by Lindsay Mead
Table of Contents
Map of God’s Cup
Hunter’s Creed
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Author Notes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015, Lindsay Mead
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing, of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Young Adult Fantasy Romance
Demon possession has swept through Glace’s neighboring kingdom, turning humans into hellhounds. These great, fanged wolves are wild, desperate, and hungry. Only the sworn Hunters have kept them back for five long, bloody years.
At the young age of fifteen, Belle LeClair became a Hunter. She no longer remembers how many hounds she’s killed, or how many friends she’s buried. Still, Belle leads the hunt till a tragedy forces her deep into the dark kingdom. Her heart will be turned, her loyalty tested— and fate will intervene.
Amid a backdrop of Steampunk inventions and a harsh winter landscape, The Beast is a re-imagining of the infamous love between a beauty and a beast.
Cover and Interior Artwork by Mooney Designs
Interior Design by QA Productions
I dedicate this series to Trisha Wolfe.
I knew how to write (for the most part), but you taught me how to tell a story. You were the cheerleader in my corner and my toughest coach.
Thank you.
To everyone else—
go read her books.
The Hunter’s Creed
Oh Holy Angel, attendant of our wretched souls and afflicted life, forsake us not.
Give no place to the evil demon to subdue us with the oppression of these mortal bodies; but take us by our outstretched hands, and guide our weapons to smite the minions of hell who now walk the earth.
As warring angels of God, we give blood for the blood of the demon possessed, should He so choose it.
Pardon us for the evil we must do in thy name,
For we deliver to thee the souls of all the lost departed from the pains of hell and from the bottomless pit.
In nomine Patris, et Filii,
et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.
It was a good night for a hunt. Delicate snowflakes flurried to the ground, adding to the already thick, white blanket that coated the forest floor of Vakre Fjell. Its hush was the only sound to disrupt the hum of burning gas lamps lining the dangerous paths.
Belle’s trusty Friesian horse, Charming, huffed and pawed impatiently. His steamy breath swirled up before being absorbed by the cold. Belle’s gaze waded through the darkness that lay beyond the trees. She listened, waiting for the devils to be drawn to her warm flesh.
Then she heard it; the thudding of swift moving, heavy paws. She tapped the reins against Charming’s neck. He spun on his heel as Belle drew one of her revolvers.
A hellhound raced toward her.
He was big, feral, and his lips curled back in anticipation. He came within range, a snarl ripping from his chest.
She exhaled, then squeezed the trigger. A silver bullet burst forth in a smoky explosion, destroying the forest’s peaceful silence. The hound plunged into the snow and skidded several feet. Blood trickled from its head wound; a stark contrast against the white snow. The twitching body claimed half the path. Belle pressed her boot into Charming’s side, cuing him toward it.
They walked casually, unafraid, up to the hellhound. It didn’t breathe, its eyes didn’t follow her. Snowflakes started to gather on the tips of its thick, brown fur. There was no doubt the devil was dead. She’d given it a far quicker death than it would have given her.
Satisfied, Belle urged Charming away from the carnage. The familiar ringing, like an angel’s voice, sang into the air. Lights jetted out before her, dancing over the trees and glittering snow. Without looking back, Belle knew that as the illumination faded, the hellhound’s corpse would be gone, replaced with a clothed, human body.
The belief was that, five years ago, the Devil took hold of Vakre Fjell for its sinful ways. He’d claimed the Vakrein people as his own and turned them into hellhounds. The proof of this was found when they transitioned in death—with rays of gold light—from hound to human. Death freed them.
That’s why the Hunters existed. To protect the village of Contefées and exterminate the demon spawn, the Catholic Church had formed a small army of defenders. Led by Belle’s father, Henri LeClair, the group of civilian men became protectors, and “Hunter” became their title.
Two soft pops drew Belle’s gaze from the forest. Over the trees, a scarlet flare soared brightly through the night sky. Tiny red sparks trickled in its wake like an ever-growing tail.
“A pack,” Belle whispered. Faint, distant shouts and gunshots followed. “Yah!” Charming sprang like a living bullet. He covered the ground at a gallop, his hooves thundering. She leaned into him, giving him enough rein to run unhindered.
They had to hurry. Hellhounds were hungry, ravenous demons. A single Hunter could handle a few on his own, but when they gathered in groups, they took on a terrifying pack mentality. Though it was rare, it could mean certain death if a Hunter was alone.
A second flare went up. Belle and Charming ran parallel with the ambush. She wanted to cut through the woods and get there quicker, but she couldn’t leave the trail. The forest of Vakre Fjell was vast and easily disorienting. Many Hunters died while creating the lit paths, and the first thing every new recruit learned was to never leave them.
Charming sped down the trail, eating up ground and scattering snow with each step. His long, black mane lashed her cheeks like tiny, stinging whips. The battling Hunters and hellhounds weren’t far off now.
A hellhound jumped from the woods at Charming’s head. The horse jolted to the side, evading its deadly paws. The devil crashed ungracefully into a snowbank. She raised her gun to aim, but an unseen set of claws sank into her shoulder.
There was no chance to cry out from pain as she was wrenched from the saddle, then slammed to the ground. The collision shook through her body, briefly dazing her. Belle forced her eyes open just in time to see sharp teeth descending. She jerked away and fired on instinct. The bullet shot clean through the hellhound’s skull. It fell limp to the ground, almost on top of her.
Two bullets down. Four left, Belle noted a
s she pushed herself up from the blood-tinged snow.
Charming was rearing up and slamming his hooves down at the first hellhound. There was no fear in the horse, only the pure animal need to survive. The creature growled and snapped at him while trying to avoid those large hooves. Belle took aim, and when her Friesian reared again, creating an opening, she shot. The hound’s head whipped back with a snap and it tumbled over itself.
Belle couldn’t help but smile. Three head shots in a row—not bad. Three bullets left.
Trotting over to her, Charming nickered from deep within his chest.
“Well done, boy,” Belle said, as she hoisted herself into the saddle.
Pain seared hot in her right shoulder. Warm blood seeped down her back. She ignored it; no time to tend the injury now.
The stallion rushed around the last curve. Cold air swept Belle’s fur cloak up off her back as they approached the battle. Her Hunters were all alive and fighting. Two were still mounted, but three fought from the ground with their well-trained Friesians helping to defend them. The quiet night was filled with noise; howling, growling, barking, and Hunters shouting to one another between gunshots.
From beside his horse, Gastone slashed his sabre at two attacking hellhounds. As Charming brought Belle into the fray, she aimed, pulled the trigger. Aimed and pulled again. Both hounds dropped. Gastone looked up at her and relaxed his bloody sword.
“Merci, mademoiselle,” he said with a breathless smile. His face and clothes were smeared with crimson, but she was certain the blood wasn’t his.
“Are you out of bullets already, Gastone?” she teased.
“My body, or should I say bodies, of work.” He gestured to the surrounding dead hounds, a few of which had already returned to their lost human forms.
“Reload. I’ll cover you.” Belle removed her second revolver as Gastone pushed back a fallen strand of his black hair, sheathed his sabre, and began reloading. One hellhound leapt over another, eager for the distracted Hunter. Belle put a round in its chest, emptying her first pistol.
Growling rumbled nearby, alerting Belle. She turned in her seat and shot with her left hand, which was nearly as good as her right. Nearly as good. The bullet grazed the attacker’s ear, not stopping the hound’s charge. Belle stayed calm, waiting for it to jump—knowing it would jump. Its muscles gathered as it advanced and, sure enough, it sprang. From two feet away she fired again. The creature flew backward with a yip, dying before it hit the ground. Four bullets left.
A cluster of hellhounds pressed in on the men. In quick succession, Belle dispatched three hounds, missing once from her perch atop Charming. Still more demons appeared from all sides. The scent of blood called to them.
No time to reload, Belle tucked away her empty gun and drew her sabre. The sword’s weight in her palm felt good, strong. She clenched the hilt, shifting it beneath her gloved fingers. Belle dismounted and took up arms alongside her Hunters. With silver and steel, gunpowder and muscle, they killed each devil that tried for them.
A dead hound reverted to its human body, sending out a blinding light. One hellhound tried to take advantage of this by dashing past Belle, but she was fast. She struck out, slicing open its side. It yelped and lunged for her. With a twist of her body, she ran the sabre through its temple. Before it could drag her down, she yanked her weapon free.
“More on the approach!” bellowed Andre.
Delano responded with a wicked twinkle in his eye, “Holy damn, the devils are out tonight.”
Belle was already moving. She grabbed her rifle from the saddle holder. It was loaded and ready to go, but she only had one shot. Belle dropped down behind Gastone and Andre, her skirts billowing on the snow around her. Letting her sabre fall to the ground, she needed both hands to take aim. One of the snarling fiends was in her sights. The following blast was bigger, louder, than that of her revolvers. The hound went down, and the men made quick work of the others. Sabre and shotgun in hand, Belle got to her feet.
The last gunshots echoed into oblivion. The sudden onset of silence was alarming and so were the number of corpses surrounding them. Dozens by the look of it. It was barely a speck, no bigger than the snowflake that landed on her eyelash, compared to the countless she had killed over the years.
It pained her to see women and men lying dead in the snow, dead by their hands. At the beginning of her hunting career, Belle would have reminded herself that they were fighting the devil—freeing these people. Belle believed it wholeheartedly then. She had to; for her sanity’s sake. But then Belle killed a hellhound that turned into child…No amount of Holy Scripture could repair the damage done by seeing that dead little girl. Because in the end, how could a child be a sinner?
“I know what we do is difficult to face because we don’t really understand what happened to these poor souls. But we know what will happen if we fail in our duty.” Henri had told her that between her broken-hearted sobs. He didn’t need to voice that Contefées would be overrun, and then the hellhounds would move throughout all of Glace. Killing and killing. “We hunt so that we can protect. Above all else, remember that.”
Belle always would.
“So, what is your count, Belle?” Gastone asked. She blinked, allowing the memories to fade and bringing the present into focus. When she didn’t answer straight away, he said, “I had thirteen.”
The smugness in his voice made Belle smile. He thought he had bested her. She walked over to Charming, replaced her rifle, and remounted before answering, “I had thirteen as well.”
Gastone’s face fell. “You jest.”
She laughed with a shake of her head. To the others she said, “Are you gentlemen ready to call it a night? I think we’ve reached our quota.”
The siblings, Delano and Nicolas, remained on the lookout for loan hellhounds. Jean Legrand, a mountain of a man, reloaded his many guns and Andre, Gastone’s closest friend, checked his horse for injuries. They each looked up from their tasks and chorused their enthusiastic approval as one.
Belle reached into her saddlebag to remove a flare gun. She then tapped the Electro-Phonic Chip hugging her right ear.
“Friar, we are ready for you. Bring two carts.” She positioned her finger over the communication device. “Standby for the flare.”
Each night, while they hunted, Friar Clemens and a Hunter waited outside the forest. Their job was to collect the dead. Belle touched the ear chip again to stop it from sending out her voice. Extending her arm, she fired the flare gun. Green sparks exploded with a pop.
Franck’s voice came through the earpiece’s receiver. “Location confirmed.”
Franck was one of the original Hunters who served under Belle’s father. When she took command of her own hunting party, the older Hunters stepped down from full active duty to serve in a smaller, safer, capacity. A Hunter never retired.
Belle’s hunting party was on the lookout as they waited. She removed the cover to her gun’s bullet chamber, placing the thin piece of metal between her teeth. Reaching into a small pouch at her waist, she grabbed six rounds. Handmade by the Hunters, each silver bullet was etched with a black cross into its side. Belle popped them, one by one, into the tight compartments.
As she worked, Belle admired her gorgeous revolvers. Designed just for her, they were shaped like a lowercase ‘L’ with no sharp edges and an easy curve for the handle. Silver vines, comprised of leafy accents, wrapped the guns’ wooden frames from tip to handle. The depiction of a gold, shooting star stretched across their barrels—As though, instead of bullets, Belle shot cosmic fire. Secured to each barrel’s underside were spring-loaded twin bayonets that sprang forth at the press of a button.
She had loaded three shells when movement caught her attention. Belle paused, watching. From the thick tree line two hellhounds dropped onto the snow-tousled path, running straight for them.
Accepting that she would have to do this with only three, Belle stuffed the last of her bullets back into her pouch. She snatched the cover
from her teeth and shoved it over the gun’s chamber. From the corner of her vision, she saw Gastone watching her. He hadn’t yet noticed the coming hellhounds, and this was her chance to steal the lead count. Confidence filled her—but then one growled.
Gastone smiled knowingly.
Gastone turned his shameless smirk to Belle. Magnanimous, his stallion, sensed their rising energy and danced in place. Acting faster than Gastone, Belle cued Charming and the horse launched first down the path.
The hellhounds and horses sped through the snow, barreling straight for one another. On this current course, Belle could kill the closest hound, giving Gastone time to kill the other, but that wouldn’t break their tie. Belle thought through her vast répertoire of riding tricks. She’d practiced with Charming over the years and had the perfect one to secure her both kills.
“Okay, Charming, the Flying Angel.” His ears flicked in her direction, listening to her instructions. Belle released the reins and placed her hands on the saddle’s pommel. Shifting her weight onto her arms, she raised her body up off the horse. With stable breaths and complete focus, she dragged her feet beneath her until they rested on the seat. Belle was poised, Charming’s stride remaining steady to give her balance. “Get ready.”
Beneath her, she could feel Charming’s muscles gathering—but not yet. The hellhound had to be in just the right place. They drew closer. She could hear the demon’s growl. Closer still. Then, she gave the command. “Down!”
Charming skidded to a halt, throwing his momentum into his back. Belle uncoiled her legs and, like a tightly wound spring suddenly released, she propelled into the air. Up she went. Body straight. Arms out. Over the hound she sailed. Her free hand smoothly grabbed the throwing knives strapped to her chest. With practiced grace, Belle flung them at the hellhound below. Each blade struck his body in perfect order. His yip wretched the silence.
Altitude waning, Belle arched her body, flipping and twisting to the ground. She landed in a crouch, skirts tumbling around her, and aimed her gun at the other nearing hound. A second to steady her hand—she fired. Snow dusted against Belle’s cheeks as the hellhound bashed into the ground a few feet away.