“Yeah, I can see that,” Angel said, disgust filling her as she used the telepathic link to reminded Fleur to keep her eyes and ears closed. Fleur made another gagging sound and buried her head against Angel’s shoulder. After staring long and hard at the worst mistake she’d ever made, she turned to the door.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Malcolm said with big sad eyes as he rounded the end of the large bed, still stark naked.
“I thought you were…” He sniffled for melodramatic affect. “I thought you were dead, honey. Please forgive a man for trying to move on. Dior just needed comforting.”
“Is that what you call fucking on my bed, in my private space? Moving on?”
“Wait, honey!” Malcolm said, reaching for her, but she backed away, gripping the gun in her good hand out of his sight. “Take me back! It was all a big mistake. I still love you. She wasn’t anything but a big mistake.”
“Hey!” Dior said in an affronted tone. “I’m right here. And don’t lie to her now. Just kill her and finish the job.” She purred and lay back on the bed, legs still spread wide. “And then you can finish the job you started with me while the cat watches.”
Fleur groaned. Put me down, Angel. I’m gonna hurl.
Angel had no choice when Fleur flexed her claws and the cat immediately jumped onto the mink coat on the chair by the bed. Don’t go far.
No worries. Gag.
“I know what you and Dior are up to, Malcolm. You thought once I was out of the way and Harrison had passed on that you’d get with the only other heir so you could keep your claws dug into our money.”
Malcolm let out a long sigh. “You have to admit it was a sound plan, darling.” His voice was calm and no longer pleading, the glint of evil in his eyes. “Dior likes money just as much as I do, and with you out of the way and that uncle dead, the money is ours. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said in a menacing tone as he reached for her.
“I’m afraid not,” Angel said as she pointed the .38 at his chest and backed to the door, grateful her father and uncle had taught her how to handle a firearm with targets but also in close quarters. Fleur, get your furry heinie over here, she muttered into the telepathic link. We gotta go.
About time, Fleur said as she swished her tail and the bedroom door opened on its own.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Malcolm growled as he kept advancing.
“Get her, Malcolm!” Dior screeched. “I want my money.” She gasped and made a sound so sharp and ear-shattering it made Fleur’s fur bristle and sent chills down Angel’s spine. “My mink coat! What did you do to it, you furry fleabag! Kill it! Kill them both!”
Malcolm turned to Dior and said, “Shut up, or I’m gonna kill you with my bare hands, bitch!” Dior cursed right back at him, not taking his threat seriously as she called him names and he returned the favor. The romantic interlude between the lovers provided Angel with enough of a distraction to flee down the hall. A lamp crashed against the wall, evidently thrown by Dior at Malcolm as they argued. Because they had been in her room, Angel was reasonably certain he wasn’t armed, unless his limp dick counted.
The sound of a tussle and clothing being jerked on was followed by a yelp from Malcolm. “Damn it, stop! It’s stuck in my zipper! Get away from me, you horny slut! There goes our meal ticket!”
“Catch her!”
The trip back down the hall was a short one, and Patricia gasped when Angel barreled through the door and locked it behind her.
Patricia whispered, “I heard. I’ve called the police and alerted the house staff to steer clear. The police should be here soon. What can I do?”
Angel put her finger to her lips as Malcolm’s footsteps pounded by in the corridor while Dior followed behind, bitching about her fur coat. Malcolm had been delayed just long enough getting dressed to not see her slip into her uncle’s room.
Angel’s heart ached as she looked at Harrison and Patricia and then at Fleur. They were out of time.
“Angel,” her uncle wheezed out. “Go, honey. Find your heart’s desire. You know you’ll see me again someday.” He kept saying those words, her heart’s desire, as if he understood everything.
“I know, Uncle Harrison, I just hate to leave if there’s still time to spend with you.”
“Trust me, honey,” he said with a gentle smile. “You won’t miss much. Go—”
The door vibrated as Malcolm began beating on it. “I hear you in there, damn it! Let me in! So help me I’ll kill all of you while the old cripple watches and then leave him to die all alone.”
Malcolm continued ramming against the door, his crazed epithets growing ever harsher. As Dior joined in with him, egging him on, Patricia went to Harrison’s side and reached under the covers for the gun, her hands wobbling.
“I don’t have any experience with firearms, but I’ll do my best to hold them off. No one’s hurting Harrison or the people he loves. Not on my watch.”
A crack appeared in the doorframe as Malcolm continued kicking at it, and Harrison held out a hand for Angel one last time. With her backpack securely on her shoulder and Fleur tucked tight to her side, Angel hurried to him and kissed his brow. She looked into his kind blue eyes, so much like her dad’s, one more time. Tears overflowed, and a sob lodged in her throat as Harrison patted her cheek. An alarm went off on one of the monitors as the crack in the doorframe lengthened and bowed inward with another blow.
“Go, Angel. I’ll be fine, you’ll see. Take care of this lovely feline. I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt. Hurry now.”
“Thank you, Patricia,” Angel said as the door began to give way.
Patricia nodded, the gun pointed at the door shakily, and said, “Be well and happy, honey. It was nice meeting you.”
We’ve got to go right now, Fleur said.
The dizziness returned, and along with it, the buzzing in her ears grew louder. Angel backed away from the bed and watched through dimming eyes as the door suddenly burst open and Malcolm charged in.
Chapter Twelve
Bestiale sat at the table on the terrace, contemplating his next move on the chessboard while Charmeur gazed at the darkening sky through the telescope. A shrill whistle rent the air, startling them. They both jumped up, knocking the chess pieces to the ground and the telescope askew.
Brothers! Fleur called in the telepathic connection. We’re back, and we need heeeeeeeelp! It sounded as if she was running.
Over Fleur’s frantic cry for help, another panting voice suddenly broke into their mental link, a voice he’d never thought to hear in such a manner. Help us, beasts! The avenue of statues! No, Fleur! Get to safety! He’ll kill you if he gets his hands on you, just to hurt me.
Bestiale leaped from the terrace, followed by Charmeur, and he’d never run so fast in his entire life.
Not on your life, sister! Reeeeeeeewr! Fleur’s high-pitched feline scream was followed by a growl and hiss and then a yelp.
Bestiale fought the helpless feeling that Fleur had been injured again, or that the woman he adored might also be hurt, as he poured on more energy and speed to reach them in time.
A startled whimper came from Angel, and Bestiale knew she’d either fallen or had stopped running. Both in the connection and in the closing distance he heard her say, “Don’t you hurt her, you bastard!”
Pain seared Bestiale’s face through the telepathic connection, and judging by Charmeur’s growl, he’d felt it, too. Bestiale whispered to her. Be still, notre beauté. Do not aggravate him further. We are close. Is he armed?
No, he’s not armed unless you consider his designer cologne a deadly weapon.
An unfamiliar voice shouted from nearby. “Fucking bitch! You gave me no choice when you broke up with me. This is all your fault. Do you have any idea how irritating that bitch of a stepmother of yours is?”
“Stay away from me!”
“I can’t. Don’t you see? If you won’t marry me, and hey, I don’t imagine you can find it in your heart to f
orgive me if you know everything, then I have no choice but to kill you and marry Dior since she’s next in line to inherit.”
“Yeah, that makes perfect sense, except for one thing, idiot,” Angel said with a scoff and then added in the telepathic link, Where is that damned revolver?
“You’re hardly in a position to call me names, bitch. My plan is foolproof. And where in the fuck did all this snow come from! Ah-ha! Looking for this, sweet Angel?”
Well crap, Angel whispered to Bestiale and Charmeur. He’s armed now…with my .38.
I don’t know what that is, mon ange, but we have the element of surprise.
It’s a firearm, and uh, yeah, he’s gonna be surprised, all right.
There! Charmeur shouted as they spotted Angel and Fleur—and the tall, dark-haired man looming over them.
We’re coming, Angel, Bestiale reassured as they ran alongside the statues, out of sight. His voice was an unearthly growl he barely recognized. He struck you. When we catch him, he dies horribly.
Sounding encouraged, Angel replied, Told you I’d be back. I didn’t intend for it to be with company.
Charmeur said, We will protect you, ange. The two of them closed in as the threatening intruder stalked toward her, murder in his eyes as blood leaked from the deep scratches on his face—evidently Fleur’s brave work.
Angel was clad in the minimal clothing she’d worn the first day he’d met her, and she was crouched shivering in the ice and snow with Fleur wrapped protectively in her arms, a crumpled ball of fur.
“Stay away from me, you animal!” Angel kept crawling backward to put distance between her and the threat.
The stranger examined the small weapon and grinned. “Fully loaded. How convenient.” He pointed the barrel of the weapon in her direction.
You are safe now, mon ange, Bestiale whispered, a split second before they leaped over the statue of one of the courtiers. A loud blast rent the air as they took the man who had harmed Angel and Fleur to the ground.
Anxiety for them both filled him—but the need for vengeance was even stronger.
* * * *
A deeply animalistic growl rumbled from Charmeur’s chest, and he saw red as the man’s eyes finally focused on who—or rather what—was holding him down in the snow. A high-pitched, effeminate scream erupted from him, and Charmeur cut the sound off with the grip on his throat and looked across at Angel and Fleur. Bestiale crawled across the short distance to them and opened his arms wide.
“I’m all right. I’m all right,” Angel said through chattering teeth. “It’s Fleur. He hit her hard when she attacked him. Fleur,” she whispered in a wavering tone, cradling the wet bundle of fur in her arms.
Thoughts of revenge for the damage done clouded Charmeur’s mind as he squeezed tighter, but then he heard his brother’s voice. No, mon frère. His voice sounded odd.
With clawed hands still grasping the throat of the monster who would have murdered the woman Charmeur loved more than his own life, he looked up. The enchantress stood before them. The heat of vengeance and rage still fired in his blood, so much that he could practically smell its coppery scent.
Tend to your loved ones, Charmeur. They need you.
Charmeur looked down at his stilled hands, which didn’t seem capable of letting go as his prey continued to thrash about fruitlessly.
The fae enchantress came closer and squatted down in front of him, her silver silk skirts flaring around her as she laid her hands on his furred ones. The movement was an unfamiliar and therefore uncharacteristic one. She’d always seemed above the fray, and now she waded into its midst without hesitation. He will get his reward, I swear. See to your loved ones. They need you.
Her tone got through to him, and his hands loosened. As he turned to his family, she spoke to his prey.
“Oh, how I have anticipated meeting you in person, Malcolm Ténèbres. Given the faulty justice system in your world, I couldn’t risk that you might succeed in your plan with Dior to secure the inheritance for yourselves.”
The bastard, evidently named for the blackness that inhabited his eyes, patted around on the ground, and the enchantress chuckled. “Looking for this?” She held the weapon with her fingertips before flinging it away with a nonchalant flip of her hand. It dissipated as if it had been made of vapor. She stood, looming over Malcolm as she captured him in thrall, and said, “Now, be still for a moment. I am needed. When I’m done, you’ll receive your justice.” Malcolm remained motionless, faint squeaking noises issuing from his vocal chords as he lay in the slushy, trodden snow.
The enchantress turned to them and looked down at the ground and frowned. Charmeur gasped when he saw the trail of blood that led to Bestiale, who was lying nearby with Angel crouched over him, whispering to him. Fleur lay limp in his arms, her white fur now stained crimson by his blood. The weapon had discharged before they’d reached Ténèbres and must’ve struck Bestiale.
No! Charmeur cried out as he fell at Bestiale’s side. The enchantress looked down at his brother, and sadness filled her eyes. Charmeur reached for the hem of her skirt. Please, Mistress. Take me in his place, if you must. This should be my lot for it was my folly that caused the curse. It should be my burden to bear. Please, heal them.
The enchantress kneeled in the snow beside their little group. Heedless of all the blood, she gathered Fleur with gentle hands and tucked her close to her side. Leaning across Bestiale, she touched Angel’s forearm as she sat shivering in the snow. Instantly Angel was wrapped in a gown of velvet and fur that protected her from the elements. Angel hardly paid attention as she continued murmuring to Bestiale while he gazed listlessly up at her. A weary smile curved his lips, revealing the tips of his fangs.
“I love you, mon ange. I’m glad we made it in time.” He lifted her hand to press to his lips, and Charmeur could see the growing red stain on the tanned leather of his vest.
Charmeur bowed his head and turned to the enchantress. Please, Mistress. I will go in my brother’s place. Save him.
A gentle hand stroked the thick fur between his beastly ears and a sense of warmth and grace filled him. Lifting his chin, the enchantress looked into his eyes. Her smile was blinding. My flirtatious prince, you’ve proved to me that you’ve learned your lesson in your willingness to sacrifice yourself for your brother. He truly is your brother, is he not?
He is, Mistress.
“Yes. I accept your tribute,” she said out loud with a nod.
“No.” Bestiale gasped as he held out his hand to her. “I will not accept this.”
The enchantress cocked her head. “It’s not up to you, valiant prince.”
“I’m no prince, Mistress. I am a common, coarse man, a gardener who doesn’t know his place. Remember? Charmeur is smooth of tongue and has courtly manners I will never possess. If you will it, he can rule this land with strength and wisdom, as our father never could. Please spare him. And I beseech you, spare Fleur, too. She is blameless. And allow Angel to return home, if it wouldn’t displease?”
The enchantress laughed out loud. “Not courtly? Psssh! Angel is home. I see it in her heart. Yes?” she asked as she turned her penetrating silver gaze on Angel.
“Yes.” Angel nodded. “My uncle isn’t expected to live after he attempted to murder him. Bestiale…Charmeur, and-and Fleur. I love them. They are my family. There is nothing keeping me in the other world now.” Tears flowed from her eyes, and a sob escaped her lips as she looked up. “My friends were still missing…soon they will be presumed dead. So, you see, I’ve lost everything that was important to me there.”
The fae asked, “What about your father’s vast wealth? Does it mean nothing to you?”
“Less than nothing. I would stay here even if you did not lift the curse. To be near them. My uncle was dying. Please don’t take Charmeur or Bestiale from me, too. Can you help Bestiale and Fleur? Please?”
The enchantress cast a quick glance at Malcolm lying supine in the snow his eyes rounded and terrified—a sight t
he fae seemed to enjoy quite a bit. When she placed a hand on Bestiale’s chest, while still cradling Fleur in one arm, a silver light emanated from her body, filling the immediate area with comforting illumination, and she whispered words in a fae tongue. Angel let out a breath she must’ve been holding at Bestiale’s other side, and Charmeur fell at the enchantress’s feet, ready to kiss her hem or her arse or whatever it took to keep her happy.
“Do you see now why I kept you in your beastly forms past your earlier declarations of love, pretty prince?”
“Lovely enchantress, though you are beautiful beyond belief, the fae are also known for their wisdom and strength—”
“As well as our capricious tempers, eh?”
“I meant no offense at any time, enchantress. I mean that you are as powerful and strong as you are wise and beautiful.”
“Laying it on a bit thick with your lady love nearby, aren’t you?” the fae enchantress asked with a hint of a chuckle in her voice as she stood. “But, yes, you are right. I could’ve freed you both from the curse and handled any trouble or danger that came with her return, provided she did return. But then you would’ve been denied the opportunity to prove your selfless love for each other. Charmeur, you volunteered to die in Bestiale’s place because you feel you bear responsibility for the curse. Angel volunteered to stay even if the curse wasn’t lifted because she loves you. Bestiale wanted you to stay with Angel because he believes your wooing and courtly ways somehow make you better for her. And Fleur…” She gently stroked the limp cat in her arms. “Little Fleur was ready to give her life for your lady. That is family.” She whispered to Fleur. The faint rumble of Fleur’s purring filled the air, and she extended her front legs out in a long luxuriant stretch and opened her eyes.
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