Beast (The Submissively Ever After Series Book 1)

by Kim Faulks

  Through the haze, I watched as Belle whirled and strode away. The old man let her go, then stumbled to the table and slumped into a chair.

  "I've lost her." Those bleak words were married with a shake of his head. "There's nothing I can do. I've lost her."

  The tremble of his shoulders turned to shudders. I pinned my lip with my teeth, fighting the need to comfort him. Those tortured sounds filled the room. I traced the line on my wrist, searching for the sharp ridges, the deeper edge where the razor had cut deep. The reminder of the troubles I’d survived was all that kept me from falling apart.

  The old man straightened, dragging my attention back to the center of the room. He reached into his pocket, dragging a thin swath of handkerchief free and dabbed his cheeks before blowing his nose. The harsh trumpeting sound carried, ticking the fine hairs on my arms.

  I understood then. This was more than some fanciful story. This was real. This was the truth. The truth Mark didn't want me to see. Don't listen to the house, Belle. Don't listen to the goddamn house!

  His warning had been more than some passing remark. Was he frightened by what these walls would whisper? Maybe these secrets were the key to my escape. I turned to the man who shoved his handkerchief into his pocket. If this was the only way out, then I had no choice but to take a chance.

  "Show me then. Show me what that bastard doesn't want me to see."

  Something tugged me. The jolt felt light at first, then a stronger force sucked me forward. I gripped the counter. I had the sensation of falling, although my body never moved. My focus drifted toward the center of the room. I could feel the throb inside my chest and yet, something else lay claim to my attention. I moved closer to the light in the center of the room. I closed my eyes. I don't want to die. Please, don't let me die.

  "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

  I glanced up into the man's eyes, knowing these words weren't for me, and yet, strangely, I felt they were. He gripped his hands until they shook and stared at a knot in the woodgrain of the table.

  "I made a promise on the day you were born to protect you and your sisters. Your mother, God rest her soul, would never allow such a marriage. But she's not here, so it's up to me to do what's right and fight enough for the both of us. He jerked his head up. His eyes bored right though me. "And fight I will."

  I jumped out of the way as he shoved the chair and stood. The floor was swallowed under his ground-eating strides as he marched from the room. The call to follow felt as real as hunger pangs. I had no choice but to obey. I trailed him to the expansive room, filled with bookshelves and paintings of three young women in their prime. I stepped closer, finding the unmistakable brown eyes of Nala... Belle, remember her name is Belle. Two other young women stood beside her. The resemblance was enough to know they were family, although neither was as beautiful as Belle.

  Two chairs sat in front of a massive fireplace. A bright crocheted throw draped the armrest of one. The other sat bare. Two chairs, one man. This was his home. I glanced up, catching the concentration in his face as he bent over the desk. His hand worked furiously to scrawl something across a page before he stood, gripping the parchment in his shaking hand. What was it about this man that Mark didn't want me to see?

  I followed him from the office. His steps were a little slower along the corridor, stopping only when he reached the front door. He reached for a brown leather jacket, slipping it over his arms and fastening the buttons. All I saw was a man ready to fight for his daughter, but against whom, I didn't know.

  The wooden door opened, then shut, trapping me inside with my thoughts. I reached for the handle, prepared to make my presence known, and froze when my hand passed right through the panel. Once more, I clawed the brass lever. And once more, my fingers swept through, as though in this world, I was the specter. I swallowed hard, feeling my breath travel down my throat in a great knot, and stepped forward.

  My body passed through the wood as though the door wasn't there. I raised my hands, shielding my eyes from the blazing sun and sought the old man. I caught the sound of his steps and spied the tails of his jacket as he rounded a tree.

  My steps were silent against the stone pavement as I raced after him. All around me there was only green. Towering trees broke up the endless valley. This was like no place I'd seen before. This place was clean, crisp. I inhaled the cool air and felt the oxygen fill my lungs. This place was pure.

  I rounded the tree as I heard the thunder of hooves, then the crack of a whip. Two massive horses trotted past me, pulling a wagon. I shot forward, racing to grab the end of the wooden trailer and threw myself over the side, landing on the hard floor with a thud. "Jesus. That was close."

  My heart was racing, filling my body with an erratic beat. I gulped air until my mouth turned dry. Splinters dug into my hand as I gripped the side and lay against the floor. Sharp bursts of light filtered through the branches of the trees that lined the road. The old man flicked the reins, urging the horses into a canter as he followed the worn path. In the distance, buildings replaced the trees to crowd the dirt road.

  A cart passed us, heading in the opposite direction. The driver, dressed in tails and a top hat, gave a curt nod to the older man, but I couldn’t see a reply. I scanned the buildings as he slowed the horses through the street. The old clapboard buildings looked fragile and barren.

  Painted signs distinguished butcher from baker and hardware stores from dry goods. Women and men nodded curtly as we trotted past. I had a growing sense Belle's father was important somehow. I tried to remember his part in the story Mark fed me, but all I remembered, as I clutched the sides of the wagon and stared at this determined father, was his death.

  The carriage swerved, turning sharply down a small side street. My nails dug into the wood as I held on for dear life as Belle's father pulled on the reins. His soft words calmed the horses as we pulled to a stop alongside the largest building.

  The dull roar of laughter pulled my attention through the glass windows. I spied the elegant sign that hung from the roof as I climbed from the carriage. If there was a place to find the hunter, then Bristol’s Tavern would likely be it.

  Belle's father tethered the reins outside of the door, then marched through the tavern door. I followed his steps, scanning the ruddy faces that lined the bar. A robust woman behind the polished counter stared at us as we entered. Her hands never faltered, wiping a mug with a dirty dishtowel before placing it on the bar, as the old man approached. "As I live and breathe, fancy seeing you in a place like this."

  "Where is he, Miriam?"

  The barmaid flicked the dirty towel over her shoulder, then braced the counter with both arms. "You're gonna have to be a bit more specific, Lord. There's a lot of he's in this ruddy place."

  "Marcus Telser." The old man snarled. "Tell me where he is."

  One sharp jerk of her head pointed to somewhere in the back. Deadly stares followed as Belle's father wound his way between the empty tables. Closed doors barred the way. Belle's father scanned each of the doorways, settling on one when the rumble of deep, throaty laughter echoed. He twisted the knob, barging the hard surface with his frail body. The door flew inward smashing against the wall with a bang. All eyes swiveled to him as he entered the room.

  Mark stood amongst a group of women, all naked from the waist up. His thin chest muscles flexed as he buried his hands under the skirts of the women surrounding him. His eyes missed nothing, darting around the room, finally settling on the old man in front of me.

  A gasp cut through the silence, there was a second before I realized the sound came from me. I struggled to find his connection. None of this made sense. If Nala was Belle, then Mark had to be... the hunter. Cold filled my core. My chest tightened. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

  The women crowded around him. One dark haired young woman flashed a glare at the interruption and jerked her thumb toward the bar. "Wait out there. You'll get your turn soon enough."

  I could barely
make out the words through his clenched teeth as the old man snarled. "I'm not here for that."

  In another time, and with a proper set of teeth, the whore could've been pretty, but there was no hiding the ugliness inside. "Then, my Lord. You best get out of here. Fuck or fuck off. I can't be any clearer than that."

  The smirking scum beside her patted her on the ass. By her tone and the haughty way she carried herself, I took her for the brothel's madam.

  Mark didn't try to hide the grin that crawled across his face. "He's here for me, Judith. No sense getting your knickers in a twist, or aren't you wearing any today?"

  The harlot's lips drew back, revealing the rotting stubs in her mouth. I couldn't see what he did with his hand that made her squeal, but I could guess well enough, and swallowed the urge to be sick as he crooned, "You cheeky little harlot."

  The old man waited for Mark to drag his gaze from between the mountainous tits that she rubbed against him. Finally, the ghostly version of my captor fixed his sights on the old man. "What can I do for you, my Lord?"

  I fought the need to reach for his trembling fist as Belle's father snarled. "I'll not talk business in front of whores."

  "Then you best be on your way, for I intend to sink my teeth and my cock into every one of these beauties, until I can no longer stand."

  The old man's face reddened until I thought he would pass out from the strain. "You've asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage, and yet, you're here?"

  Mark surged forward, his wide brown eyes turning cold and dangerous. "She suits me well enough, except for the bed. My tastes run a little... darker than she's accustomed."

  I caught the slight flinch from the women around him and suppressed a shudder. The ruddy complexion leeched from the old man's face, leaving him grey. "One thousand."

  He held the bastard’s attention now as one brow shot high. "What did you say?"

  Belle's father squared his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I said one thousand. That's how much you will have, if you walk out of here. One thousand pounds. But, I never want to see your face again."

  Mark pursed his lips. His high-pitched whistle pierced my head. "One thousand pounds. An entire year’s wages for someone like me."

  "And it's yours, free and clear, as long as you leave this town and never return."

  I followed the movement as Mark rubbed the stubble on his chin. His eyes glittered with hunger. My stomach churned, needing to hear that one word to end this man's torment. "Take the damn money, you son of a whore. Take the damn money," I choked.

  But this was not the story I’d been told, and no amount of pleading would change the answer, as Mark's lips stretched into a smile. "I don't think so. That bitch is worth a lot more than one thousand pounds, no matter how temping this offer may seem. You coming here with your pathetic demand proves that."

  A hiss of air escaped his lips as Belle's father stumbled backwards. "You've made a grave mistake."

  Mark shifted, turning his attention to the trollops who waited. "I don't think so. It's you who's made the mistake. You've shown your hand too early, old man. Once you're gone and her sisters are taken care of, I'll have a lot more than one thousand pounds. That I can assure you."

  The anger that sparked from Belle's father was quick, forcing me to take a step back. But he was outmatched by the dangerous darkness that rolled off the hunter. The old gentleman turned and I caught the spark of fear in his eye as he strode from the room.

  "What now?" My question fell on deaf ears as I raced to catch up to him. "You can't let him get away with that!" The old man headed for a corridor at the end of the bar. "You can't let him threaten you and not do anything about it."

  I could feel the sting of my palms as my nails broke the skin. How stupid could the bitch be not to see what kind of man Mark really was?

  I love him. Her words echoed from the ages. I was finding it hard to distance myself, not knowing what was real and what wasn't. These events had already happened, and yet somehow, I knew they held the clues I needed to get free. I held my anger in check and followed him out of the tavern and into the small alley.

  The filthy side street stank of piss, mud, and whiskey. I stepped out of the hotel onto the ground and retched. Belle's father crept along the building, passing the windows to the room we just passed. I slapped my sleeve over my nose to cover the stench and followed. The windows revealed more than I wanted to see. Belle's father hovered outside, watching Mark and his horde of whores. Their giggles slipped through the cracks, dragging my gaze inside.

  Curiosity may have made me look, but something else held me there.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sharp smack made me flinch. I tried to drag my gaze away, but the sight pinned me where I stood. One of the women lay naked, face down, tied to the bed. The red mark on her ass glowed like a neon sign. She bucked and wrenched her bindings, crying and mewling like a tormented animal. The other women huddled against the far wall, clutching each others’ hands and staring at the brutality. All except for one.

  "Again." The stub-toothed madam snarled.

  I strained to hear the muffled words through the thin glass, but it didn't hide the look of terror on the poor, bound whore's face. She wrenched her head to the side. Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. "Please mistress, I'll be good. I'll be good!"

  Mark raised his arm high above his head. The end of the strap brushed his elbow before he brought the leather down in a sweeping arc. Tiny pins pricked my skin as the crack sounded. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could do was witness.

  The battered woman's muffled pleas went unanswered as she buried her head in the mattress. Her body sagged against the restraints. Her stillness was eerie. I took in every raised, bloodied lash across the backs of her legs, stopping on a raised welt the size of a matchbox above her hip. I leaned closer, focusing on the square outline. I shoved myself off the wall. A hiss escaped when I realized what made that ridge—the outline of a metal buckle.

  I swallowed hard and stared at the still woman. Was she dead?

  "Be alive. Please be alive."

  Love and devotion seeped from the cold madam's eyes as she stared at Mark. Acid filled my mouth, scalding my throat. Love blended with cruelty, twisting inside my heart. My hands shook as I clutched my wrist, feeling the familiar trail left behind by the razor. Love. I know the pain well. I stumbled backward, tripping over the long skirt around my feet, as her snarl echoed from the room once more.

  "Get a bucket."

  I braced against the wall, feeling splinters gouge my skin. The hunter wanted to hurt. He wanted to maim, and staring into those cold unfeeling eyes, I knew he wanted to kill. My stomach clenched. I lunged, just missing the back of the old man's boots as hot bile shot out of my mouth and splashed against the trampled ground.

  I held on while my stomach wrenched until there was nothing more. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and glanced back to the whorehouse room. Would that be my fate, too?

  I was already beaten.

  The scrape of boots jerked my focus from the present, and I sank once more into the past. Belle's father turned from the window. The bottom of his coattail caught in a breeze, slapping against the pane and drawing attention from those inside the room.

  The hunter, now completely naked, stalked to the sill. His cock was engorged. The thick shaft wobbled as he stepped. His focus was directed at the old man as he strode toward the window. Mark’s lips slid back over white teeth. The glee in his eyes screamed with satisfaction, but also a challenge. I wiped the last traces of puke off my dress and raced toward the end of the alley, fearing what would come next.

  Belle's father looked like a different man than the one I followed into the tavern as he unleashed the horses. The resignation in his eyes choked what little hope remained inside me that somehow, this would turn out different. I followed his lead, climbing onto the wagon and settled into the back. The snap of the reins reminded me a little too much of the strap on bare flesh.
I shivered, craving the warmth of this fading sun. I wondered how far the events from the present could stray from the past. Was there another version of this story out there, somewhere? Or did I possess the ability to change anything? Was I doomed to merely repeat the tale or could I bend events to my will? Was the beast the key to all this?

  The wind snatched the old man's words before I had a chance to hear them as he turned the horses back onto the road. I balanced my weight, trying my best to counteract the jerk and sway of the carriage as I climbed onto the seat next to him. His focused gaze had a stony look of despair. I knew that look all too well. I'd seen it in my own reflection too many times to count.

  "I've lost, Hillary. The sewer rat won't take my money and I'm too damn old to fight." He glanced to the left as we headed back out of town. Something out there called to him through the barrier of trees. "Will you help me, old friend? Will you listen to my tale of woe, one last time? A beast you may be, but in this case, I'd gladly trade one beast for another."

  I held onto the wooden seat of the carriage as my world spun. My heart ached for Belle. Naive in love, her fate had been decided for her. One beast for another. If it was me, I'd rather die—at least I'd be free. A howl tore through the air, feral and dangerous. I searched for the sound, but there was no recognition in the man's face beside me. No hint he'd heard it at all. I knew then, that hideous howl wasn't in his world... it was in mine.

  I waited for the wagon to veer right, back onto the worn track toward the large cottage. Instead, the horses continued, trotting down the larger, worn road, even as the sun dipped low over the horizon. Where were we headed in the dark? The wagon bumped and weaved as the horses trotted, slowing only at a large fork in to road. The old man gripped the reins tight, steering with expert care as we headed left.

  My heart beat a little harder, knowing we had mere hours of daylight left and no way to find the trail in the dark. I could do nothing but wait and hope for the best. The frantic pace of my heart never slowed as the landscape changed. We passed small clumps of pine trees. The sight of these summoned a clenched fist inside my chest, as I stared at the expansive trunks reaching for the sky. The small patches of towering trunks became bigger, until one mass flowed into another.