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Beauty's Beast(78)

By:Amanda Ashley


Rising, he glanced around, noting that he was still in the tower room and that night had fallen. He padded toward the window, only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw himself reflected in a shard of broken glass. Nothing remained of Erik Trevayne save for the right side of his face and his right arm. The curse had swallowed up the rest of him, clothing him in coarse black fur.

Why was he fighting it?

He took a deep breath, and Kristine’s scent flooded his nostrils. Kristine. She was worth the pain each breath cost him. He would endure anything to have one more day with her, one more hour.

Charmion would win the fight. He knew it, knew it was futile to resist. But he would not surrender. He might be beaten, but he would not give up.

He was reaching for his trousers when there was a rap on the door. “Lord Trevayne?”

“Enter.”

Caddaric stepped into the room, and the door closed behind him. “I am most truly sorry that I am unable to break the curse.”

Erik nodded. Back turned to the wizard, he drew on his trousers and reached for his shirt.

“Kristine tells me she wishes to return to Hawksbridge. If it is agreeable, I shall take you there. As I told her, I can cast a spell that will protect your castle and all who dwell within its walls from Charmion’s magic.”

Erik slipped his shirt over his head and quickly secured his mask in place before turning to face Caddaric. “You can do that?”

“Yes. I regret that, since you are already under her power, I can do nothing for you.”

“My life no longer concerns me. It is Kristine and the babe who must be protected now.”

“Then we are in agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I believe we should leave on the morrow, early.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“Kristine tells me she has never seen you as you were. Is this true?”

Erik nodded.

“I do not wish to offend you but, if you like, I can conjure a temporary spell that will enable you to be as you once were for a brief period of time.”

“I am not offended.” Erik looked at his left hand, felt excitement stir within him at the thought of being as he had been before the curse, of holding Kristine in his arms, of touching her and having her touch him in return.

“This evening, then?” Caddaric asked.

“Yes. How long will it last?”

“It is a difficult spell to maintain, but I believe I can assure you of an hour, say, two hours before midnight?”





Kristine looked up at Erik and shook her head. “How can he do that?”

“I don’t know. Does the thought displease you?”

“Of course not. But how does it work?”

“He didn’t say, only that it is a difficult spell to maintain for long.”

“What time is it now?”

“Near ten.”

She stared up at him, her heart pounding. To see him as he had been, to be able to touch him . . .

“Erik.”

“I know.”

He gazed into her eyes, hardly aware that the lights in the room had dimmed. Soft music filtered through the air. A fire sprang to life in the hearth. He heard a soft whisper, like the rustle of silk, as Kristine’s dress was magically transformed into a long white sleeping gown.

He knew the moment his own transformation took place, felt it in every fiber of his being, saw it in the wonder that spread over her face, felt it in the tremor of her hand as she removed his mask and stroked his cheek. His left cheek.

“Erik,” she murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

“Am I?”

“And I can touch you, can’t I?”

He nodded, hardly daring to breathe as she lifted his shirt over his head and flung it aside, then slid her hands over his chest, his shoulders. His reaction to her touch was immediate and evident.

“Erik, oh Erik.”

He heard the wanting in her voice. Not trusting himself to speak, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. Lowering her to the mattress, he stretched out beside her, raining kisses on her brow, the curve of her cheek, her nose, her lips—ah, but she tasted sweet, so sweet.

And her hands. There was no hesitation in her touch, no holding back. She ran her fingertips over him, and there was no mistaking the delight she found in caressing him.

He groaned with pleasure, gasped with aching need as she removed his trousers, then shed her gown.

For a long moment, Kristine let her gaze move over him, admiring his broad shoulders and chest, his flat belly and long, muscular legs. And then she was touching him again. His skin was smooth and warm and firm. Looking at him, caressing him, made her ache deep down inside. Desire unfurled within her when she saw the visible evidence of his need, and then she was stroking him again, her hands trembling in her eagerness to touch, to explore the depth of his navel, the fine curly hair on his chest. She traced the line of hair that arrowed toward his manhood, held him in her hand.