Page 35

B ella’s legs burned with exertion, a jolt of fire through her calves, as she hurried to get to the village. As it crested into view, familiar roofs rose against the gleaming morning sun. Her gaze snapped to the usual spot where the carriage waited. No thorn and vine and rose encrusted carriage. No lacquered door. No Dickens waiting for her arrival.

Her heart sank. Her breath caught in her throat as she gulped in air. Despite the warmth of the morning, a chill swept through her, sending a shiver to the depths of her soul.

Leopold.

Lord Vincent alluded to “taking care of” the beast, which terrified her. What had he done to Leopold? If Dickens wasn’t there to pick her up, then something dreadful happened to him. The man she loved.

Panic rose through her breast as she glanced around the bustling village. No one took notice of her. They were all far too busy with their own lives, their own drama. The rattle of carriages heading down the main thoroughfare blended in with the cacophony of the everyday noises. The hum of voices. Laughter. Merchants hawking their wares. In the distance, the jingle of the bookshop bell as a patron entered or exited.

A painful throb took up residence in the center of her chest as she clutched the books in her arms, trying to decide what to do next. Although she had traveled to the mysterious castle every day, she wasn’t sure of the direction. But she had to try. She turned toward the road that disappeared through the thick trees that loomed like phantom sentries guarding a secret. Sucking in a breath, she started down the side of the road. Alone. With nothing but hope to guide her.

It was late in the day when she arrived at the gate of Thornhurst Castle. The imposing fortress never failed to exude its eerie appearance. Though the afternoon light was behind her, splashing across the road not far away, the dark-blue facade still appeared as though it belonged to shadows, its outer walls glistening with starlight. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the spires and towers that reached for the indigo sky that was in perpetual gloom.

The curse made it imposing and threatening. She knew that now. But she had never been afraid of the castle.

Hurrying toward the door, she paused there, unsure if she should knock or simply barge in. She decided to follow decorum and fisted her hand to pound on the thick oak door with all her might. Then stood back and waited.

No one came.

There was no bell, either.

She tried again, pounding once more. “Dickens! It’s me! Please let me in. Please .”

Still nothing. Every moment that passed was a moment wasted.

Finally, in desperation, she tried the knob. It turned, and the door swung open with ease. She burst through it, kicking it closed with her heel. Then she made a mad dash for the grand staircase. Up and up, her muscles objecting to the hurried pace with every step. She ignored it as she sprinted down the hallway and paused at his bedchamber door. It was closed.

Gulping air into her burning lungs, she decided propriety be hanged. She hadn’t come all this way alone to lose her courage now. She opened the door and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was the horrible smell. The metallic odor of blood hung thick and redolent in the air barely masked by a sickly sweet medicinal scent. She covered her mouth and nose with her free hand as she forced away the bile that wanted to rise to her throat.

Dickens was sitting by his bedside. The moment he saw her, he jumped to his feet and hurried around the bed. He blocked her view, but she caught a glimpse of a prone Leopold in the bed. The valet’s face was pinched with concern and now a hint of annoyance as if she were nothing more than an unwelcome intruder.

“My lady, you should not be here.” As he approached, he reached for her as if to take her by the arm and turn her away.

“Dickens, I know how to break the curse.” The words spilled from her before she stopped them.

He dropped his arm to his side, listless. Limp. “It’s too late.”

A sharp breath sucked in through her teeth with a hiss. “What do you mean?”

His face turned solemn, serious. A look she had never seen before from Dickens. That terrified her.

“He’s dying,” he said, his voice nothing but a weak whisper.

She shook her head, refusing to believe. “No.”

“I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for him.”

She stepped around him and headed for the bed. Dickens was on her heels.

“You do not want to see him like this, my lady. Please.” He had never begged her for anything, but his sharp tone caught her off guard.

Pausing, she looked at him over her shoulder and saw the anguish, the distress, the concern creasing his aged face.

“What happened to him last night, Dickens?”

He swallowed hard, cutting a glance at the man in the bed, then looked back at her. “Don’t you know?”

“I know he was there last night, at the manor. Lurking in the shadows. I know he was trying to protect me.”

But it didn’t make sense to her he was trying to protect her from only Lord Vincent. She swallowed hard, her mouth turned to ash as she recalled the previous evening. She told Dickens about Lord Vincent and his threat to end the beast once and for all.

“I never thought he would actually make good on that threat,” she said. “But then this morning, the door to the manor was torn to shreds. There were claw marks and…” Her heart thudded. “…blood.”

Dickens stretched a frail hand to her. It struck her then. He was fading away. His life-force was tied to Leopold’s.

“Come away, my lady.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave him.”

“He doesn’t even know you’re here. Come away.” He beckoned with his hand.

Reluctance shifted through her as she cast another glance at the bed. Leopold was covered completely with the white sheet. His face was ashen. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead. Death stalked him, now.

Dickens stepped closer to her, taking her free hand in his, and tugging her away. Out of the room. She said nothing as she allowed him to do this, all the while knowing the answer to all their hopes and wishes resided within the pages of the book she held.

He took her to Leopold’s private sitting room, leading her to the desk where the enchanted hourglass sat. The sands inside were glowing and shifting at what appeared to be a much quicker pace than she remembered. The top was nearly empty.

“What…what does this mean?”

“It means he does not have much longer to live. The hourglass knows .”

Hot tears sprang to her eyes. “No.”

“He was mortally wounded last night,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The veil-shade came. They attacked. He was all that stood between you and them. He fought them off. They wounded him. He was already wounded when the other man returned. This Lord Vincent.”

She pressed cold, shaking fingers to her lips as she stared, wide-eyed, at the hourglass.

“He shot him.”

A gurgled gasp escaped her as her knees gave out. She sank to the floor, dropping the book on the rug. Her papers scattered like leaves in an autumn wind.

“The prince tried to claw his way inside to get to you, to get help. Lord Vincent wrongly assumed he was trying to hurt you. He shot him again. In the back.”

Bella shook her head. The tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched the iridescent glow of the shifting sands.

“He dragged himself to the rose garden where he hid under the bushes until the attacker left.”

“How…how do you know all this?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“That’s where I found him early this morning before dawn. As a man. I pulled him out and get him back here before sunrise.”

She lifted her gaze. “But how did you know to find him there?”

Dickens sucked in a deep breath through his nose, expelled it. “We have been cursed together in this castle for hundreds of years. I am his caretaker when he shifts. From the first moment you arrived, he insisted on protecting you. As a man and a beast. He knew the veil-shade would come. And so did I.”

He was there that first night, when she heard the howls from the library. And again, the next night when she cowered under her bedcovers listening. He was there. He was the one protecting her from the demons of the dark.

“You shouldn’t be here, my lady. It’s too late for him.”

She shook her head, coming back to her senses. She reached for the scattered pages, shuffling them back into order. For good measure, she snatched up the cursed book and cradled it all in her arms. She pushed to her feet and turned to Dickens.

“I should be here, Dickens. I can help him.”

“My lady, he’s far too gone. His wounds are fatal. Twilight is upon us now. You need to go.”

Twilight. That meant a night with no moon—the new moon.

She refused to believe Leopold was too far gone. There was hope yet. “Take me to him.”

“Bella—”

“ Please .”

He clenched his jaw tight, his lips forming a thin line. The reluctance was written all over his face. Finally, he nodded and turned back to the open door. His footsteps were unhurried which drove her mad. It was nearly nightfall. And when night came, the new moon would come. The sands would drain from the hourglass and Leopold’s fate would forever be sealed.

She hoped she could get there before that happened. Before he was turned into a beast and lost to her forever.

At his bedroom door, Dicken pushed it open and stood aside. She entered, holding her breath and clutching the papers so tight in her hands, the parchment wrinkled. Apprehension swamped her as she approached the bed.

She did not like what she saw.

Leopold’s face was bathed in sweat. His skin was pale. His eyes were closed. His face turned to one side to reveal horrible scratches along the jaw and neck. His forehead was bandaged. Blood stained through the linen cloth. The bedsheets were tucked around his hips, his chest bare. One shoulder was wrapped tightly and another bandage around his upper torso.

How she loathed Lord Vincent at the moment for what he did to Leopold. There was no revenge in the world to exact on the man. Only one thing.

Save Leopold .

Juggling the pages and the book, she pulled the chair closer to the bed and reached for his hand. His skin was cold and clammy, but she did not recoil.

“Leopold, can you hear me?” Her voice was tentative, quiet in the silence of the room.

He stirred, his face twitching as he turned his head toward her. He groaned as though in terrible pain. She clutched his fingers, squeezed his hand to let him know she was there.

“I’m here.”

“Bella?” He croaked her name. His voice sounded scratchy.

She squeezed his hand in answer.

His eyes blinked open. Those beautiful eyes that were so pale brown they were terrifying to everyone else but her. He focused on her a long moment.

“You came back.”

“I had to.” Emotion clotted her throat as she made a valiant attempt to hold off the tears. “I know what happened.”

He grunted, closed his eyes again. “I should have killed him.”

“But you didn’t,” she said.

She noticed then the brand on his forearm. It was red and angry and pulsing, ready to consume him to turn him forever into the beast. The ink was darker than ever, which terrified her.

“Leave me,” he said. “There is no help for me.”

“There is hope,” she insisted as she eyed the brand. “I have found the answer.”

“It’s too late.”

“No.”

She released his hand, placing the book in her lap, and shuffled the papers, looking down at her handwriting that seemed so foreign and strange. She didn’t know how the curse worked, but she suspected she had to start at the beginning and speak the words. With her hand shaking, she reached out and placed it on top of his as she read.

“Shadows stir. The sands of time slip away. Silence forever in the gloaming. In the darkest night, no name remembered. No light is welcome. The hourglass bleeds its last.”

He groaned. She held his hand tighter and forged on.

“When the sky is blind and the stars dare not shine, the final form shall take root. Not beast. Not man. Something in between. Bound by thorn. Named by none.”

Underneath her hand, his muscles twitched. It was impossible to know if it was full on night or not. The castle was constantly shrouded in darkness and shadow, never letting in a drop of sun. Still, she hoped.

“One shall bleed, though no wound is seen. One shall choose, though no path is clear.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes remained closed. Still, she hoped. Still, she read.

“To break what binds, name what was given freely. Not taken, not stolen, not owed. A crown cast down. A heart left open. A vow made in silence. Speak the truth that lives between the thorn and the bloom. Name it, and he shall be unmade and made whole again.”

Leopold inhaled one last breath. His eyes fluttered open. He looked at her one last time.

Her name was nothing more than a whisper on his dry, cracked lips. He closed his eyes once again. And then he was gone.