Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “You’ve done nothing but torment me,” he growled.

  “I’ve done nothing but torment you?” she repeated, eyes growing wider. “What alternate universe are you living in? And how do I wormhole over?” At her sarcasm, Anteros drew her to him. She gasped as he snaked his arm around her waist, crushing her body to his.

  “You tempt me,” he declared.

  She fisted her fingers, eyes flashing to his. “You’re delusional.”

  “I don’t know why you won’t just give in,” he thundered. “I know you want to.”

  “I do not.” She fisted against his chest, trying to push away.

  “So if I felt here—” his hand grazed between her thighs “—it wouldn’t be wet? Wanting? Ready?”

  “If you’re so sure then just take me.” Her words were spat like venom from a snake. “Just do it. Just take me. You’ve never cared what I want.” She gripped his lapels.

  “Is that what you think? Or what you tell yourself?” He thrust her against the wall. She stood on her tiptoes, feet dancing on the floor as she struggled to find ground while he held her in the air. His eyes caught the painting behind her, an oil of Paris. He’d been there plenty of times, and had purchased the piece from a local artist on one of his more recent trips. His mind flashed to the wrinkly magazine cutout of Paris he’d seen on her wall.

  “I don’t understand why you don’t.” Frankie looked away. Her eyes flashed to his briefly, angrily, filled with heat, burning anguish. Anteros frowned but dropped her completely with a harsh growl. He stalked to the other side of the room, feeling the need for distance as much as his next breath. What the fuck was he doing? He’d meant to come in and only ask her the questions about her lineage, to get to the bottom of what was really going on with the Pavoni Princess. Never in a million years would he have imagined the Pavoni Princess rumor could have any truth to it. It would be like finding out there was a mermaid living and breathing, but some things just weren’t adding up.

  He couldn’t focus.

  She drove him mad.

  Any time he was close to her, she had the ability to coil chaos inside of him, drive lust like a railroad spike through his brain. He focused on the decor in his library instead. It spanned all three floors, with a spiral staircase connecting the balconies that housed the different levels of books. The library was a mix of modern and antique, with intricate carved molding but clean and simple colors.

  There were a few accent items, like the chair, and the rug; those were a brilliant, cornflower blue, so bright it was clear. The blanket she’d been using to warm herself, it too was composed of such intricately woven strands of blue it looked like a brilliant galaxy of stardust.

  Still with his back to her, Anteros loosened his tie, giving her his patience. The silky gray material of his tie slid through his fingers as he tugged it off his neck. He placed the tie on the custom wingback chair then turned from the blue fabric to her. Leaning with his forearms on the high back, he studied her.

  A pink blush crept up from her neck and spread to her cheeks. She bit her lip, eyes stuttering from the floor to the ceiling to the door and back again.

  Slowly he walked back to her, as if compelled. He clasped her chin, dragging her attention to him. Sliding his thumb between her lips, he gently pulled the bottom one down, exposing her white teeth. She was growing anxious; he could see it by the way her breasts heaved up and down with heated breaths. For a moment he regretted giving her the choice to choose her clothes that day—the tight cream-colored sweater she wore teased him.

  Anteros grasped her and pushed her against the bookshelves. He pressed a knee between her thighs, pushed his chest against hers, and gathered her hands in his, pulling them above her. Gliding his nose along her skin, from the nape of her neck, down to the vee in her shirt, and back up again, he inhaled her. So sweet, so spicy, utterly Frankie. It was maddening.

  “I thought I told you not to lie,” he whispered against her jugular.

  “I—I—” she stuttered. “I didn’t. I really don’t understand why you don’t.” At her response, Anteros hoisted his thigh up, pushing hard against her sex. Frankie gasped. That gasp, even more than the way her sex completely melted against him, fucking tore him apart. It was the first sign that she was giving in.

  “Should I take you hard, then?” Anteros thrust against her, pressing her against the wall so Frankie would feel every hard pack in his body. “Or soft?” He lessened his assault and snaked his hands through her hair. Grasping her skull, he brought her face to his, taking her in a slow kiss. Her hair was like silk, her face so small in his hands.

  Frankie sucked him back, tonguing him feverishly against his slow, leisurely kisses. Still, her now free arms wouldn’t move. They splayed behind her body, pressing hard against the wall as if for dear life. Frustration churned in his gut.

  Breaking the contact, he whispered against her lips, “Should we go fast?” Her eyes widened as he crushed his lips against hers, putting actions to words. Anteros worked his lips quickly down her neck and his hands stretched and tore her shirt open to reveal the tops of her small, delicate breasts. Then he paused. Palms resting lightly on her skin, he looked at her.

  Like everything else about her, Frankie’s breasts were teasing. A small blush crept from the delicate curves, spreading from her neck to the beautiful arch of her cheeks. He wanted to tear her to the floor and ravish her.

  But that wasn’t what this was about.

  “Or slow?” He calmed his actions, bending down to kiss her curves leisurely. Frankie’s quick pants turned into sighs and her hands snaked around his neck. The feel of Frankie around him was a victory that lit up his entire body. Anteros rumbled, low in his chest, something sounding like approval. Something felt so fucking right about her arms around him. A voice whispered that he would destroy anything, break anyone just to feel that.

  And so Anteros quickly destroyed that thought, getting back to the task at hand.

  “Should I fuck you gently,” he asked, kissing his way back up to her mouth. “Or with passion?” His hands grasped her ass and he lifted her to him. Frankie’s legs tightened around his waist. She groaned into his mouth as he ground his cock against her center.

  As Frankie started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, Anteros asked, “Which way would best erase the doubt in your mind, mio cuore?” He hadn’t meant to say the term of endearment, but it had just slipped out. Luckily Anteros was sure Frankie didn’t know much, if any, Italian. “Which way would best confirm I am the monster of the story?” He dropped her then, and she fell to the hard library floor.

  Frankie looked down, chocolate hair shadowing her face. She didn’t try to cover herself and in that moment, Anteros nearly bent down to pick her back up. She looked so demure, enthralling. Then the next few words she spoke reminded him exactly why he didn’t. Her voice was quiet, determined.

  “I…” She swallowed. “I don’t need any confirmation. I know you’re the monster.” Her eyes flashed to his, hatred burning bright. She had a reddish blush on her face, one he’d put there. The strawberry tint crept down past her cheeks, onto her chest, and he knew it crept farther down. She looked spent. He’d marked her in some way. Even if her mind wouldn’t let him, her body would do it for her.

  “If you’re so sure, Frankie,” Anteros replied. “Then I won’t bother trying to persuade you. After today, you can be sure of that.”

  Anteros could still taste her on his tongue, like salt and something else. Something delicious, nearly indescribable. Something that melted like ice cream but was thick and sweet like chocolate. Something entirely Frankie. It made him want to skip meals, skip drinks, to keep that taste on his tongue a little while longer.

  It made him want to taste her everywhere. His thoughts drifted to what she tasted like between her legs…

  “Mr. Drago?” Rhys asked, drawing his attention back to the present. “The media has been given the story and the senator is expected to resign in a few days.” Anter
os nodded, barely paying attention. He’d left her on the library floor, heading straight to his home office where Rhys and Emilio were waiting, but all he could think about was Frankie. That exorcism had failed completely; if anything, he’d just opened the door for more demons.

  “What have you each heard about the Pavoni Princess?” he asked, completely changing topic.

  “What?” Rhys asked, confusion spanning his face in wrinkles. “What is the Pavoni Princess?”

  “What have you heard?” Anteros probed, eyes wandering to Emilio.

  “Have you been hanging around the soldiers?” Emilio laughed. Upon seeing Anteros’s face, he sobered. “It’s a myth. The story goes that somewhere there’s a princess continuing the Pavoni line. It’s a bedtime story they told themselves after the Blood War to feel better about the fact that nearly all the Pavonis died.”

  Glowering, Anteros stood up and walked around his desk, tapping the wood in rhythm. Nothing Emilio had said was news to him, but Dario’s version had sparked something. He’d never heard a version that involved a fifth sister and a child. It was intriguing. It was…

  It was all nonsense.

  All lies.

  Anteros clenched his fist, releasing a sigh. “Never mind.” Still his mind was foggy. It was a unique feeling—a fucking annoying feeling. His mind had never been foggy before. He knew exactly what was causing it, too.

  Almost as if on cue, Rhys spoke. “Since you still haven’t done anything with the slave, does that mean you want to pursue Africa?”

  Anteros slid into his chair and faced the window. It was so dark outside the sky appeared inky. Minutes passed in silence as thoughts dissolved into raw feeling inside him. The idea of giving Frankie up was repulsive. Returning Frankie to Notte had felt like he was tearing a part of himself away, but he’d tried because it was necessary.

  Giving her to some asshole in Africa?

  Not a chance.

  “The slave is off the table,” Anteros replied. A few more hours passed while they finished up discussing business. Rhys didn’t bring up Africa again but Anteros never stopped thinking about it. Frankie brought him nothing but trouble. Anteros was known for his single-minded focus on business, for his ruthlessness and cunning. With her, he had none of those. Why was he keeping her around? Giving her up was the right call, whether she went to Africa or the street.

  Even knowing that, he couldn’t do it.

  When Emilio and Rhys left, it was nearing the middle of the night. Still, Anteros pressed the call button for Nikolai. Minutes later, his curls appeared, bent deferentially in the doorway.

  “Boss?” Nikolai asked.

  “I have a special task for you,” Anteros said. “There are rumors about a Pavoni Princess. I need you to find out if there is any merit to them. I suggest you start with Antonio Notte. He had some ideas on the matter.”

  “Yes, Boss.” Nikolai nodded then shut the door. When it clicked, Anteros stared at the thick wood, mind still on the slave sleeping in his bed downstairs.

  Nine

  Out on the patio overlooking the Hudson River, I had a friend. Gabby and I sat drinking hot chocolate, laughing, and for a moment, my life felt normal. For a moment, I could forget the way I’d met her. Her name was really Gabriella, but she told me to call her Gabby. She was the girl with brilliant blonde hair and warm brown eyes who’d shown me kindness the night Arlo had tried to rape me, the girl with bruises to rival my own.

  That night she’d told me she’d never had any girlfriends before—never had any friends at all. Sound familiar? Then she’d trailed off, chocolate eyes betraying the first sense of disharmony since showing up like my own fairy godmother. She’d smiled, turned to me, and said, “But now I do. We’re friends, right?”

  She looked so young then, eyes big and wide as if looking to me for saving. I could practically see the fourteen-year-old child bride still trapped in her body. I regarded her now, as she poured her mug of cocoa. Her hands trembled slightly though the rest of her was calm, and I knew the tremble wasn’t from the cold.

  After what had happened with the Beast in the library, I had a feeling I was in desperate need of friends now more than ever. The icy cold way he’d spoken to me after I’d called him a monster was tattooed in my brain. If you’re so sure, Frankie, then I won’t bother trying to persuade you. After today, you can be sure of that.

  I shivered, his words affecting me still.

  “You should wear a jacket,” Gabby said, pulling me out of the past.

  “You sound like him,” I commented insolently. “Telling me what to do.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied. “That wasn’t my intention.” I exhaled, feeling badly. It wasn’t fair of me to talk harshly to Gabby because she had no defenses. It was like hitting a turtle without a shell. Before I could apologize, she asked, “What are you thinking about?”

  “The first time we met,” I replied, lying a bit. Gabby sat next to me on the balcony, nose reddened by the winter cold. When she’d first shown up, I’d been sitting on the bed, having just nearly been raped, in a tattered periwinkle dress that earlier in the night I’d compared to a fairytale.

  This isn’t a fairytale, Frankie. I shook my head at the words that popped into my head, taking a sip of hot chocolate. Still, memories continued to run through my head like a movie on projection. So much happened in the short thirty minutes Gabby had come to treat me.

  I’d found a comrade in arms in Gabby, in her bruises, and in the lies she told to survive. There wasn’t cowardice in her dishonesty, there was honor in it. Lies were the only way she’d survived four years as a child bride, and she taught me that I could survive that way too. It wasn’t the type of lying you do when you cheat on a test. Gabby showed me lies would be my armor. Soon I would lie so much, I wouldn’t know who I was. If the real Frankie died, he could never get to me. I looked at Gabby, wondering who she had been four years ago, and shivered again—maybe because of the cold, but probably not.

  Gabby watched me shiver as if she wanted to say something, but instead asked, “Can you keep a secret?”

  I raised a brow. “Even if I couldn’t, who am I going to tell? The Beast?” As if we shared so much. “Picture that.”

  “Good point.” Gabby scooted closer to me on the patio. “I’m pregnant.”

  I raised a brow. “Is that good news?” I imagined the Beast’s baby inside of me. Just the thought of it had me tightening the grip on my dove gray sweater.

  “You asked me the other day why I didn’t run. I think I will run now.” Gabby touched her stomach. When she’d come to me I’d wondered why she didn’t just run away. I had Papa to think about, but Gabby? Why didn’t she just flee?

  “It was nice to know you, Gabby,” I said. “Even for a little while.”

  “I’m not leaving just yet, but still, before I go, you need to know—there are cameras.” She reached for the pitcher of hot chocolate again. “They all have them.” I froze. So he could see me, right now? He could see me all the time? I thought about everything I’d ever done and dismay washed over me. I was never alone.

  “Don’t worry.” Gabby touched my arm upon seeing my face. “There aren’t any cameras out here. There is one in your room. It faces the bed, because of course it does right?” She laughed. “Once you know what to look for you’ll see them everywhere. They look like shiny black bugs.”

  “So he heard everything we talked about? When you came to visit me the first night?” We’d talked about such private things. I know it’s ridiculous to expect privacy, but she’d let me in on such a huge secret. She’d told me how Gabriella was what the men called her but Gabby was her true name. With fairies and other mythological creatures, the only way to kill them was by learning their true name. It was a closely guarded secret, and when she’d told me her name, I’d felt as though she had let me in on hers. Maybe it was dumb, but I felt privileged. Why would she—

  “They don’t have sound,” Gabby said. Oh.

  “Where is it l
ocated?” I asked.

  “The painting.” I nodded again, trying to stymie the nausea creeping over me. I remembered how Gabby had looked at the painting and it made sense. I loved that painting. Much like most of the Beast’s paintings, it was abstract. Many nights I couldn’t sleep and I stared at that painting. The longer I stared, the more the haphazard and aimless strokes took form.

  Of course it was tainted.

  I hadn’t read the journal in a few days, but that first time, the time Nikolai commented, I had hidden it under the mattress. Had the Beast seen? How could he not have?

  Nausea twisted in my gut.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gabby said. “Don’t worry about the cameras. Really. There are much worse things to worry about.” She added the last bit quietly, almost as an afterthought.

  “We’re all out of hot chocolate,” I said numbly, standing to my feet. “I’ll go get more.” Gabby gripped my arm, a fierce, frightened look coming over her features.

  “You should really let your boy do that,” she said.

  My features twisted. “My boy?”

  “The blond one.”

  “Nikolai?” I asked. “I can get my own hot chocolate, thanks.” I tried to shrug her off but she wouldn’t let go. “Let me go, Gabby.” I twisted in her hold and eventually she released me, reluctance written across her face as if she knew she couldn’t stop me. Her voice drifted over my shoulder as I walked through the patio doors.

  “He won’t be happy…” It was haunted, and it nearly stopped me, but I shook my head and kept going.

  In the kitchen, I hunted for packs of hot chocolate. I tore open the pantry, rifling through shelves, but couldn’t find anything. Figured. The cocoa did taste like that ridiculously expensive kind, the kind made on a stove—the kind that’s literally melted chocolate. Of course there wasn’t going to be some packet of dyed sugar lying around. I sighed, setting the pitcher down.