23. The Prince and the Beast

THE PRINCE AND THE BEAST

T he beast roars inside me, the sound of his fury blocking out all other sounds. It's hot, a burning inferno as he forces himself to the front. The tinge of iron from blood fills my mouth. For a few breaths, that is all I can hear, the sound ringing in my ears and throat and escaping me. It feels like it's loud enough to fill the castle and warn off the intruders, but they do not leave the gate.

All I can think is that they will not take her. I'll kill them all.

They knew better than to dare come to my gate.

The beast roars again. I am not certain if I'm making the same sound that floods my ears, but an ache in my throat tells me I might be. A small part of me does not want Elle to hear this and become afraid, but I cannot stop it.

The people at the gate do not have good intentions. Their hatred is palpable.

From the window I can see that there are at least six of them, perhaps eight. I do not want to take my eyes off them, but I do so I can storm through the halls and reach the front entrance of the castle.

I burst out into the cold night air with a roar. This time, I hear the sound echo off the wall and come back to me. It's not enough to make the people at the gate—the attackers —turn and run. The beast did not expect it to, but the parts of me that are still human hoped their fear of the beast would end this before it truly began.

But they are determined and do not flee back to the trees. Anger floods my veins. There's something in my castle they want, and it can't be anything other than Elle. My Elle. Mine . She is the most valuable thing. More precious than all the food in my stores or the gold in my treasury. I would not even care to replace most of the other things in the castle.

Elle cannot be replaced. She cannot even be compared. There is no one else like her in the world, and I will not lose her to the mob. They've already taken enough.

Possessiveness fuels me to blindly charge across the front entry with fury flooding my veins. I should have known they would come looking for her. I should have known they would realize her value only after she was gone. As I approach the gate, this is confirmed when a man steps up closest to the iron. His face is etched in arrogance and his teeth are bared as he screams for Elle. He dares speak her name.

It's Lord Crawe.

A darkness spreads through me, cracking my bones as I charge while another murderous growl tears out of my throat. This man dares to challenge me at the gates of my own home.

How did they know?

Something must have given her away. Given me away. Perhaps it was only that the paper was too fine to have been from some other country village. It was the plainest paper the castle had to offer, and there was no other mark on it. If this is because of Elle's note at all?—

It can't be. It can't be. If the magic delivered the letter, then it was slipped under her father's door or sent in through a crack in an open window, not hovering outside waiting for him.

This is the magic's doing. I know it deep in my soul. It wants me to fight for her and I will do more than that.

The beast roars with unrestrained rage as we near the gate. Neither of us can forget the last time villagers came here with evil intent. I remember it so clearly, though the beast was in control then, doing all he could to get my body to safety. He could hardly growl as he killed, defending himself, trying to stay alive. He snarls now with the terrible pain of those memories and how he was chased and beaten and hated, marked for death even though he hadn't killed anyone and had only wanted the village's help.

His rage and determination overpower all the caution I could have given him. I am pushed to the back and the beast is in full control.

This is so needless. It doesn't have to be like this. Let me have my one peace. My one love. My Elle.

In a single breath of hauntingly cold air, the beast speeds toward the gate; the last few feet fall away as he runs with all the power of his corded muscled body. The beast's bloodlust surges as we reach the gate and let out a final earth-shattering roar. Two men try to climb the iron gate. They have succeeded in reaching the top and throw themselves over, landing on their feet in front of me.

That's not good enough. I need all of them, because once I start to kill, I will not stop.

Once the beast starts to kill, he will not stop.

They've brought torches burning into the night and swords and batons of steel, but the beast's vengeance is stronger than any weapon they could forge. I almost feel pity for the unwise souls until I see his face—Crawe.

Another roar escapes without my conscious consent, and the magic understands that I want to let them through the gate. I do not want to do this because I think they will run from me and get away from the castle. I do it because the gate is no longer protecting me. It is an obstacle between me and my task.

The gate slams open, causing some of the men on the other side to jump back in shock. They take a moment to gasp, but then they recover and charge at me, their weapons held high and flashing in the light of the torches.

For a single second, they must think they have the advantage. There are more of them, and I am only one beast. They do not understand the depth of his rage, or mine.

The beast obliterates them, tearing their flesh and barely responding to an ounce of their attack. They are nothing compared to what he is. What he's capable of. I taste nothing but blood. I hear nothing but screams. The pain of a sword is nothing. The agony of a club to the head is nothing. They are nothing but dead.

One by one, he sinks claws and teeth into their flesh, ripping and tearing until the men begin to fall. He bites, snapping his jaw to cut through flesh until he meets bone. Blood spills hotly over his face and hands. It smells like copper in the cold air, mixing with the scent of the iron gate, and soon the blood is all there is.

There is nothing but pure primal need when we lunge for them. Suddenly there does not seem to be any distance between us.

The men go down one by one. One of the torches swipes at me, close enough to singe my skin, but I hardly feel the heat. That is not the kind of wound that will force me to stop. I don't pause for an instant.

I tear out the throat of another man. I use my claws and the stick and my teeth again and again and again, watching only long enough to see that the men don't get back up.

Then, suddenly, it is only me and Crawe. A gasp is heard to my right and I turn to face the sight of a coward.

Lord Crawe looks at me with disgust and anger and disbelief. There is also fear in his eyes, though he would never admit it. I bare my teeth at him, and he lifts his sword high, gritting his teeth. He thinks he will get the chance to come at me with it and pin me down and shove it through my chest, but he won't.

When he takes his first step, I leap at him, snarling and growling and ready to end this battle once and for all.

By the time our bodies meet, Crawe has a knife in one hand and his sword held in the other. I sink my teeth into his forearm, and he drops the knife.

Crawe leaps back a few feet to gain space, wiping at his mouth and wincing. He gets both hands on the hilt of his sword. We circle each other for a few steps, but the beast's vision is red with anger and he has no time for this man's game.

He attacks with teeth again, and then we are there, tearing at every piece of him we can reach. When Crawe falls with a pitiful scream, the beast is still not satisfied.

Mine. Mine. She is mine.

Blood spreads in a pool around Crawe's body as his throat is clawed away. The beast lets out a triumphant roar. He has won. He has killed all the men who thought they could scale the wall and kill him like a mere animal. No light sparks in any of their eyes. They are all finished, the battle is over, and the yard is silent.

The air is even colder than it was. It smells of snow. I inhale hard, my breath visible in the air in front of me, and my blood is still hot. In the silence I can hear the wind in the forest and echoes of that long-ago fight that happened almost in this very spot.

But as I catch my breath, the realization hits that I don't feel victorious.

I don't feel like I won. I don't even feel like I gained anything, though the beast disagrees. I know that I have done this to protect Elle and to protect myself, but as I look at the bodies, another emotion sinks in.

It is shame.

It is a grievous sadness. I stand in the yard, surrounded by dead bodies, and I don't feel powerful. I don't feel like the blood that was spilled tonight has made things any better. They will come for her again. They won't stop until I'm dead.

For a moment, I miss the world that I once had when I was the prince and not the beast.

The thing that brings me the most sadness is that Elle would have loved that world. She would have been safe. My home used to be filled with dinners, dancing, conversations, and laugher. It was never this silent and angry. It was never this burden, always with the knowledge that someone else may come to kill me.

There's a crack in my chest, loud enough that it is audible. I hear it and I feel something breaking open inside me. Almost at the same time, a stick cracks behind me.

I turn, feeling the blood on my hands and face and soaked through my clothes. She stands in the yard, her hair blowing around her face and her skirt blowing about her legs.

Her eyes are wide, and she is not wearing her blindfold.

She stares, horrified, at the beaten and bitten bodies that lay around me in a blood-soaked circle, her mouth open in shock and her hands shaking at her sides. Her chest rises and falls far too quickly. Panic overwhelms her.

Before I can do anything, before I can even speak her name, her eyes snap to mine, and the terror in them grows.