Beloved Beast

by Cathy McAllister

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1 - Betrayal Tastes Bitter

  2 - Fear and Passion

  3 - Unveiling of the Beast

  4 - On the Run

  5 - The Hunt Begins

  6 - Reunion with Death

  7 - Bad News

  8 - The Decoy

  9 - A Trap for the Beast

  10 - Bitter-Sweet

  11 - Searching for the Lost Father

  12 - Dreams

  Beloved Beast

  b y C a t h y M c A l l i s t e r

  Thriller Romance

  Beloved Beast

  Cathy McAllister

  English Edition 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Cathy McAllister

  Blog: http://www.cathymcallister-books.co.uk

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/McAllisterCathy

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/McAllisterCathy

  Translation: Louise Sweeney

  Coverdesign, Layout : © JRLAS: http://jrlas.co.uk

  Cover Images:

  © JRLAS

  © Fotolia.com

  All rights reserved, including the printing of whole or part of the work, in any form. All characters and actions in the following work are fictional. Any resemblance to either living or deceased people is coincidental.

  The author does not recommend that people copy the conduct of the characters in the following work. Fictional characters can go without condoms, real people should of course not do this.

  1

  Betrayal Tastes Bitter

  “I’m really sorry, Crissy. Honestly! You must understand that. Don’t take it personally. In a way I like you and …”

  “Bastard!” said Crissy and spat into the middle of her ex-lover’s handsome face.

  Mario wiped the spit casually from his cheek, then he looked at her, smiling, and raised his hand. The blow sent her head reeling. There was a ringing in her head and a groan slipped from her lips.

  “All the best, Crissy. As I said, don’t take it personally,” said Mario and turned away.

  He slowly walked away and went to his brother who was waiting with a boat at the edge of the small island.

  Crissy pulled at the ropes, but she knew that Mario had tied her up so tightly that she would have no chance of escaping. He was an expert – the eldest son of Don Mario, the godfather of Jacksonville. She had known nothing about his family when she met him in a bar a year ago. In fact, she had learnt the truth a very short while ago. Happily engaged, the wedding planned, she thought at first that she could live with the fact that Mario was a member of the dreaded Mancini family. But then she unexpectedly witnessed the assassination of a rival and his little daughter by Toni and another member of the family. If it had not been for the little daughter, she may have even been able to cope with this, but seeing an eight-year-old riddled with bullet holes by a machine gun was such a shock that she threatened to call the police. A mistake – she now had to angrily admit this to herself. That is why she was now standing up to her neck in the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia, surrounded by nothing but black water and clumps of cypress trees. She was tied to a stake. The water, full of water lilies, looked deceptively tranquil, but the alligators would definitely not need to be asked twice to partake of such a tasty morsel.

  Again she tried to free herself.

  “Shit! Bloody hell! Fucking shit!” she ranted with frustration. Then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Keep calm! Think! There must be something you can do. Just keep calm, Crissy! Think!”

  Suddenly she felt movements in the water and she threw her eyes open. A scream came from her lips.

  At least three alligators were heading directly to the spot where she stood, helplessly tied up. Only their eyes and noses showed above the water.

  “No!” she whispered. “No! God, no! Go away you little bastards! Get lost! Shoo! Piss off!”

  In despair she tore at her ropes. In panic she thrashed about, as much as the tethers would allow. Nothing helped. She could not save herself. Tears filled her eyes and she screamed.

  She suddenly heard a whirring sound. An arrow hit one of the animals right between the eyes. It began to jerk wildly, creating turbulent waves. The other alligators rushed towards their injured companion – a short breathing space, which would definitely not last indefinitely.

  Crissy looked around. After all, somebody must have fired the arrow. Then a giant of a man broke through the undergrowth. He wore army trousers and a khaki-coloured shirt. His appearance, including the sight of his muscles, reminded her a little of Rambo. The crossbow in his hand completed the image. His black hair was tied into a pony tail. One look at his face made her scream with shock. The right-hand side of his face was that of a breathtakingly handsome man, but the left half was completely deformed – possibly by fire.

  She had no time to wonder whether her rescuer was a friend or an enemy because the alligators seemed to have renewed their interest in their original catch and were swimming towards her. Rambo jumped into the water and pulled a long machete from his belt. He hastily cut through her ropes and pulled her up onto dry land.

  “Can you run?”

  She nodded.

  “My boat! There!”

  He took her hand and pulled her along. Not a moment too soon – two alligators had already climbed onto the bank at the spot where she had been standing.

  They reached the boat. They quickly climbed on board and Rambo pushed it away from the shore. He took a paddle and began to manoeuvre it through the dark water. For a while they glided along like this. Her rescuer proved to be skilful, but silent.

  “Thank you,” said Crissy.

  He looked at her and shrugged. Then he concentrated again on paddling. He did not seem to be particularly talkative.

  “Do you live here? – In the swamp, I mean.”

  “Hm.”

  “Can you get me out of here? I … I have money on me. It’s a bit wet, but it’ll dry again. Somehow I have to get to …”

  “No!” he said abruptly.

  Crissy sighed. Oh, great. Now she had been saved, but was stuck here in the middle of a swamp with a bloke who thought he was Rambo. She tried to decide what she should do now. Without help she would never find her way out of this swamp. They were off the tourist trail and also she had no boat. The only person who could have helped her out of here had just made his position very clear. And anyway, how did she know how his mind worked? He could be a murderer or a pervert. He must have definitely done something wrong, to be hiding here in the swamps. He was possibly a dangerous criminal. It seemed to her as if she had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  She looked at her rescuer. He was concentrating on the water and not taking any notice of her. A thousand questions were rushing through her head. Who was he? What was he doing here? Was he really a criminal? What was he planning to do with her? After the first shock, she now found his appearance fascinating. She wondered how his scars had been caused.

  Somehow the whole situation seemed unreal to her. First her ex-fiancé had wanted to feed her to the alligators and then she was rescued by a super-Rambo, just like in the action films. In a film she would of course now fall in love with her hero. Bizarrely this thought did not seem so very absurd to her. Her gaze remained on his sensual lip, and her belly gradually filled with tiny butterflies.

  Rambo turned his focus from the water and looked at her. His dark eyes studied her intensely and she blushed. The butterflies in her belly danced more and more wildly, and this was joined by a tingling sensation in her lower regions. His lips formed a teasing smile and she blushed still more. She became very hot and in confusion she looked away. Whatever was wrong with her?

  The muggy
heat of the swamp could not be relieved by the shade of the cypress trees. Her hair was sticking damply to her head and she was fighting off a swarm of mosquito that seemed to like her.

  “You shouldn’t use sweet perfume,” he said. “That attracts them.”

  Crissy looked at her rescuer. He had a pleasantly deep voice. His direct look made her nervous. She found it impossible to work him out. On the one hand he had rescued her and seemed friendly, but on the other hand there was something dark and secretive about him that unsettled her. Perhaps that was simply because of his military appearance and his disfigurement. She did not doubt for one minute that he could kill a person. Apart from his brief smile a short while ago, his expression was almost without emotion. She could easily imagine that he was a strong fighter – merciless, when the situation required it, and a man whom it was best not to have as ones’ enemy. The question now was – where was he taking her? And what did he plan to do with her? Here, in the middle of the wilderness of Georgia, she was at his mercy. No one would rush to her rescue here and no one would find her here if he were to do anything to her. On the other hand, he had rescued her. Because of that she hoped at least that he did not plan to harm her.

  The narrow boat jerked and she looked around. They had reached land and she could see a hut between the trees. It stood slightly raised, on posts, about two feet above the ground. They had clearly arrived at their destination. Her rescuer jumped out of the boat and helped her to the ground. The slippery undergrowth, covered with roots, made her stumble and he steadied her with his arms. She was a lot smaller than he was. Her face only came up to the height of his broad chest. Crissy could hear the loud beating of his heart. She was very conscious of the touch of his large hands – one on her waist and the other below her bottom. She looked up at him, her heart racing. His brown eyes were almost black.

  He held her still more tightly and she sensed his arousal. Would he fall upon her? She was aware of his heartbeat increasing, his breathing becoming heavy, and the desire that he felt was written all over his face. The glow that burned in his dark eyes shocked her. Who knows how long this man had had no woman? Could one hold it against him if he were to take advantage of this opportunity? Would she hold it against him, she suddenly asked herself? She could not deny that her body was already reacting strongly to him. Despite his deformed face, his appearance was attractive – exceedingly masculine and, as she could feel, also exceedingly well-endowed.

  Her sex began to tingle again. She had at first tensed up in his arms, but she how relaxed and nestled into his embrace. He was aware of this change and raised an eyebrow questioningly. As if in response to a silent question she opened her mouth and nervously moistened her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.

  Without further ado Rambo lifted her into his arms and carried her into the hut. He lay her down on an amazingly comfortable, freshly-made bed. Her heart was racing as she watched him pull his shirt over his head. Whatever was she doing here? With this wild man she could not …

  Like the left-hand side of his face, the left-hand side of his upper body was marked with scars. Despite this she felt that she had never seen a more beautiful man. Whatever did this man do in this swamp to have become so muscular? There can hardly be a gym here. When he then removed his trousers, her heart stopped beating.

  With one sleek move he slid over her and pressed his mouth to hers. He did not seem to be the type of man who wasted time on trivialities. With determination he slid his tongue between her lips and teased her in an extremely erotic way, which instantly set her body alight. She groaned quietly. Her hands slid over his body and felt every muscle and every scar. With one impatient tug he tore off her top and his mouth wandered to her erect peaks.

  She writhed about as he sucked on her nipples. Her blood seemed to have transformed into glowing lava and her womanhood was aflame. It took a while for him to remove the wet jeans from her hips. When she finally lay naked below him he moved away from her a little and looked at her closely. Her heart beat as if it would burst and she blushed as he spread her legs so that he could look at her yet more closely. Reverently, almost graciously, he stroked the gently tanned skin of her slim legs, right up to her sex. He looked into her eyes as he began to explore her, searching for signs of desire reflected in her expression. At first he had been in a hurry, but he now took his time playing with her. Helplessly whimpering, she writhed under his skilful caresses. He was, without a doubt, an experienced lover, despite his disfigurement. She could not imagine that he often had female visitors here, so this experience must have been gained earlier in his life – before he had fled into the solitude of the swamps.

  As her flesh closed around his finger, pulsating, she cried out in ecstasy, and a smile came over his face. He entered her and took her with one strong thrust. The ecstasy that she felt was so exquisite that tears fell down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and pressed herself against his body. He made her climax for the second time, and although she did not know this man, she felt deep joy at the sound of his throaty groaning as he came inside her.

  They lay, embracing, for a while. With surprise Crissy realised that she was enjoying the proximity of this complete stranger. She breathed in his aroma. Despite his lifestyle he seemed to take a lot of care over hygiene. He smelt both of a good aftershave and of his own masculine smell, which she found very pleasant.

  He moved away from her slightly and, propped up on his right arm, he scrutinised her. What did he think of her? What was going on inside his head? She did not even know his name. She did not know anything about him apart from the smell of his skin, the taste of his kisses and the touch of his body beneath her hands.

  “Are you OK?” he said hoarsely.

  She nodded.

  He stroked her cheek where Mario had hit her and frowned disapprovingly.

  “Who was that? Who did that to you?”

  “My … my fiancé … ex-fiancé.”

  “Did he leave you here to die? He’s lucky that I didn’t turn up sooner. He’d now be dead.”

  “Who are you?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Ramon,” he answered.

  She giggled and he looked at her in irritation.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Only the similarity,” she snorted with laughter.

  “Similarity?” he asked irritably.

  “Ramon! Rambo!” she explained. “When you came to my rescue, with your camouflage and the crossbow, you reminded me of Rambo.”

  He laughed and she was surprised at how much his laughter changed his expression. He looked outstanding. Ramon must have been a real lady’s man before it happened – whatever that was.

  “I’m Crissy!”

  “That suits you.”

  “Why are you here? In this swamp, I mean.”

  His expression darkened and once again he looked like the unapproachable Super-Rambo who had rescued her. She immediately regretted asking this question – it was clearly unpleasant for him.

  “That’s my business,” he answered and he jumped off the bed. “I’ll be back soon. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that it’s best if you don’t leave the hut while I’m away.”

  Crissy nodded. She suddenly felt embarrassed, lying naked on the big bed, and she grabbed a blanket to cover herself. His expression became gentler and she thought she saw renewed desire in his eyes.

  “Wait here,” he said in a more friendly tone, and he picked up his trousers and quickly slipped into them, then he disappeared.

  *

  Crissy sat up, her heart racing, and stared at the closed door through which Ramon had disappeared. She was finding it difficult to deal with her emotions and her experiences from the previous few hours. First she was betrayed by the man that she had wanted to marry and was fed by him to the alligators. Then a colossal man rescued her Rambo-style, carried her into a hut and she had nothing better to do than throw her arms around his neck and have sex with him. And, what is more, she enj
oyed it. She really enjoyed it!

  “Shit!” she exclaimed. “What am I going to do now?”

  She looked around the hut. It was small, but clean, and much tidier than her own apartment. You could tell at first sight that it was a man’s pad. There were no ornaments in the hut, not even a picture. Every object was either a tool, a weapon or a piece of furniture. Everything had a purpose.

  She spotted her ripped top. There was no point putting that back on. But she could not remain naked either. Involuntarily her thoughts strayed back to the love game which had shaken her to the core of her soul. Never before had she cried out of pure lust whilst having sex. Mario had been a good lover who knew how to satisfy a woman, yet he had never caused such intense reactions in her as this Ramon had done. But perhaps it was simply a reaction to the shock of the experience she had had or an attack of the Stockholm Syndrome.

  Crissy swung her legs off the bed and stood up. She was sure to be able to find one of Ramon’s shirts here. He had torn hers, so it was only right and proper that she should put on one of his. She went straight to a shelf with a cloth hanging over it, and pulled the curtain aside. And indeed there were some shirts, beautifully clean and folded, and also trousers and other items of clothing in different compartments. She took one of the t-shirts and pulled it over her head. It hung baggily right down to her knees and it made her laugh. What would he do if he saw her like this? Laugh at her? Or invite her back into bed and make love to her? This image created a tingling sensation of anticipation.

  She had no idea as to what she should now do. She spotted a few books on the shelf, but she was not calm enough right now to read. She was far too excited. She did not need to do any tidying up here. Everything was clean and tidy – everything except the bed. So she set about flattening the sheets and straightening the pillows and the blanket. That was quickly done and again she stood, clueless, in the hut, and looked impatiently at the door. Where could Ramon have gone? And when would he return? Sighing, she slumped into the only armchair and waited.