Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1) Read online

  As the sound of silence resumed, Isabelle moved toward a large burlap sheet that hung from the wall. She brushed the heavy material aside where she met eyes with herself. Indeed, a mirror hung beyond the faded fabric—the one mirror she’d seen in the castle. A web of cracks marred the grimy surface, and a massive dent made up the epicenter, which was stained with dried blood. An image of Adam hurling his fist at his reflection flashed through her mind; she bit back a sob and drove the thought away.

  She hardly recognized her own reflection; her eyes appeared several shades dimmer. Some of their light had been stolen, and when she attempted to smile, the gesture never rose to her gaze.

  Isabelle staggered back, her stare still fixed on her reflection, her mind lost in a disjointed reality. Her body slammed into a dusty table, causing debris and particles to form an explosive cloud. The musical box flew from the surface and tumbled to the ground with a resounding crash.

  No... Mon Dieu, no...

  She fell to her knees with a cry, her gaze darting over the broken pieces; the brittle golden bars had fractured on impact, leaving the bird uncaged and, thankfully, unharmed. At least she’s free now, she dejectedly imagined, barely registering the absurdity of such a thought.

  Hugging her arms around her body, she rose to her feet, covered the mirror again, and then moved toward the opposite side of the room. A row of suspended cloths hung against the black stone wall. As if moving through a dream, she ran her fingers over the ragged, sun-faded fabric. It swayed forward, manipulated by her searching hands, to reveal a veiled portrait. She tried to peek behind the hanging cloth, to see the design—but the room was far too dark. Isabelle glanced over her shoulder, knowing well that she ought to turn away now—that she was not welcome here and had already caused enough damage. Yet those portraits whispered her name, beckoning her curious nature, drawing her toward them like Bluebeard’s secret room...

  She pulled the first cloth down. It landed at her feet in a sun-washed puddle of faded crimson. Fairly holding her breath, she stepped closer and examined the portrait’s uncloaked beauty. It depicted a stunning lady in her mid-twenties. Her skin glowed a porcelain white, contrasting against a wealth of dark curls that fell around her rosy cheeks. A small crown was half-buried in her hair. Striking amethysts, rubies, and emeralds decorated the fine metalwork. The woman’s eyes appeared strangely alive... as if they were laughing at her. Isabelle couldn’t help but return the portrait’s smile. She took a step to the side, moving down the row and removing the next cloth.

  A handsome king greeted her. His expression lacked the subtle smile of the queen’s, yet his gaze exuded just as much warmth and spirit. Those eyes were a brilliant, pristine sapphire... just like Adam’s...

  The following cloth called out to her—yet Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to take another step. She was half-paralyzed, the realization creeping up like an ice-cold wave. An image of her bedchamber and its numberless trinkets flashed through her mind.

  I must see it. I must know.

  Arms sprang out from the darkness. They spun her full circle and slammed her body against the king’s portrait. Isabelle gasped, more in shock than from pain, as she stared into Adam’s deformed face. The lantern flickered behind his massive form, casting his cloaked body in silhouette. But she saw enough to know he was far from pleased. Rage and frustration radiated from his body like a palpable force.

  “I warned you to stay out of here,” he said, his voice dangerously cold and deep. Those rugged vocals vibrated against her body and seeped into her marrow. “What part of forbidden didn’t you comprehend?” His voice lashed out from the darkness like a hurtled knife, and the word “forbidden” seemed to whisper another meaning altogether. Isabelle tried to answer but failed to find her voice. Indeed, her vocal cords had turned to solid ice, as numb and cold as the blood rushing through her veins. She couldn’t breathe; she felt like she was suffocating.

  “My mother gave me that musical box on my fourth birthday,” he said, the sensual lull of his voice causing the fine hairs on her nape to stand erect. “And now your recklessness has destroyed it. Have you nothing to say?”

  “I—I’m sorry.” He offered no reply; only the ragged sound of his breathing and the hammering blizzard broke the silence. “Please—I didn’t mean any harm.”

  She struggled under the weight of Adam’s colossal body and battled to free herself. He merely gave a low chuckle and pressed her firmly against the portrait. He looked otherworldly at that moment, like an angel of death seeking vengeance. Both beautiful and monstrous, his cool, sapphire eyes overflowed with warring emotions. In spite of his harsh and ruthless exterior, she detected a quaver in his voice and saw that his large, cloaked shoulders trembled. The darkness in his soul cast a shadow that embraced her; as she peered up at him, she knew he was drowning in the turbulent waters of a past time.

  “What a disappointment,” he went on, his voice growing deeper still, mocking her words from so many days ago, “You’re like any other woman.”

  “I—I’m sorry. Please, Adam. I—” Her gaze shot past his body and over the wreckage of a past life. She thought of her private chamber again—of the stale perfumes and outdated garments.

  Her flight or fight instinct seized hold of her. She attempted to scramble free, but he merely grabbed her shoulder and whirled her back against the portrait. Gloves wrapped his hands; his long, silk-clad fingers grasped her shoulder and kept her firmly in place.

  He stood intimately close.

  Far too close.

  As close as Raphael had been that night.

  “Going somewhere, ma belle? After you’ve worked so hard to find my East Tower?”

  Hands like two steel bands held her wrists in place. Hot breaths, which faintly smelled of wine, seared her cheeks and assaulted her senses. Her breasts flattened against the pressure of his strong chest, and she felt that same chest swell and deflate in perfect sync with her own. One large hand slipped down her elbow and glided across her extended arm. The lush material of his gloves drew a shudder from her heaving chest. His breathing grew more ragged, shallower, and the erratic beat of his heart banged against her own.

  Anger and desire warred on his face, twisting his features into a mess of both monster and man. “Find anything of interest, aside from my musical box? Come, come. You went through such great trouble to get here,” he asked, his voice now threaded with both anger and something else.

  Yes, Isabelle recognized that something else. It was the same note that had entered Raphael’s voice that night...

  She attempted to duck under his arm, but he moved swiftly, capturing her in the crook of his elbow. Reeling her toward him, he emitted a low, haunting chuckle that swelled the eastern tower to its rafters. She was back where she’d started—pinned against the portrait, Adam’s body serving as a flesh-and-blood blockade.

  Hunger radiated from him, enfolding her in a current of sizzling power. His silk-clad hand grazed the curve of her breast as it moved down her body in a painfully slow caress. Even more alarming was her reaction to him. Her treacherous body responded with a crush of hot and cold pulsating waves. Then he whispered a taunt in her ear, and his liquid baritone slid down her backbone like honey; it swirled inside her, finding its home in her most intimate area.

  He leaned closer still. His face’s uneven skin brushed against her neck, the black waves of his hair tickled her chin... His thick arousal expanded against her, reminding her of what he was capable of—and of her sheer vulnerability.

  His lips almost teased the base of her throat. Cursing her traitorous body, Isabelle gasped at the gentle scraping of his teeth. His tongue and lips tormented her throbbing pulse—just barely, stirring her skin in a mere ghost of a touch. She wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “Let me go,” she whispered, her halfhearted plea swallowed by the darkness. “You gave me your word. Please. I—”

  Seeming to arrive at this senses, he loosened his hold and took a backward step. Powerful
hands glided from her back to the front of her body, inadvertently brushing close to where Raphael had once assaulted her.

  Too close—this entire twist of events.

  Her mind drew parallels between Adam and Raphael’s touches—the only other time she’d been held in such a way. The ripping sensation as Raphael’s hooked finger had invaded her body rushed back. The incredible pain of him scraping her insides, the ugly words he’d uttered in her ear. Then the sight of the dried blood on her legs—not all of which was a product of her maidenhood. Non, his nails had drawn a separate blood, had torn her insides and the flesh of her thighs. She still bore the marks, like hateful brands forever seared across her skin.

  Adam’s wine-laden breaths intensified the connection as she recalled how deep in his cups Raphael had been that night. She doubted she could survive such pain and humiliation a second time. Nor did she intend to. She would rather die fighting for her integrity.

  And so she fought.

  With her free arm, she struck him on the side of the head with all her strength. He cursed from the blow and loosened his hold. She ducked below his muscular, outstretched arms... whirled around the table holding her lantern, her breaths rising in broken pants that misted the air. She stepped behind the overturned furniture, using the strewn pieces as a barricade—needing space between her and Adam. He followed her every move, slow and steady, stepping over the huge obstructions without a single misstep. The cloak swirled around his ankles in a ghostlike movement; he appeared to float in midair. She set down the lantern and continued to slip backward, into the shadows.

  “Isabelle...” He sounded half-dazed, and agony warped his beautiful voice. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry. I—”

  “Keep away from me! Just stay back! I must be mad. I—I should have never agreed to stay here.”

  She whirled on her heels and darted from the tower. Darkness enveloped her as she flew down the winding stairwell, gripping the curving wall for guidance. The moonlight cast a delicate glow, yet its illumination was inadequate for sight. She fumbled, blind and disoriented, just as Papa must have felt all those years. The thought of her beloved father amplified her panic. She hastened down the steps at an accelerated speed, not sure where she was going—only knowing she needed out, that she needed to feel the wind on her cheeks and to run far from here.

  The torn sound of her breathing swelled the small corridor. She glanced over her shoulder—and felt a jolt of panic as the light from her lantern trailed after her.

  How mad I’ve been, not escaping this desolate castle sooner.

  Adam was fast approaching. Suddenly she regretted the blow she’d delivered and wished she could take everything back. She shouldn’t have allowed her curiosity to claim the best of her... should have never poked around the East Tower or struck the side of his head. A blinding terror had claimed her; she’d felt like prey cornered by a starved predator. But she couldn’t take her rash behavior back now. And she wasn’t planning to face the consequences or his rage.

  Her own name echoed the stone walls as he called after her; a note of desperation rang in that resonating voice and seeped below her tingling skin. The heavy clatter of his boots echoed, surrounding her and filling the darkness like a grim funeral march. Isabelle lost her footing and stumbled down the stone stairs, bloodying her knees and tearing the nightgown. Rising back onto her feet, she hiked up her skirts, mumbled a silent prayer, and pounded through the castle with a sense of disjointed reality.

  Adam cursed under his breath, the expletive forming a steamy cloud of the cold air. He could still sense Isabelle pressed against his body, could smell the enticing scent of her skin and feel the rush of her breaths against his face. He frantically called after her as he slipped down the winding stairwell and fled his eastern tower. He hadn’t meant to frighten her so—but seeing her gaze upon those portraits had cut open a window to his past... one he couldn’t bear having exposed.

  He’d lost control himself, in truth—felt overwhelmed with an ever-growing longing for her. His anger had quickly transformed into a raw passion... a yearning for something he could never have... a craving she’d ignited ever since she stumbled upon his doorway and insisted upon entry.

  He deserved to lose her.

  Except, you fool, you can’t lose what was never yours.

  Self-disgust twisted inside him. He was truly a beast, a monster, and in every sense of the word.

  I must make it right—or at least try.

  Isabelle’s lantern swayed in his unsteady grasp, bobbing off the stone walls. The sight momentarily paralyzed him as his thoughts crept back to that long-ago night. For a moment, the world wavered. Torchlight flickering across the walls... The heat of their fire as they approach my hiding spot and set the tapestry aglow... The sound of their taunting voices... “Little prince... come out, come out, wherever you are...”

  Meanwhile, Isabelle raced through the castle, apparently familiar with its colossal layout, and drew open the front door. Cold wind blasted inside as she charged through the courtyard and past her father’s grave.

  Zooming out of the castle, Adam made a hasty detour to the stables. The mare nervously stamped her hooves and bobbed her head as he burst inside. Moonlight slanted through the irregular panels and set her cascading silver mane aglow. He blew out the lantern and set it on the straw-covered floor.

  “Shh, you must calm yourself, ma belle,” he whispered in the mare’s shifting ear. “Remember me? I’ve been caring for you every morning and night.” After a moment, she settled down with a resigned nicker, as if she’d absorbed the sentiment of his words.

  Adam didn’t bother saddling the creature. He threw open the stall’s latch, swept onto her back, and gripped her flowing mane. The stunning cascade of silver streamed through his gloved fingers like fresh-spun silk. With an urgent kick to her flank, the mare soared from her confinement and into the blackness of the night.

  Branches rustled past Adam’s body and scratched at his face while the mare cantered through the forest. The trees grew rather close together, making it difficult to dodge them in the darkness. Most of the branches were naked and bore no foliage; this permitted moonlight to stream through the trees’ groping limbs and dapple the dark forest with glowing prisms.

  Adam ducked low, laying his chest against the mare’s silver mane, as he dodged a low-hanging branch. The sound of the blizzard pressed on his eardrums in a deafening wail; the snow had lightened considerably, though wet flakes still floated from the sky and further obstructed his vision.

  Freezing cold and wet, Adam backtracked toward the castle, knowing Isabelle couldn’t have traveled so far in the storm and without a horse. He squinted his eyes to better make out his surroundings and watched as his breaths formed steamy clouds on the cold air.

  His numb, silk-encased fingers twisted in the mare’s mane as terror seized him; Isabelle wouldn’t last out here more than a half an hour.

  Should something happen to her... I shall never forgive myself.

  A heartbeat late, he breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of her slender form; her white sleeping rail and robe glowed within the night, lending her with an otherworldly appearance. Battling the harsh blizzard and a chill that crept into his very veins, Adam tugged the mare’s mane and commanded her to a halt. Isabelle stood in the thicket of trees and snowfall, looking lost, defeated, completely alone. Wet and shivering, she held her breast, visibly exhausted from the exertion and frigid cold. Pale flakes of snow clashed against her curls, and she swayed on her feet. Adam wheeled the mare around a fallen log and trotted forward. Isabelle spun in place with a wobbly movement, facing him and the mare while they approached. She warily backed away while a riot of emotions surfaced in her hazel eyes.

  The vision mesmerized him, awakening something inside his soul.

  “Just—leave me! I need to be alone.” The wind almost carried her words away. “I... I need to breathe, to find myself.”

  Adam’s dark chuckle fluttered between
the trees. “In the forest? And in the middle of a blizzard? What are you, foolish? Or just plain mad? You’ll catch your death within the hour. Pray tell, would your father have wished for that?”

  She said nothing, drifting away from him, her gaze seeming to only look inward. Hugging her trembling body, she said, “Papa and I used to camp in the woods, snuggled beneath a single blanket...” She was speaking to herself, he knew, to ghosts that hadn’t been laid to rest. “We would whisper stories to each other... scare each other with spectral legends and folklore. Now he’s gone, and I can’t find myself...” Her eyes returned to his, connecting. “I am lost, Adam. Lost and so very cold.”

  Adam exhaled a long-suffering breath and gently urged the mare forward. She resisted, her snow-white head swinging toward the dark crevices and shuddering branches.

  “And now, I have found you. Come to me, Isabelle,” he called down, the words reaching out to her, his voice soft and gentle. “I shouldn’t have frightened you so. Shouldn’t have touched you in such a way. This is your home now—you have every right to venture where you please. I lost control. I’m afraid my temper is one of my uglier facets, among other things.” The self-deprecating note in his voice disgusted him; absently he twisted the mare’s silver mane between his fingers and exhaled a rigid breath. They desperately needed to get back to the castle.

  “You will fall ill again. And I shan’t allow it. Please, Isabelle... allow me to make amends, to show you I’m not the monster you perceive me to be.” The mare anxiously shuffled her hooves and swung her great head, agitated by the blizzard and rustling trees. Skeletal branches shuddered in the dark forest like trembling limbs. Snow flurried around her hooves as she restlessly shifted forward. Her body swayed beneath him, tottering like a ship in stormy waves. “Whatever you may think, you are not alone. I, too, feel so lost and cold.”