Beloved Beast

Chapter Twenty-One

Elle did not sleep, even as morning edged on the night. Returning to her place by the fire, there, she stayed until its crackling ebbed. Somewhere nearby, heavy tapestries thrashed to a gust of autumn air, and a chill scurried thereafter, forcing her deeper into the cushioned seat.

          I took lives for her ...an entire village to be exact.

          A shudder tracked down her spine and her nails snagged against the fabric of the chair as his daunting words resumed on her gyrating thoughts. Albeit uttered in a hard and unassuming tone, there had been no mistaking the underlying grief.

          What Rossetti had done had been unquestionably horrific, but she believed there had been a greater evil behind his conduct. A powerful energy orchestrating his every thought and gesture. Poisoning his mind ...and his heart. If Sera was reputed for being a witch of extraordinary power, then surely, she had wrought this unfortunate tragedy? Had exerted some measure of supernatural influence or manipulated him in some way to have committed this terrible deed? What incentive had she used against him? What had she done to have ultimately encouraged his wrath and subsequently, her death?

          The things he had admitted would rightfully instill horror and fear in anyone – but much to her wonder, she was not stricken with either.

          Perhaps, she was a little too trusting, and she knew that unflagging quality could serve to be harmful. It could compromise her feelings and emotions; expose them to those eager and willing to utilize them unscrupulously.

          But Rossetti wouldn't, and Elle believed that wholeheartedly.

          Among the village, she had been declared an outcast. An invalid. She hadn't belonged. Whereas, here, with him, everything aligned. Everything felt right. She was heard. Wanted. Needed. And that gave her a sense of purpose and belonging.

          Rossetti wanted to be regarded as dispassionate and unaffected by his dark and unmentionable past, because, 'It was easier to be the monster', he had alleged, but he was not as detached from it as he feigned to be. She had a heightened awareness of his pain, and that sensitivity apprised her of the emotional upheaval that tortured him. Amid that brusque and altogether deep and resonant timbre, she had discerned sadness and self-loathing; anger and remorse.

          When she had encountered his scars, there had been an unhealthy tightness to his muscles. The tension and anxiety in him had been corporeal. Having been the recipient of censure and distaste most of her life, she understood his inherent unease, the discomfort and unwillingness to impart what he deemed a weakness, but touching them, learning them, had incited anything but disgust.

          Whenever Rossetti drew alongside her, every sensation amplified to his nearness. Her ears hearkened to the heavy thud of his boots; her nose filled with that heady, masculine redolence that she had come to know and relish, and her skin tingled in readiness of his callused, yet sensuous touch.

          How could she possibly be afraid when his presence brought such vivacity to her every functioning sense? When he pulled her from the fog that was her life and breathed excitement into it? When his pain of being unusual and misunderstood echoed her own?

          Although, Elle missed her family something terrible and yearned to be near them, in her heart, she could not bring herself to desert Rossetti.

          Pursing her lips, she vowed somehow, someway, she would do everything humanly possible to mend his broken self. To abolish his inner demons and remedy his grief.