A Beast's Tale

Chapter 31

"Prince Chevalier?"

I'd heard the door open when Ivetta had arrived, and her hesitant voice finished pulling me from a restless sleep into wakefulness. I'd been tossing and turning all night, thinking about her when I was awake, dreaming about her when I was asleep. She had to have seen my bloody clothes in the hamper, but she hadn't run away. I'd hoped that would be enough. I'd known it wouldn't be.

"Prince Chevalier, are you okay?"

"It's too early," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Prince Chevalier, but the blood..." The bed shifted. She was concerned enough to sit on the edge, next to me, within my reach, and my stomach was already turning. "Are you hurt?"

"Go away."

"What? Prince Chevalier—"

I felt her touch my shoulder and sat up, shoving her hand off of me. "I said, go away."

Her green eyes were round, her brow somewhat furrowed, her lips pressed together. Concerned, confused, anxious, and yes, a little afraid. But she shook her head, compassion winning out over any sense of self-preservation, as usual. "What's wrong, Prince Chevalier?"

I couldn't put it off anymore. She was behaving how I'd thought she would and hoped she wouldn't. I had to stop thinking about it and just do it.

I grabbed her arm and yanked her down onto the sheets. She had no time to react before I was straddling her, one hand pressing on the center of her chest, the other on the pillow beside her head. I felt her heart pounding under my palm, saw her eyes widen, but she didn't move. She didn't even speak. She just stared at me.

"I don't want you here anymore. Leave, or die."

Her breath was becoming shorter and shallower. I wasn't putting that much pressure on her sternum, which meant the fear was taking over. Good.

But she shook her head again. "You won't kill me, Prince Chevalier."

"No?" I had to push this further. I leaned over her, wrapping my other hand around her neck. "Have you forgotten who I am?"

Her pulse was racing under my fingers. I wasn't applying pressure to her throat, but she should have been fighting me. Why wasn't she fighting me?

"What's going on, Prince Chevalier?"

This was frustrating. I heard the tremor in her small voice, saw the rising terror in her eyes, but it wasn't enough. Bile rose in the back of my throat at the thought of what I had to do next. I swallowed it. There would be time later to hate myself.

"I killed an assassin." I reduced the pressure of my right hand on her chest and slid it up to her collar, pulling the fabric aside to expose her shoulder. She gasped and stiffened. With my left hand, I turned her face away from mine as I leaned in, close enough so I couldn't see the panic in her eyes or the bruises on her skin. "I am the Brutal Beast, after all," I murmured into her ear. "But you're right. It would be a waste to kill you." She flinched as I caressed her bare skin. "You may still be of some use to me."

"Prince Chevalier," she pleaded, her voice choked with tears. She might as well have stabbed me in the heart.

"You are in a dangerous position, little dove." I slid my hand down the back of her shoulder. She whimpered. A tear slipped free and wet my finger on its path down her cheek, but I forced a mocking laugh. "Don't tell me you want this?"

I hated this. I hated everything about this. Her breath was coming in short bursts, just as it had the day I'd rescued her from two men who would have done this had I not stopped them, and I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. Not until she fought back, shoved me off of her and bolted from the room. She wasn't there yet. I stroked her cheek with my left hand and slid my right further down the back of her dress, and she arched away from my touch, pressing her body into mine. On a purely physical level, I enjoyed the sensation. I hated myself even more for that.