Page 86 of Beauty's Beast

Erik nodded. Back turned to the wizard, he drew on his breeches 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?”

---