Beauty and the Beast: An Adult Fairytale Romance

by Vivienne Savage

  “A friend….”

  “Yes, Beast. The dearest of friends, one worth throwing my life on the line between you and their army if I must. A friend beloved to me above all others. I hadn’t realized how much until now, thinking I had lost you forever.”

  “It is too late for me.”

  “Please don’t leave where I cannot follow. Don’t go.” She kissed his smooth snout where the scales weren’t upraised or horned. “I love you too much, my silly dragon, to lose you now.”

  “My… Ana….” A final breath shuddered from Beast’s lungs.

  “No!” She grabbed at his face, fingers tugging on his great horns, half blind through her tears. Her heart shattered, and she threw her arms around him, great, heaving sobs shaking her body.

  The air shimmered, a thousand colorful motes flickering outward from where they sat, expanding in a wave. Ana gasped. Her skin tingled as the palpable magic in the air filled and rushed through her. The air tasted sweet, smelling of roses and sunshine, and a chime rang upon the edge of her hearing, beautiful notes blended in perfect harmony.

  A rainbow corona surrounded her dragon, as if he were glowing from within, each and every scale illuminated. She startled back, blinded by the light, and when it dimmed, her dragon was gone. A masculine figure lay in his place, bronzed from head to toe and adorned in garments she’d seen only in her dreams. White cloth was worn open to expose a muscular chest, and green tartan covered his developed legs.

  Ana stumbled back with a hand raised to her mouth, staring at the body of her dream prince. His chest rose with a sharp inhale. Still surrounded by the golden shimmer of magic, he groaned and rolled onto his side. He pushed up onto his hands and knees.

  “Alistair?” she whispered.

  His eyes were smoldering amber, like fire dancing within alchemical spheres. Eyes that could drink her in and had held her attention for hours of casual conversation. Wavy red hair settled around his shoulders when the light dimmed, and fairy dust settled.

  “I’m… alive?”

  In his effort to rise, he staggered forward. Ana jumped up and caught him with both arms before he could collapse to the ground. He was so hard and warm against her, his body the perfect fit, no different than what she’d dreamed.

  It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream at all. He’s real. He’s my dragon.

  “Come, you should sit down.”

  “No, I only need a moment. I have not walked on two legs for thirteen years. It feels… it feels good to stand as a man again.”

  “I don’t…. How is this…?” She shook her head, overwhelmed. As much as she wanted answers, more pressing matters required their focus. “Alistair, the army is on the march. They’ll be here soon. We have hours at most.”

  “Then we must prepare. Do I still have your trust, my princess? Do you believe I will tell you everything in time?”

  “Of course I do,” she said without hesitation. She wanted answers now, but with an army closing in on them, she understood the delay.

  Alistair shifted back into dragon form and lowered to his stomach for her to climb on, and then he took to the air. Sitting astride her dragon, they circled wide and high over the mountain.

  Every inch of the mountaintop, from the lively grounds to the cold stone, had been restored to an immaculate state. Much like the castle’s master, Benthwaite had come alive again. Below in the courtyard, castle guards and servants milled around in confusion.

  “There, I see them,” she called out. The army’s line, organized two by two, stretched for miles, it seemed, hundreds of men in dark armor with glinting weapons marching up the mountain path. “They’re closer than I thought.”

  “There are magic spells urging them along at an unnatural pace,” Alistair said. “Can you not taste it on the wind?”

  Returning to the castle grounds, Alistair landed and lowered for Ana to slide off. Then, in another blink, he shrunk down into his human guise.

  “My lord!”

  The arrival of the palace guard drew their attention. A dozen more giant men in armor followed behind the leader, and they towered over her, their shoulder-length hair windswept. They rippled with muscle beneath leather and chainmail.

  “Captain Diarmad, my old friend.” The two men clasped arms.

  “What has happened? The last thing I recall with clarity was Eos—”

  “There is no time for that now,” Alistair broke in. “Dalborough has returned, and they’ve come in great numbers.”

  Diarmad’s eyes widened. “My lord, we have no army, nor your mother’s magic.”

  Alistair turned his gaze on Ana and extended his hand, which she took, stepping up beside him. “If the princess is willing, then we have all the magic we need. We must prepare for war.”

  Chapter

  ALISTAIR’S STRONG HANDS squeezed her shoulders, grounding her back to reality. He was real. He had hands and fingers, bronzed skin no longer covered in red scales. And while it had been hours since the reawakening of the castle, every moment passed like a nebulous dream, a foggy consciousness that couldn’t be true.

  While Alistair commanded what soldiers they had, a group of young women rushed Anastasia into a chamber on the upper level and outfitted her in a set of war garments once worn by the Witch Queen herself. The robes consisted of tanned animal skins and dark silver silk spun from the fat, pony-sized onyx spiders of the lower forests. Almost impenetrable, they said while lacing her into it. The close fit startled Ana. She’d thought the Witch Queen had been a tall and slender woman of meager proportions.

  Atop it, they’d given her another layer of fitted armor. The golden brown, molded leather cuirass was unforgiving to her ribs and bosom, compressing her breasts tighter than any corset.

  Dressed for battle, Ana left the west wing and returned to the courtyard. Behind her, the castle doors shut and a loud thud from within indicated the entrance had been sealed. She took a deep breath and strode across the grass toward Alistair and a line of guardsmen. Compared to the approaching army, their forces seemed pitifully small, but every man and woman wore a determined expression on their face. The soldiers dispersed to their posts and Alistair turned to face her.

  “You’re certainly looking like a true warrior now. Like one of our own,” Alistair said in a thoughtful voice. His thumb stroked one of the pauldrons covering her shoulder.

  “I am one of you.”

  “That you are, lass.”

  Alistair cupped her chin and gazed into her eyes. “I’ve never fought a war. Taking on a group of adventurers who are no match for me is one thing, but to do this, I’ve got to have your help. I don’t like asking this of you, and I’d rather send you into that damned castle to hide with the rest of my people, but….”

  “I’m all you have.”

  He nodded. “And if I send you away to safety in the castle, they may overtake us and breach the defenses.”

  “Then the way I see it, I’m in danger no matter whether I’m hiding in the castle or here making a stand beside you.” She set her hand against his chest, resting her palm above his heart. Unlike his soldiers, he wore no armor. She felt his hard muscles beneath her fingers and his powerful heartbeat thumping strong. “I’d rather fight. I’ve run away once, and that was enough.”

  Alistair kissed her. The press of his lips against her mouth struck Ana as both greedy and desperate, but she refused to think of it as a final kiss. She yielded to the claim he made with his tongue and mentally declared the ardent display as a promise of more.

  When the prince stepped away, anticipation raised goose bumps on her skin, the crisp mountain air cooler but carrying the scent of their siege weapons and burning oil on the wind. His courage became infectious, coursing through her veins and urging her forward toward the cairn.

  “I won’t stray far, but if you need me, you scream, Ana. You hear me? You scream and I’ll be here.”

  “I know.”

  The standing stones hummed with magic, and the air around them crackl
ed with constrained energy. As she stepped within the circle, her skin tingled, every hair raising. There was no turning back, and while she’d never taken a life before Edward, she was prepared to defend her new home, no matter what it took.

  From her vantage on the cliff, Ana saw the army making its way up the trail. Alistair’s observation had been right, and foul magic blanketed the troops in an unnatural miasma. The oily presence coated her tongue, metallic and bitter. Rangvald must be with them, likely in the middle of the sinuous line where his spells would have an effective reach over most of the army.

  War horns bellowed an ominous warning. The sound echoed off the mountain peaks, and it took everything she had not to tremble on the spot.

  No. She had to be strong and save lives using the talents sharpened by her months of devoted study. An entire castle of newly awakened servants counted on Ana’s protection.

  Counted on both of them.

  Alistair ran toward the edge and dove forward, a smooth transition taking him from man to dragon in the blink of an eye. His clothes vanished, and sleek, ember red scales spread over his enormous body. He soared on his immense wings over the approaching army below and exhaled a wave of flames.

  Time to help.

  Taking her staff in both hands, Ana swung the weapon over her head in a slow arc. The cairn stones lit in a glorious blaze of green fire, runes etched into their surface flaring with ivory light.

  She had to protect these people with as much ferocity as she’d protected herself from Edward.

  The whole mountain responded to her summons. The ground quaked beneath the advancing troops and the rocks above them tumbled down the steep slopes. When the dust from the avalanche cleared, hundreds of soldiers lay crushed beneath boulders and dirt with more slipping to their doom down below. Seven siege weapons of the original dozen had survived the onslaught.

  Ana searched the area for signs of the wizard Rangvald’s survival, praying she’d knocked out their magical offensive with her sneak attack.

  She hadn’t. Squinting, she located Rangvald below them on the uneven path with his staff raised, a crackling shell of energy surrounding him and the surviving soldiers. Pieces of rubble floated above them in the air then clattered down around the magical shield before reconstructing the missing section of the path, stone by stone and step by step.

  Before she could cast her next spell, fire rained down from the sky, borne on dragon’s breath.

  For a moment, she admired Alistair’s flight across the sky. His fiery breath blazed across the magical barrier, splintering the spell. Arrows zipped across the sky and forced her draconic prince to bank left, roaring in rage as he veered away from the mountain.

  From there, everything happened at full speed. The army rushed up the road and spilled into the flat plateau beyond the courtyard.

  Flaming projectiles soared across the sky. Ana called on the winds to steer them away from the castle. The first soared overhead and exploded harmlessly against the cliffs in the distance, but the second clipped the eastern tower. The stone bricks exploded. Green flames clung to the parapet, feeding off the oily fluid that dripped over the walls.

  Catapults hurled a bounty of stone, the volley striking their castle at randomized points. Focusing, Anastasia found the threads of the ancient enchantment left by the Witch Queen herself and reinstated the castle’s former protection spell. The Witch Queen had been a sorceress beyond her level of talent, an extraordinary woman who faced a much larger army.

  It was too much for her.

  She’d never pull it off, the spell too old, neglected for too long.

  As doubts crept into her thoughts, she remembered the dozens of maids, castle staff, and the soldiers fighting for their lives. More than her own life was at stake. They were all counting on her, each and every one.

  Especially her dragon.

  With her faith renewed in herself, she whirled toward the castle and tilted her staff toward the structures under assault, holding it in her right hand. Grasping those magical fibers with her mind, Ana held on with all that she had until agony clawed behind her eyes and lights pulsed at the edges of her vision.

  She couldn’t let go. No matter what, she couldn’t release the spell. She poured all that she had into the incantation until the barrier snapped in place, the sheer effort of commanding so much power winding her. She gasped for air as sweat beaded upon her brow and stung her eyes.

  Alistair took out two trebuchets in one pass, sweeping them up with his claws and smashing them against the cliffs. An arrow larger than anything Ana had ever seen flew through the air.

  A dragon lance. Something rumored to exist only in fables and war stories of the past.

  “Alistair!”

  He twisted in the air, graceful and sleek, but not fast enough to miss the projectile completely. The spear sliced across his chest.

  The sounds of battle echoed across the mountain. Men yelling, swords clashing, and the explosive boom of rock smashing against stone.

  From her vantage, Ana tried to aid the battle where she could. With the cairn and staff boosting her power, she swirled the winds to buffet away arrows, raised shields around her soldiers, and called lightning bolts down from the sky to decimate their enemy.

  Little by little, the Benthwaite guard pushed their attackers back.

  The sky lit up and a resounding boom threatened to force Ana to her knees in pain. The entire mountain shook from the might of Rangvald’s magic. She stumbled to the side and thrust the end of the staff into the ground, regaining her balance in time to prepare for his next assault.

  He forced the winds against her, hurled acidic bolts, and did everything in his power to occupy her attention. While she was focused on him, she couldn’t help the soldiers, and the enemy pressed their advantage, swarming over the grounds.

  While she was distracted with defending the castle, Rangvald decided to play dirty. A streak of energy hurtled toward Anastasia, but Alistair’s huge body became her shield. The destructive spell collided against the dragon’s chest and erupted in sparks, searing through his scales.

  “Alistair!” she screamed, panicked.

  He plummeted from the skies, his death spiral making Ana’s heart leap into her throat.

  No. He couldn’t be dead. Please no, she pleaded.

  Suddenly, his wings snapped out, and Alistair coasted over the enemy line, directly toward their wizard. The arcane attacks ended with a single snap of his jaws. He crushed the unprepared wizard between his teeth, bringing an end to Rangvald’s terror. Ana’s reprieve was short lived.

  The Dalborovian army flooded the castle grounds, an endless wave of black armored soldiers with terrible war machines. A dozen men turned and made their way up the winding path toward her, but she’d prepared magical traps before their arrival. Thorned vines whipped out and dragged the first two men over the cliff, while great bouts of blue fire forced others back. Ana directed a concussive blast down the steppe and knocked the remaining soldiers back, head over asses.

  Or so she thought.

  A twig snapped to her left, off the pathway, and Anastasia whirled toward the approaching knight in full armor, a helmet obscuring her view of his face. He held a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, the former polished to a mirror shine and buzzing with magical energy. Somehow, he’d run the gauntlet of her spells, the lone survivor of the many Dalborovian soldiers who rushed for the mountain. Alistair continued to pick them off from below. From the corner of her eye, she saw him descend toward a siege weapon.

  “Step closer and I will kill you. I won’t miss at this distance,” she promised. The staff hummed with restrained power, but her mind was tired, her physical body equally exhausted and on the brink of collapse. She couldn’t maintain it forever. The battle of magic with Rangvald had pushed her to the limits of her ability.

  “Anastasia?”

  The voice echoing from within the metal helmet made her pause. Then her heart was racing fast and hard in her chest, co
iling inky tendrils of nausea throughout her gut. No. He couldn’t be alive. She’d stabbed him enough times and left him for dead.

  “Edward?”

  He removed the helmet and tossed it aside to stare at her. He looked hale and hearty, a flush of health on his cheeks, rosy from the exertion of overtaking the mountain. Sweat slicked his dark curls against his brow, but his blue eyes shone with fury.

  The staff nearly dropped from Anastasia’s hands.

  Her former betrothed lurched forward a step. “Surprised to see me after you left me for dead?”

  “You tried to rape me!” Recovering her wits, she raised the staff again. They were close. Too close. One stride of his long legs covered too much ground.

  “You ought to have submitted like a proper wife. Now I find you here leading these barbarians. You could have been a queen!” He swept an armored hand at her and sneered in disgust. “What is that ridiculous outfit?”

  “I wear the battle robes of the Queen of Ocland. Better to die with them than to live as your sex slave.”

  He moved, but an excess of spellcasting had retarded her reflexes, making her feel sluggish and slow. With power sizzling at her fingertips, she hurled a fireball at him with her free hand, but he batted it away, the spell a mere annoyance. A split second later, Edward’s gauntlet collided with her cheek. Pain exploded across her cheekbone. She flew backward, struck off balance by the powerful blow, and crumpled in the grass.

  “We came to save you from this beast, and you have the foolish audacity to side with it?”

  The world spun. She tasted blood in her mouth, the sharp tang of it on her tongue. “He isn’t a beast! He’s more of a man than you will ever be.”

  Using the staff, she returned to her feet and shook off the dizziness. Before Edward could strike her again, she lashed out with a buffeting strike, channeling wind and sheer force into a solid blast meant to knock him away. Edward barely swayed.

  Spells slid off of his shield like water over oiled cloth. Her eyes darted to the left and saw Alistair dodging another dragon lance. He barrel rolled through the air, twirling in a feat of acrobatics she hadn’t thought dragons flexible enough to perform, then swooped down and dragged another cannon off the ledge with his hind claws.