Page 36

N o.

The word didn’t escape her.

Shock pounded through her. A cold force slammed into her, gripping her chest and holding her there, frozen.

It should have worked.

It was supposed to work .

She said the words. She felt the truth of them burning through her. Binding her. She poured her heart and soul into the translation. Into him . But the curse had not broken and Leopold…

Leopold lay still and quiet wrapped in bandages and bed linens that had suddenly become his tomb.

His chest did not rise and fall. His face was devoid of emotion. There was no pulse beating in his throat.

He was gone.

Something deep inside her fractured, breaking. It was her heart. She knew it. She wasn’t in time. And she wasn’t strong enough to weather the storm that was to come without him in the world. Her world.

Suddenly, Dickens was at her side. “Come away, love.”

He reached for her arm, giving her a gentle tug upward to propel her out of the chair. She shrugged him off, standing at the side of the bed. The parchment fluttered to the floor at her feet. She dropped the book in the vacated chair. Her mind refused to believe what her eyes saw and yet, how could she not believe?

She leaned over him, the tears burning her eyes. Her voice was low, quiet, nothing but a murmur.

“I love you.”

As she said it, one tear slipped from her eye and landed on his forehead.

Then she turned away, toward Dickens. She allowed him to take her by the hand and pull her along, numb, from the bed. Away from Leopold. Away from the man who was everything to her. Her unhurried steps headed for the open bedchamber door. She was almost to it, when suddenly the air shifted.

A cold breeze swept through the room. A ghostly whisper sounded in the room. She jerked free from Dickens and spun around. She watched, her eyes wide and her heart ramming against her ribcage, as the book slammed open on the chair. The pages flapped in the peculiar breeze. A white mist lifted from the pages, soaring higher and higher and higher. Forming an image. A cluster of thorny vines. And then brambles. And then it transformed into a rosebud that bloomed full, the petals unfurling at an unnatural rate. Expanding into a rose that was nothing more than misty vapor.

That misty vapor surged toward Leopold. She took a step, to intervene, but Dickens caught her by the arm and stopped her. Glancing up, she met his dark gaze. He shook his head to indicate not to interfere. Looking back, she watched as the brand—the intertwined rose and thorn—lifted from his skin. It joined with the mist and then, together, the mysterious fog shot downward and into Leopold.

There was a beat of silence. Then, something that sounded like glass shattering outside the windows. The odd blue-white candlelight flickered as it was hit with the breeze and then snuffed out. She sucked in a breath as the floor rumbled. The castle shook. The walls vibrated. Dickens’ hand tightened on her arm, pulling her closer as if to protect her from whatever threat might happen next.

As quickly as the candles flickered out, the flames returned. Not the blue-white to which she had become accustomed. But a warm yellow-orange light that lit up the chamber casting away the shadows and the dark and the gloom.

Then, from the bed, Leopold sucked in a deep breath, a gasp of renewed life. He sat bolt upright in the bed, his gaze searching, seeking until he found hers. Those pale brown eyes she came to love that once were full of sorrow and despair were now full of life and wonder.

Bella jerked her arm away from Dickens and charged toward the bed. He was breathing. His face had returned to a normal pallor. He was awake. He was alive.

She launched herself at him, not thinking about anything other than falling into his arms, touching him, making sure he was real. As though anticipating her, he held his arms out to catch her. He wrapped her into his embrace, clutching her to him, holding her close, their foreheads pressed together.

“You did it.” His soft voice floated over her, warming her.

Words died in her throat as she searched his gaze, diving deep into the recesses there. Floating on a cloud. Her mind devoid of all thoughts.

He lifted a hand, the back of his fingers grazing her cheek. A tentative touch, as though he were afraid to touch her. For a moment, she stopped breathing, stopped thinking. His palm settled at the side of her neck. No longer cold and clammy. Now it was warm and steady as he gently guided her toward him.

Yearning shuddered through her. She waited her entire life for this moment.

And then his lips met hers.

Tentative at first. Nothing more than a brush. As if he feared she might pull away.

She didn’t.

She leaned into him, her arms slipping around him, wanting him closer, and deepened the kiss before second-guessing the way her soul unraveled under his touch. The touch she had craved longer than she was able to name.

He kissed her back with reverence. With hunger. With something that felt like home. And a deep, unabating devotion that made her knees weak.

It was everything she hoped for and more. So much more.

When his mouth claimed hers fully, she gave her heart to him without hesitation. She was his, and he was hers.

There was no more curse.

Only him.

Only them.

Breaking apart, the realization she was trembling shattered her. He pressed his hand against the small of her back, holding her steady, keeping her close. Holding the pieces of her together with the very essence that was him.

He pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them as they shared this intimate moment. He didn’t speak. Neither did she, for words seemed inconsequential. She was incapable of conveying her feelings to him. Her heart fluttered hard and fast. Like a hummingbird had taken residence there.

She met his eyes. Her breath stopped. His, searching and seeking and wanting and needing with a hint of wonder.

“You did it,” he said again, nothing more than a whisper.

“I thought I lost you,” she replied, her voice weak.

“You nearly did.” He pressed his brow against hers.

She drew in the scent of him. Different from before. No longer like frost and sorrow. No longer like wood smoke and wildfire. No. Now, she caught the faintest scent of roses. Not cloying or sweet or perfumed. Different. Alive. Like petals brushed with morning dew. Like a bloom after being too long in the dark.

In a rush of emotion, she buried her face against his neck, inhaling that freshly bloomed scent and loving it. Loving him.

He was no longer fading into that dark world where he was a feral beast. He was a man. He was becoming.

And so was she.

His arms tightened around her as she held her close. So close. As though they would never be parted. A hand brushed down her messy hair. It was only then she realized her hair was still tied with the ribbon from the day before. Only then when she realized she wore the same gown.

“You brought me back from the dark, Bella,” he said, his voice soft in the glow of the room. He pulled back then to look at her, his eyes searching her face. “I am yours.”

A breath shuddered out between her lips. “And you are mine.”

“Always?” A smile tipped the corner of his mouth.

“And forever,” she confirmed.

In the dusky gloom of Leopold’s private sitting room, the final grain of sand slipped through the hourglass. It landed with a soundless thud. The glow vanished. Snuffed out like a candle in a storm, leaving only cold glass. No shimmer. And at last, Leopold’s life was his own.