Beauty & The Clockwork Beast (The Clockwork Fairytales Book 1)

by A. B. Keuser

  “If I leave tomorrow… we’ll probably never see each other again.” She paused, leaning forward, her breath tickling on his neck as she placed her lips against his ear. “Don’t you want one more memory to keep you warm at night?” When he didn’t answer, she whispered, “I do.”

  His groin tightened at the thought and he groaned when she bit his ear. Only realizing he’d closed his eyes when he opened them, the sight that met him was his undoing.

  She stared at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Leaning forward, he could see the full roundness of her breasts and how they pressed against her bodice as she breathed.

  “Arthur?”

  “Stop talking.” His hand was still on her thigh and in a quick move, he shifted it, sliding one finger along the wet heat of her entrance. He shuddered as he twisted his wrist and slipped that finger inside her.

  The breath she let fall from her lips was enough to make his manhood twitch, and he loosened his hold on her as she leaned slowly backward over the invention they’d taken so much time on.

  He leaned with her. Using his other hand, careful not to scrape her with the key, he pulled at the sleeve of her dress. She wiggled her arm and with a single tug, half of her bodice shifted down.

  With his hand circled around her exposed breast, she leaned into him, kissing him with a ferocity he hadn’t expected, even after the last time.

  Squeezing, he froze when her breath hitched. His eyes flew open and he saw the tiniest trickle of blood and the line of where his key had scratched her.

  He stilled, but she grabbed his hand. “I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

  Before he could say a word, she grabbed his face and crushed her mouth against his.

  Withdrawing his fingers, he heard her moan in protest, but he used his tongue to keep her from straying from his mouth. He pulled away, staring down into her eyes, shining silver with desire, and lowered his mouth to the rosy nipple of the breast he still cupped.

  His tongue swirled over the tight bud and Isabelle arched against him.

  A great clatter echoed somewhere above, and they both broke apart, looking at the dark ceiling above them.

  “Maybe we should make it a hasty memory?” Isabelle said, her smile apologetic as she shrugged, her freed breast bouncing with the movement.

  Nodding, Arthur took two steps, locked the door, and then was back to her. She glanced around them, her eyes settling on the work table, but Arthur had other plans.

  Gathering up her skirts, he stopped her when she tried to move away from the device. “Not this time,” he said, not sure if he was speaking to himself or her.

  Hands on her waist, he turned her around and dragged his fingers up her back. When he reached her neck, he traced the soft skin in lazy circles and leaned in, catching her ear with his teeth. “Do you trust me?”

  Letting out a shuddering breath, she nodded.

  Swallowing the roil of desires that sent through him, he pressed one hand to her stomach and with the other, he gently pushed her neck—her head—forward so she lay atop the device they’d spent so long working on that day.

  His hand returned to the wet folds of her entrance and he pressed in one finger, then two. She clenched around him as though every movement made her muscles flinch.

  Unbuttoning his trousers, he kept them on as much as he was able. She would not leave tonight with the same wounds she’d had after their first encounter.

  With his free hand, he moved her legs, opening her to him.

  Isabelle looked back at him over her shoulder, her breath came in hard gasps and she smiled at him like she was about to get everything she’d ever wanted. The flash of silver reminded him of the bond they shared, the desires that came with it.

  He pressed his tip of his shaft against her wet entrance and shuddered at the overwhelming feeling that struck him. This was right. They were right.

  It had to be wrong.

  He pressed into her, urged on by the moans that left her mouth, echoing off the wooden barrel beneath her and the stone of the walls around them.

  “I’m not a piece of spun glass, Arthur. I’m not going to break. And I need you.”

  Her hands reached back, grabbing at the fabric of his pants, and she pulled him forward, in a sharp jerking movement until he was fully buried in her. The air left his lungs in a whoosh and he stayed frozen a moment embedded in her fully.

  She stared at him, her eyes watching him with a desire that made him shiver. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

  Hands on her hips, he watched as she placed hers on the device and pressed herself back into him, joining their bodies more tightly than he’d thought possible.

  He would give her everything she wanted. Anything.

  Withdrawing until she clenched around nothing but the very tip of him, he held her in place even as she tried to buck backward into him.

  “Isabelle,” he said softly, looking down to the place their bodies were joined. “I’ve never meant anything more than I mean this.”

  He pulled her backward as he thrust into her and the delighted cry that came from her throat drove him on.

  She pushed against him, meeting his every thrust with one of her own, and as his heartbeat sped, her cries grew more insistant.

  She came, her muscles clenching around him. And while she stayed frozen, locked in her own ecstasy, he leaned forward, exhaustion and need driving him harder and faster until his abdomen clenched and he came inside her.

  He lay over her for a moment. Making sure he didn’t place his full weight on her. Breathing heavily, she turned over her shoulder and kissed him. It was a long, languid kiss that made him wish for things he would never have.

  Swallowing that ugly thought, he pulled away from her—out of her—and felt the loss so immediately, his knees threatened to buckle.

  *

  Arthur was well and truly screwed. And not just by the woman who had come screaming his name, seconds before.

  His heart was tangled up in the way he felt about her and it had nothing to do with the magic that ran through both of their veins. She sagged against their invention after he slid out and smoothed her skirts back down.

  Murmuring something, she adjusted her dress and he sat down, putting himself back together. She sighed and sat beside him leaning her head on his arm. “It’s done, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, unable to speak through the despair and anger roiling in his gut.

  “Tomorrow we’ll take this out and it will go crashing through the forest.”

  “And you’ll be able to go home, just like you’ve wanted since you arrived.”

  She shifted uncomfortably, looking from the device to him. “I could stay.”

  It was a beautiful lie he wanted to believe, one that was sweet and filled him with a longing he was loathe to fight.

  Pursing his lips, he looked away, swallowing the bile that rose before he said, “I don’t want you here.”

  It was harsh, and he had no idea if she believed his lie or not, but she had to hear it.

  She stood then, tugging her skirts down. “Then I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

  He saw the first tear in her eye as she walked away from him, and the pain in his chest had nothing to do with the distance she was slowly putting between them.

  Nine

  Tension tugged at her skirt the next morning as she walked toward the device that would free her from the castle’s enchantment. Or maybe that was one of the boys. They’d clustered around her. Some begged her to stay, others shouted at the triumph of her impending escape. She clutched her basket with pale knuckles and tried to keep a smile on her face.

  In front of them, Arthur led their strange procession, silently. His hands tucked into his pockets… she felt almost as though he were leading a funeral march.

  The morning had started with a great, clattering clash and she’d looked out her window to see part of the western wall and a large portion of the outer garden gone. Two dozen of the boys worked quic
kly to remove the stones, and by the time she had gotten dressed and retrieved her basket, Lord Cat Chaser and Arthur were waiting outside her door.

  The former was the reason for the explosion; the latter was in a worse mood than he had been when she’d left the night before.

  She had no idea how he had gotten the device out of his basement laboratory, or how they hoped to keep the teakettles away long enough to get her out without being seen.

  She dropped to her knees and hugged both Lord Cat Chaser and the Duke of Hasty Pudding, though the latter of the two pretended he was too old for such nonsense. The other boys stayed back at a shy distance, none of them had gotten used to her as easily as those two had.

  Arthur stood rigidly by her side. “You’ll need to hurry behind it. The forest will close up again after it cuts its way through. And Isabelle?”

  She looked from the dark tangle of forest to him, and he hauled her against him, kissing her so fiercely she knew what he’d said the night before was a lie. She’d known it then, but as his mouth claimed hers, now—as the boys called out in mock disgust and embarrassment—she was certain. They both needed her to leave, and as she twisted her fingers in his hair, letting the cogs on his face cut into her own, she knew he had been trying to spare her the choice.

  It was a foolish gesture. And as he pulled away, she could tell that he knew she hadn’t believed him.

  She swallowed the last of her trepidation and turned back to the forest, its creaking metal branches looming like the dark disaster they were.

  Behind her, Arthur leaned close and whispered, “Don’t look back.”

  Three words threatened to break her heart, and a tear rolled down her cheek as he stepped away from her.

  He threw a switch on the contraption’s back and the gears and cogs sputtered to life. Pulling forward as the blades chopped through the tangled mass of mechanical forest, and its wide front plow pushed through unhindered.

  It lurched forward and she ran to keep up with it as it rolled away.

  She did not look back.

  Every step she took, her heart felt like it would be ripped through her back, every breath was a sob. The forest closed in behind her, the branches and vines growing more quickly than she recalled. They scratched at her legs and arms and tried to tangle her feet.

  She ran and ran with no idea of the time that passed; she only knew she had to keep moving.

  Her lungs burned, her heart felt as though it was being strangled and her feet and legs ached. She grabbed hold of the wooden barrel in front of her and held on. It was the only thing that kept her going.

  It lurched again and threw her to the hard dirt of a roadway as it tipped sideways and tumbled over itself, crashing into the marker that stood halfway between Indigo Valley and the Shisaido market.

  Breathing heavily, she stepped to the back of the device, flipped the lever that would disengage the clockwork and—once the scissors had stopped flying—retrieved the separated blades.

  Glancing in either direction, she decided she would leave the mess for someone else to clean up.

  *

  The forest had swallowed her like some ravenous beast from the stories that filled the shelves in the library. He’d never heard the boys so quiet as they watched the forest knit itself back together—as they listened to the grotesque sounds it made.

  Arthur hoped it had been the right choice. Hoped that Isabelle had found her way out.

  And then, he turned his attention to disguising the hole Lord Cat Chaser had created. With some creative rearranging, and a lot of help from the boys, they covered the opening, and while it was an ugly scar, Arthur had to hope that Agathina wouldn’t notice.

  At the sound of clattering mechanisms, the boys scattered, and he gave the broken wall one last glance before he walked directly toward the sound of the teakettle. It was an ugly thing. Not that he’d forgotten in the last few hours since he’d seen one, but it seemed uglier now.

  The whole of his imprisonment felt more oppressive. It wasn’t.

  Rationally, he knew that. But the past weeks had been a little better.

  And he’d messed it all up by deciding not to be selfish.

  Letting the ugly contraption follow him, he returned to the castle and wandered the halls aimlessly. His thoughts were more torture than anything Agathina could dole out.

  Even as he thought it, he stopped and looked to the nearest clock. Agathina’s arrival was imminent.

  *

  Pressing through the front door of her aunt’s home, Isabelle glanced about and let out a sigh of relief when she realized her aunt was not there.

  That sigh caught the attention of her sister, who had been curled up, invisible in a chair with a book on her lap.

  “Where have you been? It’s been a month! Are you wearing the same clothes?” Heather blurted when she finally let go and pulled her inside. “Aunt Lucinda went crazy when you didn’t return from town.”

  “How long do we have before she comes back?”

  Heather glanced at the window and rolled her eyes. “Quite a while. She’s gone to the silk market to ask Bryony to help her come up with an excuse for your next suitor.”

  “I hope she told Gaston I was dead.” With her fists clenched at her sides, Isabelle peered out the window and watched the carriage trundle away. “I am not going to marry him.”

  “You won’t have to. I am.”

  Turning on her sister she felt the rage boiling inside her. “What do you mean you’re marrying him?”

  She shrugged and said, “It’s pretty simple. He asked, I accepted.”

  “Don’t do it, Heather. Just because our aunt wishes it doesn’t mean you must.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I want to marry him. I wanted to marry him before you butted in and stole him.” Her face screwed up into a sharp scowl and she coughed and coughed. Her handkerchief showed spots of blood. “And now you’re back to ruin it all!”

  “I am not going to ruin anything!”

  Heather started to speak but her words were cut off by a coughing fit and Isabelle ran to the home’s small kitchen and dipped water into a cup before hurrying back to her basket and measuring out a dose of the powder.

  She pressed the glass into Heather’s hand and waited as her sister drank down the whole dose.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come straight home and get you your medicine.”

  “I don’t care.” She looked away, her mouth a straight line, her jaw tense.

  Unable to do anything more to convince her while she was upset, Isabelle moved through the house and to the room her aunt let her use—she was never to call it her own.

  Pushing through the door, she stopped and stared. The only word she could use to describe the scene in front of her eyes was ransacked.

  Dumbfounded, she stood in the doorway and tried to process what she was seeing. It looked as though she’d been robbed, but she had nothing worth taking. Nothing except the few things in her basket.

  She moved a few things on her dresser, righting bottles and sweeping a broken necklace into the small dish she kept there. When she had enough space, she placed the basket down and turned back to deal with the mess that was her room.

  A commotion in the front room startled her and when she heard Gaston’s voice, she knew the room would have to wait.

  Isabelle shut her door behind her and walked carefully to the living room. From the doorway, she could see that Heather and Gaston were in the midst of an argument—one that Gaston was clearly trying to keep quiet. One that looked remarkably similar to the one she’d witnessed before.

  She leaned on the jamb and watched as her sister tried to force the oaf to kiss her. To his credit he was not harsh when he pushed her aside. If what little of their conversation she heard was a sample of the whole, he was trying to be kind, he simply didn’t know how and as such failed miserably.

  When he looked up and saw her, he moved Heather aside and seemed to forget about her as he strode across the room
, his boot clattering on the wooden floor.

  Glancing at Heather’s dejected posture; Isabelle danced away from Gaston’s touch as he tried to embrace her.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “The same thing I’ve always wanted.” He reached forward and managed to grab hold of her hand. His grasp was too tight; there was no chance she was getting away. “I don’t care where you’ve been or who you’ve been with. You’re the one I want to marry.”

  He smiled at her and something sick in the expression made her skin crawl. Pulling her hand up to kiss it loosened his grip enough that she was able to pull away from him.

  “I am not—”

  At that moment the door burst open again, and their aunt came in a fluster of movement surrounded by baskets and bags of items from the local shop.

  Gaston had stepped in front of her as if shielding her from some danger and as soon as their aunt saw him, she dropped everything and began fawning on him.

  Heather began crying as though someone had taken away everything precious to her and Isabelle rolled her eyes as her aunt began chiding Heather. “Your future husband is here! Don’t act like a child.”

  “I’m not going to marry her.”

  While Heather bawled more loudly, her aunt turned on Gaston with more righteous anger than Isabell had seen since her aunt and father had fought.

  “We had an agreement and you will stick to it, or I will make sure you never find another woman who will marry you.”

  If Isabelle had thought her aunt had suddenly begun to care for her nieces, her next line ruined any illusion.

  “You will pay me what you owe me and you will marry her!”

  “You know I only agreed to that if there was no hope Isabelle would be back.”

  Looking confused, her aunt looked from him to Heather.

  Before she realized what was going to happen, Gaston grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into view. “You will stick with our original agreement.”

  Her aunt stared at her dumbstruck and when she finally blinked, her movements were mechanical. “Yes, of course.”

  Gaston ignored her aunt and she looked down to where his eyes were affixed. The long red mark that was still present from where the invention had scratched her. His eyes traveled her face too and he turned back to her aunt. “I don’t want anything to happen to my future wife before our wedding, so you’d better make sure she doesn’t disappear again.”