by Lindsay Mead
As she stepping into the hall, Gastone and Jean were walking toward her. They were both wearing their dark cloaks and their weapons glinted from the indoor lights. Gastone carried his rifle strapped to his back, a personal preference that Belle didn’t share. Rifles were heavy and Belle already had enough material weighing her down.
“The horses are ready,” Gastone said, stopping several feet away at the sight of her. His manner was stern and closed off. He may have agreed to this, but it didn’t make him happy.
“The Prince is still very weak. I’m not sure he can make the journey on foot.” Belle looked between the two men, focusing on the task ahead rather than addressing Gastone’s emotional state. “Harness two horses to the flatbed for him to ride on. Friar Clemens will have to drive it. I’ll head up to get the Prince.”
Jean nodded authoritatively and turned to leave. He walked several paces before realizing that Gastone hadn’t followed. The large Hunter stilled, watching them both warily. His inability to communicate efficiently perhaps giving him an aptitude for observing the subtleties that others lacked.
Gastone said nothing, instead stared at her as though he wished to. He clutched his jaw, thinking something over. Ultimately, he thought better of whatever he’d wanted to say and simply nodded. Then he turned and pounded past the watchful Jean, who seemed relieved and followed after.
Rifle in one hand, Belle went up the stairs to Aleksander’s room. Taking a collective breath, she opened the door. Aleksander lay curled up on the bed. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, being as the bed was clearly too small for him. He raised his head and looked at her with his wolfish eyes.
“It’s time to go,” she said simply.
With a casual exhale, the Prince pushed himself up and stepped off the bed. Belle had only ever seen the beast standing on two legs but was not surprised that even on all four he was impossibly large. Hellhounds were two, even three, times larger than a normal wolf. Aleksander made them look like pups.
Belle walked alongside him as they made their way down the hall. His claws clicked against the wood floor and his paws padded heavily with each step. Knowing that small talk was impossible, Belle decided to feign comfort in their involuntary silence.
As it was still daytime, LeClair House was above sea level. Which was fortunate, because Belle had no idea how Aleksander would have fit in the lift. As it were, his wide shoulders barely squeezed through the front door. Grabbing her fur cloak before leaving, Belle draped it over her shoulders. The white fur grazed softly against her skin as she pulled out her gloves and tugged them on.
With a little extra luck, the sun was shining when Belle stepped outside where Aleksander was waiting. His dark fur rippled from the breeze and his nose was tipped up, scenting the air off the Norwegian Sea. Distant gray clouds warned them of coming snow. Gauging its distance, Belle was certain they could reach Castle Vakre Fjell before the clouds made landfall.
“Your transport is ready, your Royal Highness,” said Friar Clemens from beside the aforementioned flatbed.
It was harnessed to two strong horses, but even Belle worried that it wouldn’t be enough to pull Aleksander. Nicolas, Delano, and Andre were already mounted up and waiting. Jack was just approaching their assembly upon his new steed, with her Charming in tow. Leaving Aleksander’s side, Belle placed her hands on her Friesian’s muzzle and greeted him. He puffed delightedly into her palms.
“Your Highness, if you please,” Friar Clemens prompted, pulling the Prince’s eyes from Belle.
With a subtle groan, Aleksander approached the flatbed’s rear. The horses shied at the sight and smell of Beast-Aleksander. Comforting pats and words from their riders settled them, but their flicking ears and wide eyes showed their unease. Only Charming seemed unbothered by his presence. Belle supposed that carrying Aleksander on his back would have such an effect.
The Prince ignored the animals’ hubbub. With an easy leap, he alighted onto the flatbed. It pitched side to side with his weight. The wheel axles moaned and the boards creaked in distress. Aleksander quickly laid down to steady the wagon.
As they waited for Jean and Gastone, Belle gave Charming a quick look over. She checked his hooves for problems, made sure he was groomed properly, and then went over his tack. Everything was as it should be, girth tight and all. Belle stuffed her rifle down into the saddle’s scabbard.
“Jack,” Belle said, reaching down to tie up her skirts. He looked at her, showing no ungentlemanly interested in her flash of skin. “I never got to ask you, what name did your horse get?”
Monsieur Bane, the Hostler, named the stallions he gave to the Hunters. All the names were regal in theme, chosen with the intention of honoring the impressive breed. Their names were also indications of their heritage. Magnificent and Magnanimous, for example, were given similar names due to their sharing of the same bloodline.
“Knightly,” Jack answered with a proud grin.
Giving them both a quick appraising eye, Belle then mounted. “It suits him, and you.”
Jack welcomed this complement by tipping his cowboy hat. As he did, Gastone and Jean approached a trot. The unofficial royal guard was now complete. Friar Clemens climbed into the driver’s seat of the flatbed and took up the reins. Everyone looked to Belle.
Pressing back her shoulders, Belle gave out her travel instructions. On a hunt, everyone entered the forest in a certain order with Belle going first. This wasn’t a hunt however and Belle wasn’t leaving Aleksander’s side; though she didn’t plan on admitting that last part outright. This time Gastone would take the lead, Andre and Jack behind him, Jean would guard Aleksander along with Belle, and Nicolas and Delano would take up the rear.
“Any questions?” No one spoke up. “Then let’s get this prince back to his castle.”
“Here, here!” Several Hunters heartily agreed.
Belle signaled and, moving as a single unit, they made their way to the forest edge. The Hunters took up their positions seamlessly. She guided Charming over to walk alongside the wagon, glancing at Aleksander the same moment he glanced at her. They couldn’t speak to one another, but each look held a thousand words.
The group stopped a second later. The forest didn’t appear as ominous during the day as it did at night and without falling snow the visibility went much farther than normal. Belle wasn’t fooled though. Death could be awaiting them just beyond those trees.
Belle pulled her hood up and bowed her head. The other Hunters did the same. She was quiet for a moment and then she began, “O Holy Angel.”
The others took up the creed. Their voices fell into a rhythm, chanting together. Aleksander shifted next to her and Belle knew without opening her eyes that he was watching her, listening intently to the oath so few had heard before. The words memorized long ago, fell from her lips and soon the prayer drew to its end. Each Hunter raised their heads, opened their eyes, and formed the cross over their chests. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.”
Without a word, Gastone signaled his horse forward. Andre and Jack followed. Belle glanced down at Aleksander. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Belle broke the contact, turning her attention to the forest, and cued Charming. Into its depths they went.
I waited with my hounds…We smelled Hunters on the wind.
To call them a pack would be an understatement. It was an army of hellhounds and they came from all sides. Belle’s ears were filled with a cacophony of gunfire and growls. It was simply one shot after another with no time to think.
Her guns emptied and Belle was forced to hastily draw her sabre, hacking down at the surrounding hellhounds. With Charming about to be overrun, she dismounted to push them back. The stallion covered her side, defending with his hooves.
Shouts and grunts came as comforting sounds to Belle, telling her that her Hunters were still alive. Only at Aleksander did she spare a glance. He maintained the high ground of his flatbed, guarding a terrified Friar against the hellhounds. Fortunately f
or them both, the hounds seemed wary of Aleksander’s large fangs and claws.
A hellhound leapt at Belle. She sidestepped, swiping as she moved. Her blade ran down his body, cutting him open. Sweeping the saber upward, she ran another hound through. Before she could even pull her sword free, Belle grabbed two knives from her chest and launched them at descending attackers. They dropped as Belle removed her weapon from the corpse.
Flipping her sabre backwards in hand, Belle thrust it behind her and speared the mouth of a hound. Bodies piled at her feet as she killed, making it difficult to move. She made to step out of the mess, while slicing at several hellhounds, when a corpse burst into light. Blind, she flinched away. Something solid struck her back, sending her forward. Belle tried to keep her balance, but tripped over the array of bodies and stumbled several feet until she fell face first into the snow.
Dazed and blinking, Belle scrambled for her sabre. Before she could regain it, claws hooked into the flesh of her lower torso. The sudden pain caused her to cry out.
Then she was being dragged. By flesh and muscle, the claws pulled her through deep snow. Alerted by her scream, Aleksander turned from his attackers to see her about to disappear into the tree line.
Puffing out his chest, he issued a roar that shook the very forest. Nearly every hellhound ducked in fear. Aleksander leapt off the flatbed, leaving the cowering Friar behind.
His heavy paws were nimble over the snow, but the hellhound army was quick to recover. Several at once jumped upon him. The Prince twisted under their weight, grabbing one with his paw and flinging it away. Then he engaged the others in a fight of fury. The snarls and whimpers were jarring in Belle’s ears.
She had to give Aleksander time to get to her, to get at the hound that dragged, as well as disabled, her so successfully. Belle dug her hands through the snow trying to grab at anything. Her mind raced for alternatives. Her sabre was now well out of reach, her guns were empty, and her last throwing knife was trapped firmly beneath her. The heavy paws on her back prevented her from turning to grab it.
Panic seized her as she was pulled passed a lamppost. The hellhound was dragging her into the woods. There was only one reason for a predator to drag its prey away from the group. Belle lashed out, grasping the metal post. Holding on desperately, she was not willing to be the main course of this wolf’s private dinner.
“Aleksander!” Belle cried in agony. The claws pulled on her flesh, threatening to tear her completely to shreds.
He flung a hellhound against a tree with his strong jaws and looked at Belle, roaring at the one who had her. But his attackers were relentless. No matter how many he fought off, they were intent on killing him.
Unfortunately for them both, the hound dragging Belle dug its claws even deeper, introducing her to a whole new kind of pain. Stars danced in her eyes and her grasp failed her. Belle was jerked beyond the trees.
She felt entirely helpless the further and deeper they went. The Hunters and Aleksander disappeared from sight. The sound of battle fell away. Her body swept through the snow, over rocks and fallen branches, leaving an obvious trail in her wake. Belle scrambled about, grabbing for any and everything she could reach. A bush scraped through her grasping fingers and Belle cried out in anguish.
Crunching snow caught Belle’s attention. Something was coming, following their trail. It was gaining ground fast. Was it Aleksander? She pictured him bursting on the scene and leaping upon her attacker.
“Belle?!” Gastone’s call was shaky, uncertain and racked with worry.
“Gastone!” she shrieked in desperate surprise, her voice strained from the pain.
His noise increased and Gastone rounded a grouping of trees, bringing himself into view. Relief flooded his face at the sight of her, but then he saw the hellhound. His color drained away, a slur of indecent words tumbled from his lips.
The hellhound released its claws from her, tearing flesh as it did. Belle whimpered from both the pain and relief at the loss of pressure. The hound stalked around her and she was finally able to see it. Her eyes went wide with shock.
On two massive, clawed feet it walked—another Moon-Hound. It stopped just to the side of Belle, drawing itself to its full height. With dark fur and solid muscles, it could have been a duplicate for Aleksander. At first her mind thought it was, but then she noticed the eyes. They weren’t blue or wolf-like. They were black and unreflecting like deep soulless voids.
The Moon-Hound didn’t attack. It remained still, tilting its head in curiosity at Gastone. Belle could have sworn it was smiling as a low growl began to rubble from its chest.
Gastone shifted on his feet, anger starting to ebb from him. He raised his sabre, ready to charge the creature. But he would die; he knew this and so did Belle. The hound’s lips curled back, hackles rising, and it widened its stance in anticipation of the strike.
Not ready to let her friend die for her, Belle pushed herself up and grabbed the throwing knife from her chest. Without hesitating, she whipped it at the strange Moon-Hound. The blade stuck in its side, right between the ribs. Jerking in surprise, the hound whirled and looked down at its bleeding side. Then it roared angrily at Belle. The sound was higher than Aleksander’s roar but just as terrifying. Perhaps even more so.
Taking his chance, Gastone charged. Before the hound could finish its roar, the Hunter drove his blade through its skull. The creature stilled, its death coming instantly. Gastone released the sword. The body crumpled to the ground.
As the corpse came to a rest, the fur and muscles shimmered. Then, quick as a blink, the Moon-Hound was gone. No lights. No angelic ringing. The wolf was just gone, and in its place was a woman.
They both stared at the dead form, not believing what they were seeing. She was beautiful, her face exquisitely formed. Her skin was pale, but it was accented perfectly by the blue and silver cloak that surrounded her. A lock of sheer white hair danced in the breeze, like a tendril of smoke. Her eyes were open, those soulless orbs staring at Belle.
“It’s her.” Uneasy shivers swept down Belle’s spine.
Gastone finally looked at Belle. “Who?”
“The norn. She’s the one I saw in the Prince’s memory.” Belle had an undeniable desire to get away from the otherworldly being. It unnerved her that no blood seeped from the sabre in her skull. “She’s the one who created the curse.”
“She’s a norn and like the wolf prince?”
“I don’t think so. The books said she had a universal power that could be used to complete her fate.” Either from laying in the snow or from the fading terror, Belle’s muscles began to shake involuntarily. She pushed up from the ground, intending to finally right herself, but pain laced through her body. It spread like searing fire over her torso and into her legs. She dropped back into the snow with a grunt, breathing heavily as she waited for the pain to recede. “My guess would be that she became a lycanthrope in order to kill me. A bit theatrical of her, but she nearly succeeded.”
“The books also said that a norn could only be killed by another norn.” Belle watched the corpse warily. “Unless you have something you need to tell me about yourself, then we shouldn’t linger.”
Gastone came over to kneel at her side. He brushed the snow from around her and carefully examined the bleeding wound.
“It’s bad, Belle.” He removed the scarf from his neck and began to tie it around her waist, covering the injury. The touching was entirely too intimate, but she forgot that when he painful tightened the scarf to slow the bleeding. “I believe I’ll need to carry you.”
Looking into his brown eyes, and their flecks of green, she saw so much concern there. With a forced smile Belle replied, “If you must.”
“I apologize if this causes you pain.” He moved to pick her up.
“Wait.” She stopped him and pointed to the norn. “Your sabre.”
“Leave it.” He shook his head and slowly slid his hands beneath her. “Perhaps she’ll stay dead if it stays there.”
Belle bit back a cry as Gastone easily pulled her up with him. Once he was standing, the pain lessened and his warmth pushed back the growing cold within her body. Belle rested against him unintentionally. The pain was sucking away her energy with each passing second. How much blood had already been absorbed into her corset?
“Don’t worry Belle,” Gastone said, most likely thinking the same thing. “I’ll have you back home soon.”
“No. Not home. We push on to Vakre Fjell.”
She felt Gastone slow slightly in his steps. “You’re badly injured. You need the doc.”
“Castle Vakre Fjell has physicians too.” Belle kept her tone firm, despite the weakness that wanted to creep in.
“I think the doc should be the one to treat you, not some Vakrein. The other Hunters can continue on without us.”
“No, I stay with Aleksander. I will see this through,” she said before realizing her mistake. Her address of the Prince by his first name was far too familiar and entirely inappropriate. Pretending that she hadn’t said anything incorrect, Belle finished the discussion. “That’ll be the end of it, Gastone.”
His pacing became more angered and hurried, but Belle said nothing. There was a faint click in her ear and Andre’s voice came into her Electro-Phonic Chip. “Belle? Gastone? Are you out there?”
Gastone answered, “We’re both alive and we’re coming to you.”
“Thank God. The area is clear now. You should be safe to come in.” With that, there was another click as Andre disconnected his earpiece from theirs.
They remained silent as Gastone retraced his footsteps. Soon she heard her friend’s voices and the sounds of the horses. As they stepped back onto the path some of the recently dead hellhounds burst into light.
“At this rate I’m going to go blind,” said Nicolas rubbing his eyes.
Jean and Delano were lifting Aleksander from the snowy ground. His head lulled to the side. Blood matted much of his fur. Belle’s heart went to her throat, as she feared the worst. Laboriously, they carried him back to the flatbed. Friar Clemens stood on top and lent a helping hand. Gently, he guided the beast to the wagon floor. Jack handed over the blanket from his saddle and Clemens spread it over the Prince. He didn’t cover Aleksander’s head and Belle suddenly wanted to weep that her prince was still alive.