Beauty Within

by Emily L Goodman

  He knew the way to the town like the back of his hand. He’d ridden it so many times as a man, visited so many of the stores there. He could only pray that Callista had taken the same route he always did—that she would have stayed to the larger, more certain path instead of taking a shortcut.

  Had he wished that she would hurry? Now he would be quite grateful simply to have her back with him at all, if only he could find her! He had been so foolish not to send more help after her—not to heed that sense of worry growing ever stronger while he’d waited for her. What if she was hurt?

  What if someone hurt her?

  Another scream.

  “Callista!” It was torn from him as a roar.

  “Griffin? Griffin!” Her voice sounded desperate—and it was coming from the right direction.

  He poured on more speed, hardly noticing when he went to his hands in an effort to run faster. The beast knew how to run like this.

  He’d fought it back for years, never once letting it have its way with him. He’d forced it down every time it had risen up, and if Callista occasionally saw flashes of it in his eyes, she’d also learned that the touch of her hand was enough to give him the strength to push it back.

  Tonight, hearing her scream, knowing what fear had to go into it, he let the beast out—and let it rage.

  He was on them in seconds. It took too long—

  She was still there. Her dress was torn, and she was held off the ground by a man twice her size, but she was still there. There was fire in her eyes as she kicked out at her attacker—no, attackers! There were two of them, one on other side of her—human wolves.

  Griffin growled. It was a sound that should have sent terror spinning down all of their spines.

  Callista sagged in the arms of the man holding her, looking relieved. He obviously hadn’t seen Griffin yet, because he reached out and slapped her.

  Griffin roared, lunging straight for the man.

  The second one hit him in the back of the knee as his claws scored the first across the face. What tale would he take back to town with him? Would he remember the great beast that had lunged at him, tried to destroy him, because of the girl he’d held in his arms?

  He didn’t care. Let them remember. Let them come.

  He’d kill them where they stood if they’d hurt a hair on her head.

  He’d hit the first man hard enough to knock him unconscious. The man in him worried about that—had he hurt him more than he’d intended? He’d hit people as a man, but never before as a beast, never had a chance to try his strength quite that way.

  The beast just sang a victory song. His opponent was down.

  The second man moved toward him—no, he was moving toward Callista, trying to catch her. Griffin roared again, doing his best to issue a potent warning that the man would not soon forget.

  He tried to grab Callista. What he wanted with her, Griffin had no idea, not enough mind left to figure out—because there was a knife in his hand.

  He lunged, feeling as though he was flying through the air as his paws landed on either side of the man’s shoulders. He could have torn his throat out.

  “Griffin!” Callista called.

  He growled—but her voice was enough to keep him from giving into the beast, enough to keep him from giving in to the urge to kill.

  God, don’t let me get lost in it. Let me stay a man—for her. He issued the desperate prayer and started to back away.

  The knife caught him in the side—deep.

  Callista screamed again.

  Fire cut through his side, and Griffin lost control. His hands thrust out; the man went flying through the air. He heard him crash against a tree and could only hope that he was far enough out that he wouldn’t be coming after them again.

  He tried to push himself up, pressing a hand to the wound, but his knee crumbled beneath him when he tried to make it take his weight. He growled savagely.

  A gentle hand rested on his shoulder: Callista’s. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  He snarled at her, panting.

  “Here—let me see.” She tried to push his hand aside.

  Her soft, gentle hands shouldn’t be on his coarse fur. They shouldn’t. He fought to remember that, to keep snarling at her; but Callista pressed him anyway, gently resting her hand on his arm. “It’s all right,” she murmured.

  He leaned into her touch, her caress, as though it was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. Maybe it was. She managed to coax him to lift his hand; her pale face told him that it wasn’t good.

  “It’s all right.” He tried for a smile, but had the feeling that it fell more than a little short. At least he was speaking to her normally again, sounding more like a man than a beast. He could feel his conscious mind coming back, could only be grateful that it was as easy as the touch of her hand to come back to himself. “I’ve…had worse.”

  She snorted softly. “Liar. You’re a pampered prince. Pampered princes don’t get stuck with knives.”

  Had he known that she could be this calm, this steady, under pressure? If he hadn’t, he appreciated it now. Griffin was well aware that there was blood sliding between his fingers.

  Callista reached down to rip a strip from the hem of her dress.

  “Don’t,” he protested.

  “It’s ruined anyway, and you need to get something on that,” she pointed out. Her voice was surprisingly strong and steady. Really, he would have expected her to be having hysterics by now.

  “It’s…not far back.” Though the throbbing starting slowly in his knee as the adrenaline wore off told him that it was going to be a very difficult walk indeed.

  “More than far enough. Here.” She ripped her skirt and handed him a length of fabric.

  He obediently pressed it to his side, wishing that she’d do it instead.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” There was the wobble he’d been expecting. Griffin gritted his teeth, wondering whether or not he could hide the knee from her at least long enough to get back up to the castle.

  It only took trying to shift his weight back to the leg to realize that it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Oh, no!” Callista’s face grew paler still. He hated that she’d been pushed this far—that he couldn’t sweep her into his arms and carry her back to the castle like the heroic rescuer he imagined himself.

  “I’m all right,” he said quickly. “Just a sprain, more than likely.”

  “Just a—” Her hands fisted at her sides. He had the feeling that the gesture was intended to help her keep that incredible control. “I can’t carry you,” she pointed out logically.

  “If I can lean on you, we’ll manage,” Griffin promised her grimly.

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself more.” She chewed on her lower lip for a long moment. He wanted to reach out and stop her, but not right now—not when it was him she was looking over with such concern and caring in her eyes.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted. Of course, he was lying to her, and they both knew it; but saying it sounded lovely, didn’t it?

  She sighed. “Do you want me to go for help? Hemsworth, or the stable boys—”

  Stable boys. Griffin turned his head, looking. He knew that bad things sometimes happened in this forest, especially after dark. He’d always made sure that there was someone to watch her. So where…

  There. Under the tree. The slight rise and fall told him that the boy was still alive—but whoever had been after Callista must have attacked him first, because he was also quite unconscious.

  “What—is that one of yours?” Callista turned to look the same way he had, frowning hard.

  “It—well, yes.” Griffin was grateful that it was dark and that his furred skin didn’t show a blush anyway.

  “And what, pray tell, is one of your stable boys doing out here?” She sounded curious, not angry. He supposed that, at least, was a good sign.

  “I—well—” he stammered.

  Callista just looked at him.
r />   “I…sent him to follow you. In an effort to prevent this,” Griffin pointed out with a growl, letting the hand not holding his wound cast around the clearing.

  She sighed—and didn’t protest. At least the fool woman had the sense to recognize necessity when she saw it.

  “All right.” Callista took a deep breath. “We’ve just got to get you up the castle, and then we’ll send someone back for him, okay?”

  Griffin grimaced. He wasn’t sure he could lean on her hard enough to get up to the castle, not the way his knee was throbbing.

  “I’m strong enough to handle it.”

  He knew she’d do her best. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d do her best to get them up to the castle. But Callista was a relatively small woman of average height. He…decidedly wasn’t.

  He leaned just a little bit of his weight on her. She slid her arm around his waist, seemingly not minding his beastly form draped over her at all. He was impressed by just how easy, how natural, she made it seem that she had her arm around him.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t strong enough to support as much of his weight as he needed held, either.

  They staggered a few steps, Griffin clinging to her with all he was worth, but it was slow going. He felt as though he was moving through mud—and the worst part was, with one hand applying pressure to the wound on his side constantly and the other around Callista’s shoulders, he couldn’t even reach out to grab a convenient tree.

  “Come on. You’ve got this.” Callista’s voice sounded like it was starting to get a hysterical edge. He hated that she was starting to panic.

  “Callista—”

  “No!” she insisted.

  “You could be back up at the castle in a matter of minutes and send help back for me,” he pointed out quietly.

  “And if they wake up?”

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to knock them out again.” He wasn’t in great shape, but he was fairly sure he could handle two already-wounded hoodlums.

  She didn’t laugh. “Griffin, just—try for me. Please?”

  He managed to stagger a few more steps. It felt like it took a lifetime—and the clearing was still in view. He grimaced, fighting to keep going instead of plopping down in the middle of the path and choosing not to move again.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Callista murmured.

  “I—” He’d put too much weight on his wounded knee. It crumpled under him, leaving her bearing far to much of his weight. She staggered; both of them went to the ground. “It will be better if you leave me,” he said grimly. “You could be there and back faster than I—” A noise had his head coming up fast. If one of her attackers was coming back for them, he was going to send Callista running for help whether she liked it or not.

  What he saw instead made his knees weaker than before—this time with relief. “Hemsworth!” he cried before he could stop himself.

  “I thought you could use some help, Your Majesty.” Hemsworth had come with several of the stable boys and grooms—and a wagon.

  Griffin had never been quite so glad to see a wagon before. “You thought right.” He sighed. Men. Strong men.

  It was the work of minutes to have him and the stable boy loaded into the wagon—along with Callista’s purchases from the town. He hoped none of them had been broken in the scuffle. If they had…well, he’d replace them, of course, but that was one more thing to lay at the feet of her attackers.

  Hemsworth let the stable boys take them back to the castle. He threw the attackers over the body of one of the horses and led them back toward the town.

  “Remember to see what their memories look like,” Griffin warned.

  “They likely have concussions. Won’t remember a thing—but they attacked a young lady, and we can’t let them do it again,” Hemsworth insisted. “I’ll let the town magistrate know that these two are quite guilty.”

  “Oh, but,” Callista began.

  “Who will it be next time, my lady?” Hemsworth demanded irritably. “If you let them get away with it when it’s you, who will they attack next? One of your friends? Your sisters come to visit again?”

  She fell silent, looking much subdued.

  Griffin, who had somehow managed to end up with his head in her lap, reached up to touch her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked her quietly.

  She nodded. “I’m fine. It’s not—they didn’t manage to hurt me, not really.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m so sorry you got hurt coming to my rescue.”

  “Don’t be.” He gave her a smile in spite of the pain searing through both knee and side as the wagon began jostling its way toward the castle. It was far from the smoothest ride he’d ever had—though Callista’s gentle hand stroking over his fur was enough to reassure him substantially. He might hurt, but with her there, he could face it. “I’m just glad I got to you before they hurt you.”

  “I was so scared,” she whispered. “When he cut you—”

  “I’m all right,” he repeated firmly.

  She smoothed her hand over his face. “Try to rest until we get back to the castle,” she said gently.

  He nodded, settling himself a little more comfortably. That turned his head to the side just as they reached a curve in the road that let him see back into the clearing.

  Mixed among some of the debris that had not yet been cleared away was the remains of his favorite chocolate orange dessert. Griffin closed his eyes, letting Callista’s light touch soothe him into rest in spite of the pain. That dessert had become a symbol of her caring for him—but with her hand light on his head, he had no doubt that she cared about him. He didn’t need a dessert for that.

  Everyone jumped into action when they arrived back at the castle—such a whirlwind of activity that it made Callista’s head spin. Griffin was lifted by the stable hands and carried to his bedroom. Someone was dispatched to get Mrs. Martel, who apparently doubled as the castle healer when no doctor was available.

  It was the first time it had occurred to her that of course there was no doctor to see to Griffin. What if he was really hurt? What if his knee was broken? She remembered Kris breaking his arm once, when he was young. He’d said that having it set was the worst part—and he’d had something for the pain.

  Was there even anything to give Griffin? What if—

  “There, there, dear.” Mrs. Martel patted her shoulder gently. “Don’t fret. The master has extraordinary healing abilities, he does. You’ll see: he’ll be back to rights in no time.”

  Callista just blinked at her.

  “She’s going into shock, poor thing.” Mrs. Picard bustled in after her, wrapping an arm around Callista’s shoulders. “You go in and see to the master. I’ll just have a chat with Callista.”

  “I—I’m fine.” Though Callista had suddenly realized that her teeth were chattering.

  “You don’t look fine.” Mrs. Picard pulled a blanket off of a nearby chair, then bundled Callista into it with such skill that she barely realized that she was moving. “Come on now, dear. You need to just sit here for a few minutes.”

  “But Griffin—”

  “Is in perfectly good hands. Mrs. Martel will set him to rights—you’ll see.”

  “But—” She tried to get back up out of the chair.

  Mrs. Picard pushed her gently back down. “Come now, Callista. You need to rest yourself and calm down before you go back in there. You want to be able to support him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I—”

  “You just sit here and—oh!” She raised her hands, smiling. “Look: tea. Just the thing for shock, don’t you think? Here, darling, do drink this.”

  Callista lifted the warm cup to her lips, but found herself simply holding it, breathing in the steam instead of actually drinking it.

  Mrs. Picard patted her back gently. “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked gently.

  “I—” The shivers were starting again. “No,” Callista said firmly, tucking the blanket more tightly aroun
d her. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

  Mrs. Picard clucked her tongue at her, but she didn’t press.

  “Could one of you come in and give me a hand, dears?” Mrs. Martel poked her head out. “I’d ask Hemsworth if he were here, but—oh, you know the stable boys never stay in the castle long enough. It’s as though the place just pushes them out again.”

  “What do you need?” Callista was on her feet this time before Mrs. Picard could push her down again.

  Mrs. Martel gestured her inside. “Come, now,” she encouraged. “I need you to help him brace upright so I can get a bandage around him. Don’t want to use adhesive in all that fur, right?”

  “Of course.” More time must have passed than she’d realized while she sat staring at the cup of tea, because when she walked into the room, Griffin was propped up in his bed. His knee was already bandaged, and neat stitches had been applied to the wound in his side.

  “Hey.” Griffin tried a smile for her, but it was obvious that he was tired and hurting.

  She sat down beside him, sliding her hand into his before she thought about it. “What’s the verdict?” she asked softly.

  “The knee’s just wrenched, maybe sprained—it’ll heal up all right, but I’ll have to stay down for a few days.” He made a face. “And we had such plans for Christmas, too. I’m sorry, Callista.”

  “It’s all right.” She smiled tremulously. “I’m just glad it’s not worse.”

  “No worries. I’m not sure they’ll have told you—I heal ridiculously fast.” This smile, while smug, was at least a little brighter.

  “Mrs. Martel mentioned it. She also mentioned that she’d like you to sit up for a moment so she can wind these bandages.”

  Griffin grimaced. “I’m not bleeding that much anymore,” he grumbled.

  “You’re bleeding quite enough, and you need to keep those stitches clean!” Mrs. Martel informed him. “Now, you sit up and be a good patient. Here—lean on Callista, don’t tense.”

  Griffin did his best to do as she’d asked. Callista took as much of his weight as she could, seeing that he was clearly exhausted. They had to have given him something for the pain, right? Surely that was why he was so lethargic.