Beauty's Beast(30)

“Why?” he asked after a long while had passed. “Why did you not look under the mask the other night in the library?”

Startled by his question, she blinked up at him, though she could not see his expression in the dimly lit room. “Why, my lord? Why, because I promised I would not.” She sat up, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she put her dress to rights. “You were not asleep, then?”

“No.” He sat up, his arm curling around her waist.

“You were only pretending to be asleep, then, trying to trick me?”

He lifted one shoulder in an elaborate shrug. “I needed to know if I could trust you.”

With a little humph of annoyance, she tried to thrust him away from her. It was like trying to move a mountain.

“Don’t be angry, Kristine.”

“Let me go!”

He laughed softly, amused by her show of temper. “Not yet.” He dropped tender kisses along the curve of her cheek, down the length of her neck, across her shoulder. “Not quite yet.”

She tried to hold on to her anger, but it evaporated beneath the heat of his kisses, banished by the husky tremor in his voice as he whispered endearments in her ear, his tongue a wicked flame as it moved across her skin.

She ignited like dry tinder in his arms, everything else forgotten as she clung to him. Once, turning her face to the side, she found herself staring at numerous shimmering images of the two of them reflected back at her from the mirrored walls. They were a study in ivory and ebony, she mused, her skin seeming extraordinarily white against the darkness of his clothing, his black mask and hair a striking contrast to her pale flesh.

How well we look together, she mused, and then he was kissing her again and there was no more time for thought. . ..





“No! No!” She screamed the words as she clawed at his face, her nails raking deep furrows down his florid cheeks. “No!”

Her hand closed around the knife and she drove it into his back, her stomach roiling as she felt the blade pierce skin and flesh, gagging as his hot blood spurted over her hand. “No!”

“Hush, Kristine, it’s all right. Hush now, hush, it’s over.”

The deep timbre of a familiar voice, the solid strength of familiar arms, chased the nightmare away. “Erik? Oh, Erik.” With a sob, she buried her face against his chest.

“You’re safe, Kristine,” he whispered. “Nothing can hurt you here.”

She nestled against him, her arms twining around his waist. “It’s so awful. I wish I could forget.”

He stroked her back, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips moving softly in the fine silken curls of her hair. “It’s over now,” he said. “Try to get some rest. It will be morning soon.”

“Stay with me. Please stay with me.”

With a nod, Trevayne eased her under the covers, then stretched out beside her, one arm holding her close. She felt so small, so fragile, he could only imagine how terrified she had been when she fought off Valentine’s unwelcome advances. Damn the man. If she hadn’t already killed him, he would gladly do it for her.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rested her head on his shoulder. He felt the tension drain out of her, felt her body relax as sleep claimed her once more.

Trevayne trailed his fingertips over her cheek. They were a fine pair, he mused, both haunted by nightmares—hers brought on by memories of the past, his filled with fears of the future.

He lifted his left hand. What lay beneath the glove could no longer be called human. It was deformed, covered with coarse black fur, the nails thick and long. His entire left side was covered with a heavy pelt of black fur, his left foot was misshapen, transformed by the same coarse black fur and thick yellow nails as his left hand. His right foot now looked the same as his left.

He fought back a rising tide of panic, praying that Kristine would soon conceive, knowing that, all too soon, he would not dare go near her bed for fear she would discover his secret. But more than that, he was terrified that he would lose control of the beast rapidly devouring his humanity; that, in a moment of mindless need, he would do her harm.

He turned onto his side and watched her sleeping. Her nightmares had been eased; he feared the worst of his were just beginning.





Chapter Nine



Kristine gazed in wonder at the colorful lanterns that lined the long, curved drive that led to Gladstone Manor. It looked like a fairy place. The windows on every floor were also ablaze with light.

Erik assisted her from the coach and took her by the hand. Portraying the Angel of Death, he was attired all in black. A black broadcloth cloak lined in ebony silk fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, the hem brushing the tops of his knee-high black boots. A hideous death’s-head mask that was genuinely frightening to behold completed his costume.