Beloved Beast

Chapter Twenty-Five

Terror gripped Elle's heart like a crushing vise as long, thick fingers snagged in her hair, bit into her scalp, and ripped her painfully from the corridor – and any feasible chance of escape.

            With a dry, strangled cry, she collided against Solomon and was met with a nauseating fog of sweat, ale, and fetid threads.

            "No ..." Elle cried weakly, her pleas failing her as burly arms fraught with hair latched around her midriff, hauling her tight and fixed against his soiled front.

            Bile surged like a gritty burn next to a sob lodging in her throat as his weathered mouth found the spot beneath her ear, his breath hot and grating against the tender flesh there. "Are ye beholden to the Beast, fair bird?"

            With every acrid flutter of his breath, she shrank further into herself, seeking to detach her mind from this unfolding nightmare, albeit having the forethought to push and shove in vain at the forearm fastened around her, every pungent exhalation an assault on her acute senses.

            "Possessive of you, is he? If you ask me, 'tis a nasty kick in the teeth to withhold a prize like you from a man starved for a woman."

            "Think what he would do to you were he to discover you here." Elle admonished in a tremulous voice, hoping to deter his interest. "I am of no value to anyone."

            "Just the same, for he saw fit to tuck you away." Solomon laughed, the sound a deep and ominous vibration within his chest, its low resonance much like a preamble of thunder before a menacing storm. "He favors you, he does, like a rabid dog and its precious bone. I have a mind to take his bone. What say you to that? Will he sheath his claws and bare his fangs? Will he cleave me through?"

            Elle gnashed her teeth as his grip tightened to the point of pain, wresting a whimper past her mouth despite her best efforts to appear unafraid. "The only monster here is you."

            "Have you a softness for the bastard?" Solomon chuckled, twisting her around to pelt her with his unfit breath. "Did you hear that, witch? She fancies the Beast."

            Elle stiffened, a sudden iciness hitting her core as his words replayed with mounting dread and disbelief as the things he had spouted earlier materialized with enlightening speed. I feel her. She speaks to me. Shows me things. She's left her mark.

            She. Witch. The latter was a prelude to fresh horror, and she shuddered to think this masked being a solid entity of flesh and bone. Could it be another witch fixed on avenging Seraphine? If something sinister and supernatural steered Solomon's thoughts and conduct, what did it mean for Rossetti and his staff? For her and the villagers?

            "W-what is she telling you?" Elle asked, stalling for time. "What is she saying?"

            The arm barring her back tensed and she felt a prickling of unease across her nape as he drew closer, her heart slamming against her breast.

            This man was much stronger than she, and she knew she would not have a fighting chance were he to flex his muscle on her, and that nagging thought gave rise to a feeling of desperation and helplessness that incited a terrible burn in her throat that quickly climbed to the back of her eyes.

            "She says I can have you, and have you I will." That was her only caveat before his grip shifted and with a few retreating steps, threw her unceremoniously to the floor.

            In that heart-stopping moment, her perception of sound and awareness dragged to a frightening and disorientating beat as she braced for impact. When she hit the hard, unforgiving floor, it was a jarring of bones and mind, a shredding of palms against broken china, and the taking of breath as the weight of him came soon after.