Page 24

T he moment he was gone through the window, Gerald was in the doorway. Emmaline held a candle, the flickering glow highlighting the alarm and concern on her face. Edith peered over her shoulder, trying to see what was happening.

“Miss, what happened?” Gerald asked.

“We heard an awful noise,” Emmaline added.

When he saw the broken window, he rushed to her. She put her hands up to show she wasn’t hurt.

“I think a tree branch, or something must have broken the window. I was working there, and it startled me,” she said.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

He moved closer to the writing desk to inspect the damage. Broken glass littered the top of it and the floor. A cool breeze ruffled the curtains, letting the evening air pour inside. Emmaline scooted across the expanse of the library to stand next to her, shivering.

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it tonight,” Edith said from her position in the doorway. Her hands were propped on her hips.

“I’ll see if there’s some old wood in the gardener’s shed to board it up. That will have to do until we can have repairs made.” He shuffled out of the room, his shoulders slumped and weary.

Bella, though, knew that such repairs would cost a lot of money. Money they didn’t have.

“Gerald will fix it up, miss. You should go back to bed,” Edith said before she shuffled off back to her room.

“She’s right,” Emmaline said. “There’s nothing else to be done tonight.”

“I’ll stay until Gerald is finished,” she said. “You go on, Em. I’ll be all right.”

“If you’re certain.”

She gave her an encouraging nod and smiled, shooing her from the room. When Emmaline left, Bella returned to the desk. The book lay face down on the floor, pages crumpled underneath itself. Glass glittered across the binding, making it shimmer. She kneeled and picked up the book and gave it a little shake. The glass fell like glitter to the carpet. When she turned it over, she noticed the ink was once more just ink. It was not bleeding like it was before the shadow creature arrived.

Had the strange red ink called to it? She was certain now they were connected. She was also certain these shadow things had something to do with their home in the port burning to the ground and her father’s ships destroyed. They were tied to the book, just like Leopold was tied to the book.

Gerald returned with several boards, a hammer and nails. He quickly got to work, closing up the gap in the window.

“That should hold tonight. In the morning, I’ll see about trimming the trees in the back.”

But she knew no trees needed trimming. She nodded agreement, though. “Thank you, Gerald.”

“Get some rest, miss. We can clean up the rest when morning comes.”

He yawned and headed off to bed. Reluctantly, she followed.

She had a fitful sleep. At dawn, she was up, shoving away the blankets. Standing before her mirror, she saw the fatigue lining her face. Her hair was a mess of tangles. It would take too much time to try to comb it out, but she didn’t have much choice.

Frustration edged through her as she pulled out the tangles. By the time she got her hair combed out in long tendrils, Emmaline arrived at her room.

“Thank goodness you’re here. Help me dress, Em. I must go.”

“Back to that enchanted castle?”

She nodded as she pulled open the wardrobe door and rummaged through her sparse gowns.

“Miss, what really happened last night?” Suspicion laced the girl’s tone.

Bella stopped and peered around the door at her. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean…something happened, didn’t it? That was no tree branch that crashed through the window.”

The girl was smarter than she let on, something Bella did not take into account. They peered at each other for a long, silent moment as she tried to decide how to answer. She did not want to tell her the truth—that it was Leopold in his beastly form that had crashed through the window to save her from the shadow thing. To tell her that would mean she’d be giving the girl the whole story about his curse and that she was convinced the shadow things were following them since the moment the book arrived in her possession.

“I can’t tell you,” Bella finally said, her voice quiet. “But I want to. I want to tell you everything, Em, but I…I cannot. It’s not my story to tell.”

Emmaline rushed to her then, reaching for her and taking her hands. She squeezed them. “Don’t go back, miss. I can see the burden this translation has placed upon you. You haven’t slept well in days.”

She wanted to tug her hands free but refrained. “How do you know that?”

“Your eyes are tired. And I fear that returning to this castle will cause you more harm. Don’t go,” she pleaded.

This time, she did pull her hands free as she turned away, focusing on a yellow dress with tiny white daisies. “It’s not that simple, Em. I wish it were. I have to go. I have to finish the translation.”

As she said it, a low and ragged whisper breathed through the room. Emmaline’s head snapped toward the book, her eyes wide and round. She heard it, too. The sound still lingered, coiling in the silence like smoke—not a voice exactly, but intent. Present. Listening.

“That book is cursed,” she said, her voice rough. The fear was evident in her features.

Bella remained silent. If she acknowledged that the book was, in fact, cursed…well, she didn’t want to take a chance Emmaline would leverage the help of Gerald and Edith to keep her here in this house. She had to see about Leopold. She had to know if he was all right. She focused her attention on the yellow dress and then reached for it.

“I have to go,” was all she said as she held the gown out to Emmaline.

The girl had no more objections as she helped her dress and pin her hair into a low chignon. Then she pulled on her bonnet and her gloves and picked up the book.

“I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“Promise?” she asked.

Bella nodded and gave her a reassuring file. “You have my word.”

The carriage ride seemed to take an eternity. Bella peered out the window the entire time, watching the landscape flash by and silently urging the driver to go faster. Worry gnawed at her. Worry for Leopold.

When she arrived, he did not greet her at the door as he usually did. Instead, it was Dickens waiting for her. He waited on the stoop, apprehension creasing his features, indicating the situation must be dire.

As soon as the carriage came to a halt, she was out of it, not waiting for the footman to help her down. She clutched the book to her chest as she came face to face with Dickens. His dark eyes glittering with concern met hers.

“Come with me, my lady,” he said, as though expecting her question.

She followed him inside the castle, the door closing with a soft snick behind her. Dickens went to the stairs and headed up and then down the hallway—the same way she had gone when she found Leopold’s private sitting room with the hourglass that ticked away every day of his life.

But moved beyond that, down the long corridor that was dimly lit with overhead candelabras casting the blue-white light down onto the floor covered by an ostentatious patterned runner. With every step they went deeper into the castle, her pulse raced harder. Drumming a fast rhythmic beat.

Dickens paused at a closed door with iron hinges. With his hand on the knob, he turned to her.

“He is…not well, my lady,” he said, almost sounding as if it were a warning.

“He was injured last night,” she said. “I saw it happen.”

He nodded, his face solemn. “It will be difficult for you to see him like this. But he asked I bring you to him the moment you arrived.”

Her mouth turned to ash. “He did?”

Nodding, Dickens turned the knob and pushed open the door. She got her first glimpse of what mystery lay behind that threshold.

His chamber was large but dim, draped in shadow even in the light of day, though the light of day never really touched this castle. Tall lancet windows stretched along one wall, veiled with heavy midnight blue curtains to block out what light seeped into the room. A small slash escaped between an opening, leaving a puddle of light on the floor covered in a thick garnet rug.

A hearth flickered with warm, yellow light, casting its shadows across the room and splashing toward the bed. The large bed dominated the far wall. It was a massive four-poster of dark oak carved into a motif of vines and thorns that twisted along the footboard, headboard and posts. Amber light illuminated his ashen face where he lay propped up against a mound of pillows, the layered bed linens tucked neatly under his arms. A thick bandage was across his chest and abdomen, the only covering, tinged red from blood.

The brand on his arm was red and angry. She recalled seeing it the night before beneath his fur when he was in the form of the beast.

She halted there a long moment, stiff and panic-stricken as she watched for signs of life. But then she saw the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

The space felt too large for one man. A faint scent of cedar, old magic, and bloodied linen hung in the air. Books lay stacked nearby. Some open, some face-down as if abandoned mid-thought. One chair, pulled close to the bedside, still bore the shape of someone having recently sat there. Dickens, no doubt. The room was quiet, but not peacefully so. It was the silence of waiting, of recovering, of regret.

And even in his weakened state, Leopold fit the space like a shadow fit the night.

Bella hesitated inside the door, still clutching the old, cursed book, desperate to rush to his side yet afraid to do just that.

“Go on, my lady,” Dickens said, his voice low and encouraging.

One glance over her shoulder to see the man giving her a nod of reassurance. She forced her feet to move to the side of the bed where she eased into the chair by his bedside and sat in silence, trying to figure out what to say, how to feel.

The bedchamber door closed with a soft click, sealing her inside with the man who had saved her from shadowy apparitions the night before. Apparitions that, no doubt, had a connection to the cursed book in her arms.

As time passed, she waited, finally relaxing enough to drop the book into her lap. She waited, watching him sleep, until his face twitched and he emitted a faint groan. His eyes, those pale brown eyes, blinked open. He focused at first on the ceiling above him then turned his head slightly to meet her gaze.

They stared at each other a long silent moment, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest. She kept her gloved hands clasped together, resting on top of the book on her lap. A slow smile tugged up one corner of his mouth.

“Bella.” His voice was weak, rough, as though rusty from nonuse. “You came.”

Surprise flickered through her at his words. Had he not expected her to come? “Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

He turned his head back, as though it were an effort to move, and closed his eyes again. “Now that you know what I am, I thought you would not.”

He sounded melancholy when he said it, sending a pang of empathy through her. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, but she kept her hands firmly in place. He feared she would never return because he had shown her what he really was—that he was a terrifying beast.

She searched her mind for the right words. Words of comfort. Words of encouragement.

“Leopold,” she began, her voice soft in the room’s quiet. And still her hand twitched, desperate to reach for him and give him a touch of reassurance. “I had to come.”

“Because of the book,” he said, his eyes still closed.

“Because of you.”

She didn’t know why she said it, but she felt, deep down, it was true. His eyes blinked open once again. For a breath, she thought he hadn't heard her. But then his sharp, startling gaze found hers. And in that moment, something passed over his face. A flash of emotion so deep, so exposed, it made her breath hitch. Not pain. Not gratitude.

Longing.

Not the kind spoken aloud, but the kind that lived in suffering, lonely silence. Then it was gone. Buried beneath the usual calm. Replaced by that tired, guarded look he wore like a second skin.

But she’d seen it. And now she couldn’t forget it. She would never forget it.

She rushed on. “I-I worried about you after last night. That shadow thing, or man, or whatever it was…I saw what it did to you.”

Her eyes caught on the bandages first. White and stark against the bruised skin of his ribs and the broad span of his chest. Too much of him was exposed, too vulnerable. She told herself that’s all she saw. The injury. The damage.

But the firelight betrayed her.

It traced over him in soft gold, catching the faint sheen of his skin, the rise and fall of each careful breath. And suddenly she was too aware of the strength beneath the wound, the shape of him, the warmth radiating from where he lay.

She looked away. Forced herself to focus on the fire, the chair, anything else. But it was too late. The feeling had already curled low in her belly—quiet, unwanted, and far too dangerous.

Far too undisputable.

“You saved my life. Thank you,” she muttered.

Her gaze drifted before she stopped it over the broad line of his shoulders, the quiet strength still visible even in rest. Up to the sharp angle of his jaw, dusted in the beginnings of a beard. He looked rougher like this. Untamed. Real.

And then his eyes. Those eyes that always unraveled her. They caught the firelight just right, deep and fathomless, and for a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She told herself she was checking on him, that she was only worried. But that wasn’t the whole truth, was it?

A single lock of dark hair fell over his brow. Her fingers twitched.

She wanted—gods help her, she wanted—to reach out. To brush it back. To press a kiss to his forehead, to tell him without words that she was there. That he wasn’t alone. That she wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Not ever.

She curled her hands into fists in her lap instead. Because touching him like that? It would change everything. And she wasn’t ready for what that might mean.

“I had to,” he said finally. He sounded fatigued, as though speaking was an effort. But even so, he added, “I’m glad you came.”

And then he fell fast asleep once more.