Page 45 of Beauty's Beast

“Thank you, my lord. You are most generous.”

His gaze met hers, his eyes dark with an emotion she could not name and then, before she could do more than wonder whatwas troubling him so, he turned away so she could not see his eyes. Something was bothering him, she knew it in the deepest part of her, but what?

At ten, Mrs. Grainger brought them a pot of tea. At eleven, Kristine rose to go to bed. She folded her embroidery into a neat pile and placed it on the chair, then walked round the desk to kiss Erik’s cheek.

“Good night, my lord husband.”

“Good night.”

“Will you … ” She bit down on her lip. “Will I see you later?”

He didn’t look at her but he nodded, once, curtly.

She yearned to touch him, to wrap her arms around him and press his head to her breasts, to beg him to tell her what it was that caused him such anguish, but he had never welcomed her touch. With a sigh, she turned and left the room.

A muscle clenched in Erik’s jaw as she closed the door. He sat there, staring at nothing, remembering the warmth of her lips on his cheek, the faint flowery scent that clung to her hair and clothing, the slightly husky sound of her voice as she asked, in her own shy way, if he would join her in bed later. It never failed to amaze him that she invited his touch, that she had not told him of her pregnancy for fear he would no longer warm her bed. If he had one wish, it would be to always share her bed, her life, to cradle her in his arms each night, to kiss her awake each morning. But it was not to be.

Despair rose within him, darker than the night outside his window, deeper than the lake near the hunting lodge.

Driven by some primal urge that frightened him even as it compelled him, he left the house and turned toward the deep woods, discarding his clothing as he went, until he ran naked through the night.

The wind whipped through his hair, stung his eyes, chilled his body, and still he ran. The ground felt strange beneath hisfeet … and yet he knew it was his feet, and not the ground, that had changed. He ran for miles, tireless, mindless, his nostrils filling with the scents of the night—the damp earth, the leaves he crushed, the stink of something long dead. He heard the screech of an owl and then he caught the strong scent of blood.

Fresh blood.

It drew him like a beacon in the darkness.

The wolves growled as he approached. Three of them, a male and two females, huddled over the carcass of a deer.

Breathless, the blood teasing his nostrils, he walked toward them. The dominant female whined softly, then turned and trotted away, followed by the other, smaller female. The male stood his ground, teeth bared, hackles raised. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

An answering growl rose in Erik’s throat as he bared his teeth and took a step forward.

The wolf growled again, then turned and disappeared into the night.

With a howl of triumph, Erik dropped to his hands and knees and sniffed the carcass.

A purr of satisfaction rumbled in his throat as he lapped at the blood, and then he reared back, a cry of horror erupting from his lips as he realized what he was doing.

“No! No!” Scrambling to his feet, he scrubbed the blood from his mouth with the back of his good hand. “No.” He backed away from the carcass, appalled by his feral behavior.

“Kristine,” he moaned. “Help me. Someone, please, help me.”

She woke from a sound sleep, the melancholy cry of a wolf ringing in her ears. “Erik?” She patted the bed beside her and knew he had not been there.

Rising, she drew on her night robe and padded barefoot to the window. The moon hung low in the sky, silvering the trees, shining on the pond in the middle of the garden. All was quiet.

She was about to go back to bed when she saw it: a dark form making its way toward the back of the house. She leaned forward, eyes narrowed as she tried to see who it was. An intruder? One of the Graingers’ sons coming home from a night in town?

The figure stepped into a pool of moonlight and she caught a glimpse of long black hair, the flash of a naked thigh.

“Erik!” Grabbing the small lamp burning beside her bed, she hurried out of the room and down the stairs toward the kitchen.

She got there as the back door opened. “Erik?”

“Put out the light!”

“What?”

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