The Beast

by Lindsay Mead

  Jean saw them approach and grunted to alert the others. His body was covered in red, but he didn’t appear hurt. Charming nickered and bobbed his head with happiness that she returned. Belle smiled and told him he was a good horse.

  “What happened? Is it bad?” Andre asked, limping forward a step. His right pant leg was shredded, revealing thin scrapes where claws raked over metal. Blood was splattered across his face.

  “Her back is badly injured. She’ll have to ride with me,” Gastone answered.

  Belle interjected as they reached the flatbed, “Not necessary. I’ll ride on the wagon.”

  This order was met with silence from all around. Belle didn’t care. She had eyes only for Aleksander. His, she was happy to see, were also open and staring back. At her request, he issued the most subtle of whimpers.

  Clearly angry, Gastone thundered around the side of the wagon. Clemens again helped with the lowering. Belle was placed at Aleksander’s back. Heated radiated off of him, as though he were a living furnace.

  “Anyone else injured?” Gastone stomped off and mounted.

  “Stitches will be needed,” Andre answered from atop his Friesian, Valiant. “But only Belle and Prince Aleksander are in immediate danger.”

  “The Prince should come with us on all of our hunts,” Nicolas said, nudging Jean who raised an eyebrow at him. The statement, though Nicolas didn’t realize it, was in poor taste. “He was a real rager.”

  “As weak as he was, yet to dispatch so many—it was quite the remarkable sight.” Friar Clemens took up his driver’s seat and reins.

  “Thank God for that,” said Jack, casually twirling his revolvers. “Things weren’t looking good there for a bit.”

  “Let’s get a move on,” Gastone cut off the talk.

  “Onward to Vakre Fjell?” asked Andre.

  “So it seems.”

  There was a snapping sound as Clemens cued his team forward. The wheels began to roll, causing the boards to creak with movement. Charming followed the flatbed of his own accord.

  Feeling that no one was paying much attention to them any longer, Belle reached up and placed a hand upon Aleksander’s shoulder. The sound he made in response was part sigh and part groan. A few tears tumbled freely as she gently caressed his dark fur; how happy she was that they had both lived, and yet she feared that he wouldn’t make it home.

  “What about the bodies?” Nicolas asked.

  “We leave them,” was Gastone’s short reply.

  There was some hesitation at that, then Andre said, “There’s not much we can do about them now, I suppose.”

  Delano spoke quietly to those around him, though everyone still heard, “They’ll eat them ya know? The corpses, I mean. The hellhounds will come back.”

  I felt him before I opened my eyes. I can always sense him, feel him watching me.

  In fluid movement, as I raised my eyelids, I came to my feet. Bits of snow fell from the armor. The wind whipped my white hair about my face. I looked at Fenrir, not yet reaching to pull up my cloak’s hood.

  Standing by a tree, the god twisted a thin silver sabre in the evening sunlight. His youthful face boasted a pointed nose and lean, shapely cheeks. His deep, brown hair was pushed away from his face, feathering down the nape of his neck. It somehow reminded her of a wolf’s hackles.

  Similar to my attire, Fenrir’s clothing was at odds with the trends of the human realm. Leather armor, edged in Norse knots, wrapped his shoulders. Otherwise his chest and torso were bare, showing his inhumanly perfect muscles. Fur clothing encircled his waist while a heavy broadsword hung from the side. Beneath one of Fenrir’s arms was a silver winged helmet.

  “They cannot kill you, but they discovered an effective way of disabling you,” he said calmly, not looking at me. “Clever of them to leave it in your skull. Would you ever have been free of it?”

  “It would have been dislodged with time,” I responded, unconcerned.

  “The Mánagarmr lives.” He discarded the sabre into the snow and finally looked at me. “As does the female Hunter you failed to kill.”

  I bristled. “My wolves did not slay the Moon-Hound? Even with their vast numbers?”

  “Your wolves?” Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, looking haughtily down at me. “They are not your wolves, norn. You may be the architect of this fate, but they are my kin.”

  As though it’d been silently called, a wolf appeared at Fenrir’s side. It growled at me as it came to sit by the god. Absentmindedly, Fenrir placed a large hand between the creature’s ears.

  I watched it, unafraid by its predatory stare. Fenrir could call all of his wolves, have them tear me to pieces, but still I would not die. There is only one thing in existence that could end me, and gods could not wield it.

  “I’ve come around to your way of thinking though,” Fenrir said, looking disquieted by my sudden smirk. “The Mánagarmr will not join my cause, not now that he has aligned with the Hunters. You have my consent to end him.”

  Ravenous excitement filled me. No more sending mortal wolves to kill the Prince. With fate on my side, I will slay him myself. There is nothing to stand in my way…except Belle LeClair and her wretched Hunters. “And the female Hunter?”

  “Whoever else you wish to kill does not interest me, Skuld.” Fenrir’s eyes then focused upon my body, staring like he hadn’t noticed something before.

  He held a hand out and a sudden pain ripped through my side. My hand went to the injury, surprised by the unusual feeling. I looked at the god in shock. How had he done that? Then I saw it; the small knife held between his fingers. He twisted it from side to side, marveling at the glimmering crimson upon the blade.

  “This, however, this—is interesting.” With uncertain eyes, Fenrir asked, “What is this weapon that has harmed a wielder of fate?”

  “You need not fear it, young god. There is only one weapon in all the universe that can kill a god.” I reassured him though I am amused by his fear. “For we made it and it is we who keep it, of that you can be certain.”

  He glared at my thinly veiled threat and pressed the knife into his thumb, testing my theory. No matter how hard he pressed, the skin does not pierce. “It seems this problem is entirely yours then.”

  Satisfied with himself, he flicked the weapon. It flew through the air and lodged into my chest. I stared down at it, not feeling an ounce of pain. I pulled the weapon free. The wound healed without a drop of blood. I looked from the weapon to the watching god, a foreboding feeling poisoning my earlier enthusiasm. “It is not the blade that harms, but the blade’s thrower.”

  “I see,” is all Fenrir said to my realization. He stared off into the distance, his eyes unseeing. I couldn’t help wondering what thoughts he was entertaining. Then with a sigh, he straightened his spine. “I have been here long enough; this place wears upon me. I must return to Asgard.”

  I nodded, knowing full well why the gods do not dwell long in the plain of men. I blinked and before me was a hulking black wolf, bigger even than his wolf spawn. Surrounded by a forest of white, he was hauntingly beautiful. Turning away from me, he jogged deeper in the woods. The other wolf followed, but Fenrir was heading to a place that it could not go.

  With Fenrir out of sight, I turned my eyes toward the direction of Castle Vakre Fjell.

  The staff of Castle Vakre Fjell was in an uproar upon the Hunters’ arrival. Trumpeted fanfare and a chaotic assembly of people ushered them from the bridge and to the front of the castle. Laramie shoved his way through the crowd, chastising some as he went for being in the way and insisting they make themselves useful elsewhere.

  “Oh your Royal Highness, what a relief it is to see you returned,” Monsieur Petit was saying as he finally reached their cart. He looked to Belle, still laying at the Prince’s warm side. “Merci, mademoiselle.”

  “My pleasure, monsieur.” She forced a smile despite her pain.

  “But you are both injured.” Laramie’s relief quickly changed to concern and he looked to som
e nearby staff. “Have his Highness taken to the royal sickrooms and Mademoiselle LeClair and the Hunters to the public rooms to be tended.”

  Two unfamiliar men stepped up to the flatbed, intent on lifting Belle to be carried away. As their hands descended, Aleksander twisted in a flash. He snarled and growled at the men, half looming over top of her. The servant men jumped back in alarm and the crowd fell into a stunned silence. Low rumbles still ebbed from the beast.

  Belle stared up at him, her breath held tight in her chest. He had moved so fast. From fatal injury to protective wolf in the blink of an eye. It must cost him dearly to be so aggressive in his current state, but as a wolf this was his only means of quick communication. The idea that he must deem her worth such excursion both swelled her heart and humbled her.

  “The…Mademoiselle LeClair shall accompany his Royal Highness.” Monsieur Petit, guessing at the cause of his Prince’s agitation, was rewarded with Aleksander quieting his growl and settling back down beside her. Looking satisfied, Laramie clapped his hands to wake everyone from their shock. “Off to it then!”

  The crowd immediately began to disperse, not wanting to incur the Offisielle Rådgiver’s wrath. The Hunters were encouraged down from their mounts and the horses, including Charming, were taken to the stables. Gastone paused at the castle entrance, staring back at Belle, as the others were led within by overly attentive servants. His gaze gave nothing away, not an ounce of the emotion beneath. He nodded abruptly, a salute to her rank, and walked away.

  “Now, your Highness, we are going to have to carry the two of you separately,” Laramie said as two white-clothed litters were set alongside them, accompanied by more servants to carry them. Laramie moved aside, mumbling, “Let’s not kill the staff for it. We don’t have many replacements awaiting.”

  Belle smirked until she was lifted from the flatbed, sending hot pain ripping freshly through her back. She gritted her teeth to fight the wanting cry within. After all, she shared Laramie’s concern for the castle staff. They laid her upon the litter and gripped the ends to hoist her between them. Belle’s muscles slowly relaxed into the cot’s soft grasp and the pain faded to a steady throbbing. The last thing she saw before resting her head was the sight of four servants struggling to carry the Prince’s litter up the castle steps.

  The two men carrying Belle followed closely behind. Through the great halls, up the grand staircases, and past many immense windows they were hoisted. Soon Belle realized that she no longer recognized the ceilings in this part of the castle, and still through several more doorways they went.

  The last room they entered wasn’t as large as the others. The lighting was dim and all was hushed as Belle and Aleksander were transferred into actual beds. Aleksander’s bed was large, luxurious, and yet he still barely fit within. Belle’s bed had been brought up from the public infirmary and hastily put together, not that she really minded. The entire sick room was more of a royal suit than a place for patient and doctor. It had a calming effect upon her.

  When the Head Physician and his many assistants, came in, the room was immediately cleared. Only Monsieur Petit remained, stationed by the door in case he was needed. The doctor, a portly-jowled sort of fellow, glanced over Belle’s wounds and instructed a follower on the proper treatment. His attentions then shifted to the Prince and his administrations became more urgent. All but the assistant assigned to Belle were put to work helping.

  There was a bit of shouting outside the sickroom door. Laramie’s eyes widened at the colorful language emitted from some authoritative female beyond. Then the doors burst open and Madame Edvina Gulbrandsen trounced through. She curtsied briefly to the Prince, who paid her no mind, and went straight to Belle.

  “Oh, my dear, I’d heard you’d been injured.” She took up Belle’s hand, coddling it gently within hers, and leaned toward her. “How very awful. Is it very life threatening?”

  The young assistant glanced up from his table of instruments, but it was Belle who answered. “No, no, not at all. Don’t worry yourself, Edvina.”

  “Nothing for it, my dear. I can’t help seeing you as a child of my own.” Her eyes had turned glassy with tears, as the medical assistant took a pair of shears to cut away the back of Belle’s dress. Edvina looked up, mouth open with horror, as her eyes shifted between Belle and the Prince. “Good gracious! Do you mean to humiliate the poor girl?”

  The man froze in his cutting, looking at the yelling Majerdome with a touch less color than he had before. Clearly a yelling female was not something he was accustomed to. “M-Madame?”

  “The indecency, you fool!” She gestured angrily to Belle’s exposed flesh. Then she dashed around to stand between Belle and Aleksander, with arms out as a visual shield. “Do you not have a partition? A sheet? Anything to spare the girl some privacy?”

  Belle bit her tongue to keep from giggling. The physician looked at Monsieur Petit for assistance. With rolling eyes, Laramie already had the room door open and was sending someone to fetch just what Edvina needed. He added a posthaste to encourage their speed. In moments, they had returned with a partition, and a wall of white linen was erected between the two beds.

  With Edvina finally mollified that Belle’s reputation would not be sullied, she took up Belle’s hand once more. The assistant set back to work, falling into a rhythm that suggested he’d soon forgotten them both. Belle, however, did not forget him as he pressed a stitching needle in and out of her skin.

  When he finished, he needlessly warned Belle of the scars she would have. He went on to say that she should stay the night at the castle, let her wounds settle a bit before riding about. Edvina vehemently approved of this idea and sent for a new dress and to have Belle’s room readied.

  As the assistant went around the curtain to help with Aleksander, a strange scraping noise drew Edvina and Belle’s attention to the corner. Edvina squeaked in alarm when a door, that had once been just a wall, pushed open. Much to their surprise, it was Lady Liv Calland who walked through. She looked around the room like she’d just discovered it until her eyes fell upon Belle.

  “There you are. Wonderful!” A delicate smile spread over Liv’s sweet face. Her dress was one of soft yellow and black, designed to make her stand out in a crowd. The expensive fabric swished as she moved closer. “You won’t believe what I just heard.”

  “Good to see you again, your Ladyship,” Belle said, amused at the woman’s unexpected entrance.

  “Of course, Darling.” She paused to look at Belle affectionately. “Did you know that the castle is filled with secret passageways?”

  “I did not, but I see you did.” Belle glanced at the square hole in the wall, that Edvina was going to close.

  “Only that one passage. Be kind to the staff, Belle, they know things,” she said sagely and brushed a bit of hair from Belle’s face. “Why, just this day, I was in the library of all places, and this little dove told me all about your harrowing adventure to return our prince to us. When I expressed an urgent need to visit you, she showed me the hidden passage that led me straight to you. Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?”

  “What are?”

  “The staff, Darling, of course.” She leaned down and said conspiratorially, “The little dove also said that you’d seen the Crowned Prince as a human again, is this true?”

  Belle blushed, but there was no point in hiding it if this little dove knew already. “It is.”

  “Well, you scandalous little minx.” Liv swatted Belle playfully and straightened with a mischievous gleam to her eyes. “I haven’t seen the real him for years. Quite handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Very.” Belle fought to keep from grinning too widely, suddenly realizing that Liv had no idea the Prince was in the room with them. So caught up in her gossip with Belle, Liv had paid no mind to what lay beyond the partition.

  “But you have no shortage of handsome men in your life.” Lady Liv wiggled her eyebrows at Edvina, who grinned and shook her head. “I hear those Hunters of y
ours are quite dashing. Is this true?”

  Belle sighed, as though to take stock of her group of men. “Yes, they are easy on the eyes.”

  Aleksander growled from the other side of the cloth wall, shocking Liv from her playful air. She stormed around the bed, still looking elegant somehow.

  “I say, what in the world is that.” She jerked the partition aside, intent on chastising whoever made such an undignified sound. She gasped upon seeing the great beast and dropped into a curtsy so low she was nearly on the ground. “Your Royal Highness! I do apologize. I had not realized you were here. Please forgive my intrusion.”

  She began backing slowly away and Edvina pushed the partition back into place, cutting off view of the Prince. Liv looked over her shoulder, glaring at the giggling Belle. “Sneaky little minx.”

  “I’m sorry, Liv.” Belle took a deep breath, trying to force the smile from her face. “I am a terrible friend for not warning you. And worse yet, I must ask a favor.”

  Liv turned fully toward her, raising a curious eyebrow. “Oh, and what burden do you wish to lay upon me?”

  “My Hunters need to be informed that, because of my injuries, I am to stay the night here and that they should return without me.” Belle dramatically looked away, then returned her gaze to Liv imploringly. “It must be someone I trust. Can I rely upon you?”

  “Little minx, indeed.” The corner of the Lady’s mouth tilted upward. “This is quite the thing that you ask of me, for that is such a long way for a lady of my station to walk—but you are my friend and you are in need.” She nodded with conviction. “I will do this for you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Liv. You are too good for this world.” Belle held out a hand to her friend.