The Beast’s Heart

by Leife Shallcross

  My courage failed me.

  ‘Please, will you come back to the house?’ I asked, offering her my arm.

  The state of the tunnel back through the hedge was such that it was not possible to walk through it together. Indeed, it was clear Isabeau had needed to fight her way through to me. However, once we were standing on the other side, she put her arm through mine again and looked up at me with a radiant smile.

  ‘You are not so tall now,’ she observed, leaning close against me.

  ‘No,’ I said, my throat tight. I could not stop looking at her.

  The sensation of her beside me was the only thing that sustained me as we made our way up to the house. My heart was thundering and black spots danced before my eyes. She said she would marry me. She said she loves me, I thought, hardly daring to believe it. But, the curse had broken.

  I darted another quick look at her and, with a thrill, found she was gazing up at me. She smiled. My heart tripped.

  The front door stood ajar, sagging slightly upon its hinges, and I had to push it open so we could enter together. It creaked closed behind us. A fire burned in the hearth, but the house was somehow still and silent.

  ‘I think the magic is dying,’ whispered Isabeau, clinging to my arm. Then she frowned up at me. All the consternation was gone from her face and a different light burned in her eyes now.

  ‘You are shivering!’ she accused me.

  ‘I – I am,’ I admitted. My clothes were soaked with icy mud and I had been chilled before I had collapsed out in the garden.

  ‘Oh! This is a fine time for your magical servants to vanish!’ she exclaimed. She dragged me across the hall and up the stairs. I cast a longing look at the chair by the fire as we passed it, but Isabeau had apparently discounted it as a suitable resting place for my weary body.

  ‘You need to get out of those wet clothes,’ she fretted. ‘And I know you’ve barely eaten in the last week. Where am I to find a hot meal now?’

  ‘No idea,’ I confessed through teeth locked together with the cold.

  When we reached my bedchamber, she threw open the door and pulled me inside, then momentarily abandoned me to shiver in the middle of the room while she pushed my chair close to the dying fire in the grate. She made impatient noises as she threw more logs onto the coals, and I stood, caught between disbelief and happiness that she was here with me again. She turned to look up at me and saw I had not moved. With a cry she leaped up and bustled me into the chair.

  ‘Beast,’ she cried in frustration. ‘Sit. I won’t have you perishing from the cold, I won’t!’

  She knelt at my feet and tugged off my boots, then turned her attention to my wet, dirty clothes.

  ‘Take your coat off, Beast – Julien,’ she said decisively, pulling at my sodden garters. ‘Where are your clothes?’

  Still shivering, I indicated a chest where my clothes were kept. She crossed to it and threw it open, pulling garments out apparently at random, while I struggled with the buttons on my coat. I still wondered at the sight of my pale fingers against the dark cloth, but, even human, they were clumsy with cold. Isabeau gave another impatient cry to see how little progress I was making, and flew back over to me. She knelt in front of me again, tearing at the buttons so ruthlessly it was a wonder some of them did not part company with my coat entirely.

  ‘Careful,’ I admonished her, laughing breathlessly.

  ‘Careful?’ she asked, standing up and tugging me upright also, so she could strip my wet coat from me. ‘I am trying to save your life and you tell me to be careful?’

  My coat went onto the floor in a crumpled pile. She dragged my wet shirt from my breeches and pulled at the laces at the neck. At that moment my skin turned to gooseflesh for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold. I froze, unable to move. But Isabeau was lifting my shirt over my belly, then over my head. Her hand grazed my chest. In a moment my shirt joined my coat.

  Then, in the act of handing me the dry shirt hanging over her arm, Isabeau suddenly grew still. I heard her sharply indrawn breath and saw her cheeks grow warm. I was standing before her in nothing but my breeches. She was staring at my chest. Guiltily, she raised her eyes to my face and smiled.

  ‘Your hair,’ she said, ‘it’s so much longer than in the portrait.’

  ‘Isabeau, my shirt,’ I said, my jaw clenched with distress as much as the cold. For no reason I could name, I was terrified.

  ‘Beast …’ she said softly, stepping close. She laid a hand in the centre of my chest. The heat from her palm was like a brand. I held up my own hand to ward her off, my fear tearing through me, making me unsteady on my feet. She caught my hand and began to kiss my fingers. The air rushed from my lungs in something very like a sob. A moment later, Isabeau was somehow in my arms, the silk of her hair soft against my bare skin.

  ‘Beast!’ she cried into my chest, and I couldn’t tell if she was crying or laughing.

  I was overwhelmed with memories and guilt. Images from the worst of my father’s drunken routs rose up in my mind, along with all the old terror of what would happen if I allowed myself to feel even the smallest flush of desire. But Isabeau was so warm against my chilled flesh and I had been dreaming of holding her like this for so long, I couldn’t push her away. Involuntarily, my arms moved around her.

  ‘You’re so warm,’ I said, my voice trembling. I could no longer tell whether I was cold or not.

  ‘I’ve dreamed of this,’ she said. ‘I never told you.’

  ‘This?’ I said shakily. ‘Me almost dead from cold?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Of holding you, like this.’

  She moved her hand over the skin of my chest and my whole body thrummed.

  She glanced up at me shyly.

  ‘And you kissing me,’ she said.

  I could barely breathe. She wound an arm about my neck, tangling her fingers in my long, black curls.

  ‘Did you ever dream of me?’ she asked in a whisper.

  ‘Did I—?’ I asked, still breathless. That was when she kissed me for the first time.

  It was nothing like I’d dreamed. It was so much better. Her mouth was sweet and warm, and for the longest time it was the only thing I knew. I even forgot to be afraid.

  But, gradually, I became aware of other sensations. Her hand on my neck, tugging on my hair. The burning warmth of her, pressed up against the length of my chilled body. And other feelings, more base and visceral. My gut clenched in sudden terror and I broke away from her lips, lifting my head and struggling for breath. Isabeau looked up at me, concern filling her eyes.

  ‘But you are still so cold! Here!’ She pulled away and handed me my shirt. I pulled it over my head and she stepped close again, lifting my hair – which had indeed grown long and unruly – from my neck and smoothing the wide, lace-edged collar over my shoulders. I found I was shivering again. Isabeau fetched my robe from where it lay over the foot of my bed and held it out to me. I slid my arms into the sleeves and wrapped it around myself, as grateful for the modesty it offered as for the warmth.

  ‘Now these,’ she said, handing me a pair of dry breeches.

  ‘But—’ I protested, looking at her in consternation.

  She made a face at me.

  ‘I won’t look,’ she said, turning away.

  I did not move.

  ‘Although,’ she continued, ‘I know you watched me dressing through your mirror.’

  I was flooded with perishing shame. My face burned. ‘I am sorry,’ I whispered.

  There was a long pause. She turned her face so I could see her profile. Her cheeks were pink again. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said.

  I could not look at her. My blood drummed in my ears and my belly curdled. The enormity of the dishonour I had done her threatened to overwhelm me. I was no different to him after all.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I choked out again.

  ‘Beast. Julien,’ she said, her voice full of concern. She turned back to look at me. I stumbled backwards away from her.


  ‘What is it?’ The worry in her voice was sharp. She was moving towards me. I held out my hands to stop her coming closer.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ I said.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I can’t—’ I gasped.

  ‘Can’t what?’ she asked. I twisted away. ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘You don’t know,’ I croaked, too many thoughts crowding into my head. I could hear her, feel her coming towards me again, and a terrible fear began to squeeze the air from my lungs.

  ‘Tell me!’ she begged.

  Blindly I staggered away from her. I stumbled against the bed and fell at its foot. I heard her quick footsteps and a moment later her warm hands were upon me, brushing my hair back from my eyes, taking my face and turning it towards hers. A sob caught in my throat and I closed my eyes tightly in pain.

  ‘Beast,’ she said, her voice gentle. ‘Julien, whatever it is, you can tell me.’

  I reached out to push her away, but somehow found my hands gripping her shoulders. I found I was as much terrified she would leave again as I was of what might happen if she stayed.

  ‘Don’t leave,’ I croaked, barely able to speak.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ she said. ‘I love you.’

  My eyes flew open. Her wide grey eyes were all I could see.

  ‘I love you,’ she repeated.

  She kissed me again. The pure magic of that sensation swept over me, burning away all else for a few, blessed moments. Nothing mattered but that she was here with me and that she loved me. I pulled her close. My hands roved up her neck and into her hair. The blood was pounding in my ears and I shook all over, but, God help me, I did not want to stop.

  When she eventually broke her lips from mine, with the smallest of sighs, she did not pull away from me. She stayed, kneeling on the floor in the circle of my arms, her forehead leaning against mine. As much as I had not wanted the kiss to end, I now found I could happily sit like this with her forever. But she must have noticed me trembling, for she brushed her hand against my face and frowned.

  ‘You are not well,’ she said uncertainly. She turned around and looked searchingly at the air.

  ‘House,’ she called out. ‘For the love of God, if you have any magic left, please, please get him some hot food and drink! If you let him die I’ll tear you apart myself, brick by brick.’

  She turned back to me.

  ‘Come,’ she said, finding my hand and tugging it. I let her help me up, then she pushed me towards the bed and put the crumpled breeches into my hands.

  ‘Change,’ she said firmly. ‘Now.’ She turned her back upon me resolutely. I struggled out of the wet, dirty garment and hurriedly pulled on the dry pair. As I buttoned them, a new smell filled the air, savoury and rich.

  ‘Ah!’ cried Isabeau, spinning about. A steaming bowl had appeared on my bedside table, accompanied by a large chunk of bread – fresh from the oven, if the smell was anything to judge by – and a pewter tankard of what could only be mulled wine. She bustled me into the bed and put the bowl into my hands, standing over me with her arms folded. She was wearing her stubborn face again.

  ‘Eat,’ she commanded. ‘All of it.’

  ‘Will you sit with me?’ I asked humbly, hoping now she had seen me dry and fed she would not think of some vital task that might take her from my company. Her mouth twitched and her expression softened.

  ‘I am not leaving you,’ she said. ‘I am far too terrified you are just a dream and I will wake up alone in the cottage once again.’ She leaned over and touched my face, a silly grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. I could hardly breathe.

  ‘I don’t think I am a dream,’ I said.

  ‘Eat!’ she repeated, pulling her hand away. She went to my chair and dragged it back beside the bed and sat down. It took me some moments to reaccustom myself to the sensation of holding a spoon in human fingers, and she watched me eat the rich broth, hiding her smile of amusement behind a hand. I confess I was so absorbed in her presence, I barely tasted it. When the bowl was half-empty, however, I became aware I was no longer trembling with cold.

  ‘I believe I am warm again,’ I said, leaning back against my pillows.

  She smiled, leaning her chin on one hand.

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘But I am not moving until you finish your meal.’

  ‘That is no incentive,’ I pointed out. ‘For I do not want you to go.’

  She gave me another brilliant smile.

  ‘I might move closer if you were to finish your food,’ she said.

  My face grew warm and my skin tingled. I still experienced a twist of uncertainty in the pit of my belly, but I applied myself anew to cleaning my bowl.

  ‘There,’ she said, placing the empty bowl back upon the bedside table after I had done. ‘Now drink this!’ She passed me the tankard of warm wine.

  ‘If I drink that, I may fall asleep,’ I demurred. Indeed, after so many days without adequate food or rest, in my current state of satiation my limbs felt heavy as lead.

  ‘I intend for you to do so,’ Isabeau said. ‘You have watched over me as I slept, these last few nights. Now let me keep watch over you.’

  ‘But—!’ I protested. I did not want to fall asleep. I wanted to sit here with her and … I looked away from her, my face burning.

  ‘You cannot know how hard it was to see you so restless and unhappy in my dreams,’ said Isabeau. Her voice caught, and when I looked back at her, the laughter had vanished from her eyes. I felt a stab of shame. But she reached out and twined her fingers through mine.

  ‘You may make good your debt by letting me see you sleep peacefully, now,’ she said, lifting my hand to her mouth and kissing it. ‘Drink your wine.’

  How could I deny her? I drank and, with my hand still in Isabeau’s, it was not very many minutes more before I slept.

  Chapter XLIII

  Something was askew. It was as though a new scent hovered on the edge of detection, but my senses had grown unaccountably dulled and I could not pick it up. I swung my head to and fro, trying to catch it, but it vanished like a rabbit into a hedge. I growled.

  The room was unfamiliar, shrouded in darkness. I did not want to be here. I could see a dim haze ahead of me, like the glow of reflected firelight. I tried to move towards it, but my body was sluggish and the effort was agonising. Eventually the ruddy blur began to take form and I could see the silhouette of another person. The shape was unfamiliar, and all my fur stood on end in alarm. I inched closer, struggling against the torpor that threatened to overwhelm me.

  I caught the gleam of his eyes in the gloom and a heartbeat later I realised I was standing before a mirror. I stared at myself, a dishevelled echo of the image in my portrait, my heart thundering wildly in my chest. Human, I was human. I tried to lift my hand to touch the hairless skin beneath my eyes. But as I did so, the hair on my unshaven jaw began to thicken and spread up over my cheeks and I watched in horror as my fingers swelled into clumsy pads and sprouted wicked claws. The growth of cursed fur spread rapidly over my arms, becoming thick and shaggy in seconds. Then, in a burst of searing pain, the furred skin of my forehead split apart and a new pair of horns erupted from my skull. I cried out, throwing up my hands to cover my hideous face—

  The movement jolted me awake.

  I lay panting in terror in the darkness. Shaking, I lifted a hand to my face. The skin of my forehead was smooth and hairless. In the dim orange glow emitted by the coals in the fireplace, I could see my hand was human. Seeking reassurance, I glanced at Isabeau’s chair. It was empty.

  The sound of quiet, even breathing drew my attention to a warm presence at my other side. She was lying against me, curled upon the bedclothes and covered with a shawl. Her hair had come loose and lay tumbled over the pillow. My heart gave a familiar bound at the sight of her.

  I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I hesitated. My mind was still reeling from my nightmare and I half expected at
the least sign of impropriety I would see a black tide of animal fur surging over my skin. A fresh bout of fear gripped me. My chest seemed wrapped in bands of iron, growing tighter by the moment. What was I to do? She loved me enough to break the curse, but she couldn’t possibly understand the horror of the monster I might yet become. I could not stomach the thought of hurting her.

  Lying so close to her and not being able to touch her was unbearable. The ache it gave me was intimately familiar, but it had been easier to withstand when I had worn my Beast’s skin. I resolved to move, to put some distance between us. I sat up, but at the movement she stirred and opened her eyes.

  ‘Beast?’ she murmured. She looked up at me sleepily and frowned. ‘It is still night.’ She reached out, but I jerked myself back away from her.

  ‘Beast?’ she said more sharply, pushing herself up onto her elbows. ‘Julien? What is it?’

  I couldn’t speak. My breath was frozen in my throat and the constriction around my chest stopped me from filling my lungs anew. I scrambled to my knees, ready to flee, but she reached out and caught hold of my shirt.

  ‘Julien? Why are you so afraid of me?’ Her voice was rising and all the soft sleepiness had fled from her eyes.

  ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ I choked, resisting her hold. I wanted to pull her into my arms. ‘It’s not you.’

  ‘Then what?’ she cried, tightening her grip on my clothes. ‘There is something wrong! Won’t you tell me?’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ I gasped.

  ‘Hurt me?’ she asked. ‘Why would you hurt me?’

  I could not answer.

  ‘Don’t leave,’ she said, her voice trembling slightly. All my resolve to go evaporated instantly. She stared at me intently, her eyes huge in the darkness.

  ‘Won’t you tell me what it is? Is it the curse?’

  I nodded, breathing heavily.

  ‘Are you still cursed?’ she asked apprehensively. ‘Are you going to turn back into a beast?’

  ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not like I was. A different kind of monster. Like … him.’

  Isabeau inhaled sharply. I looked at her, my heart filling with hopelessness. ‘It is why the Fairy cursed me.’