Beast

by Kim Faulks

  I slid along the floor until I hit the wall on the other side. I didn't trust myself to stand. The cold had consumed my legs and bore into my thighs like some sick disease. My entire body shook. I had to move. I had to do something. I knew that. My brain screamed to get the fuck out of here. But I stared into the blackness. Into this fucking nightmare, knowing what was in that room, and yet, I couldn’t say the words. I didn’t dare think of them.

  "Don’t lose your shit. Don’t you fucking dare. I’m getting out of here. I’m getting out."

  The words stuck in my throat like a wad of dry bread. I forced myself to breathe. To take that smell into my lungs, along with the dust and the filth, and trembled under the icy bite. The smell of death was so strong it wiped everything else from my mind.

  My legs wobbled when I stood. I couldn’t turn around, so I kept on moving forward, toward the unknown and away from that room of stank decay. The wall kept me upright. Using it like a crutch, I worked my way back along the hallway, leaving the death room behind. I forced myself to focus on each step, until I touched the beveled edges of a doorway. I pressed my palms against the wall and looked back along the hallway. How many women had this sick fuck bought back to this house? How many women like me? No one’s waiting for you, are they Belle? His question wormed its way through my thoughts.

  I had been the perfect candidate. Alone, with no one to cause a fuss if I never made it out of here. My gaze slid back to that room. No one had been waiting for me. But had any waited for them?

  I lifted my left hand to hold it over my nose and mouth. If this room held the same horrors I’d have no choice but to go inside. I slid my fingers down the wood, touching the handle.

  Please. Please. Please.

  The lever sank under the pressure. The door opened, just enough to let the trapped air inside escape. I held my breath, not wanting to know what was inside, but knowing I couldn’t stand out here forever.

  I splayed my fingers, taking the first tiny breath. The trapped stale air filled my lungs. I close my mouth and sniffed. There was no sickening stench of death. Nothing but dust. I opened the door wider and took a step inside, leaving the door open in case I needed to escape.

  There were no sounds inside this room. No tap, tap, tap of tiny nails, nor the whisper of some demented spirit. I reached out, ready to stop when I hit the other side of the room. Step after step, I moved deeper, fighting the urge to move faster. My fingers buckled. My knuckles grazed rock. I stopped at the cold wall. Probing the sharp edges of what seemed to be stones, set with mortar, into a waist-high square. I dropped, finding a hollow in the center. My hands didn’t reach the other side until I leaned in. Something soft covered the bottom. I rubbed my fingers together, bringing my hand close to my nose.

  The faint smell of charcoal lingered. I sniffed again while my chest tightened, speeding my heart. A fireplace. I fought the need to jump for joy. All I needed now was wood. I forced myself to stand, gripping the stone. The wall moved under my hand, one small rock dropped out and hit the floor with a thunk.

  Jesus, a rock. I knelt, feeling in the dark and skirted over the stone. The rough edges bit into the soft skin of my palm as I clenched my hand. I slammed the mass against my chest, fighting back tears. It was a weapon. Something I could use. Something I could kill with.

  That thought rocked me. Kill. Could I kill another, even if it meant my own survival? I shoved the though aside. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe....

  I shoved off the floor. If I could find something to burn and something to use as a lighter I’d have a fire. Only small. Just enough to keep me warm. My thoughts returned to the dead rat in the kitchen. Food. If I was hungry enough. I swallowed a retch. I wasn’t that fucking hungry—not yet, anyway.

  My fingers slipped from the rock fireplace as I moved to the right, following the wall as I searched the room by feel alone. Every tiny sound jacked my heartbeat. Every touch had me reeling. If being blind was living in a constant state of fear, I’d rather be dead. My courage was waning. Hopelessness seemed to be just one small step away. I brushed something soft and pressed, finding hardness underneath.

  Cloth. I snagged a crease and pulled, feeling the slide. Fabric fell to the floor in front of me. Jesus. I dropped, gathering the edges, and threw whatever it was around my shoulders.

  Dust clogged my nose. I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling the noise as I sneezed and sneezed. The fabric was thin, but there was plenty to drape around me. I felt the weight and prayed warmth would soon follow.

  I slid my hands over the smooth surface of an armrest. The straight-backed chair felt solid. I yanked, feeling some resistance, then the chair scraped along the floor. The finish was smooth and had the texture of wood, but would it burn? I wasn’t sure.

  Another few steps and I touched another—thicker—sheet, covering more furnishings. I yanked the material free and shuffled back to the chair. A fire could wait, just for a moment. I turned and eased into the seat, pulling the sheet across my body, and tucking my feet under my thighs, cocooning myself as tightly as I could.

  My muscles strained as I shuddered and shook, and as the minutes slipped by the fight for warmth became easier. I concentrated on my breathing, feeling the ice inside melt as I drifted into a dream-filled slumber.

  "Where is our mysterious host?"

  I jumped at the sound. Disoriented, I scrambled for a hold on whatever I could find. The question lingered in my mind, was the ghost back, or had I completely lost my mind. Still, I wet my mouth and answered. "I’m sorry?"

  The piercing eyes seemed to look right through me. I was seized by the harsh angles of her face and the sun, bouncing off her chestnut hair. On anyone else, this color would’ve been stunning, but nothing could hide the contempt in her eyes. She waved a yellow piece of paper in front of my face. I caught the elegant scrawl, but not the words it held. "Our host. The mysterious man you’ve been promised to, where is he?"

  "I haven’t been promised to anyone. This is all a misunderstanding."

  Her conviction held a tremor, enough to make me turn. Nala stood behind me. Her solemn brown eyes held their mark, wavered for a second, then found the ground. Her perfect, creamy skin shimmered. There was a delicate touch of innocence in her eyes that intrigued, and yet a flash of anger surged through me. I wanted to grab her shoulders and force her to lift those brown eyes—to show her that she gave her heart to a monster.

  Nala’s sister kept nattering. I watched each comment draw blood from Nala. "I’m surprised Mark bothered to come at all. He’s been acting strange. I mean, it’s not as though you wear his ring. There’s still time to reconsid—"

  "Shut up." That quiet snarl held all the conviction of a woman in the kind of love that tore her apart from the inside. "Just shut your damn mouth."

  I wanted to see her in pain. I wanted to see each blow draw blood. Fucking naive bitch. How could she not see what type of man she’d fallen in love with? How could she not know? Mark never loved her. He was using her to get her father’s money. He was just like... Gaige. I flinched, the unseen blow stilling me where I stood. No. I’m not like her. I was young, vulnerable. She had to have known. She had to.... Jesus, the thought rocked me. How had I not seen this before? We were the same woman. Vulnerable, lonely. Willing to overlook even the sickest of creatures under the guise of love.

  No. Not anymore. Heavy footsteps had me spinning. I stared into Mark’s eyes as he stalked forward, heading for me. My chest clenched and something deep in my gut turned to water.

  "Where is he? This demanding bastard sends us a message demanding your attendance and then doesn't have the gall to show up himself? What kind of suitor is this?"

  There was a quiet rage in his body. His hands clenched, then unclenched, as though he needed something to wield. Blood. I could see it. The dark drops splattered his face and clung to the ends of his dark hair. Falling, falling. His cruel smile held the truth. The truth I could now see. The truth that chilled me to the bone.

/>   I blinked and the splatter was gone. There was no blood, no sneer. Nothing but coiled muscles of his arms that worked an invisible weapon. Those piercing green eyes held the promise of all the horror this man was capable of. Without thinking I stepped forward, wanting to meet this monster head on.

  "Be careful."

  A whisper of concern washed over me, taking the steel in my spine. I spun, searching the room, stopping on a darkened corner in the massive room. Six people crowded the space. Belle and Mark, and two women who could only be Belle’s sisters. The resemblance was there, although faint. I remembered the old man. All three women had his nose. The other two men in the room I didn’t recognize. By their sickly, sweet expressions and the matching gold bands on their fingers, they could only be the sister’s husbands. Both of the men never noticed me. They never looked in my direction.

  There was something familiar about this room. I could almost feel the delicious licks of the flames. I reached my hand toward the crackle. So warm. Maybe I could close my eyes and rest a little.

  "Well, have you asked one of the servants where their master is?" The question drew my gaze. One of Belle’s sisters ran her fingers along the tightly packed bookcase. The bottom of her lilac dress brushed the glistening wooden floor as she moved along the wall.

  One of the men answered. His snotty accent made me want to feel his crotch, just to see if he had any balls. "If you call that snarly little woman in the kitchen a servant, then yes, I asked her where their master was. And was rewarded with a barrage of hostility in a language I couldn’t understand."

  The sister seemed to be goading the man. Obviously, they were husband and wife. It was easy to see who wore the pants in this relationship. "If she spoke another language how do you know she was hostile?"

  The pompous prick’s face glowed like an overripe tomato and snapped. "Well, her hand gestures I understood perfectly."

  Sniggers tore through the room. Belle snapped her gaze toward her sister who’d left the bookcase. "Beatrice, that’s enough. We’re here for a reason, to get me out of this agreement, remember?"

  "How could we forget? I’m getting tired of the moody little bitch act—we all are."

  Their squabble took center stage, drawing the attention of everyone—except Mark. Those green eyes slithered over the room, keeping all the lies inside.

  "She’s going to figure it out, you know. You can’t hide the truth forever. Does she come after you with a knife when she finally realizes what you are?" I stalked forward, wanting to see even a flicker of the pain that was to come. "Does she shut you out?"

  The thought rang true. I clenched my fist and pulled back my arm. If I could only end this here. One quick stab to the heart. The smell of death haunted me. How many lives would I save?

  "He can’t be killed here."

  I spun and searched the room, my fist was cocked, ready to fight. A shadow beyond the bookcase moved. I squinted, and stepped toward the dark outline. "Who are you?"

  "Stop. Don’t come closer."

  The shadow growled, making my fist shake. I opened my hand, and turned palm up. "I didn’t mean to frighten you."

  I caught the man’s scent, like something deep and musk, but underneath an earthy richness that reminded me of the woods outside. The chuff of laughter sounded more like a whimper of pain. "You didn’t frighten me, Anna. Do I frighten you?"

  The shadow seemed to melt into the wall. "Wait! Please, help me to get out of here."

  His last words chilled me to the bone. "I need...."

  I stumbled back. The ghostly touch resurfaced, as well as the driving need. He reached under my dress to expose my thighs. "No. Get away from me."

  I need....

  "Lords, ladies. Dinner is about to be served in the dining room, if you would like to follow me."

  I spun, finding an older man, slim and straight. He moved without a whisper, turning on his heel, he left the sitting room.

  "Maybe your master will be joining us for dinner?" Beatrice called to the servant, but there was no answer.

  "Why don’t you find the dining room and I’ll have a look around?" Mark offered. He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he turned in the opposite direction of the butler. I fell in step behind him.

  If not for the familiar layout of the house, I would’ve sworn I’d been transported somewhere else. This place was beautiful. Large windows and light chiffon curtains allowed the soft sunlight to breathe life into the rooms.

  The hiss of water and clash of pans greeted me before I entered the kitchen. An old woman leaned over the sink, grumbling and snarling. Two younger women chopped and mixed. The scent of roasting meat made me salivate. My stomach howled in anger. None of them heard, their attention lay solely on the task at hand. Mark ignored the cook’s attitude at his violation of her sacred space. He wrenched open cupboards, snagging bottles of wine, before reading the label and shoving them back. His choice of liquor didn’t interest me. What did hold my attention was the view from the long row of windows.

  Something other than gravity pulled me through the kitchen to stare outside. Even the sunlight lost its bite, turning dark and eerie. The tall pines were so cramped together that light never touched the ground, leaving the dirt covered in pine needles.

  I tried to search for a worn trail, but each tree looked the same as the others. There was no path I could find. Maybe on the other side of the house? I turned to watch Mark saunter to a row of cupboards, searching each one with a bottle of wine in his hand. The need to understand his actions raged a battle with the desire to find a way out of here. If I let this chance go, will I have another?

  The clink of glasses drew the attention of everyone in the kitchen. The two young women peered at him from the corner of their eyes. The old woman whispered something under her breath, then tut-tutted the girls back to their duties.

  Mark shut the cupboard doors and stood upright. He carried the glasses upside down, the long stems between his fingers, making himself at home—a little too at home.

  I followed him out of the kitchen and through the door. The hinges snapped back, cutting through me like a knife to close with a thud behind me. Belle and the others were already seated. There were smiles all round, the catty argument in the sitting room long forgotten. What was a squabble among sisters anyway?

  I’d never know wealth, not like the display I saw here. Silverware, polished to perfection, glinted on each side of the elegant porcelain settings. White lace doilies separated each seat from the next. Everything about this house radiated opulence. If only I’d known this place under another circumstance, I might grow to love it here.

  But now, danger lurked behind every corner. As I stared at the smiles, I knew evil hid behind every mask. The butler stepped into the dining room and cleared his throat, commanding their attention. The chatter stopped. Laughter died.

  "Please remain seated for our gracious host, Lord Bête."

  There was movement at the doorway. I shift my gaze and felt the room’s occupants follow suit. The man who entered nodded at each guest. He was dressed in a black and white suit. The collar was turned down, the top two buttons undone, showing just a touch of the body underneath. He strode into the dining room, nodded to each of his guest, leaving Belle for last.

  Three long steps and he was by her side, taking her hand faster than any of us could follow. "You are just as stunning as I imagined you would be. Your father never missed an opportunity to tell me about his beautiful Belle."

  Belle gave him a weak smile. "Thank you for your kind words. I assumed he would be here to greet us. Where is my Father?"

  His gaze never left hers. The air buzzed with the dark current of truth. I shifted my gaze from Belle to Mark, wanting to see the moment of pain, needing to see the first blow hit home.

  Mark’s steady voice gaze nothing away. "The truth is, I’m not sure. We met briefly last night to discuss the arrangements, and then he was gone. I assumed he’d returned home to you."

  Belle sho
ok her head and turned to each of her sisters, then finally to Mark. "No. We checked on him first thing this morning. His bed was cold and still made. I thought, after receiving the letter, that this was some ploy to get us all here together." She waved her hand around the room, then whispered. "I thought Father finally gave us his blessing."

  Lord Bête nodded, his voice turning soft. "And by ‘us’, I’m assuming you mean you and someone else?"

  She locked her gaze on Mark. But I couldn’t turn away from this mysterious host. I knew his voice. I felt each word slam through my barriers. Here was my ghost, my voice in the shadow, and though all eyes were on the unhappy couple, my eyes were on him.

  I moved closer, just a whisper of my bare feet along the wooden floor, taking in the powerful way he held his body. His shoulders curved forward, hands still, giving the impression of a relaxed manner, but I felt tension underneath that calm exterior. There was something about this man, something I hadn’t expected. A sense of danger plucked a string deep in my soul.

  He reached up, shoving an unruly lock of dark hair off his forehead. I followed the sweep of his hand, lingering on those perfect lips. I need. Those words reverberated through my mind.

  The chatter around the table shifted an octave, still, I couldn’t look away. Mesmerized, I reached out with shaking fingers, wanting to feel the hard line of his jaw. Wanting to feel the flesh. Lord Bête shifted and his eyes settled on mine. The gaze flooded me with a heat I felt to my core.

  "You didn’t frighten me, Anna. Do I frighten you?"

  My trembling hand felt so heavy, mere inches from his face. My chest was tight, too tight. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. This man terrified me, and yet I was helpless to stop myself from sliding into whatever dark hole this madness was.

  Amber eyes twinkled, but didn’t disguise the look of dominance. Something inside me howled with defiance, needing more, yet terrified of being the focus of that single-mindedness. In the beat of my heart the moment broke.