Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1) Page 16

  An irresistible note of command crept into his voice as he held out a gloved hand; Isabelle drew toward him with that simple gesture. He observed her from his perch on the mare’s back, aware that she was holding her breath and visibly overcome with a mixture of fascination and dull horror. Momentarily she lapsed into a semi-aware state; unsettled by her harsh surroundings, the mare fiercely thumped her hooves. Adam tugged on her mane and fought to regain his dominance.

  He’d already lost her.

  “Move away. Get back, Isabelle. Now—” A heartbeat later, the mare slipped on a patch of ice. Her huge body wavered... She reared back onto her hindquarters and released a thunderous whinny that split the night. “Easy. Easy!” Without a saddle or reins, Adam lost his balance and was flung into the night.

  Then everything fell black.

  Chapter Eleven

  It happened in an explosion of movement. The poor mare slipped and reeled, tossing Adam off her back and into a tree. His head slammed against the massive trunk, rendering him silent and still on the snow-covered ground. Nearby, the creature regained her footing and stomped her hooves dangerously close to his head. The deafening sound rippled across the forest floor and snapped Isabelle from her inward trance—propelling her back into the moment.

  “Adam!” She rushed toward him without sparing a thought, hesitantly pushed the spooked mare aside, and knelt beside Adam’s strewn body.

  He was out cold, the side of his head bloodied from the impact. Illuminated by the moonlight, a crimson line streamed from his temple and slid down his face like one great tear. She glanced at the panicked mare, torn between fleeing on the creature’s back and staying by Adam’s side.

  Strained breaths stormed inside her lungs. Shivering, she stared at his enormous unconscious body while an image of her papa in the dungeon surfaced. Conflicting emotions stirred within and reached a fierce crescendo.

  Recalling the caress of Adam’s hands from minutes ago, she shifted away. His words, the spellbinding lull of his voice, echoed in her mind and spiraled through her icy veins. Her skin still tingled from where he’d touched her—and an unstoppable guilt pooled in her belly.

  Her hand trembling in midair, she reached out and gently urged the damp black forelock from his shut eyes. She compared his likeness to the king and queen in the portraits, and another shiver raced down her spine.

  And then it hit her. She wasn’t the only one who’d chosen to run away. Adam had been running as well.

  Her discoveries in the East Tower warned Isabelle that he was far from an ordinary man. Clearly there was more to Adam than what met the eye.

  I, too, feel lost and cold...

  Of course she couldn’t leave him. Not like this. Papa had raised her better, with greater compassion. She was quite accustomed to playing the role of caretaker—and care for Adam she would.

  She forced the recent turn of events from her mind and focused on the moment. The whipping wind and harsh blizzard made it almost impossible to draw breaths, let alone formulate a coherent plan. She violently shivered, numb and soaked to the bone.

  What can I possibly do?

  A wave of adrenaline rushed through her veins, setting fire to her resolve and chasing away some of the cold. She resolutely rubbed her arms, urging heat back into her limbs. Then she shrugged Adam’s immobile arm around her shoulder and tested his body weight. Indeed, there was no way she could ever bear his massive size by herself.

  As if in answer to her predicament, Adam stirred awake and expelled a pained groan. Isabelle cradled the back of his head, lifting it from the frozen ground as snow flurried around them and her skin prickled. Meanwhile, the mare continued to toss her muzzle and stomp her hooves. Adam’s eyes flashed open, momentarily jarring Isabelle with their surreal beauty.

  “Isabelle? What... Where...?” Groaning, he strained his body and attempted to sit up. Isabelle seized hold of his muscled shoulders and gently urged him back on the ground.

  “Non, you mustn’t exert yourself so. You hit your head and blacked out for several minutes.”

  A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. His gloved hand lifted from the ground to cup her cheek, his gaze never parting from her own. Stroking the curve of her chin with his thumb, he whispered, “Sometimes, when I look at you, I can hardly believe that you are real, that you are here with me...”

  His words sounded strained, almost dreamlike, spoken in a quiet voice that the wind half swept away. Isabelle returned his smile as a peculiar fluttering sensation formed in her chest. She curved her hand over his own, wrapping his thick wrist with her fingers. “Well, I am real. And I am here with you.”

  Isabelle felt tears form in the corners of her eyes as she stared down at his quaint expression. Her gaze tracked over the two sides of his face—the beautiful and the deformed one. He looked lost and defeated. Almost childlike.

  It was quite remarkable. The sensation—the jarring and unexpected flush of emotions—took her by complete surprise, momentarily plunging her in stunned silence. Her limbs felt paralyzed, completely numb—and the cold wasn’t to blame. Then Adam’s eyes shuttered closed, causing his long, sooty lashes to cast shadows on his cheekbones. The warmth from his gloved palm and fingers melted away as his hand slid from her cheek.

  They needed to get out of the storm—and quickly.

  I must be mad to have ventured out here in the first place.

  That thought scared her a little, though she shoved it away. She needed total focus and full control of her faculties. Isabelle glanced at the mare, who seemed to have calmed, and wedged her arm under Adam’s shoulder.

  “Please, Adam... I need you to help me,” she said in a gentle whisper. “Can you try to stand?” He strained his body while Isabelle gently wrapped her arms around his torso. His muscles bunched underneath her fingers, reminding her of his sheer strength and size. She guided him into a sitting position, panting from the exertion, and slowly caught his gaze as she pulled her arms free. She held out her hand, her breaths misting the night air. Adam seized hold of her lower arm with a pained groan, groggily stumbling onto his knees, and then finally to his feet. The dark forelock fluttered over his gaze, shielding his emotions from sight, as she carefully walked him to the mare.

  She delved deep inside herself for courage she hoped she possessed. “I doubt you can ride in your state... but perhaps—”

  “Yes, yes. Say no more, ma belle...” Adam swayed forward and leaned against the mare before climbing onto her body with a woozy groan. The energy visibly drained out of him; he fell motionless in moments, his body slung over the creature’s side like some great deer. Isabelle drew close to them, checked that he was securely in place, then urged his draped body farther onto the mare’s back. He stirred for a moment, mumbling some incoherent words, before he sunk back into whatever haze awaited his return.

  Isabelle gently stroked the mare’s curved neck. White clouds ascended from her nose and clashed against the darkness. She still looked quite restless, her eyes and ears dancing in time with the rustling branches and blistering wind.

  “I don’t know your name, pretty girl,” she whispered, watching as the mare’s ear rotated toward her soft voice. “So I shall name you myself. You quite look like a Spirit to me.” Isabelle pressed her lips against the velvety muzzle. The mare’s nearness infused her with warmth and helped chase the chill from her bones. “Good girl, Spirit. Now stay nice and calm for me. We’re going home.”

  Isabelle guided Spirit forward, wading through the dense copse of trees, one hand pressed against Adam’s back. And as the castle’s looming gates rose into sight again, a startling relief empowered her steps.

  Adam awoke to warmth and a tender touch. Pain bonded his eyelids together as he fought to untangle his surroundings. A deep, penetrative throbbing weighed on his brain with a nauseating force. And what little he could see appeared to be tilted onto its axis. Indeed, everything spun in circles and wavered. He brought two fingertips against the side of his head, where he
felt a raised welt and dampness.

  Blood. Then he felt a gentle, exquisite touch, and some of the pain subsided. He strained his eyes and caught sight of a flesh-and-blood angel.

  Isabelle.

  She’d hastily fastened back her dark mane of curls with a ribbon, exposing the fine construction of her face and collarbone. A single wayward strand swirled in front of her eyes and clashed against the porcelain hue of her cheeks. She exhaled a puff of air, blowing the errant strand away. It merely fluttered against her cheek and obstructed her vision again. She chewed her bottom lip in contemplation, then stepped out of his line of sight. A heartbeat later, she returned with a damp piece of linen clasped between her slim fingers.

  Their gazes slammed together. When she spoke, the airy melody of her voice seduced him, anchoring his senses and numbing the pain. “Oh, Adam. Thank God—you’re finally awake. I feared for the worse.”

  Her words—her evident concern—summoned a shiver of pleasure through him. “Awake, maybe, but daft after that blow.” He was lounged on the chaise in the central drawing room, reclining on his back. The hearth blazed before him, infusing the room with heat and the soft murmur of burning embers. His rumpled coat lay beside the chaise—and Adam absently remembered staggering off the mare’s back and through the castle. “What... what happened?”

  Isabelle eased onto the Persian rug, seating herself a meter from his strewn body. Firelight shone in her hair, summoning brilliant copper highlights in her curls. She hesitated, then brushed away the wayward strand again. Darkness settled across her features. Gazing into the fire, she said, “What can you remember? Anything at all?”

  Adam squeezed both eyes shut and tried to recall the turn of events. He’d delivered Isabelle’s supper to her room, a plate of boiled rabbit and fresh vegetables, which she’d eaten alone like every other night. Then he’d attempted to compose a new piece... and had been drained of any inspiration.

  Ah, yes. The East Tower.

  His eyes tracked the pale column of her throat, and he suddenly recalled everything—holding her against the stone wall, the invigorating sensation of her body melded to his own... and all that followed...

  From the shadows, he’d observed while she’d gazed upon his mother and father’s portraits, watching as a tremor of wonder crossed her stunning face. She’d run her pale fingertips along his mother’s painted cheek. Then she’d turned back to the ruin of his East Tower, her gaze flittering across the overturned pieces and dusty keepsakes from his childhood. She’d almost uncovered the last portrait—a part of himself that had died long ago. Humiliation and despair had flamed inside his heart, in every muscle and sinew. Indeed, Isabelle, in all her damned curiosity and willfulness, had wrenched open a dark passageway lined with restless ghosts.

  He’d stopped her just before she’d unveiled everything. He recalled the terror in her eyes. Never had he beheld such a thing. She’d appeared frightened for her very life—and then she’d fled the castle as if the devil himself had been on her heels.

  Perhaps that isn’t so far from the truth, Adam sardonically mused.

  A new admiration and respect for Isabelle ignited; she had brought him back from the forest—soaked to the bone, shivering, and without any aid. That alone was an astonishing feat. Add the fact that he’d chased her out of the castle and into the blizzard... His awe couldn’t be put into words; her strength and courage stole his voice.

  She truly is an angel. And much too good-hearted for me.

  “You don’t remember anything?” she asked again from her spot on the floor.

  Shaken by his emotions, he cleared his throat and glanced over the edge of the chaise where Stranger was obliviously sprawled across the warm floorboards. Absorbing the heat, he contently napped before the fire on a threadbare rug. Below his snout, a stream of drool leaked onto the rug where it formed an ever-growing puddle. Adam felt a stab of jealousy as he observed Stranger immersed in peaceful dreams. How I envy you. Even now, Adam felt the unquietness of his own mind. It pressed hard on his skull and flattened his thoughts. He slid his hand over his forehead and drove away the waking nightmare.

  “I remember the terror in your eyes when I touched you in the East Tower,” he finally answered. “I shouldn’t have done so. It was wrong of me. But you... you, Isabelle, you make me want to be better...”

  Adam captured her gaze. She inhaled an audible breath before leaning forward and tentatively pressing the wet cloth to his temple. “Then show me. Become better.”

  “You have my promise.”

  “I thought I couldn’t trust you?” she replied in a half-teasing, half-accusatory voice.

  Adam couldn’t suppress his chuckle. Cool beads of water dripped down the side of his head and helped to temper his desire. Their faces were centimeters apart. Only a kiss away. Wisps of breath fanned against his disfigurement, caressing him in a sensual assault. They remained mute for several moments, their gazes interlocked and eyes searching.

  His fingers itched to cup her cheeks and draw her forward to close the scant distance between them. At this close proximity, he could make out every freckle, every sweeping eyelash. He clenched his fingers and fought to combat the swelling tension in his loins. How he longed to pull her against his reclined body—to follow the intimate passage of her breaths... to inhale her exhales and lose himself in the warmth of her body. She swallowed deeply. He observed the muscles in her throat... the delicate beauty of her collarbone and the supple rise of her pert breasts. They strained against her white robe with their seductive fullness.

  His errant thoughts whirled back to the East Tower—to the incredible feel of Isabelle in his arms, the sweet scent of her skin, the heat of her body pushed against his own. His body hardening and blood rushing, Adam lay in stunned silence from the memory, not believing he’d found the boldness to touch her. She’d recoiled at his nearness, of course, just as he’d expected.

  Just as every other female has since that night.

  How he ached to be good—to be worthy of Isabelle. The painful longing lodged in his chest and shadowed his thoughts.

  “Why did you run off into the blizzard?” he asked as he simultaneously cleared his throat. “You might have died.”

  She expelled a dejected sigh, then shook her head. “I admit it wasn’t one of my brighter moments—certainly not something I’d want to be engraved on my epitaph. But you frightened me, Adam... and I suppose I felt the need to be free. This castle, these walls—they can be crushing.”

  Adam nodded and released a sigh. “I have a habit of doing that. Frightening people, I mean.” He gently grasped her suspended wrist and lowered the dripping linen. She stiffened at his touch, and that terror surfaced in her gaze again. “What are you so afraid of? What happened to you?” Only silence. A rough draft whistled through the walls, and the castle shook in its wake. “I know your fear extends far beyond this,” he said, gesturing to his own face. “I can see the darkness in your eyes. It’s the same darkness I see each night...”

  Her gaze dropped as she glanced at Stranger; lush hoods of lashes cast crescent moons upon her high cheekbones. The rebellious curl fell in front of her stare once more as she shook her downcast head. “It doesn’t matter any longer. It is part of my past. And I never plan to return to it.”

  Adam drew off his gloves with his teeth, then slid his fingers down her wrist and seized her small hand.

  Simple, human touch. The sensation of her slender fingers gliding through his own summoned a riot of unforeseen emotions and longings. Human contact was something he’d lived without for decades. Something he’d secretly craved with every fiber of his being and with every beat of his bruised heart. She offered it to him, that simple thing he craved most, without revulsion or fear in her hazel eyes.

  Just a mutual yearning—a longing for simple companionship and connection.

  Isabelle’s heart flipped as Adam’s strong, gnarled fingers entwined with her own. Something floated in the air between them, in the way h
is gaze searched hers and filled with empathy and red-hot desire.

  Remarkably, her fears shrank away, and she momentarily felt safe and secure.

  His eyes skimmed over her mouth, a stark longing in his blue stare. The hunger she’d witnessed in the East Tower visibly resurfaced. It swirled around them, alive and electric, crackling like lightning. She shifted back; his gaze flew to her eyes, as though her movement had whisked him out of a trance. Then a smile curled his lips as he turned away and stared into the flaming hearth.

  “Funny thing, the past. No matter how hard you try to shut it from your mind, you always hear those whispers in your skull...” That low, masculine whisper curled around her like smoke. His eyes fastened shut, and he visibly shivered, reacting to lamentations only he could hear. Overwhelmed with the urge to reach out and touch him, she twisted her fingers in the sullied fabric of her robe. “It’s inescapable; a true prison in every sense of the word. Almost like being chased by a predator. The faster you run away, the more it chases you, and the more it demands your surrender...”

  Isabelle caught herself nodding. She studied Adam’s profile, in awe of the handsome side of his face—the austere jut of his chin, the straight, strong nose, and dark, slightly winged brow. Her mind slipped back to the likeness in the portrait—then to his outburst in the eastern tower.

  Long ago, she and Papa had traveled all the way to Lavoncourt—Demrov’s glittering capital. Papa had pointed to Castle Delacroix’s ruins, which stood as a mere shadow of the fortress it’d once been, and Isabelle had wept for the royal family.

  Could he possibly be...?

  No—he’s dead. He’s been dead for over two decades.

  A million questions burned on the tip of her tongue. She held them back and expelled a tired sigh. “I suppose we aren’t so different, after all.” He turned to her, captured her gaze with his own. How she yearned to unwrap his secrets—to understand how he’d come to live in complete solitude, burned outside and in, hiding so many kilometers away from civilization. The walls he’d erected around himself were as strong and sure as the castle itself.