The arrogant hunter Gaston must work together with the Beast, if either of them want to escape the Enchanted Forest alive.
What could possibly go right?!
Direct sequel to Beauty and the Beast.
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Gaston didn't know where he was going anymore.
His mind was a blur of emotion, as he pushed through leaves and tree branches like they might be long-fought and bitter enemies, and snarled at every tree root that dared interrupt his deft march or else made him stumble. He ignored every scratch of thorn against his arms, and the fresh pulse of pain in his injured shoulder.
Anger dimmed all of it out, numbing him temporarily to rational thought. He could feel it, tangible and flooding through curling fists, protecting whatever was left of his decimated ego, for just a few small moments.
And for those few small moments, he thought he could remember what it was like to hate the Beast again.
It was only for a few moments, though.
Of course the Beast was a prince. He had a castle, for god's sake.
Gaston looked over his shoulder, and for one mournful second he just wanted to go back.
"Idiot," he punched a hardened fist into a tree trunk. The pain was dull and insignificant, hardly registering against his knuckles.
He leaned back against the tree, catching his breath and letting the last of his rage fade into obscurity, replacing it with a regret that pounded against his chest. His hands were shaking, and the last few moments between himself and the Beast played vividly in his mind for a torturous few seconds, as he tried to figure out his own inexplicable reaction.
Something about the sudden closeness between them; it must have been that. Fogging his brain and making him forget himself for a little while.
The way the Beast had held his wrist, the way the Beast had looked at him so kindly, the way the Beast had made him blurt out things that he didn't even know about himself. Things he knew he'd never tell anyone else.
Gaston stared at his shaking hands, and felt betrayed by his own thoughts.
And wasn't that the most frightening feeling of all?
He dragged a hand over his face, clawing at it in some new despair. He heard himself laugh, but it was more like a sob pulled out of his throat, on the edge of total disbelief.
Perhaps he was just dreaming. None of this made any sense after all. Soon he'd wake up and be back at the tavern, and Lefou would be there, retelling the story of how he'd killed the Beast and saved the girl, just like it was all supposed to have happened in the first place.
This shouldn't...this wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
Not this way.
He curled his fingers hard into his palms, nails digging into skin even through his hunting gloves, willing a myriad of thoughts away from himself. He couldn't think about any of that, not now.
