The Beast Queen

by Felicity Partington

  “No.” Isabelle scoffed, “I think it’s obsession. Infatuation. It’s more dangerous than love. Consuming. I won’t hurt him, nor will I stand by and watch you-”

  “I would never harm the Master.” He protested, seemingly affronted.

  “Say his name.” She demanded, fists at her side.

  “What?”

  “His name." She repeated, her anger flaring into life, "Say it. Treat him like a person.”

  “He is not a person Isabelle. You are blinded by your emotions. Stupid enough to think that he can be decent. That he isn’t a monster.” Isabelle opened her mouth to protest hotly but before she could Joseph had pulled a box from one of the cabinets and placed it on the desk. Isabelle hesitated; Joseph made a gesture that she was to open it. The teenager paused for a moment before curiosity won out, pulling off the dusty lid she began to lift the sheets within, one by one. There were hundreds, names, sketches, families.

  “What is this?”

  “These are all the people that your precious Erik has slaughtered. Back when he was first turned, they thought he could be human. That he could be nurtured. But he has the temper of a wild animal and the strength too. These are all people who once worked here, in the castle, who tried to treat him with kindness, even love.” The deeper she got to the bottom of the box; the words began to fade so that she could barely make them out. At the very bottom she paused, there was a small painting of a much younger girl, she couldn’t have been more than eight in the picture. She had blonde ringlets and a pretty cherub face.

  “Kari.” Isabelle breathed, it had been the other name on the family tree, Eiríkr and Kari. His sister.

  The thought of it was too barbaric, what witch, evil or otherwise would put a child into the body of a monster? Is this what he blamed himself so unforgivingly for? How did he survive with the guilt? Did he remember killing his sister? Underneath the picture of the child, was another of his parents. His sister had been the image of their mother. “Why are you showing me this?”

  “Because Isabelle, you need to understand. Our lives here are in perpetual danger, hanging on the thread of his whim. You’re entirely wrong if you think that we want you to hurt him, we just need you to stay away. We want to keep you alive. And you’re making it impossibly difficult.”

  “If he’s so bad, why not let the reporters know? Why not have people come in? People who can-”

  “What? Take him into the city? Hold him? Chain him down?" He rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger wearily, "There isn’t a prison made that would hold him. He’d kill too many people. It would be impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible anymore, if you’d open your eyes and move out of this self-imposed time capsule then you might see that.” She insisted.

  “We are entrusted with this responsibility. With the burden of the beast. For the good of everybody, we must bear its weight.”

  “You’re wrong.” Isabelle insisted passionately, putting the papers back on the table. “You hide and whisper, keep your secrets, but you’re wrong about him. You’re wrong about everything.” She wouldn’t let him twist this, Isabelle wasn’t entirely sure what was true anymore, everybody seemed to have a different story.

  There was something instinctive that she didn’t trust about Joseph Hands, something that had niggled at the back of her mind since the moment she first arrived here. He opened his mouth to speak again but Isabelle raised her hand and shook her head, “I don’t want to hear it. I might not know what’s going on here exactly,” she paused, “but I will find out. I think I already know more than I was supposed to, more than you wanted me to. Erik already told me he killed his family. He’s never pretended to be anything other than what he is. Your family have done a brilliant job, you’ve convinced him that he is a monster. But you won’t convince me.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply, simply turned and fled the room.

  All of this was proving too much for her, her head was in a spin. The castle was filled with people and that was the very last thing she wanted to deal with, so she stole away to her bedroom so that she could think.

  Think was pretty much all she could do. At times, she thought that she was losing her mind. What she had said to Mr Hands, about her not being in love, did she believe it? She desperately wanted to. It seemed too pathetic to have fallen for her gaoler, much easier to put it aside, label it as infatuation. But then why did her heart hurt so much at the thought of his name being slandered, why did the notion of what he’d had to live with for centuries weigh so heavily on her own mind?

  What was going on?

  What had she been pulled into?

  Could Erik really have killed those reporters in the woods?

  Did she care?

  Had he killed her father?

  Isabelle spent altogether too long in the bath, by the time she came out, the light outside was fading again, the sky pink and beautiful. She wondered if her father was looking at the same sky. He couldn’t be dead, she’d feel it. Her life in Lomsen seemed so long ago, so far away. It felt like nothing had existed, nothing but this world, this life. There had been a time where she hadn’t known Erik, where her emotions and desires had existed independently of his. Where her every thought had been about different things.

  Now everything was him.

  When they were together, her world stopped. Time seemed suspended, frozen. When they were apart it crawled by, painfully, and all she wanted was to be near him again. She had to be going mad. No sane person could be this singularly obsessed.

  He was a murderer.

  He was dangerous.

  He was a monster.

  She should care, she knew that she should, but she didn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Isabelle wasn’t sure what woke her up. There was an eerie stillness in her room, the open curtains let the moonlight in, but it was the only illumination that she had. Everything looked ethereal in the ghostly gleam. The familiar room held no fear for her now, this was her cocoon against the madness, her prison, her home. She knew every inch of the expansive, decadent space. Her eyes protested opening, she was still tired, and she had been dreaming of something pleasant and warm. Blinking sleepily, she almost missed it. The shape in the shadows, watching her.

  “Is it terribly entertaining?” She asked, heart suddenly beating faster, “watching me sleep?” She expected a gruff reply, but instead, there was nothing. He barely moved, if it wasn’t for his eyes watching her then she might think she was imagining him. “Erik?” She asked, sitting up now, it was somewhat disconcerting. Initially she had been pleased that he had been here, she had so much she wanted to ask him. About the reporters, about Joseph, but her questions fell to the back of her mind. The way he was watching her, like a predator in the darkness, silent and still, it sent a shudder of desire pulsing through her body.

  Adrenaline.

  Fight or flight.

  What if she wanted to do neither?

  Isabelle wet her lips, her tongue darting over the plump flesh as she took in a steady breath.

  There was a feeling of threat in the room, an oppressive, stifling danger. It made the air itself heavy, charged with a tension that was like electricity. It was almost tangible. Isabelle shifted, but a low warning growl made her freeze.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” She said, unsure.

  “Move.”

  Isabelle swallowed thickly but stayed still. What was going on? Had he not intended for her to wake up? What exactly was he doing lurking in her room at night? Had he done this before?

  “Erik you’re frightening me…” Isabelle breathed. Silence again, nothing but yellow eyes boring into her, as if his gaze alone could keep her still. Could keep them locked there and forbid the morning from coming. Had Joseph sent him? Was he here to kill her? Had he heard their conversation in the office after all? Isabelle opened her mouth to speak again, but the words wouldn’t come out. She sat frozen for a moment before she shifted again.
What was going on? Was she dreaming? Was this a nightmare? She moved towards him on the bed slowly, with the intention of going to him, but he growled again. A low rumble that made the air thrum. Isabelle shook her head, “I don’t know what you’re doing, but will you talk to me? Please?” The silence was horrible. When he didn’t speak, she crawled towards the edge of the bed, swinging her legs off when she reached the end, her bare feet touching the thick carpet.

  “Isabelle.” He warned.

  “Has something happened? Have you done something? You can tell me.” She couldn’t imagine why else he would be here. She squinted at the darkness, hoping that she might see something, half expecting his fur to be stained with blood. She shifted her weight to her feet and for the first time, she saw him move. He stood up from his low crouch and she stopped, eyes following his as they rose in the shadows. He looked taller in this room, and she was reminded of how intimidating he had been when she had first arrived here. It felt like so long ago. She remembered being afraid of him, of looking at him and seeing something terrifying, but there was no fright left in her now. It didn’t matter why he was here. Within him she saw challenge, he met her head-on with intelligence, with stubbornness, she had a desperate need to win, to triumph in this war of wills they seemed locked in. She was far from afraid.

  If he intended to kill her now? That would be a triumph too because at least she would have driven him to it instead of cowering beneath her coverlet like a lost little lamb.

  They were equals.

  “You told me that you were afraid of yourself around me, so why are you here?” She asked, tilting her head to watch him. “Completely alone. In my bedroom. Was I supposed to stay sleeping? What would you have done?” Isabelle knew she should have felt vulnerable, endangered by the thought of him looming over her sleeping form. And she did, unfortunately, it seemed to have quite the opposite effect on her body than it should have, instead of making her afraid, it spurred an arousal in her that she didn’t quite know how to process. What was wrong with her?

  “Nothing.” His voice was so soft it might have been engulfed by the silence of the room had she not been listening so intently.

  Could it truly be that he was here because he did not have the willpower to resist? She understood that she had felt impossibly drawn to him since she arrived, if she knew where he was at all times, then she too would probably have gravitated there. How many times had she tried to seek him out?

  The breeze from outside nipped at her skin and a voice somewhere deep in the back of her mind wondered when the window had opened.

  Isabelle understood now, he had come because he needed to because with her asleep it would be safe.

  Ironic that he was so afraid to be alone with her. Him an enormous beast and her a mere girl.

  Physically she could not overpower him, she didn’t stand a chance, he had demonstrated that before. But mentally? He had been surrounded by sycophants for too long. But where she enjoyed the thrill of a challenge, he seemed to be completely terrified by it. He was afraid of letting go, of admitting what he wanted. But why? Was it because of the servants? What did they matter? The others, they already hated him. Was he just afraid to lose? The control he had so carefully surrounded himself with, vanished entirely around Isabelle. The notion that he was equally as subservient to this desire as she, it was grounding and exhilarating.

  “You like watching me.” She observed, no longer expecting a reply. “It’s why I don’t draw the curtains when I bathe. Or change. I’ve seen you watch before. It’s ok.”

  “No-” He started, but she cut across him.

  “You want me. I understand.” Isabelle confessed desperately, knowing that he was not going to move and trying absolutely anything she could think of to make him. To make him touch her. “I want you too. And I know I shouldn’t, I know you shouldn’t. But why not? What’s so wrong about it. What happened to you wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to punish yourself forever. Three centuries are more than enough. You can be happy now.” Belle insisted. Instead of stepping down, she pulled her feet back up and tucked them under her as she knelt on the bed. She wasn’t sure what stopped her advancing towards him, the bed seemed safe, safe from the sheer ferocity of his gaze.

  They weren’t working, her words, he didn’t move again. Isabelle wanted to scream, to rage against his infuriatingly mixed signals. What did he want from her? He was the one who showed up here. She didn’t ask him to come. Isabelle shook her head in exasperation and folded her arms in front of her, Erik tensed. Isabelle’s eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. “Oh,” she breathed.

  Isabelle looked down at what she was wearing, silken pyjamas with a button-down top. Very slowly she let her fingers touch the top button gently, it was shimmery in the moonlight, the mother of pearl buttons looking almost otherworldly. Isabelle was holding her breath, for all her bravado and confidence, it was intimidating. Sitting here, him watching. She knew that she wanted him, more than anything, but this wasn’t bathing with him watching from a distance. This was crossing a line that she had not crossed before. Isabelle undid the first button, letting the pyjama top fall open a little, exposing the top of her smooth breasts. She should be cold, the air was certainly, but her body was running on adrenaline at this point.

  All that mattered were his eyes on her.

  Isabelle undid the next button, slowly, and then another, until her top hung open, exposing the centre of her chest all the way down to her navel. Isabelle took another steadying breath before shrugging it off, it cascaded down her smooth skin like water and pooled on the bed behind her.

  Only then did she dare look up to meet Erik’s eyes again, she could drown in those eyes, the fierceness of the lust within them made her shiver. Isabelle stayed on her knees for a long time, resting back on the curve of her feet, watching him, before he finally stepped forward. His movements were slow, resistant, and Isabelle daren’t move lest he run. When he was finally in front of her, so that she was looking up at him, she made her move. It was her that touched him first.

  Isabelle let her fingers brush against his gently, his head snapped to watch her hand as she guided his enormous paw to one of her breasts. He didn’t pull away; she felt the rough pads against the globe of soft skin and she almost moaned. It was such a contrast. Of course, she had touched herself before, but her hands were soft and gentle. There was nothing gentle about Erik. He closed his hand and squeezed the flesh in a way that made her gasp, claws grazing her skin. If she thought he would stop at her exclamation of pain she was wrong, his eyes darkened further, and his touch became firmer, more confident, his thumb grazed over her nipple and her head swam.

  Isabelle ran her fingers over his other hand, amazed at the feel of him, exploring the thickness of his fur and the hardness of his muscles. It was a strange contrast, copious amounts of thick softness, disguising his enormous bulk but also softening it. She wondered momentarily what he would look like without fur. With a final, almost painful clench, he let his hand fall away from her and Isabelle immediately lamented the loss. He was watching her touch him closely, as her hand ran up his arm and towards his shoulder. She couldn’t comfortably reach any further, not without standing, so she let her fingers dance across his chest, knotting in the thick fur there.

  “Isabelle,” Erik warned again, she felt his voice rumble, his chest vibrating, she shook her head and looked up at him. It was she who didn’t dare speak now, she didn’t want this to end, didn’t want him to go away. Her pale skin was dusted with goosebumps, but the heat that radiated from his body was immense. She wondered if he remembered what cold felt like.

  Her heart was beating so quickly that she thought it might burst free from her chest. Taking his hand again, she used it to steady herself as she stood up on the bed, for the first time they were eye to eye. She placed his hand on her hip, his fingers alone almost stretched the entire expanse of her stomach, looking down at his dark fur against her porcelain skin was possibly the mo
st amazing contrast she had ever experienced. Isabelle ran her hands over his before she took her daring to another level. With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned the waistband of her trousers, letting them fall loose on her hips. She looked up and caught Erik’s eyes, he had been watching her fingers too, when he looked up at her again, she felt more powerful than she had ever felt in her life. What she hadn’t expected was his hands to move lower, the silken trousers tore like paper beneath the strength of his claws. Isabelle felt the rush of cool air as they fell from her legs, like wisps. She knew she should feel exposed, embarrassed standing here naked before the beast, but she didn’t.

  She felt more desired than she had ever felt before.

  And more in control.

  She met his eyes for a moment before she moved backwards, laying down on the bed against the cushions. Erik dropped to a crouch and crawled up the bed and atop her, Isabelle swallowed thickly.

  There was no going back now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He was huge above her, his arms held his weight, if they hadn’t she’d be crushed beneath him. She saw his muscles, tense and tight, either side of her. Isabelle could hardly think straight; her thoughts were too focused on him. When he rocked back onto his haunches, the bed lurched and groaned, and Isabelle almost protested, but then he was running his fingers down her stomach curiously. When he hesitated, Isabelle frowned, his hands fell away from her and she shifted her weight, propping herself up on her elbows. He wasn’t watching her face anymore, he was drinking in the sight of her, running his eyes up and down her body hungrily.

  Isabelle wanted him to do something.

  Anything.

  She wanted him to touch her and his hesitation was driving her quite out of her mind. With nothing to lose, Isabelle took her own hand and ran her fingers over the soft skin of her stomach. His eyes flickered and locked on the moving digits. With a wantonness she couldn’t deny, even to herself, Isabelle let her fingers move downwards. He watched, poised and frozen from his position between her legs.