As dawn approaches, I begin to worry she will not come. My reasons are purely selfish. If Lafarge discovered his wife is cuckolding him, she will most definitely not show herself here anymore and then I’ll be left to my own devices yet again.
Finally I hear footsteps on the staircase. She opens the door and removes her hat in the anteroom, smiles at me as she comes to the door. But she doesn’t cross the threshold. “Hello, Bastien,” she says. My chains will only let me within two steps of that doorway and she knows it.
“Tease,” I accuse. I cannot abide women who lead men around by their cocks and don’t even have the courtesy to finish them. “Come say that to my face.” I’m already hard for her, as well she can see, since I shrugged out of the Beast’s clothes the moment I awoke in anticipation of her arrival. And it’s damned cold in here with the balcony open.
“Not tonight,” she says. “And not any other night.”
I laugh. “We’ll see.”
“I’m pregnant, Bastien. Jean’s seed finally took.”
And just like that, my pride and joy turns flaccid. I stare at her belly, trying to see if I can make out any hint of a bulge. “So the bastard finally gets his heir,” I mutter. “Have you told him yet?”
“No. I wanted to tell you first. So you would know it’s not yours.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that,” I retort. There wasn’t a single time I have spilled inside her. Her mouth doesn’t count. The child is Lafarge’s and most likely took root even before Angelique came to me that first night.
“Obviously I can’t keep seeing you.”
“Obviously,” I repeat dryly, indicating my loins, “I no longer want you to.” She couldn’t have come up with a more effective way to make herself undesirable.
She smiles a little sadly. “I will... miss you,” she says. Already she has that serene, content look on her face, like some fucking Virgin Mary. I’ve seen it in the eyes of every woman expecting her first child and thanked God every time that I wouldn’t have to look at that expression every day for the next nine months or more because the whelp wasn’t mine. No doubt she is thinking she has found her calling, her purpose is complete now that she’s contributed to the perpetuation of the Lafarge species.
She’ll learn otherwise soon enough. An heir always necessitates a spare or two. She’ll spend her best years squeezing out Jean’s brats until the progeny she has spawned becomes her only appeal. I smile and it feels cruel. “More than you think,” I tell her. “Night after night, when you hear your brat screaming from the nursery, when your husband mounts you again for more and leaves you cold and alone in the dark. You will think of me and wish you were in my arms again.”
It’s unavoidable. She will come to regret taking Lafarge’s name but by then it’ll be too late.
I know all too well that I will see Angelique again. She will come crawling back, begging me to resume our relations, bemoaning her life and expecting me to take pity on her.
And I know it will happen sooner rather than later.
“I expect you’re right,” she says, the epitome of peace and tranquility. “But when morning dawns again, I will have children to take solace in. You will always have only you.”
The chains snap taut and my arms strain to break them. Of course, they will not budge and the stupid bitch doesn’t even blink an eye, perfectly safe just two steps away across the threshold. Two steps too far for me to reach across. God, how I want to get my hands on her.
Wring her neck and wipe that saintly smile off her face.
I only manage to bloody my wrists in the shackles and the pain is nothing, but that I feel it at all while she stands there watching as if it amuses her makes me livid. “Get out! ” I roar, so loud I am sure the servants have heard and will be arriving shortly to knock me out.
There’s no need. Already the sun is beginning to rise and with it the righteous bastard whom I can hear laughing in my head. As I begin to break apart, I feel Angelique’s hand on my face, hear her voice say, “Good-bye, Bastien.”
Then she is gone, and so am I.
Chapter Twenty-one
The Beast spends his day in the garden. The last blooms of the season are at their peak. Soon they will need to be cut for the winter and he won’t see another rose until next year. He stops at each and every rose bush and takes in their fragrance to keep him through the cold, snowy months. They are remarkably beautiful.
His favorite is the deep crimson, which almost looks black. It grows just outside the library and every time he reads there, he opens all of the windows to let in their scent. There isn’t another shade like it. Their scent is different, more potent, and quite unique to his sensitive nose.
They also have the sharpest thorns, almost hooked to thwart anyone who would wish to pluck them.
The Beast caresses the delicate petals, soft as velvet to his paw. Beauty never knew a more pleasing form.
The day is cool, but he doesn’t mind. He lays in the sunshine, basking in its warmth, however feeble, and feels something akin to contentment. Tonight is the last night of the full moon. One more night in the prison of Bastien’s twisted mind, and then he will be free for the next twenty six days. His human counterpart is so furious that, even now, the Beast can feel him.
It makes him smile. Suits him right to be cast aside like a soiled handkerchief. How many women has he left in just this way over the years? It doesn’t matter that he never promised them anything beyond a moment’s pleasure. The hurt was always there in their eyes and the Beast remembers it well. It’s the whole reason Bastien is cursed to begin with.
But thoughts of the Faery princess always sour his mood. He doesn’t want her memory spoiling this day.
“The fairs are in Fauve again, Master,” Jacques says. “Shall I send the maids?”
The Beast groans. “And have them empty my coffers on frills and ribbons again?”
Jacques chuckles. “One never knows what they might find.”
He harrumphs. “Send the driver with them. They are to purchase necessities only. I don’t want to have to eat gingerbread for an entire month again because it tasted so good they couldn’t resist.”
“I shall tell them to take pity on their Master’s stomach. They meant well, you know.”
He sighs. “They always do.”
“Cook has prepared lunch. Will you take it here, or in the dining room?”
“The library.” There’s a thought. He rises to his paws and meets his butler’s gaze. “Tell the driver to bring back more books. Tell the maids the same. They can spend as much coin as they wish, but only on books.”
Jacques rolls his eyes. “You have a magnificent library, Master, and your love of knowledge is commendable.”
He scowls. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”
Jacques spreads his arms in exasperation. “But we have nowhere to put the books anymore!”
The Beast considers this. He pads over to the library window and peers inside. The shelves are filled to bursting and there are stacks of volumes of all shapes and sizes on each table and all over the floor. He backs away and looks up. There is a sitting room above the library which never gets used. Whoever placed it there was an idiot. “Tear out the ceiling,” he tells Jacques.
“Build up the book cases. Cover all the walls with them, even between the windows.” He nods, satisfied with this solution.
Jacques sighs in defeat. “Yes, Master.”
And because his staff is fast but not nearly as strong as he is, the Beast spends the rest of the day hauling furniture and stones out of the library. The lot of the household is so busy with the new project no one notices the sun dip low.
“Master,” Aimee finally says with deep unease. “The sun.”
The Beast nods gravely and throws the stone in his paws outside. He is just passing through the entry hall, on his way to his chambers when he hears a carriage approaching. Frowning, he meets eyes with Jacques, but the butler can only shrug. Company is never expected
here. It could only be Jean or Angelique, and it would be too early for her. The Beast is still a beast.
“I can resolve the matter, if you wish,” Jacques offers.
The Beast is nodding when the carriage stops and the screaming begins. “What the devil...?”
And a devil it is. The door bursts open and a disheveled Angelique falls in where Jean shoved her. He looks mad, his eyes too bright, his face flushed in anger. He has a pistol in his hand and is breathing hard. Angelique is sobbing and when she pushes herself up to her knees, the Beast can see bruises darkening her face.
His hackles rise. He can already feel the sun setting, the magic which will kill him so Bastien can rise starts to sting. He snarls at Jean as more servants come running to see the commotion. Jacques herds them all back, mindful of the weapon.
“You cheating whore! ” Jean screams. “Did you think I wouldn’t know!” His words run on each other until the Beast can barely understand what he’s yelling. Angelique cowers, shielding her belly and the growing child within.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Beast demands.
“Shut up! ” Jean screams at him. “You shut up! This is all your fault, you and that bastard you turn into. Let him loose!” He levels the gun. “I want him to see this.”
Angelique screams, diving for the Beast. He roars and charges Jean when the gun goes off, freezing all of them in place. The Beast looks down uncomprehending at the limp form on the floor next to his paw. She is still, there is no heartbeat in her, and blood is pooling thick and dark across the cold stone.
He is still staring when the curse takes him over. For once, he welcomes it, flees from the horrid sight and retreats, letting Bastien rise to the fore until he’s...
... until I am on my hands and knees in Angelique’s blood. I touch her neck, searching desperately for a pulse. There isn’t one.
“You see,” Jean says, “you see how generous I am. She’s all yours now.”
Shock burns away beneath an explosion of fury in my chest. I hear my own roar and before I have made a conscious decision, I am knocking Lafarge to the ground and my hands are around his throat. He clutches at my wrists in a feeble attempt to dislodge me. He cannot. The Beast gives me his strength, wanting the bastard to die as much as I do. Lafarge’s eyes bulge and his tongue sticks out as he turns blue and purple.
I feel hands on me. It takes a lot of them to pry me away from Lafarge and I am fighting them with everything I have to get back and finish the deed. “It was yours! ” I scream as they drag me away and I know he can still hear me. The entire castle can. “The child was yours! ”
A blow to the head knocks me out cold.
Chapter Twenty-two
When I wake up, it is still night. I am still human and the castle is dark and silent. I can’t hear what’s going on downstairs. I’m in my chambers, back in the chains, alone. I bury my face in my hands. I can still see Angelique’s dead body in my mind’s eye. I am covered in her blood, though it has already dried.
I am shaking but don’t understand why. The wind is cold, blowing in from the balcony, but the hearth fire is roaring and my own anger makes me sweat. I want to know what’s happening down there. The guards better not have let Lafarge escape. The bastard should be chained in my dungeon, locked away until the Beast wakes. I can feel him now. If he can get his hands on Lafarge, this time he won’t hesitate. It should be the Beast who ends Lafarge. He is still merciful enough to make it quick.
Suddenly I sense I am not alone. I look up expecting to see Jacques, a question already on my tongue, but it is a different presence all together.
A hunched figure swathed in a dark, ragged cloak, with one hand smooth and young, the other gnarled and old. She stands in the shadows, as much part of the night as any ghoul risen from the dead.
“You.” Can she be a ghost? No. As the clouds shift to uncover the moon, its light falls directly on her. She casts a shadow. She’s real enough. “A man can never bury his past, can he?”
I say bitterly. “No matter how much he’s been made to repay his mistakes.” I raise my hands into the light. “In blood.”
I would have expected it to be Lilith. If a phantasm from the otherworld is to witness me in this state, it ought to be the one who would derive the most pleasure from my misery. But for all I know, that narcissistic bitch has forgotten all about me. Which begs the question, why hasn’t this creature? What is she, anyway?
The hag floats closer like a vision. She glides across the floor as if her feet never touch it and lowers to sit before me. I feel her staring at me for long moments and I say nothing, only stare back. It’s strangely satisfying, this wordless communication. I remember it from centuries ago and though it led to all of this, I find I harbor no ill will against her. I even feel something like a smile pull on my lips and I nod to her in belated greeting.
The hag returns the gesture, making me feel as if no time at all has passed since our last meeting.
She produces a deck of tarot cards and places it on the floor between us. The sight of it comforts me. For a moment I forget everything that’s happening below stairs and grin outright.
“What dark portents do you bring tonight?” I ask. “Haven’t you done enough?”
The hag turns a card. The Queen of Cups. As if I need a fucking reminder. Without waiting for my answer, she flips the next one—The Hermit. And the next one—The Moon. The answers I struggled to decipher so long ago, now so glaringly obvious in what I’ve become. I would laugh at myself if any humor still lingered inside me. Instead, I wait for the next card. If memory serves, it should be Strength. I feel my heart beat faster in anticipation. I need to see her again.
Angelique’s death robbed me of any strength I possessed.
I’ve finally found a person more foul than I and was completely powerless against him. I won’t do anything as theatrical as letting it destroy me, but for tonight, at least, I cannot think of anything to do besides sit here and brood. If I didn’t have hands and feet I’d think I turned into the Beast prematurely. I need my strength back. And right now, the woman I’ve all but forgotten is the only strength I have left.
Give me a glimpse, I plead silently, feeling that now ancient yearning for her reawaken inside me. Just a glimpse of her.
But the card she turns is The Devil, and the hag is pointing at the door. Jean Lafarge. Does she expect me to be surprised?
“What about him?”
She turns the next card—The Hanged Man. And then there is the one I seek. Strength, with its red, red rose and not a hint of the woman I once saw beneath it.
It is reversed.
Dread fills me and I seek the hag’s gaze. She raises her head as though to look at me, but I can’t see anything of her face. A gnarled hand reaches up and rests on my forehead. A bright flash of light makes me close my eyes and in my mind I see what she is trying to tell me.
I see Lafarge running to the village of Fauve and rousing a mob. I see them marching on the castle and finding Angelique’s body, and me in my beastly form. They are not affected by the curse—they can kill the Beast and they will. And once I see myself dead and gone, and my castle weathered inside and out by decades of neglect, my Strength appears, dressed in a pauper’s rags, begging for coin on the streets of Fauve. She shivers in the cold and no one will stop to help her, not the baker, or the saw bones, not even the priest.
No one, until Lafarge, an old man already, holds his gloved hand out for her to take.
“No, ” I gasp out. Not him! That murderous bastard cannot be allowed to touch her! I’d gouge his eyes out before I’d let him even look at her.
I force myself into the vision, bend it to my will and change what I see, make Lafarge go deaf and blind, far away from the woman I feel desperate to protect. But without Lafarge, nothing is different. She’s still kneeling in the street, still starving and freezing, and this time, she dies that way, too.
I roar in denial and my hand shoots out blindly to close around
the hag’s throat. She grasps my wrist with her young hand at that very instant and pries me loose with laughable ease. Her fingers curl into my wrist and the pain is nothing compared to the searing spasm in my chest.
The vision changes and I see Lafarge running from the castle. It’s the real him, the present him, not the future. He slows and stops with a frown, looks back at the castle, then at his own empty hands. His face contorts with confusion. He walks the rest of the way slowly and somehow I know his thoughts. He doesn’t remember. Not the way it really happened. All he knows is that Angelique cuckolded him with a human man named Bastien Sauvage, and he shot her dead in the man’s castle.
The vision goes dark and I fall over, my head spinning. I pass out for the second time that night. When I come to, the hag is gone and so are her cards. All that is left of her is a blood red rose. I clutch the thorny stem, heedless of the pain, as the first light of dawn tears me asunder.
Chapter Twenty-three
The hag’s rose is wilting. If it’s even hers at all. The flower could have come from anywhere, and the Beast’s memories of that night are so distorted he no longer knows what is real and what isn’t. It’s beyond tempting to simply pretend it was all a bad dream, a figment of Bastien’s crazed mind.
But Angelique is real. Was real. Jacques and some of the women moved her body to the ice room and scrubbed the floors of her blood. The Beast can still smell it there, anyway. It is obvious no one will be coming to claim her. The bastard Lafarge probably didn’t even tell anyone she is dead. It would be just like him to feign ignorance. All he needs to do is wait long enough for everyone to assume she ran away. After a while, if she doesn’t turn up, he’ll be able to annul the union and take another wife.
There is only one thing the Beast can do about it.
He has Angelique buried in the garden next to his parents. Though his memory of them is all but nonexistent, he knows they would have welcomed Angelique as their own. The Beast couldn’t save the young woman, but perhaps he can give her, in death, the peace she deserved while she was alive.
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