Page 22 of Beauty's Beast

Defeated, she went back into the house. Erik had loved her so gently last night. Never had she imagined she would hunger for the touch of a man’s hand, yearn to be held and kissed and caressed. There was tenderness in him, a need for love that he refused to acknowledge. But she had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his eager hands. Intuition told her that he would never let himself love her, that she would never be able to tear down the walls he kept between them, until she knew what he was hiding behind the mask.

Later that night, sitting at her desk, she took pen in hand and opened her journal.

It has been weeks since last I wrote. I have asked questions, I have wandered through the house, but I can find no answers to the riddle that is my husband. I believe the household staff knows something, but I do not believe they know what Erik is hiding beneath that mask. He is a strange man, silent and aloof, yet ever so gentle when he comes to me in the night. I think I could care for him if he would let me. I feel that he is as lonely as I, that he needs me, yet he will not let me close to him, nor trust me with whatever it is he is hiding.

I am so lonely … I pray that my womb may soon shelter a child. At least then I will have someone to love, someone to love me.

Chapter Seven

He stalked the night, as much a part of the darkness as the light of the moon and the glittering stars. The ground was damp beneath his feet as he tracked her across the moor. His nostrils flared, filling with the scent of her warm flesh. The smell of her fear trailed behind her, arousing his ever-growing lust for blood. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart as she realized she was being followed and began to run.

But she couldn’t outrun him, could never outrun the beast. He threw back his head and howled, the long, ululating cry filled with the certainty of victory.

Dropping to all fours, he loped after her. Saliva dripped from his jaws. And then he saw her, just ahead. Excitement flowed through him. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of the kill, made the blood roar in his ears.

She glanced over her shoulder, her face ghostly white in the moonlight, her eyes wide with fright. She tripped over a vine, a shrill scream of terror rising in her throat as she tumbled to the ground. And then he was on her, his teeth ripping through the thick velvet cloak, sinking into the soft skin beneath. The air filled with the sharp sting of her fear even as his mouth filled with the warm coppery taste of her blood …

“No!” He howled the word, screamed it over and over again. Howled it in anguished denial as his razor-sharp teeth tore into her soft tender flesh …

“Erik! My lord, wake up! Erik!”

Trevayne came awake with a start. Drenched in icy sweat, his heart pounding frantically, he glanced around the room. Had it only been a dream, then? But it had seemed so real.

“Erik!” He heard her fists pounding on the door, demanding entrance to his room. “Erik, let me in!”

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, then plucked the mask from the table beside his bed and slipped it over his head.

“Erik?”

“I’m coming.” He took a deep, calming breath before he unlocked the door.

“Are you all right?” She lifted the lamp higher, her gaze sweeping over him.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice rough.

“Are you?”

“Merely a nightmare.” He tried to smile and failed. “You’ve had them yourself.”

“Yes. Well, then … ” Her eyelids fluttered down, but not before he saw the sting of his rejection reflected in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Kristine, I didn’t mean to be so curt. I … I appreciate your concern.”

“Would you like me to stay with you for a while?”

He glanced at his deformed hand, hidden behind the door, at his foot, hidden in the shadows. He should send her away, but he could not. The thought of being alone was beyond bearing. “Give me a moment.”

He closed the door, quickly removed the long shirt he slept in and pulled on a shirt and a pair of breeches. He slid his hand into his glove, stepped into a pair of soft leather boots. Taking a deep, calming breath, he opened the door and beckoned her inside.

“Can I get you anything, my lord?” She placed the lamp on the table beside his bed. “A glass of wine? Some warm milk, perhaps?”

Trevayne shook his head.

“Is there nothing I can do for you, my lord husband?”

“Why would you want to?” He sat on the edge of the bed and regarded her through narrowed eyes.

Kristine stared at him. All her life she had wanted someone to love, someone to care for. Her father had loved her, in his own way, and she had loved him, but he had ever been busy, too busy to shower a shy daughter with the affection she craved. As frightened as she had been when she learned that the lord of Hawksbridge Castle was to be her husband, she had hoped that he would come to love her, to need her, as no one else ever had. “I’m your wife.”

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