Beasts in Winter [Tangere Tales 1] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Heather Rainier

  “Oh, that would be a shame. The roses on the castle and the balcony arbors…they would be breathtaking in spring. I hope you find someone to give them the love they need.”

  “I hope for a great many things, mon ange,” he whispered.

  “You do?” she asked.

  “Marry us,” he blurted out, gazing at her hand resting on his and then looked up into her clear blue eyes, desiring the fullness of her soft pink lips, to know how they felt against his own in truth and not just in a dream. “Marry us, Angel. Stay with us. Here.”

  “‘Us’? Is that why you’re keeping me here? You think I’ll marry both of you? I’ll admit to some ménage fantasies but…wait, you know about those fantasies because of all the magic, don’t you? That’s why you thought you’d keep me here. I’m just some convenient, entertaining chick for the two of you, out here in the middle of nowhere. I know nothing of where I am, beyond your names and the name of this castle, and you’re asking me to marry you?”

  “I’m sorry, Angel. There is a limit to how much I can explain. We are bound—”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I may have a lusty imagination, but I’m not a pushover.”

  His heart fell, even though he had no right to feel disappointment as she pulled her hand back and lowered it to her lap. He lifted his gaze, afraid of what he would see, and an ache pierced him at the stricken look in her eyes.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  Charmeur let out a disappointed sigh, and some of his disappointment filtered through their connection as he popped another grape into his mouth before carefully wiping his hands with the linen napkin.

  “As you wish,” Bestiale said as he rose slowly from his seat.

  “Does that mean you will release me?”

  He set his jaw and didn’t raise his voice. “It means I cannot force you to marry us. But we cannot let you go.”

  Fury filled her eyes. “Then it is not as I wish!” She threw her napkin at him and slammed herself against the back of her chair, making it slide a couple of inches. “Fuck!”

  Fleur hopped from the table. Well…poop! With a flick of her tail, she left the room.

  Charmeur swallowed his bite, sipped from his glass of wine, and then rose from the table. Bowing before Angel, he reached out with one open hand, taking care that his sharp claws would not scratch her. When she hesitantly placed her hand in his, he leaned down—his gaze locked on hers—and kissed her knuckles. He allowed his lips to linger on the soft skin of her hand.

  For an instant, jealousy flared in Bestiale’s gut because he wasn’t courtly or flirtatious like his brother. Charmeur’s gaze was teasing as he held Angel enthralled. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink as he kissed her hand once again before releasing her fingers with a show of reluctance and pulling away. He bowed once more and then turned to go. He glanced at Bestiale before he left, and Bestiale saw the disappointment, and judgement, at his own poor performance. His brother’s mental exclamation as he entered the hallway confirmed it.

  Merde! We had the whole evening to woo her before proposing and you fucked up in the first five minutes!

  Stifling the growl that welled up inside of him, along with a good deal of anger at his brother, and the enchantress, for placing this burden on him, Bestiale spoke with as much gentleness as he could muster.

  “Good night, then, mon ange. Sleep well.” He gave her a short bow, and stalked from the room, each step increasing until he was at a run, headed straight for his brother’s back.

  Angel couldn’t be blamed for not trusting them. Yes, he was an idiot for proposing too soon, he saw that now, but Charmeur’s constant mental barrage of carnality had made it impossible to concentrate.

  As if you could’ve done any better, shithead. You’d have had your dick out, offering to let her suck it! he roared through their connection, after making sure Fleur wasn’t privy to this argument. He pounced on Charmeur and took him to the marble floor. They each connected with fists at the same time.

  At least she would know I had one, gutless wonder! Charmeur replied, delivering an uppercut that bounced Bestiale’s head off the marble. You have as much charm as you do brains.

  They continued struggling as Fleur called to them from the staircase. Bestiale? Charmeur?

  I have brains enough to know when to keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t think for all your idiotic bickering.

  Uh…bourriques?

  What? they exclaimed in unison, pulling back fists to land more blows.

  Charmeur gaped at his sister. She’d called them jackasses. Such language, sister.

  Fleur scoffed in disgust as she flounced up the stairs. She’s watching you two buffoons go at it like the imbeciles that you are. She blew a raspberry at them. At the rate you two are going, I’m going to be tongue-bathing for all eternity. Buttheads.

  Still frozen, they turned and saw Angel gaping in horror at them in the archway. Bestiale rose to his feet, jerking his coat into place while Charmeur adjusted his lace-trimmed shirtsleeve.

  “You know what? Fuck this for real,” she muttered as she grabbed up her skirts and turned to the entry. “I’m leaving.”

  “You can’t!” Bestiale shouted as he followed her with Charmeur close behind. Their one chance at redemption looked determined as her skirts swished and swirled around her ankles as if trying to impede her movements.

  “Watch me! Stay away from me!” she shouted.

  She is majestic when infuriated, Charmeur murmured in their connection.

  At least there was no trace of fear in her scent.

  She flung open the door, heedless of the heavy snow falling outside.

  What do we do now? If we catch her and try to bring her back inside she will just fight us. We risk injuring her, Charmeur said, lifting his clawed hands before him. I can’t stand to see her upset.

  At least she’s not running, Bestiale replied as he watched her yank the skirts from around her ankles with a growl as she stalked over the threshold. If she ran, he’d have no choice but to chase her, and chases led to unpredictable outcomes. Speaking of unpredictable, it seemed the enchantress had taken things into hand for them.

  Charmeur gasped. Mon Dieu!

  Bestiale just stared.

  Angel froze and looked down at herself, balled her hands into fists, and stamped her feet as she screamed in fury. The dress and shoes she’d been wearing had simply vaporized from her body, leaving her only in her bare skin. Naked, luscious skin and curves that made his hands twitch and his balls ache. She turned as she screamed and threw a little tantrum, making her beautiful, abundant breasts bounce with each movement. Her eyes sparked with rage as they lit on the two of them, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she stood there, hobbled in the snow. “What are you looking at, motherfuckers?”

  Through their silent, and thankfully private link, Charmeur sighed. Well, at least she can no longer attempt to leave. To suckle upon those nipples in real life rather than in a dream. Mon Dieu. I’m about to explode.

  Bestiale squeezed his eyelids shut and held his hands behind his back in fists so as not to strangle his brother. He cleared his throat and stepped toward the doorway. In as gentle a tone as he could muster, he said, “Angel, if you will please step back over the threshold, your clothing should return.”

  Obviously hesitant to come near him, she took small steps as he backed away until she was once again over the threshold. The silk gown patterned with peacock feathers and her slippers reformed on her body. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the more camouflaging dress she’d worn earlier in the day, and he had the distinct feeling they’d just lost ground because of his inept proposal.

  She shivered and rubbed her arms as he shut the door once she was completely through it.

  “I apologize, ange. You cannot leave…any more than we can leave. You must stay, as must we. It is the way of…things.”

  Lifting her skirts, she trudged past them to the stairs. “This is bullshit. I’m going to bed.”


  Bestiale and Charmeur caught up with her at the landing to the wide staircase. “But you’ve barely eaten anything. Please return to your meal. You must be starved.” I am starved for you, beauty.

  “My appetite is suddenly gone.”

  They bowed as she passed, and Bestiale watched her ascend with her back ramrod straight and her head proudly erect. She was beauty incarnate, and he fell a little more in love with her.

  “Good night, mon ange,” he called.

  She turned with passion flaring in her eyes and delivered a hand gesture that meant the same thing in any language. “Up yours!”

  A minute later, her door slammed and a muffled scream of frustration echoed down the stairwell.

  Charmeur let out a deep breath, and Bestiale agreed with the mental thought he projected. What a woman.

  They turned to each other. The fight had gone out of him but not the need to exert himself and relieve the pent-up energy and frustration inside of him. The fire in Charmeur’s eyes said he felt the same. They nodded in agreement and bounded down the hall to the terrace door, shedding clothing as they went. They needed to run, hard and long, before they could call themselves more man than animal once more.

  Chapter Five

  By early afternoon of the following day, Angel was thoroughly tired of keeping to her room in silent protest. She’d mulled Bestiale’s words over, and as much as she wanted someone to blame, someone to yell at, what he’d said kept echoing in her memory.

  You cannot leave…any more than we can leave. It is the way of…things.

  Maybe they were lying and it was all within their power to send her home, but she’d heard true regret in his rough tone. If she hadn’t been so pissed off about being summarily stripped of every stitch of clothing she’d had on, in the snow, she might’ve felt empathy for him.

  The snowstorm had dropped a heavy layer of the brilliant white stuff over everything, renewing the pristine beauty outside her windows. Maybe taking a walk and exploring the gardens would improve her mood.

  Her dreams had been peaceful and uneventful. She hadn’t exactly been in the mood, but she’d certainly remember if they’d been hot and steamy as the previous nights’. Even the shower had behaved itself, and the mirror had been downright subdued.

  She grabbed the fur-lined cloak and put it on over her thoroughly modest, well-behaved, and winter-weight gown, done in somber but lovely bronze and copper-colored velvets.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she was cheered by Fleur’s feline vocalizations, almost like happy chatter, as she ran down the corridor toward Angel and leaped into her arms when she was close enough.

  “Hello to you, too, beautiful,” Angel said, stroking the cat’s head as she preened in Angel’s arms. “Care to explore the gardens with me?”

  “Meow,” Fleur murmured in what sounded like affirmation.

  She took a few steps and giggled. “Oh, that’s nice.” The fur within a pair of comfy, lined boots suddenly encased her feet, which had previously been shod in simple slippers intended for indoor use. The moccasin-like footwear was exactly what she had desired.

  Now if she could just wish herself home. She’d already tried. Not happening—at least not today. She looked in the rooms off the same corridor as the dining room and finally located a pair of doors that led outside.

  Fleur led the way to a set of steps leading down to the terrace and into the garden. Angel followed behind. Even in the deepest winter, when the garden was dormant, covered over, and protected in preparation for spring, the design and architectural features and walkways were still a pleasant place to spend her afternoon.

  While exploring a hedge maze in the center of the garden, she came upon what appeared to be statues, the only items in the garden that had been overtaken by vines, in the same manner the castle had by the rose bushes.

  Thinking the statues must’ve been overlooked or forgotten by the otherwise careful gardener, she began pulling at the older, dryer rose canes. The brittle wood came away in her hands.

  “I’m curious, Fleur,” she said as she paused to soothe a scratch from one of the thorns. “Why would the gardener leave the statues overgrown like this? And for that matter, why are the beasts here, and where are the people who once lived here?”

  Fleur sat down to watch her on a nearby bench. Her only reply was the flick of her tail as she watched.

  “Did they attack the castle? Or had the castle already been abandoned? It doesn’t look abandoned,” she added, turning back to look at the massive structure. Despite the cold of winter, the sunlit castle was lovely, aglitter with snow and ice festooning it as if it were coated in diamonds.

  Pulling back another cane, she revealed the face of the first statue. A woman. Fleur meowed softly and moved closer to watch. Angel tilted her head. Perhaps it was a figment of her imagination—maybe this all was—but the woman seemed to resemble the auburn-haired stranger, one of the lovers from her dream, from the portrait in the library.

  “Give her auburn hair and she could be his mother.”

  She set to work on the other statue and revealed the rugged face of a man with shoulder-length hair. The stern set of his mouth, the shape of his eyes, and the tilt of his head told her this man had been a king. His visage emanated arrogance or perhaps simply the right of a king to rule. Confidence.

  She frowned, thinking of the series of stained glass panels in the library and whispered to herself. “Or maybe he’s just a womanizing asshole, fathering children all over the countryside.”

  The wind picked up, and as she moved the loose branches into a pile, a flicker of bright light caught her eye. After a moment, she spotted movement on one of the first-floor terraces, which housed a rose arbor similar to the one growing on her bedroom balcony and the one outside the library. Shading her eyes from the reflection of the sun off of the snow, she spotted Charmeur working at some contraption.

  “Cover your ears, kitty,” she murmured and then put two fingers to her lips and let loose with an eardrum-piercing whistle.

  Charmeur startled and looked her way, the surprise on his beastly face evident despite the distance. He shaded his eyes, and then having spotted her, he waved and then blew her a kiss…while twirling his tail.

  “Cheeky asshole. If he wasn’t holding me captive, I might like him.”

  Fleur made a sound as if she was either choking or gagging. It couldn’t possibly have been laughter. Cats didn’t laugh. Maybe they do here. Angel patted her back and set her down. “Lead on, kitty. You seem to know your way around this place pretty well.”

  The next stop was a snowy avenue of sorts, lined on both sides by ancient trees of some enormous variety. Statues were placed between the trees in various poses. Noblemen and women, courtiers, soldiers, all dressed as members of a royal court. Because of the recent snowfall, the ground beneath her feet was smooth and white, and she almost hated to leave tracks to diminish the perfection. But curiosity drew her to examine each one until she found herself at the end of the avenue and in full view of an ornately constructed glass house.

  She recalled the stained glass mirror and its story and surmised that this must be the glass house the gardener had been working on.

  The oblong structure was large and stately, no surprise considering the avenue that led to it and the castle beyond. The large panes of bluish-tinged glass were joined by a tarnished bronze framework, which during the warmer months could be tilted open to allow in warmer air. The glasswork extended to the ceiling, which formed a pair of whimsical curlicue peaks.

  Hesitating before the door, she reminded herself that they’d told her she could explore the grounds as well as the castle. She reached for the bronze handle, but Fleur slipped in front of her, stretched her long body out, and tilted the handle with a paw so the door swung inward silently.

  Within the glasshouse it was still chilly but not as much as outside. Dormant trees, shrubs, and potted plants filled the space, along with empty raised beds and tables that might have at one ti
me held seedlings being grown for planting in the castle garden.

  Fleur rubbed against her cloak and then pranced in, the swish of her tail almost beckoning for her to follow. Fleur looked back several times at her but remained silent, and Angel followed her through the quiet jungle until she heard the guttural rasp of a familiar voice.

  She gaped at Fleur and fumed. You led me right to him, didn’t you? You varmint!

  Fleur simply crinkled her whiskers, a particularly smirky expression for a simple cat, and licked her paw. Being careful to not catch her cloak on any of the branches, Angel moved toward the sound.

  Crouching down, she spotted Bestiale. Within his clawed grasp was a pair of shears, which he manipulated with great care, pruning a large potted rose bush that was positioned to receive sunlight. Everything else within the glass house appeared dormant, except for that rose bush. Crimson red roses grew from it, the same variety as the one Charmeur had presented her with at the dinner table.

  As she watched, he used great care in cutting another long-stemmed bloom. Using the shears with his large clawed hands must’ve presented a challenge, but he never rushed. After laying three roses aside, he took time trimming the bush, and while he did, he talked to it. He stroked the living canes gently, and as she watched, Fleur flitted over to him and jumped up onto his knee and made biscuits with her claws extended.

  Bestiale grunted at what must’ve been a rather painful sensation and then gave a rough chuckle. He rubbed at her head with an open hand, careful to not injure her with his claws. “What brings you out here, little one?”

  “Purr-kitt,” she murmured in her conversational feline chatter and rubbed her head against his forearm as he continued working.

  Bestiale sighed as he set aside his shears, and Angel heard him murmur, “I would rather cut my own throat than hurt her, but at every turn, that’s all I’ve done.”

  Fleur sat on his knee and vocalized softly, almost conversationally, and Bestiale paused in his ministrations to pat her head again. His expression, so animalistic, was tender as he scratched behind Fleur’s ears.