I was wrong. She’s just like them. She deserves nothing. She dares to come to me with his name on her lips? She deserves every punishment I’ve planned.
Her cries echo down the hall as I drag her to the stairs. Her purse falls to the floor, its contents scattering.
“Stop this!” she screams.
Her glasses go flying. She fights harder until I catch her wrists and draw her close.
“Stop. I can’t see,” she pants. She’s always been a little nearsighted. Has her eyesight gotten worse? She stares up at my face, her gaze vague, confused.
Once she looked at me with affection. Awe. No more. Never again.
Because of him.
Growling, I bend at the waist and toss her over my shoulder. She pounds on my back, which has as much effect as a sparrow fighting a storm. I take the stairs two at a time. My heart pumps like bellows, the heat of my rage spreading through me.
I don’t stop until I’m at the top of the tower. There’s a prison here, a cage I designed especially for her. I hadn’t thought to use it so soon, but…
“Welcome to your new home.” I tell her, easing her down to the floor. As soon as she catches her bearings, she flies at me, but I clang the door shut.
In the dim light, she squints at me. I wait for her eyes to widen, some sign of recognition. But her features twist in anger.
“I knew you were crazy.” She grasps the bars, her body shaking. With emotion or cold? The tower is chilly, and with the sun going down, the temperature will only drop.
I turn away before I grow weak, start feeling pity for my captive.
“This was a mistake,” she mutters half to herself. “I should’ve gone to the cops!”
I pause on the top step. “Why didn’t you?”
“I thought I could talk to you. Make you see reason.” Her voice sounds so woeful, I clench my fists to keep from returning, unlocking the door. We could sit like we used to. I could explain everything…
No. She and her father showed me no mercy. Now it’s her turn to suffer.
“Too late for that, princess,” I tell her, and leave her shivering in the cold.
Nine
Daphne
When I was a girl, I’d play at being princess. While my mother worked in her garden, I’d romp around, pretending the rose bushes were my castle. I imagined lush rooms with roaring fireplaces and floor-to-ceiling windows with views to beautiful gardens. My imaginary castle also boasted a fully-equipped laboratory. Because even when I played princess, I still was a scientist.
I never imagined I’d find myself in an actual castle. Much less locked in a tower.
Correction: locked in a cage inside a tower. Floor-to-ceiling bars mark the boundaries of my prison.
Wind whistles around the turret, setting my teeth on edge. The sound is un-ending, along with the cold. Winter came early this year.
I tuck my feet under me, but it’s no use. The flagstones are freezing. It rained a little last night, and the water that seeped in froze before dawn.
Things got a little better when the sun got high, but now it’s sinking again. Along with my hopes.
I press my forehead to my knees, shivering. I should’ve worn something thicker than leggings and a light sweater. My chest feels hollow and my head aches. The start of a cold or something more sinister? My immune system isn’t strong at the best of times, and the stress of the past few days and this chill isn’t helping.
My only hope is the brutal Beast, who dragged me here in the first place. But he’s obviously a few bats short of a belfry.
Why am I always so sure I can fix things? That people will listen to logic? Life isn’t a science problem. You can’t always come up with a logical hypothesis and expect people to react in predictable ways to achieve desirable outcomes. Even science rarely works that way. Some problems take decades and longer to solve. There’s too much chaos in the world.
And the Beast is the perfect expression of chaos made flesh.
A heavy step on the stair makes me lift my head. The Beast appears, his mask firmly in place. What does it hide? I wish I had my glasses. His hair looks thick and lush, but I could be wrong. I’ve never seen him clearly.
When he catches me staring, his dark eyes flash. He glares back. But I’m used to it.
The key clinks in the lock and the door slides against the flagstones, admitting a shiny pair of shoes. The Beast dresses well, at least. Tailored slacks, expensive sweater over a dress shirt.
Jailor-chic.
I remain curled in a ball, unwilling to give up any of my body heat to greet my guest.
He sets a tray down on the floor a foot in front of me.
“Dinner is served.” His voice is deep, slightly raspy. Somehow familiar. I search my memory but I’m cold and tired and on my best day I’m not good at placing names and faces. Besides, no one I know is as big as this guy, wears a mask, or is completely psychotic.
I peer at the food he brought—some bread and a bowl of water. There’s a skim of ice on the water’s surface.
The blurry face of the Beast studies me a moment. Waiting for me to beg for mercy?
Holding my gaze, he slides the door shut. The lock clicks home.
“You think this will break me?” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I can handle cold and hunger. But if the temperature drops much more, I might not survive the night.” I can list the exact effects of exposure on the body, but I bite my tongue.
“I won’t let that happen.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust a word you say.”
“I’m not the one who’s broken my word.” He starts to turn away.
I launch myself at the bars, wincing as my fingers close around the cold metal. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what it is!”
He stops with a foot on the stairs. “I want you to be the girl you once were. One who keeps her promises.”
“I keep my promises. All my life, all I’ve ever done is what I’m supposed to do.” What my father expected of me.
“You did what they wanted you to.”
“Is that so wrong?” I throw my hands up in the air. “My research will save lives.”
“Not if I destroy your company.” His lips curl under the mask. Such a cruel smirk. So why does his mouth mesmerize me?
He descends a few more steps. I slump to the floor. “You want me to become someone I never was. My father shaped me to follow in his footsteps. Continue his research. You want someone who was pure, untainted? You should’ve met my mother.”
“I did.” He hasn’t moved, hasn’t descended any lower. His face is on the same level as mine.
“You knew her?” I press my face against the bars, ignoring the chill. “Tell me how you knew her!” It’s been years since she’s died, but I’m hungry for any memory I can get.
“She was kind to me. When few people were.”
“She was like that.” I try to study his features behind the mask. “Wait. Were you in love with her?”
His forehead creases. He takes a moment to answer, as if considering my question. “I loved her as a child loves a mother. As a prodigal son loves the parent who welcomes him home.”
“Then who hurt you? How can I know what I did if you don’t tell me?” I mumble, staring at the floor. He wants humble? I can do humble. It’s getting hard to hold myself up and the flagstones look soft.
My skin feels numb. Frostbite setting in? Soon I won’t feel anything at all.
“You made a promise, then you broke it.” Suddenly, he’s looming over me. The bars are gone. “But now it’s time for you to make amends.”
The Beast is carrying me. He lifted me easily into his arms and strides smoothly down the spiral staircase. Guess his size isn’t just for show. I’m too tired to fight, so I nestle in his arms, resting my face on the soft cashmere.
The further away from the tower, the warmer it gets. I relax.
“I was right,” he mutters. “You have no tolerance for suffering.”
“I’ve suffered. You have no idea.”
“You grew up in the lap of luxury.” He scoffs as he glides us through another door and down another staircase. “I’ve seen Thornhill.”
He knows my family’s home?
“Just because we lived in a big house didn’t mean we had the means to heat it.” We pass a massive fireplace and I struggle upright in his arms, drawn to the fire like a moth to a flame.
In an unusual act of kindness, the Beast sets me down on the carpet in front of it. Immediately I hold my hands out to the blaze.
“I remember winters at Thornhill,” I tell the Beast. He grabs a large, heavy looking chair with a back higher than he is, and drags it over like it weighs nothing. Seating himself, he motions me to go on.
“My father would scrounge the forest for wood to burn in the fireplace. My mother would heat stones on the hearth, and tuck them in bed with me, to warm my feet.” One of those bricks sounds great about now. My fingers tingle painfully as they warm up. I blink back tears.
The Beast leans forward and captures my hand in his. His large fingers are surprisingly gentle as he rubs life back into mine.
I realize I’m kneeling at the Beast’s feet while he holds my hand. Up close, I can see the mottled skin at the edge of his mask. Some scarring. Is he a war victim? Was his flesh burned? Did he use a medicine my company invented and suffer horrible side effects? Is that what all this is about?
His dark eyes challenge mine and I dart my gaze away, clearing my throat.
“So, yeah, that was life at Thornhill. It was hard, but it was home.”
He releases me, sitting back in the chair. With his long fingers steepled in front of his face and profile gilt in firelight, he looks like a monarch in repose.
And I’m the supplicant at his feet. I don’t like sitting here, but my legs are too stiff for me to move.
Or I could pretend we’re a happy couple, just back from a walk in our winter garden. He built up this fire for me like my dad used to, and we’ll stay up late, lounging in front of it together…
“What are you thinking about?” I ask when the silence stretches. I can’t forget he’s my captor, and I’m at his mercy. Any chance to get in his head, I should take it.
Not fantasize that we’re a couple, ala Stockholm Syndrome.
“I’m surprised your father didn’t sell out sooner.” I must be used to his deep voice, because it’s soothing. “He would’ve done anything for your mother.”
“Yes. But he couldn’t. His research was her only hope.” I flinch as I always do when talking about my mother’s disease. The Beast is studying me so I quickly add, “Besides, we didn’t need more than what we had. We had each other.”
“A touching story.” he sneers at the fire. “I suppose love kept you warm?”
I raise my chin. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I understand perfectly. Your mother died. Your father turned into a shell of his former self.”
I flinch with each denouncement as if he’s struck me.
“Is that why you no longer remain true to your vow?”
“What vow?” I cry out, finding the strength to rise to my knees.
“To remain pure.” He seizes my shoulders. “Tell me, Daphne, why, after all these years, do you whore yourself for a rich man?”
I twist out of his hold. “I don’t whore myself to anyone. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? The nights out? The fine dining, the symphony? When did you spread your legs for him… after he gave you this?” He grasps the necklace I wear. The chain digs into my neck and I cry out, flailing at his arms.
“Stop it! My mother gave me this, you…you Beast.”
“Beast.” He lets me go and I fall back, tucking the rose charm away. “Fitting. I suppose that’s how you see me.”
“You’re crazy.” My voice is shaking. I was stupid to let down my guard with him, even for a second. “You’re a Beast because you act like one.” I run a hand through my hair. Why am I even bothering to explain? “I don’t care how you look.”
He tilts his head. I stare until his features blur, wishing again for my glasses. Something about his face is familiar…
“Don’t care about looks?” he asks bitterly. “Only how much money a guy has?”
I raise my chin. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you better than anyone else does.” His words echo in my head, triggering deja vu. I tilt my head, chasing the memory, but it disappears.
“What do you know about me?” At some point in the past moments, I’ve taken his hand. He turns my pale one over his, studying it as if it’s a bird flown into his hands, fragile and precious.
“You’ve always tried to be what your father wanted. But you’re more than that.”
I close my eyes, remembering another time, another moment, another man telling me these things. But that man was kind, gentle. Nothing like the Beast.
“What did my father want me to be?”
“Hope. A lifeline. A savior. But he failed.”
I flinch, drawing my hand back.
“You both did.”
I stare at the fire. “You’re speaking of my mother.”
“Yes.”
“We tried to save her.”
“It wasn’t your burden.”
“Yes it is.”
“Why? Because you can profit from it?” he sneers.
“What happened to you?” I ask, rising up on my knees before him. “Who hurt you?”
His face hardens. “They took everything from me.”
“Who? My father?” When he doesn’t answer, I add, “Adam?”
Large hands close over my shoulders, shaking me hard. “Do not speak his name!” he roars.
“Please,” I cry. “I’m not with Adam. I never have been.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Now the Beast is on his feet, tugging me up. Oh gods, will he put me back in the tower?
“Please, I just want to understand—” I plead as he drags me down the hall. Past the door that leads to the tower. I relax, only to stiffen again when he drags me to another door, and down a dark staircase. The temperature begins to drop again. “You’re scaring me!”
“He won’t ever have you.”
“Where are you taking me?” I all but shriek as he leads me down the freezing stone corridor, holding my upper arm in a vice grip.
“Finding out the truth since I can’t trust a word from your lips,” he growls, shoving open a heavy wooden door and dragging me into a dark room.
He lets go of me only once we’re inside. For a second, I’m left breathing hard in the pitch black. Gods, does he mean to lock me in here?
But then he flips on the lights.
“On the bed,” he demands.
I freeze. Every muscle in my body freezes. “Y-You’re not serious,” I stutter as I take in the stark, almost medieval looking room. Stone floors. Stone walls. The only exception to the monastery design?
The medical bed in the center of the room. Complete with restraints.
He gets in my face, his dark brown eyes burning. “Just how far are you willing to go to save your father’s company?”
I glare up at him. “You want me to say it’s okay for you to tie me down and rape me?”
“No,” he chokes out, sounding furious. “I’m a doctor and I want you to prove you haven’t been whoring yourself out to Adam Archer, as you claim.”
My mouth drops open as he continues. “You can walk out that door right now if you want, princess.” His massive arm shoots out and points towards the door we just came in through.
Damn him. Gods damn him.
“You’re a sick fuck,” I spit in his face. And then I stomp towards the bed and lay down, my arms crossed stubbornly over my chest.
There’s a beat of silence, and then his footsteps sound on stone as he follows. I force myself not to close my eyes as he looms over me. The other thing about the room that’s modern: the lights overhead. There�
��s plenty of light.
So much light that when the Beast—what I’ve taken to calling him in my head—reaches into a cabinet underneath the bed and pulls out scissors, I can see exactly what he’s doing.
And when he proceeds to reach for the hem of my sweater and starts to cut it up the middle, I know he can see all of me as he exposes me to the open air.
My eyes shoot to his as my breaths get shorter but he seems suddenly calm. Clinical? No, just extremely focused on what he’s doing, I think. This is officially the craziest freaking thing that I’ve ever done in my life. How the hell did I get myself into this situation?
I’m not sure of anything at the moment, but before I even really wrap my head around what’s happening, he’s opened my top and exposed my bra.
My breath hitches and his eyes finally move up and meet mine. All the hostility from moments earlier is gone. There’s…gentleness there? No, that can’t be right. He’s a beast. A monster who’s threatening everything—
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, his voice still gruff but softer than I’ve ever heard it. And then his huge, warm hand takes my wrist, drawing my arm away from my body. He peels my now open sweater off of my arm and then, slowly, gently, his eyes still on mine, he lifts my arm above my head and secures it in a padded wrist restraint.
He leans in close as he does it and when I next breathe in, all I inhale is…him. Pine and leather, but warmed by his body heat…it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. My body wakes up at the scent and I blink in confusion as he secures my other wrist.
“W-why do you have to tie me down?” I ask breathily, trying to gather my wits back.
“No questions,” he says and I’m stupidly relieved at his answer. What if for once, for once in my whole stupid life, I didn’t question everything to death? What if…what if I just let this…happen? Would it really be so bad to just, I don’t know, give up trying to control everything for once?
So I don’t complain or question as he moves down my body with those damnable scissors of his and cuts my leggings off. The soft material gives easily and soon he’s pulling the shredded material from my body. I shiver, left only in my panties and bra. It’s cold in the room, there’s no denying that. But…I don’t think that’s where the soul-deep quiver is coming from.
Beauty’s Beast Page 5
