Page 23

T hat evening, after returning to Hawthorne Hall, Bella stomped up the stairs to her room. Mortification flooded through her as she thought of the way Leopold found her. Sprawled out on the sofa, fast asleep, with the history of the realm on her chest. His realm. He must have seen the book and knew she snooped for it. It was no longer on her chest when she came awake and looked up at him as he kneeled beside the sofa.

The way he looked at her so intently made her pulse race. A tingling took residence in the pit of her stomach. His pale brown gaze was as soft as a caress as he peered at her with a spark of something she had never seen before. A spark that seemed to ignite a longing inside her.

Not just a longing to help him, to break his curse. But longing to feel his arms wrapped around her. Thinking that startled her to the core.

“Oh, miss, you’ve returned.” Emmaline’s voice broke into her thoughts.

She realized she halted at the top of the stairs, the book still clutched to her chest, as she allowed her thoughts of Leopold to invade her memories.

“Will you help me change, Em?” She headed to her room.

Emmaline fell in step with her. “Were you successful today?”

She knew what Bella was doing—that she was translating the book for Leopold. But she did not know why or what was at stake. Bella nodded.

“Yes, I made progress.”

There was so much she wanted to share with the girl, but she felt that Leopold told her the story of his brother and his lost kingdom in confidence. She wouldn’t betray that. She couldn’t. She wanted him to trust her to keep his secrets, though he had never said they were secrets.

In her bedroom, she placed the book on the table by the bed. Since she had started transcribing it more and more, the strange whispers had stopped. She slid off her gloves and dropped them on the bed, then removed her bonnet. Emmaline scooped them up and carried them to the wardrobe.

“Gerald asked after you this afternoon,” she said. “But I told him you were busy in town.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice hollow and her thoughts distracted.

“I also got a note from Lord Vincent. He said he’d like to call soon.” She turned to face Bella, her cheeks pink and her eyes alight with excitement. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

“Lord Vincent? Yes, of course.”

Emmaline unbuttoned the back of her dress. As she did, an idea struck Bella.

“Em, I wonder if you could ask him to bring the text I was translating for him? I was never able to finish it before we left for the country.”

“I’ll ask him.”

There was a slim chance finishing the translation of his book would yield any information to help her with the current project. But she wanted to at least try. She had to know how that story ended. If she did, then perhaps she would have an idea as to how Leopold’s story would end.

After she was in her nightgown and Emmaline had turned back the bed, the girl gathered up her day clothes and bid her goodnight. She slid under the cool sheets, pulling the blankets to her chin and tucking her arms underneath as she rolled to her side.

Thoughts of Leopold entered her mind once again. Her stomach fluttered as she recalled all he told her that day. There was a profound loneliness that emanated off him. And yet he tried to conceal that from her.

He didn’t want her pity. And she didn’t pity him. Instead, she had an intense need to help him pounding through her to find the answers in the book. Reading about the long-lost kingdom of Cassoné, though, helped her understand him more. It was once a glorious, thriving kingdom with a long line of kings who protected the realm.

She closed her eyes again, trying to push away the thoughts and quiet her mind. When sleep still eluded her, she huffed and sat up, staring at the book on her night table. It remained silent in the cool darkness.

The chill of the floor bit at her bare feet as she slipped from the bed. Sleep wasn’t coming and there was no point pretending anymore. She reached for her dressing gown, shrugging it over her shoulders with a shiver, then slid her feet into her slippers.

Her gaze landed on the book.

It waited on the bedside table where she’d left it, dark and silent, but somehow still watching. She picked it up, the familiar weight settling in her arms. If answers lived anywhere, they were buried in these pages. And if she couldn’t rest, then she might as well dig.

Perhaps if she made progress tonight, she’d have something to show Leopold by morning. Something real. Something that mattered. Something that gave him hope.

Her feet were silent as she descended the stairs. The household was quiet, still, sleeping. She moved to the library, her breath pooling in her throat and her heart racing. Determination edged through her as she entered the cold, dark room. The waning moon did little to illuminate the panes of glass of the window. She slipped around the room, lighting the candles.

At the desk, she placed the book down and lit more candles. Then she sat in the creaky old chair that was her father’s, pulled out a piece of parchment, and began.

Before long, ink stained her fingers. She ignored it as she continued to stare at the pages hoping something—anything—would become clear. She turned a page, her finger trailing down it. The runes were all the same twisty, thorny vines that had no meaning.

In a huff, she sat back, frustration edging through her. This was a futile attempt. It was as though the translation part of her mind decided to shut off.

She flipped the page once again and then something caught her eye. Leaning forward, the brambles rearranged themselves in an odd shape. Her fingers trembled as she placed them on the paper. She had seen this section dozens of times before. Nothing had ever been there. It was the same knot of impossible symbols and tangled meaning. But tonight, something shifted.

The ink shimmered. Faintly. Like moonlight on black water.

Leaning closer, her breath fogged against the suddenly cold page. The runes rose, bleeding up from the parchment like wounds reopening.

New symbols. New script.

Her heart stuttered. She didn’t blink. She held her breath. The translation came slowly, hesitantly, like the book wasn’t sure it wanted to give it to her. Her eyes followed the pattern, translating in pieces. Not a passage. Not a spell.

A warning.

A step onto the thorn willingly. Forever altering. A man by day transforms to beast in the moonlight. The sands stilled the moment the vow was spoken. Now they fall again. When the final grain is lost, so, too, is the man. Forever altered.

She stared, mouth dry. The air left her lungs in a cold rush.

She’d seen the hourglass on his desk. The way it gleamed in the candlelight—its sands too bright, too slow, too unnatural. She’d watched it shift, the sands dripping slow. It was as he said.

It wasn’t measuring time. It was measuring him . Every grain that fell was a breath he’d borrowed. A heartbeat closer to the end. Closer to forever altered.

Her stomach twisted. The book didn’t say how many grains remained. Only that when the last one fell, Leopold, the man, would be gone. And she had no idea how to stop it.

A man by day transforms to beast in the moonlight.

What did it mean? He transformed into a beast under the light of the moon? Her heart thundered wildly as she thought of the howls she heard the previous nights. Was it him? Did he follow her in beast form? Would he come after her? Was she in danger?

A cold shiver snaked down her spin. He was far too kind to her. He would never hurt her. He would never hunt her. She rejected the idea of him as a beast. Despite that, she recalled the dark shadows under his eyes. When she queried him at breakfast, he seemed less than willing to give her answers.

A cold breeze shifted through the house, lifting the hair on the back of her neck and snuffing out the candles. She sucked in a breath and stiffened, sitting in the darkness, her hand on the book with oddly glowing crimson ink. Her heart beat hard and painfully fast.

Snatching the nearest candleholder, she shot to her feet. The chair scraped along the floor. Loud in the silence. In the darkness, it was difficult to find the matches. Her hand fumbled on the mantle until finally she found the matchbox. With shaking fingers, she got it open and struck a match, lighting the candle. The tiny glow from the one candle did not do much to push back the shadows and the gloom.

When she turned to face the library doorway, she froze. Standing there was a shape. Nothing more than a silhouette. An outline. With two red glowing eyes. She saw no other features.

The scream froze in her throat. She clutched the candle tight in her hand, her fingers cramping. The shadow thing was here, in her home, its red eyes fixed on her. Was this the shadow thing she saw in the port before their home burned down? Was this thing responsible for the fire and the destruction of her father’s ships? She dared not scream. She dared not move.

It floated toward her, reaching out with its long billowy arms and slender fingers ending in what looked like shadow claws. Terror gripped her as she watched it approach. It was so close now. It reached for her.

Without thinking, she threw the candle at it. The light flared bright when it touched it. A scream and a hiss and then it was no more than a fine black mist disappearing into the void. Snuffed out.

She was now plunged into darkness once again with a useless candleholder in her hand. She tossed it aside and hurried back to the desk to grab the other one. A quick glance down to see the ink on the page was bleeding, moving, forming a symbol on the page. Swirling now and then lifting, moving, rising. Up and up and up.

Bella stumbled backward, tripping over the hem of her nightgown. As the dark mist rose, it formed another creature. Another shadow thing, for she had no other word to call it. It turned its faceless head toward her and then lunged.

A faint shriek ripped from her throat as ghostly hands wrapped around her neck, pressing into her skin and trying to snuff out her breath, as she snuffed out the candle. She gasped, trying to force air into her lungs, but the sharp fingers were crushing her throat, stealing her life. A burning sensation erupted through her, flaring behind her eyes.

The sound of breaking glass and other noises shattered the moment. The apparition released her and reared back, turned and suddenly the beast was there. It had knocked over the writing desk, the book tumbling to the floor, as it leapt through the broken window.

Bella stumbled backward, her back smacking against the cold marble of the fireplace, her hand on her throat as she gulped in air.

A deep, guttural snarl as it attacked the shadow, swiping massive claws through it. A high-pitched cry and then it was gone. But another quickly replaced it as it surged from the darkness of the hallway through the open library door.

The beast took this one out as well.

Then there was silence. She huddled there, against the hearth, her pulse pounding hard and fast. The beast turned its head and met her gaze. She gasped as she looked into its eyes—its pale brown eyes. Familiar, yet feral. His name whispered through her mind.

But it could not be. Could it?

Shock stabbed her to the core as she got a good look at him.

He was massive. Taller than any man she’d ever seen. He was sinew and shadow. Coarse, thick black fur coated him, the color or charred ash. His limbs were too long, too lean. His hands were still vaguely human, but not, ending in terrifying claws that looked as though they could tear through the hardest stone.

But it was those eyes that stopped her. Not savage. Not mindless. Those pale brown eyes burned beneath a dark brow. Bright and haunted. Terrible and terrifying. Yet unmistakably his. Leopold.

His lips peeled back, showing long sharp, teeth. But he didn’t howl. He emitted a labored breath as though the fight had taken something out of him. He shifted toward her, and she saw it then—the rose-shaped scar twisted beneath the fur on his forearm. The curse banded into his flesh, even in his beastly form.

Though he stood with the brute power of a predator, he did not move to attack her. He had protected her from the shadows. Deep in his eyes she saw he hadn’t lost himself to the best completely.

Not yet.

And that, at least, gave her hope.

She took a tentative step toward him but suddenly another apparition appeared in the doorway.

“Behind you!” she managed.

He spun as the shadow thing attacked. The dark claw ripped across Leopold’s chest, shredding flesh and fur. He cried out in agony, a deep guttural moan that sent shivers skipping through her. The attack angered him, and he surged forward, swiping a paw down the length of the apparition, cutting it in two. That high-pitched whine and then it disappeared in a puff of dark mist.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Gerald’s voice rang out followed by Emmaline’s. She sucked in a breath. The beast’s pointed ears perked as he placed himself between the doorway and her. He emitted a low, guttural growl of warning, ready to fight once again.

“No, Leopold,” she said, her voice calm and sure.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting hers once again.

“Go,” she breathed. “Before they find you.”

“Bella!” Gerald called. He was steps away from the library.

“Please,” she begged. Then, she called, “I’m fine!”

She was spurred into action as she hurried toward the door, desperate to put herself between him and the butler. She caught a whiff of his feral scent as she skirted around him, unafraid of him.

“Don’t let them see you,” she said as she passed by him.

He hurried to the window and leapt through the broken glass, disappearing into the night.