled her nostrils in a compelling drift of pine and winter. Rivulets of water dripped from the dark strands of his hair and tracked down his cheeks; they resembled the tears he refused to shed.

  “You, Isabelle, have reminded me that goodness and beauty still exist in the world.” His sheer height cast a shadow over her; his breaths stirred her curls, moving over her skin like a satin ribbon. A ribbon she ached to grab on to and reel him closer with. “I hardly know if I should send you away or bring you... closer.”

  “Closer.” Again, Isabelle breathed the word into the darkness. He tugged her closer—much closer—until they stood heartbeat to heartbeat. Warm breaths drifted against her skin as every sinew, every muscle pressed against her.

  She was falling in love with him. And she didn’t understand how to deal with her conflicting emotions.

  “Adam... I am frightened.” She sagged against him, welcoming the strong knot of his arms around her waist. Her flesh seemed to catch fire in spite of the cold and the dampness of their bodies. He tentatively rubbed his large, strong hands up and down her back, easing the tension in her muscles. She sighed into his cloak and inhaled his scent, committing this moment to eternal memory.

  “Of me? I frighten you?” There was a catch in his voice, a palpable grief to the question. He lifted his hands to her cheeks, inadvertently stroking his knuckles over her breasts on the way up.

  Isabelle shook her head and stepped back, needing air between them. She inhaled the scents that flavored the air—the musk of the mare, the crisp night air, the damp twigs, and the dirt that crunched below her feet. “Non. I’m not frightened of you. Not any longer.” The words clogged her throat, and emotion seized hold of her mind and body. She turned away and knotted both arms around herself. The cold circulated from within. It was inescapable—a brand that would forever taint her memories. “It... it was my fiancé.”

  And I’m frightened of my feelings for you.

  Adam’s blue eyes flashed in the darkness. “Dumont.” A gentle hand grasped her shoulder and rotated her full circle, almost in a graceful dance. He gazed down at her, a spectacular clash of anger and desire flashing in those piercing blue eyes.

  She yearned to tell him everything, but the words froze on the edge of her tongue. Adam clasped either side of her face and stepped closer. “He shall never come near
you again.” He paused, allowing the sound of the driving rain to imbue the stable. “I am also afraid, Isabelle. Terrified, even. Ever since I was a boy, I contented myself with a life of solitude. Now, I crave so much more...” His hands were on her again, sliding down her neck in sensual caress. “You possess an immaculate beauty, Isabelle,” he whispered, placing his palm atop her frantic heartbeat, “here.”

  Isabelle shuddered as she sank into his decadent touch. Then she stepped nearer still until their mouths were mere centimeters away, sharing the same breaths. She followed the warm path of his exhales while her mouth tingled for his kiss. “Closer, Adam.”

  It happened in a blur. Adam’s final defense visibly broke. He’d no longer deny himself. She collided into the wooden panels as he thrust her backward in a jarring motion. He was upon her. He extended his arms and propped them on either side of her head, encasing her between sinewy muscles.

  She felt his resolve slip away; an all-consuming longing took its place... a molten desire that wouldn’t be denied. Those wondrous, blue eyes—eyes that haunted her every dream—glittered in the darkness. His breathing grew strained and irregular, as if caught amid a heated session of lovemaking. It came in erratic pants, sweat beaded across his forehead, and those enticing eyes flashed like an inferno. He battled his passion and fought to drive it away. She could see it etched in every line of his face, could feel it in every tendon, every muscle, every fiber of his body. But over two decades of loneliness and emotional exile won out, and he stood defeated.

  Adam half-pinned her against the panels. She felt him grow taut with his pent-up desire. His lips seized her throat’s pulse point. His tongue joined in the dance, teasing her, sweeping up and down her throat...

  Isabelle’s thoughts trailed. She fantasized about a rather scandalous book she’d once gotten her hands on—Polidori’s Vampyre—the notorious tale of a lord who delighted in seducing maidens and drinking their lifeblood from their very necks. She gasped aloud, weak at the knees, shamelessly leaning against the wall for support. His lips crawled up her neck, pausing only to tease her thundering pulse. She squirmed against him, hissing between clenched teeth, the melodic sound of the rain flooding her ears. Her hands sank into his damp hair and drove through the thick mass.

  Carefully she took his face in her palms. The left side felt bumpy and ragged under her hand, the right side smooth and warm. A hint of stubble prickled her palm and fingers. Expelling a breath as her heart beat a manic staccato, she brought her mouth against his and molded their lips together. Deliberately. Softly. She poured all her longing, all her loneliness, into the intimate movement. The kiss began as a featherlight caress, a whisper of a butterfly’s wing, that left her throbbing for more.

  Much more.

  As if in answer to her silent plea, Adam tilted his head and opened his mouth to her, welcoming her inside with a rugged groan that filled the stable and mated with the rain. He expelled incoherent words into her mouth, and Isabelle knew they were endearments.

  She felt his desperation echo inside her; it set fire to her hands and sensual thoughts. Every bit of her burned. Ached. She yearned to strip away his cloak and run her hands over his muscles, to feel the weight of his thick locks sliding through her fingers...

  Her trembling palms slid from his hair and down his back while their mouths worked in perfect unison, the kiss growing more desperate. More commanding. He pressed her firmly against the panels, cupped her backside, and lifted her in midair a few centimeters. His manhood jutted against her belly, its hardness easily felt through the thick layers of damp clothing.

  Isabelle’s fears slowly trickled back. She fought to focus on the moment, on the enticing feel of Adam’s body moving against her own, how his hands securely held her in place...

  “No, Isabelle,” he finally said in a hoarse whisper, sounding like he was in physical pain. Yet she knew he only felt pleasure. He lowered her onto the ground, and her shoes touched the straw with a muffled sound. “Not here, not like this. Not in the cold dark. You deserve more. You deserve better... to know everything first. In so many ways, I’m still just a stranger...” Resting his forehead against hers, Adam lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. Her skin tingled as she itched to slide her palms under his cloak and down the hardness of his chest. “Tomorrow night... after I’ve shown you everything.”

  The silent plea shined in his gaze, laced his every touch, his every word.

  Love me for me. Nothing more, and nothing less.

  The next day, Adam didn’t touch Isabelle again—much to her disappointment—and his words from the previous evening repeatedly rang in her mind.

  Tomorrow night... after I’ve shown you everything.

  As nighttime fell upon the castle, they devoured a supper of vegetables and fresh caught rabbit while Isabelle read to Adam beside the roaring hearth. Afterward, they immersed themselves in deep conversation. They fought. They debated. They discussed a variety of topics—from philosophy to religion to the deep and deadly waters of politics. While they often clashed on the subtleties, Isabelle discovered their core values remained one and the same.

  They shared their passion for literature and poetry and challenged each other at chess over glasses of dark wine. All the while, Stranger lay between their two chairs and contently slept. Then she and Adam bickered some more as an old married couple might. Indeed, Adam’s short fuse and Isabelle’s fiery spirit ignited in a spectacular inferno. An inferno they both thoroughly enjoyed, though neither Isabelle nor Adam admitted such a thing. After supper and their verbal battle, a silence stretched between them, and they’d naturally turned to a different subject, like jumping to a new rock when hopping across a tumultuous river.

  “Meet me in the ballroom in an hour,” he said hours later, tracing a fingertip across her chin. “Now go and change, ma belle.”

  Upon returning to her chamber, the gown she’d discovered sprawled over the bed had nearly stolen her breath away. Three different layers composed the dress: a bonded bodice of blue silk damask, an ivory silk faille skirt, and a matching damask overskirt. Isabelle reverently ran her fingertips over the cornflower blue material and fine silk detail. She lifted it from the mattress with shaking hands, held it up to her body, and then stepped in front of the large gold-gilded mirror, which Adam had placed in her chamber just nights ago.

  Smoothing the material over her breasts and torso, a smile grew on her lips as she admired her reflection. The ball gown was several centimeters too short—her ankles would show quite scandalously, no doubt of it—yet she’d never beheld a more beautiful garment. Breathless and feeling a bit fuzzy from the wine, she turned toward her vanity, where she discovered a sparkling tiara and a pair of satin gloves.

  Isabelle entered the ballroom at precisely eight o’clock. Moonlight, bone white and lustrous, threaded through the grand windows like prying fingers. The illumination set the medallion flooring aglow. Columns lined the oval-shaped room and graced a domed ceiling. A handsome grandfather clock towered in the corner, ticking off the seconds with a pulsating drone. Candelabras reached around the edge of the circular room and lurked like quiet sentries. Their wavering candles mated with the moonbeams and threw golden patches across the intricate marble floor.

  Incredible silence surrounded Isabelle, pressed into her very being, as she slipped into the heart of the ballroom. She could almost hear the gay whispers of ladies and the delicate swishing of their lace fans. She smelled the sweet scents of their exotic perfumes and could hear the distant, ghostly echo of a pianoforte. And she knew that, despite the castle’s neglected state, it had once been a place of unrivaled beauty and glamour.

  Much like Adam himself.

  Isabelle spun around full circle, her mind transporting to a past era that brimmed with elegance and luxury. She felt the darkly romantic pull of the castle and its numberless mysteries... felt herself falling in love with its shadows and secrets. Dust motes danced in the shafts of moonbeams and wavering cand
les. Faintly she hummed beneath her breath, testing the acoustics in the spacious room. Her voice carried, swirling around her in an echoing cyclone. Then she came to a standstill as a soft touch grazed her bare shoulder. Large, silk-clad hands rotated her body with a startling gentleness. A breath escaped her lips as she drank in Adam’s proud, towering form. Her mind slipped back to the previous day and night—to their sensual kiss in the stables.

  A navy, double-breasted coat hugged the muscular curves of his body, offset by shimmering golden buttons. They looked like small glowing suns floating against a sky of rustic blue.

  He resembled a prince. Proud. Formidable. In full command of everything and everyone in the room. Even a hint arrogant. Her heart hammered, threatening to burst. Suddenly she felt like she’d been thrust into a world of magic and romantic hushed secrets. The scars look out of place on his smirking features, she mused with a pang of sadness. And dressed in a cascade of cornflower damask and lace, the sparkling tiara half-buried in her curls, she felt like a princess.

  Then it began.

  Adam took a deft step backward, sank into a shallow bow, and outstretched his gloved hand. Isabelle grasped her flowing skirts and dipped into a curtsy, her heart madly pitter-pattering. Feeling like a young girl during her first ball, she accepted the invitation and abandoned her silk-encased palm in his own. Strength surged through his fingers, sending chords of awareness thrumming through her body.

  Am I dreaming? If so, then let me sleep forever.

  A muscled arm snaked around her torso and tugged her intimately close. Everything seemed to fade away while the heat of their bodies mingled as one. Her heart banged against her ribs as she sought the depths of his eyes. At this range, flicks of gold contrasted against his sky-blue irises. Much of the sadness seemed to have vanished, leaving an almost boyish delight in its wake. The right side of his face was devastatingly handsome, his hair so black it drank the twinkling candles.