“Bonjour, bel ange. Good morning, lovely angel.”
Angel whirled to the vanity. “I didn’t dream all of this. You’re real.”
“Yes. Your bath awaits, Angel.”
She pointed at the mirror, trying to stay angry, but couldn’t fuss at the blameless inanimate object. “Did they bring me here last night and undress me?”
“Oui…and…non, mistress. Many—but not all—things are magical here. Late last evening, the master found you slumbering in the library. Fearing you would awaken with a stiff neck, he carried you to your chamber.”
“That beast…carried me up here? The scary one?” That thought really shouldn’t have warmed her heart the way it did. He was holding her captive after all.
“Oui, mistress, I mean non. If I may be so bold, he is a serious and thoughtful master. Though easily riled, I do not believe his intention is to have you live in fear of him. He stayed up here only long enough to lay you comfortably in your bed. He was respectful in the utmost. Once he knew we would care for you, he retired and left you in complete privacy. Do not worry yourself, mistress. They would not presume in any way on your dignity. Hurry while the bath water is still hot. Your breakfast is nearly ready downstairs.”
Looking around, she reminded herself of her resolve from yesterday to find the value in this situation, crazy as it was. She could explore the rest of the castle and the library some more in the daylight. Maybe go outside to see the castle from the gardens, too.
Before she could even voice the question whether she could leave the castle, the mirror replied, “Oui, mistress. The castle, the gardens, the grounds are yours.” His tone was reassuring, placing emphasis on the word “yours.”
“I just can’t go home.” She phrased her words as a statement rather than a question, and the mirror didn’t reply.
The bath was every bit as pleasurable as the shower had been the night before, and seconds after she came, while her body still quivered with completion, she whispered to no one in particular. “If I had a bathroom like this at home, I’d never want to leave the house.”
A soft, nonverbal affirmation whispered from the vanity table, and she smiled.
She didn’t linger in the tub but hurried to dress and brush out her hair, which today was magically transformed into a gorgeous bun wrapped with braids at the back of her head, a comb adorned with the brilliant green and blue hues of peacock feather tips tucked into it to match the peacock blues and greens of her dress. The swirl of her favorite colors undulated and caressed her skin, and as with last night, there were no undergarments to go with it except for a sheer teal green shift, so she felt that sensuous silky touch over every inch of her body. She arrived breathless, wet, and aroused at the dining room—to discover the beasts were present, along with Fleur, who leaped from the arms of the less frightening of the two beasts to run to her and jump into hers.
Angel smiled as the feline purred in contentment when she scratched gently beneath her chin. “Good morning, Fleur.”
She glanced up at the intimidating occupants of the room, who were dressed in finer attire than the day before. Still with leather pants, in the larger one’s case, but outfitted in velvet coats with braided trim. They’d also evidently…groomed. At least as much as scary lion-like, wolfish beasts could groom.
“Good morning,” she whispered, grateful at least that the dress she wore was not quite as thin and sheer as last night’s and that the peacock feather pattern might hide anatomical details.
The reddish-furred beast bowed gallantly, displaying courtly manners, but remained silent, though he glanced at his counterpart expectantly.
The brown-furred, more intimidating beast gave a perfunctory bow and growled, “Good morning.” He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat as if he was hoarse. He extended an open hand, revealing the large, curled claws, roughened palm, and undersides of his fingers, which were much like the paw pads of a predatory beast. Made for traveling distances quickly—and taking down prey.
As if he noticed her hesitation, he closed his hand and put it behind his back and nodded to the head of the table. “Please have a seat. Your breakfast awaits.”
“Are you joining me?” she asked as Fleur leaped to the white tablecloth on which an abundant breakfast feast was spread.
“No. We have already eaten. We wanted to make sure your meal last night and your rooms were satisfactory.”
She nodded as she sat in the chair that the silent beast pulled out for her. He smiled, revealing the tips of fangs as he extended his clawed hand, presenting her with a red rose. She took it and smiled hesitantly. “My name is Angel,” she said as she lifted the rose to breathe in its light aroma. The silent beast smiled and nodded, those slightly slanted eyes of his flirting with her, unless she was seeing things.
The other beast cleared his throat again, sounding angry this time. Looking uncomfortable in his skin, literally, he pointed at his companion. “This is Charmeur. As you have probably surmised, he is mute, but I speak for him.” He didn’t sound happy about that fact.
She glanced at Charmeur and caught him rolling his eyes before he winked at her, and she just barely stifled her smile. He bowed to her again. Charmer was right.
“And I am Bestiale.”
She blinked at him, wrapping her head around his French pronunciation. “Bestial? Beast? Literally?” She felt her head for a lump but found none.
“It is my given name. My mother claimed I was a hardy baby and wanted a strong name for me. You may call me Bête if you desire.”
“Did you carry me to my room last night?”
Bestiale paused, and Angel had the distinct impression as he frowned down at his hands and at her that he was concerned how she would react. “Yes, I did. You were sound asleep…” He frowned again as if he was chewing the inside of his lip, debating how to go on.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
His gulp was audible, and as if he was anxious to be done, he waved a hand around the room. “This is Le Bijou de Lionne. Its occupants and everything within are at your disposal. You have only to state your desire.”
“I desire to go home.”
Bestiale glowered at her. “You will stay.” With a snarl, he turned to leave the room. At the doorway he waited for Charmeur to join him. Fleur yowled discontentedly as she followed them. “Your afternoon meal will be ready at your desire. You may dine in the library if you wish.”
“And you? Will you be joining me?”
“No. We will see you at the evening meal, however. Do not try to escape. And do not be late.”
Fleur growled softly at him and then turned, bounding back and leaping into Angel’s lap, where she immediately turned and flopped down.
Charmeur made a wheezing sound that resembled laughter as he strolled from the room, his long, leonine tail swirling around his booted feet. They have tails?
Bestiale grumbled aloud. “Fleur. Come.”
Angel pressed her lips together as the cat simply stared at him. Watching Bestiale’s face, Angel once again had the sense he was carrying on some sort of non-verbal duel with Fleur before she finally turned from him and rubbed her face against Angel’s wrist. Bestiale marched off with a deep growl.
You told him, huh?
“Will you explore with me today?” Angel asked as she ran her hand down the cat’s silky back. Her reply was a mew and then contented purring. Angel was only mildly surprised when she looked up from the cat to find that her plate had already been filled from the platters adorning the banquet table, with foods she considered her favorites. “I’m definitely going to need a walk outside later.” With the cat along, it would be more fun she had a feeling.
Hunger satisfied, she meandered through the castle with the cat in her arms, finding herself drawn to the library once more. When she entered, the fire was already lit and the room a comfortable temperature. Daylight poured in through the leaded glass doors and projected a myriad of colors on the floor through the stained glass w
indows.
Fleur made little biscuits on her forearm as Angel cradled her and moved slowly through the room, gazing at the portraits that were no longer as sinister in the light of day. Handsome men and women had lived within the castle walls at some point. She wondered what had become of them.
She stopped before one and sighed in appreciation. “Fleur, is it wrong to lust after a hot guy that’s probably long-dead by now? Because that is one luscious hunk of man,” she said as she gazed at a huge portrait of a man with wavy, shoulder-length auburn hair, mounted on a tremendous black stallion. The man reminded Angel of the stained glass window scenes she’d looked at yesterday.
Fleur looked up at it and mewed before resting her chin on Angel’s wrist. Her purring was soothing.
The painting dominated one wall and was nearly life size. The realistic way he was painted, with light dappling the sleek jet-black coat of the stallion, made her want to reach out and touch. The man’s eyes were narrowed against the light that shone on his pretty hair. A pain in her neck made her realize she’d drawn so close enough to the painting she could touch it, but she didn’t.
She stepped back and moved on to the next painting, murmuring quietly as the dress caressed her legs. There were times when she could almost overlook the sensual touches and the way the fabric moved around her body and then other times when the sensations were so strong her arousal was enough to make her consider running back up to her room for a little “alone time.” But there was still so much to see.
There were other paintings in the room that reminded her of the stained glass, especially one of a girl in her teens. The pretty girl had long white-blonde hair that hung straight to her waist. Her eyes were the color of violets, and she wore a dress of sapphire blue and pale blue brocade that made the color of her eyes and her hair seem almost luminescent. Within her hands was a bouquet of violets. Her eyes shone with a beguiling mix of the innocence and mischief of a child while her features hinted at the beauty she would be one day. Angel felt an odd protectiveness for the young girl and reached out to touch the gilt frame.
Fleur looked up at Angel, and Angel gasped as the same violet blue as the painting glowed in her eyes. Angel glanced at the painting and the windows and then again at the cat, but her eyes were closed.
“Huh. Must’ve been a trick of the light.”
The vivid green binding of a book on the bookshelves caught her eye, and she surveyed the titles as she reached for it. The abundance of books was heady, and she carried the volume to the chair before the stained glass window. The thick fur rug hadn’t been beneath the chair the night before but was there now. She removed her soft leather slippers and enjoyed the fur sliding between her toes before she sank into the plush chair. With the cat still resting companionably in her arms, she flipped through the book. Judging by the text, it was French fairy tales. She couldn’t read the stories, but the miniature illustrations were lovely.
She grew drowsy as she finished paging through the book and looked up at the stained glass window when the sunlight disappeared behind a cloud. The colored pieces of glass hadn’t moved, and drowsy as she was, she began to wonder if perhaps she’d dreamed that the magnificent series of stained glass panels were enchanted.
Fleur rose and stretched, bowing her back and then yawning before curling into a new position on Angel’s lap and laying her head down on her paws. Angel closed her eyes.
The whisper of a gentle touch on her throat and along her jawline brought her back from dreams of the castle, the paintings, and the stained glass. She blinked to clear the sleep from her eyes and then realized a shadowy form knelt before her. Weight on her lap drew her attention to the large hand resting on her knee, and she realized the other was now stroking her cheek. His touch was warm, as was the back of his hand when she reached up to touch him to see if he was real. As she did so, he leaned close, his face coming into the firelight.
“It’s you,” she murmured as she looked upon the face of the auburn-haired man from the portrait. “I’m dreaming.”
He smiled and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Yes, mon ange, but what a dream, hmm?”
His voice reminded her of the soothing accented baritone of the mirror upstairs, and an unexpected giggle bubbled up within her. “I am tripping.”
He smiled as he licked his lower lip and then kissed her hand again.
Movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to a second shadowy figure. Unlike the affable auburn-haired man, this one backed away slightly so his face was hidden in shadows, but he reached out and stroked her upper arm with the backs of his fingers. His hand was one used to hard work, judging by the ruggedness of his palm and the slight calluses she felt on his knuckles. A capable hand, she thought.
Fleur rose from her lap, licked the top of Angel’s hand, and rubbed against the arms of the two men before jumping down and bounding from the room. The fire warmed the air, and the skies grew overcast, dimming the room and lending an intimacy to the library.
When she looked back, it was to find that the comfortable chair she’d dozed off in had somehow changed its form into a chaise, upon which she now reclined.
She breathed deep, going with the shift. “It’s a good thing I’m dreaming.”
“Mmm,” the first man murmured in a suggestive tone as he joined her on one side of the chaise. The heat from his skin warmed her through the silky cotton of his loose shirt, and she could see a hint of auburn curls spreading across his pectorals through the opened neck of the garment.
As she shifted, the wetness and tension between her legs went from noticeable to downright needy, and she moaned as their clothing vaporized and his skin seared her from shoulder to toes. Her pussy throbbed as he closed a gentle hand around the globe of one breast. He lifted his narrowed blue gaze and watched her reaction as he leaned down and kissed her breast just below the nipple, watching her as his tongue stroked over the tightened nipple. Her pussy clenched and ached, and she whispered, “Don’t leave.”
“No, mon ange. Never.”
The caress of a large hand on her bare hip, sliding toward the apex of her thighs before pausing, as if longing for permission to touch her, too, made her cry out. As the hand began to withdraw, she halted it by placing hers over it. “Don’t go. Touch me.”
She spread her thighs a couple of inches, a shy invitation, and smiled at the surprised intake of breath from the shadowy figure.
A deep voice murmured, “Are you certain, joli ange?”
Her body throbbed with the need for his touch, and her voice shook as she murmured, “I’ll die if you leave. Will you show me your face?”
He leaned forward, coming into the light, and she looked for the first time on the rugged visage of the gardener from the stained glass. His eyelids were lowered and shadowed by his dark brows, so she couldn’t see his eye color as he watched his hand stroke over her bare skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. She shivered, and he turned his palm to lay it flat on her abdomen, and she moaned at the heat he threw off. Her pelvis tilted, as if trying to draw his hand downward between her legs, and his face betrayed surprise for an instant before he looked up at her with eyes the color of polished pewter. His lips were full and parted, and he scanned her face, as though surprised to be allowed to touch her.
Warm lips and a hot tongue encircled her nipple, and she shivered again as the other man tugged and sucked at her nipple, drawing it to an even tighter peak. He growled softly as she stroked his shoulder and down his back. Because she was sure this was a dream, she felt free to slide her hand all the way down to his muscular, well-formed ass, drawing a louder, pleased growl from him before he glanced up at her with amusement and lust in his blue eyes.
“You’re trouble,” she whispered with a smile, and he replied with a slight nod as he kept drawing at her nipple, sending currents of electricity to her clit.
His eyelids flickered briefly as she teased the top of the cleft of his ass, and then he released her nipple with a loud wet pop
. “Just remember, mon ange, turnabout is fair play.” Her hips twitched with anticipation, and she moaned.
Silky strands of hair stroked her other breast as her brown-haired stranger drew near enough to kiss her, and she gave her mouth to him willingly. The loud rumble he made as their lips touched for the first time created such a wave of tension within her pussy that she wondered what would happen when he finally touched her there. She’d probably go off like a rocket.
She’d been accustomed to the touch of a needy, selfish man who thought of foreplay as a tool to get her wet enough to fuck. This was just one of the reasons she was no longer engaged. She wasn’t used to a man, or men, who seemed to revel in the body of a woman, apart from getting what they needed.
He drew back from her, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against hers. “You are so…” He tried to speak but couldn’t for a moment. He slid his fingertips down her torso to her abdomen, creating a riot of trembling in her flesh as her pulse throbbed in her ears and between her legs. After an eternity, those gentle fingers caressed the top of her mound and slid through her damp curls to just barely above her clit. She held her breath.
Finally he said, “I have no words for such unspeakable beauty.” His gaze followed his hands, and she waited, breathless, on the verge of oblivion. Either she was shaking or his hand trembled against her as his gaze fed the firestorm inside her. He gulped and slid a fingertip through her slick juices and over her clit. He closed his eyes, and he licked his lower lip as rapture consumed her.
“Oh! Please! Please more!”
His fingers plunged between her lips, pumping and stroking her walls with each wave of ecstasy that washed over her. She lost control, her body undulating against his hand as she begged.
“More! More! Please fuck me!”
Heat engulfed her from both sides as he lifted her hips, and she got a glimpse of the biggest cock she’d ever seen before he found her center and plunged deep and hard. Sex had never felt so all-consuming as this, and she screamed and came again. She rocked against him, wrestling as much as fucking, taking and chasing each orgasm as they crested, demanding more until she collapsed, drenched, trembling, and boneless beneath him
Beasts in Winter Page 4
