Beloved Beast

Chapter Nineteen

His words, emitted in a cold and dispassionate timbre, shocked Elle to where her senses were slow to register their meaning as a tremor scaled high on her spine.

                Her heart beat in all manners beneath her skin, its rhythm gripped by a heap of cold, contracting emotions; forcing her breaths in rapid succession. Monster Beast. Murderer. All the things that incited terror, wrapped in three bone-chilling words: I killed her.

                Although he had not alluded to the her in question, Elle knew as to who he referred – this frightening specter that even now, had such powerful persuasion over him. She chose to remain reticent on that ghost from his past, so as not to expose Lucy and the fact that the maid knew far more than what was deemed appropriate discourse between them.

                "I have shocked you," came his reply.

                Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she wrestled with brisk exhalations, her heart matching each fleeting breath in like momentum. "It was nothing I had not requested." She replied, stunned by his candid and alarming revelation.

                "Nay," Rossetti protested, "If I recall, you endeavored to be moved by fear, but you are not afraid, are you?" he asked with a trace of wonder.

                Inclining her head, Elle took a moment to assess her feelings, for there were many that fueled the frenzied rap of her heart, some unintelligible, others painfully transparent, but namely, a strong unwillingness to believe him anything but a monster. As for fear – she imagined it lay somewhere subconsciously, but surprisingly, it had not materialized despite his grim admission.

                "I would have you know," Rossetti continued, his voice assuming an inflection of inexorable hardness, any infrequent softness quelled by some dark, incomprehensible sentiment. "Where I'm concerned, the rumors fall nothing short of the truth."

                He gave his heart to a de Ceville witch, Lucy's daunting account stirred at the rear of her bustling thoughts, and she found herself asking, "Is it true then? Are you cursed?"

                "'Damned' would be a far more befitting term."

                "How is that possible?" Elle asked, bewildered.

                Silence lengthened between them, but the uneasy air crooned with subdued friction, coiled tight beneath his deceptive calm. It imprinted on her senses, this asphyxiating darkness indicative of insurmountable pain and anguish. It filched the breath from her lungs, like a cunning thief pilfering precious treasures.

                "I courted an evil," Rossetti offered, "And in consequence, forfeited my soul."

                And your heart ... she wondered forlornly.

                Prone to an open mind, but retaining a good measure of practicality, Elle struggled to accept his outlandish admission. A bit of unruly hearsay hardly constituted as proof that a man was cursed, or that a person had the innate ability to wield or weave supernatural power over another being. It was unheard of – unthinkable. Then how do you explain your visions of the sea? Do you not believe that a phenomenon in itself? Dismissing those contrary thoughts. "Why would this ... witch, curse you?" she impugned, disinclined to believe that such things existed, much less give it voice or reason. "Why this ... lasting misfortune?"

                A prickling sensation hurried across her skin and somehow, Elle knew that his eyes canvassed her, taking in every little detail, roving the bared parts of her, that heated regard goading in her, a sudden fidgeting.