Adam. Her dark angel. Her prince.
He twisted her arm, causing a nauseating snap to resound and her cry to swell the library. The dagger fell from her grasp and landed on the wooden floor with a muffled clink. Behind him stood a second man.
Sébastien. He drew his firearm—aimed directly at Vivian. Adam shoved Vivian to the ground and withdrew his own revolver in a swift, predatory motion.
She turned to Adam; Vivian screamed as her gaze tracked over his deformed face. He truly looked frightening. Rage twisted his features into something terrible. Something built from nightmares and anguish.
Beast-like. Beautiful. Vengeful.
Vivian scurried away on all fours and reached for her fallen dagger. Adam stepped on her hand and knelt to the crutch of his knees, his blue eyes filled with fire.
“You—you monster! Raphael shall kill you for this! You and your little whore! I shall take great pleasure in watching him put you down, just like the wretched beast you are!”
Calm and composed, Adam slid the dagger out from her wriggling fingers. She flipped onto her back and scurried away like a hermit crab. Adam followed her every movement, slow and frightfully steady. He lifted his leather-clad hand and pointed the dagger at her abdomen. “Poor choice of words.” He swept the bloody point up the length of her chest—paused directly over her heart—then continued an upward quest. His enraged stare fixed on her terrified expression; he dug the point into the apex of her shoulder and neck ever so slightly...
Vivian cried out and attempted to crawl backward some more. Sébastien stood behind her, his revolver drawn, sufficiently blocking her path.
“Adam, no! Please!” Lunged out of a strange inward trance, Adam glanced at Isabelle and lowered the dagger. “What good would it do?” Isabelle implored in a panicked voice, groping at her shoulder.
“She hurt you,” he snapped, his hands shaking with uncontrollable anger. “She caused you pain—”
“She already knows suffering and pain, Adam!” Isabelle clasped her seething shoulder and edged forward, holding the furniture for support. “Let us leave—quickly! We must hurry! Please... let’s go home.”
Those words snapped Adam from his stupor. He pocketed the dagger and his revolver, then gave Sébastien a nod. “You don’t deserve her mercy,” he shot at Vivian. “But you shall have it nonetheless.”
Adam wrapped his arms around Isabelle, and the pain in her shoulder ebbed away at his touch. Her heart rejoiced at his nearness, at the feel of his body pressed against her own, at the sensation of his breaths on her cheeks. He peered down at her wound, that fury still alive in his penetrating gaze.
“It’s not deep,” she breathed, holding him closer, relishing the thunderous beat of his heart pressed against her own. She relaxed as his arms wound about her waist. He tentatively swayed on his booted heels, rocking her back and forth within the security of his embrace. Closing both eyes, she nestled against the planes of his chest, never wanting to let him go. “Just quite painful.”
Adam’s breaths brushed against her temple like a soft summer breeze. He whispered comforting words against her hairline. Then she felt herself floating as he hooked his arms under her knees, carrying her bridal-style. “I shall never let pain come to you again, ma belle. Now and always.” She stared up at the opposing sides of his face, in awe of his powerful presence. He turned toward Sébastien, leaving only the scarred half in sight. “Come. We must go.”
As they crossed the room and headed for the hallway, a piercing scream rang out.
Vivian.
Adam spun toward her, cursed at her to shut her damn mouth. But the damage was done. Raphael Dumont appeared in the archway within moments, a look of genuine concern in his gaze. Isabelle slid to the floor as Adam dropped her and wrestled for his revolver again.
Raphael’s eyes, which looked hazy, flickered to Vivian. She was stumbling to her feet and muttering incoherent words. She appeared mad—as if she were mentally unraveling.
“What the fuck did you do to her?” he said, his glazed eyes planted on Vivian’s broken wrist. “I shall kill you for this, you worthless freak!” His eyes narrowed on Isabelle, who hid behind Adam’s strong back. Indeed, he’d swept in front of her body, forging a barricade between her and Raphael. “This—this thing—this is what you choose? This abomination? This—monster?”
“Big words for a boy with no arms to defend himself,” Sébastien cut in, his tone a low sneer.
“You?” A look of recognition crossed Raphael’s eyes as they roamed over Sébastien’s livid features. Releasing a haunting chuckle, he shook his head and circled around Adam with a scrutinizing gaze. “Look at you. You’re little more than a pathetic monster. A sniveling coward. Indeed, your dear Sebastian told me your tragic story... how you’ve holed yourself up in that decrepit castle all these years, licking your wounds.” He stopped circling Adam and swayed drunkenly on his feet. “You are no man. Alas, you are barely human. You are a grave disappointment. A failure and an embarrassment—”
Isabelle’s own voice sounded colder than ice. “Adam is more of a man than you could ever hope to be.”
“Allow us to pass in peace,” Adam said, his beautiful tone a bone-chilling growl. “You owe her that much. Now move aside, or I shall gladly riddle your pretty body with lead.”
“And a poor waste it would be,” Sébastien added.
Neither Isabelle nor Adam nor Sébastien heard as Vivian Brazin rustled through a bureau, withdrew a revolver with shaking hands, and loaded the crude weapon. They never anticipated the shot that rang out, the shot that pierced Sébastien centimeters above his heart.
“Go, Isabelle—go now!” Adam yelled as he maneuvered around her and locked eyes with his friend. “Wait outside for me!” Isabelle gave a backward glance, her heart heavier than a stone, then flew into the corridor.
Pain blasted through Sébastien as he clasped his seething chest. A hot slide of blood rushed from the gun wound and dampened his fingers. His teeth chattered against the agony and rattled inside his skull.
Fighting to anchor himself, he collapsed to the floor and watched the scene in mingled horror and awe.
A maniacal fury had seized Adam Delacroix.
He punched Raphael straight in the gut while Vivian tried to intercede.
Bang! She fired a shot that almost grazed Adam’s shoulder. Groaning in pain, Sébastien smacked her legs from his spot on the ground, sending her tumbling onto the floor. The revolver fell from her good hand and slid across the smooth parquet wood. Meanwhile, Adam and Raphael broke into a merciless fight. They battled like two animals—like two wild dogs.
Adam struggled to aim the revolver—a difficult feat in such close quarters. Raphael clumsily knocked the weapon from his hand and punched him straight in the gut. The sounds of skidding boots, deafening blows, and puttering rain impregnated the room.
Sébastien fumbled for his own revolver—but alas, it was too far away. He grabbed Vivian’s dress as she attempted to crawl across the floor, her hand straining for the weapon...
Then the she-devil flipped onto her back and kicked him square in the jaw. His head rang with the sound of shattering teeth. The impact caused him to bite down hard and sever his own tongue. Blood filled his jaw, pooling the inside of his mouth.
Cursing, he spat out broken teeth and a chunk of his tongue, slithered forward, and twisted Vivian’s ankle. The delicate bones yielded to the turn of his hand... He felt as they snapped and shifted under his gripping fingers, which were tighter than a manacle. Her piercing scream swelled the room, and a flash of lightning stabbed the library. Thunder roared in the distance. All the while, Adam punched Raphael in the stomach and jaw, transforming his handsome features into a bloody pulp...
Sébastien tried to block out the mind-bending pain... tried to fight off the awareness that his own life’s blood was pooling under his body. Hands madly shaking, he glanced at a nearby sideboard, where a lantern sat, its candle flickering within the glass prison...
He struggled to stay conscious as he strained his arm, reaching up... The sideboard seemed to lurk kilometers away...
Nearby Adam broke away from Raphael—thrust him to the floor. Then he slammed his balled fist straight into those handsome, aristocratic features. Again and again. Raphael returned the favor with jerky, drunken movements, clawing at Adam’s deformity, dragging his nails through the marred skin and drawing blood.
Adam gave a wild roar. Grasped hold of Raphael’s lapels and drove his body into the wooden floorboards. He withdrew a dagger from his coat and brought the blade down in a deathly arc. Raphael rolled out of its path and gave a low, taunting laugh. The blade’s point sank into the wooden floor at least ten centimeters deep.
Raphael was at it again—pounding Adam’s face like a wild animal, knocking the breath from his lungs with his boots. Coughing up blood, Adam wrenched the dagger free. Then he brought it down with a savage vengeance—burying it almost hilt-deep centimeters above Raphael’s heart...
The vicomte crashed to the floor. A crimson ring blossomed where the blade impaled him.
“Non! Raphael, mon amour! Non...” Vivian cried out and scrambled over to him on all fours. She fisted handfuls of his coat while her body trembled with choked sobs and incoherent words.
Drawing the blade from his flesh, Raphael surrendered to another dark chuckle. “Very good. Bravo, monsieur—yet... you... shall lose all the same. Once they find me, you will hang. You... you and your little whore. And that alone gives me peace.”
Vivian thrust the revolver into Raphael’s quivering hands. “Kill him, Raphael,” she hissed, her eyes flashing, the tone of her voice eerily calm and steady. “Make him suffer.”
Raphael aimed the weapon with a last surge of energy; Sébastien watched as Adam charged across the library, storming toward his strewn body.
“Are—are you mad? Go—go with your Isabelle!”
Fighting the darkening haze, Sébastien seized the sideboard and hoisted himself up. He gasped for breaths. Grabbed the edge and dragged the lantern forward. Blood dribbled from his chin and splattered onto the polished surface.
“Now, Adam, you damn fool!”
“I won’t leave you here,” Adam called out from a meter away, the sound of his voice growing fainter.
“You must.” Using the edge of the sideboard to prop himself up, he stared at the flickering candle—making his intent unmistakable. “Good-bye, my friend. Nutrisco et extinguo.”
Without another word, Adam slammed the library’s door shut. Vivian released Raphael’s body and crawled across the parquet floor. She threw her body against the closed door with inhuman cries and choked sobs. Loud screeching resonated from the corridor as Adam barricaded the door with some piece of furniture. The last thing Sébastien perceived was Vivian frantically pounding at the panels until her hands bled and the wood reddened.
Feeling strangely at peace, he knocked the lantern onto the ground. The glass case shattered—and, within minutes, flames devoured the library.
Decades ago, fire had condemned him; now, it would be his escape and salvation. Isabelle, damn her, had remained inside the corridor, waiting for him. Approaching footfalls thundered in the distance as they rushed through the chateau’s halls. The servants had awoken and were rushing for the burning library with buckets of water.
Swiping at the blood on his face, he swept Isabelle into his arms. He carried her past the parlor and withdrawing room, out into the safety of the night, his legs eating up the distance at a record speed. Behind them, the fire steadily grew and raged, consuming the library.
Adam fought to remain anchored and focused on his task of getting Isabelle to safety. But the image of Sébastien lying on the floor burned into his thoughts and slowed his steps.
Sébastien Villeneuve had rescued him once again.
Adam stopped to glance at the chateau one last time. Clashing emotions warred inside him—gratitude, appreciation for Sébastien’s sacrifice and final loyalty, relief, and an aching sorrow for the loss of a dear friend. Adam whispered a heartfelt good-bye, held back his tears, and hurried past the carriage house and toward the stable. As the crisp air swelled his lungs and he hugged Isabelle to his chest, part of him felt like he was leaving the ghosts of his past behind.
Minutes later, the musky scents of hay and wet dirt surrounded Isabelle. Indeed, they were in a stable. Moonlight streamed through the wooden panels, reaching for her like grasping fingers. The comforting sound of Spirit’s nicker and puttering rain swelled the walls. Breathless from the pain, she turned her gaze back to Adam—her dark angel. She watched beneath hooded lids as he tore away his coat. Using a dagger, he cut a sleeve off the garment, then fastened it around her shoulder.
Isabelle reached out and cupped either side of his face. “Adam! You are bleeding! You—”
“Don’t worry about me, ma belle. I am fine.” He hesitated, then added beneath a whisper, “He’s gone. It’s just us now.”
Raphael Dumont is gone. A weight lifted from her chest as she echoed Adam’s words. “Just us...”
Staring into the depths of his sapphire gaze, she groaned as he applied a firm pressure to her shoulder. “Thank God. It’s only a superficial wound,” he breathed, his mouth nearly touching her own. “I’ve stopped the bleeding. You shall be fine until I get you to an infirmary.”
She clasped his face again; the blood smeared across his cheeks, painting the contrasting sides of his features. She urged him forward, connecting their lips in a soul-searing kiss. Tears of mingled pain and relief swam down her cheeks and seeped past the seam of her mouth. The salty tang flavored their kiss, as well as the metallic trace of blood. “Better than fine,” she reverently murmured into his mouth. Adam chased her words with his tongue and drew her closer. “Perfect...”
Moments later, he broke off their kiss and silently shook his head. He echoed the words that stirred in her own heart, speaking from the deepest reaches of his soul. “Thank you for setting me free. I love you, Isabelle. Today, tomorrow, always.”
“Always us. I love you, Adam Delacroix—heart, body, and soul. There’s nothing I would change about you; you’re a beautiful song, a symphony of light and dark, and I love every shade, every note. I love you—all of you.”
He withdrew the engagement ring from inside his coat; the crystal-clear diamond and encircling rubies sparkled in the moonlight. Isabelle’s voice hitched, while Adam’s own emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He slid the ring onto her wedding finger, his gaze never parting from her own. Then he lifted her hand in midair, fastened both eyes shut, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Isabelle Rose had become his joy, his hope, his everything.
“My Isabelle. My light, my love...”
Always together.
Epilogue
Seven years later
Isabelle silently observed Adam and little Rosemary from the music room’s doorway. Her heart soared at the way her husband’s large body dwarfed their daughter. Strong hands engulfed Rosemary’s and guided her slender fingers over the pianoforte’s ivory keys. A breathtaking melody infused the room and reached into the deepest corners of Isabelle’s soul. Her heart lightened at the genuine happiness on Adam’s face... how he appeared utterly at peace, his blue eyes glistening with an unmistakable joy. Indeed, with each passing year, he’d transformed before her very eyes—much like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.
Adam Delacroix’s infiltration into society had been a remarkable journey. Shortly after Isabelle and Adam had married, Louis Philippe of France granted parliament power to Demrov; Adam gained a seat on the council, and citizens and politicians alike welcomed the voice of their long-lost prince. With Isabelle’s persistent encouragement and urging, he even shared his musical compositions with the world. Their unique brilliance quickly gathered fame, transforming him into a well-adored and eccentric figure in Demrov. Even after seven years, however, he still shied away from prying eyes and preferred the company of his family and home. Isabelle di
dn’t mind in the least; it allowed ample time for them to pursue the things they loved—and to pursue each other.
“That’s it, ma petite,” Adam said in a tender, reassuring tone. He sat just beside Rosemary, who was only six years old, his massive arm protectively wrapped around her shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”
Rosemary’s sleek, dark curls bounced about her shoulders as she shook her head. Her bright laughter joined with the melody and brought a smile to Adam’s mouth. Rosemary gazed at her father free from horror or disgust, regarding him with only love and admiration. Indeed, in her eyes, he was a hero—a knight from the pages of her cherished storybooks.
“You are doing it, Papa!”
He removed a hand from the keys, surrendered to an audible sigh, then smoothed down her errant curls. The melody subsided, and a poignant quiet fell upon the music room. Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to her hairline and gave another sigh. “We are doing it. Together.”
Always together.
Isabelle’s chest constricted at the tenderness in Adam’s gaze—the incalculable love and affection. Then their eyes met from across the room. An entire conversation, the renewal of a promise, surged between them.
Adam cherished nights like these most. The chateau had grown silent and still, and now a peaceful contentment swelled his spirit. He’d watched Isabelle sleep for close to an hour, still mesmerized by the sight of her seven years later.
He stepped through their bedchamber’s French doors and out into the crisp, cool air. He gazed at Lavoncourt’s bejeweled skyline, where a calm sea kissed the sky. The earth and horizon joined in perfect union, a marriage so complete it was almost impossible to see where one ended and the other began. He inhaled deeply, welcoming the air of his homeland into his lungs. He listened to the distant crash of the waves, urging it to stroke his imagination with the beauty of a concerto. The melody flowed through his consciousness, igniting memories that had lived for three decades yet never faded with time.
Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1) Page 33
