Bound: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 2)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

“B–Beast . . .” she choked out, fear turning her voice into a whisper. Still, he heard her.

  “I am here, Rose. You need not be afraid.”

  She sighed and relaxed against the pillows, strangely reassured by his deep growl.

  “You—you saved me? You brought me back?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  “Who—What was in that room?”

  The beast growled. “I do not know—I only know that it is an evil place. I meant to warn you about it. Forgive me.”

  He sounded so wretched that Rose felt herself melt a little at his words, and she leaned forward in her bed.

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” she offered.

  If she peered closely, she thought she could see his outline through the fabric of the drapes.

  “I did nothing worth thanking me for,” he protested.

  Yes, his voice was definitely coming from that direction.

  “That is not true,” she countered softly. Indeed, the Beast had been nothing but kind to her since she had arrived, and now he had saved her from a living nightmare. After all her worrying, the irony was not lost on Rose that she now found herself grateful for his presence in her room—as long as he was there, she knew that she was safe.

  She wished she could tell him this, could look into his eyes and let him know how truly thankful she was. Perhaps it was the scare she had just experienced, but the thought of seeing the Beast no longer seemed so terrible.

  As if he could sense her thoughts, the shadow beyond the curtain moved. “I should be going.”

  “Wait!” she requested, and she heard him pause. In that moment, Rose reached out and threw back the curtain.

  The Beast snarled in surprise and instinctively leapt back. Rose saw that he moved with the grace of a cat, but his body was big like a bear and covered in rippling black fur. He had no tail, and his face was oddly flat. His lips were bared back in a grimace, and his teeth gleamed disproportionately large.

  “I–I—” Rose began, and then her gaze caught on a shred of meat snagged between two teeth. It was too much, and the room spun as for the second time that day, Rose fainted.

  * * * * *

  When Rose came to, she was alone. The room was dark except for the starlight sparkling through the open curtains. Rose shivered, unprotected from the cool night air, and the shivers soon changed into sobs. Turning on her stomach, she wept into her pillow, grieving for her family, her sweetheart, and most of all for herself, trapped in an enchanted lodge with a beast.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rose had not really expected the Beast to show himself again—not after she had reacted so disgracefully to his appearance—but now he no longer spoke to her, either, and she could not even hear him moving around in the corridor rafters. Indeed, the only indication that he had not abandoned the lodge was the three resplendent dresses she had found on her bed the following evening.

  “These are far too grand for me,” Rose gasped, eyeing the pearls and opals that decorated the fabric. Even one such jewel would be enough to keep her family out of poverty forever. “Please, if you will provide me with new clothes, make me something plainer.”

  There was no indication that anyone had heard her, but the next day, Rose returned to find the dresses gone and three new gowns laid out before her. Their colors were rich and their cloth was of the finest weave, but they were unadorned except for some slight embroidery around the hem. Though she thought them still too elegant by far, Rose knew it would be churlish to ask for anything simpler and accepted the gift with good grace.

  Aside from that, though, Rose could almost imagine she were alone in the lodge. At first, she was grateful to be reprieved of interacting with the Beast, but after a while, she began to feel ashamed. He could not help the way he looked, and her fainting had been unforgivably rude.

  Still, it was loneliness that weighed on her soul the most. After years of enduring the din of older sisters and a dictatorial aunt, she found the isolation of the lodge almost unbearable. Even the sound of the Beast’s voice would have been welcome company.

  Finally, by the fifth day, Rose had had enough. When she walked into the hall for dinner and saw a stone ceiling yet again, she hesitated, pursed her lips, and then stepped back out into the corridor.

  “Beast!” she called in the certainty that he was close by. “I would speak with you.”

  The ceiling creaked.

  “Yes, Rose?” the Beast responded, his voice strangely subdued.

  “Look, I am sorry for my behavior the other day,” she apologized firmly. “I had just wanted to thank you face to face, but I know I surprised you—you surprised me, too. You have to understand, I have been scared of animals ever since I was little, and the sight you was quite overwhelming. But I am resolved to you now. I will not faint again.”

  “You are not to blame,” the Beast remarked. “I am hideous, I know. I should have left your chamber the instant I had laid you safe.”

  “You misunderstand,” Rose protested. “I am glad you remained. I was foolish to react as I did. I wish to see you again.”

  “Never!” the rafters trembled with the depth of the Beast’s refusal.

  “You were the one who said that what was once seen could never be unseen—well, I have seen you, so you might as well come down.”

  “No.”

  “Please,” Rose implored, some of her bravado giving way to desperation. “I—I do not wish to be alone anymore.”

  The Beast was silent.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “But you will regret it. Go back into the hall—I will meet you there.”

  Rose obeyed, reentering the hall in time to see the stone ceiling ripple and change into wood. A set of stairs descended from one corner, and Rose wondered if that was how the Beast had gotten into the rafters in the first place.

  The groaning of the beams overhead marked the Beast’s progression from the corridor roof into the hall. She heard him reach the top of the stairs, and then all sound stopped. He did not appear.

  “You can do it,” Rose whispered, wondering briefly who was more scared in that moment—him or her.

  Slowly, one foreleg emerged, then another. Rose trembled—she could not help it—but she stood her ground as the Beast began to make his way down the steps.

  She focused on his feet—they were shaped like a dog’s, but the front two paws each had a stubby digit that stuck out to the side like a thumb. Rose had never seen an animal with paws like that. Disturbed, she quickly transferred her gaze up to his legs. They were well muscled and looked almost normal . . . except for the two in the rear. She had expected them to bend backwards, like a dog’s legs or a horse’s, but all the Beast’s legs clearly bent forwards, like a person walking on all fours.

  His shoulder blades jutted out sharply as he moved, and Rose could clearly see the ridge of his spine under the Beast’s fur. His chest was much broader than his hips and generously muscled, and his neck was strong and thick. Steeling herself, Rose lifted her gaze to see his face. The Beast’s ears were curved and moved independently of each other, while his nose was squashed almost flat against his cheeks. His mouth was closed, and his eyes shone bright green as they met hers.

  She inhaled sharply. Those eyes held such emotion, such clear evidence of thought, that she could hardly believe they belonged to an animal at all.

  All too soon, he halted in front of her, and then to her surprise, the Beast pushed himself up on his hind legs until he towered over her. Rose felt her resolve waver and her vision start to fade at the sight, but she forced herself to stay conscious by concentrating only on the Beast’s gaze, craning her head to look up at him until her neck cricked.

  “C–Could you please come back down?” she quivered. Instantly, he fell back on all fours.

  “I have frightened you,” the Beast said, his muscles tensing as though he were about to bound back up the stairs.

  “No! I mean, you did—you do—I just need a moment to get accustomed to you,
” Rose babbled. The Beast held very still. On all fours, his head was level with hers. She looked again into those oddly human eyes and forced herself to breathe normally.

  “There,” she said, attempting to keep her tone light. “You see, you do not frighten me anymore.”

  The Beast opened his mouth as if to contradict her, and then closed it again.

  “What is your name?” Rose asked, changing the subject. “I hardly feel right calling you Beast.”

  “That is what I am, so that is what you must call me. Beasts have no title,” he replied bitterly.

  “My father named me Rose after the flower, but I had never seen one before—at least, not until he brought me the one from your garden. Oh, I should not have brought that up, should I? I am nervous. Are you hungry?” she asked in a rush, trying unsuccessfully to mend her blundering tongue.

  The Beast lifted one weighty eyebrow. “No, but if you do not wish to be alone while you eat, I can keep you company from the rafters.”

  Rose lifted a hand in protest. “I would much rather you did so down here. Stay with me . . .please?”

  The Beast did not answer, but when she turned and walked over to the table, she could hear him softly padding in her wake.

  Rose settled into the chair at the head of the table, while the Beast seated himself on the floor a few feet away.

  “Do you eat fruit?” Rose asked, picking up a wild apple from a bowl.

  “I do, though I prefer meat,” he replied.

  “Perhaps you can dine with me in the future,” she offered. “With only the two of us, it should be simple for our meal times to coincide.”

  He stared at her. “You are kind to suggest it, but I fear the way I eat would put you off your food.”

  Rose nodded, unsure of how to reply. Instead, she focused on serving her food, aware that the Beast was scrutinizing her every move.

  “You are so graceful,” he observed. “Watching you eat is like watching a dance.”

  Rose blushed. “Thank you. You have very fine manners for a Beast,” she returned.

  By the end of the meal, much of Rose’s apprehension regarding the Beast had vanished. He was courtly and kind, and far more gentlemanlike than most of the men in her village. If Rose could forget for a moment that she was his prisoner and he was her keeper, she could almost find herself liking the Beast.

  “Rose, if my continued presence here does not offend you, might I show you something?” he asked when it was clear she had finished her meal.

  She gave him a small smile. “Restricting your company only to dinner was your idea, not mine,” she reminded him.

  “Then come.”

  She followed him into the corridor and to the front door. Rose had not been outside since the first day she had come to the lodge, and she breathed deeply of the fragrant air—warm and sweet with the dawning of summer—as the Beast led her outside.

  “I was not sure if my promise confined me to the house,” Rose admitted as they walked around the side of the lodge.

  The Beast shook his head. “You may go anywhere you like on this estate—just not the forest. It is too dangerous to venture in there alone.”

  “I understand.”

  Rose looked about with interest as they walked. When she had first arrived at the lodge, she had been too exhausted and distracted to pay much attention to its design. Now, she admired the smooth stone walls, the rosy clay roof, and the oriel windows that did not seem to match up with the rooms she knew were inside.

  The ground was covered in a fine grass that reached to her calves, as well as an assortment of wildflowers that proliferated near the edge of the forest and decreased in density the closer they got to the lodge. The path she was walking on was nearly bare of growth, however, and had clearly been well-trod over the years.

  They rounded the back of the lodge, and Rose saw glints of silver through the grass as sunlight reflected off a pond. A willow grew near one bank, but that was not where the Beast was leading her.

  “This is my garden,” he said, his voice oddly gentle. “My roses. They have been my one real joy these many years.”

  Rose cleared her throat, but the tightness she felt refused to abate. “They are beautiful,” she whispered, not trusting herself to speak more. Part of her hated the lovely flowers, hated herself for having requested one from her father, and hated the Beast in that moment for having been so possessive of what was after all only a plant—especially one he grew so abundantly. How dare he demand someone’s life in exchange for a flower—a single flower—which was only going to wither away regardless!

  But another part of her appreciated the splendor of her namesake and noted the Beast’s curiously tender expression as he gazed at his roses. His one real joy, he had said? What an odd thing for a beast to care for! Perhaps if she had lived alone in a lodge with no one to talk to or love save for some flowers, she, too, might have grown just as possessive.

  You are making excuses for him, the first part of her argued.

  Not excuses—just understanding, the other half refuted. He may speak like a man, but he is only a Beast after all. One cannot expect an animal to think the same way as a human does.

  Indeed. He is an animal. Do not forget that, her mind warned.

  Rose shook her head.

  “They are beautiful,” she repeated, stepping into the garden. The blossoms dazzled her eyes with their variety of colors, and their fragrances swirled about her head in a dizzying aroma. She leaned down and sniffed a large, pink rose. In addition to its thick, musky scent, she thought she detected a trace of strawberry. When she turned to smell an orange flower, however, its scent was reminiscent of honey.

  Noting her puzzlement, the Beast remarked, “I grow many types of roses here, and they all smell different. Some bushes even change their scent depending on the weather or the time of day.”

  Rose nodded her acknowledgement and reached out to touch a petal. It was softer than a feather, and she rubbed it gently between her thumb and forefinger, marveling at its texture. The rose her father had plucked had already begun to wilt by the time it had reached her, but these were in full bloom.

  She turned to ask the Beast how he had managed to grow them, but was interrupted by a loud, exultant bark.

  Rose’s head snapped around, but the next instant, the Beast had leapt in front of her, blocking her view and snarling a protective warning at the interloper. Even so, Rose had seen the fearless form bounding towards her, and she put out a hand to push the Beast to one side, not even caring in that moment that she had touched him nor noting his glance of surprise as he obediently moved out of the way.

  “Pesk!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Pesk!” she cried again, dropping to her knees. The dog leapt forward and licked her eyelids and cheeks as she hugged him in her arms and tried to bury her face in his ruff. “However did you find me? You foolish hound, you should not have come,” she murmured, but the strength of her embrace told the dog she did not mean her chastisement.

  “I did not say your pet could come,” the Beast grumbled, clearly displeased.

  Rose glared up at him. “You did not say he could not come, either,” she retorted. “Besides, I told him not to follow me—he just never listens. That is why he is called Pesk.”

  “If he bothers me, I will eat him,” the Beast snapped, and he stalked off.

  Rose stared after him, shocked.

  “He does not mean it,” she comforted herself. “But if he did, it would be your own fault,” she scolded the dog. Pesk just panted happily—clearly unconcerned—and then licked her across the mouth.

  “Yech!” Rose got to her feet, wiping dog slobber away with a disgusted groan. “Maybe I should let him eat you after all. I knew there was a reason I left you behind!”

  Pesk barked, completely unperturbed by her annoyance. He knew her too well to be deceived.

  * * * * *

  Ari paced along the corridor, his padded feet making almost no sound. I
t had been a week since the dog had thrust its way into his life, and the easy familiarity Rose exhibited with the hound made Ari’s green eyes blaze with jealousy. He wanted the girl’s company all to himself, and he resented the creature’s intrusion. Envy made him cross, and just that morning, he had finally lost his temper and snapped at Rose.

  “You fawn over that dog of yours, and yet you treat me like a—like an animal!” he had accused.

  Rose had just stared at him, stunned by his outburst. “Well, how else should I treat you?” she had asked. “You are an animal.”

  Ari could not contradict her, even though everything inside him had been dying to. If she knew he were human, it would ruin any chance he had that she might one day break his spell.

  She thinks I am an animal, so she does not have high expectations of me. If she learns I am a man, she would abhor me for keeping her here. At least this way, she is willing to accept my company. If I told her the truth, she would want nothing to do with me. Better to spend the rest of my life convincing her of my worth than to have her abandon me now.

  Ari growled softly, torn between the idea of revealing the truth to Rose and maintaining her impression of him as a beast. Only as the latter could Rose ever break his spell, for only by loving “the Beast” unconditionally and agreeing to marry him could she help him regain his humanity. Surely, that chance—however slim—was worth the cost to his pride?

  For the fifth time that night, Ari glanced toward her door. It was past midnight—he really should go to sleep. He had enough trouble lately controlling his temper without being tired, too, but he was reluctant to leave Rose unguarded. Still, there was no point in keeping watch if it made him irritable when he was with her. He had set up precautions—he would hear if anything went amiss.

  Just then, the bedroom door opened, and Rose peered blearily into the corridor.

  “Beast? Pesk heard you out here. What are you doing?” she yawned.

  He froze. “N–Nothing,” he stuttered, feeling like a small child caught in wrongdoing.