Beauty’s Beast(56)
Author: Amanda Ashley

“Fighting evil is never useless,” Caddaric replied.

“But you can’t help Erik, can you?”

The wizard blew out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid not, my child. But I might be able to help you.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I cannot reverse the curse Charmion has put upon Erik, but she has no power over me. She cannot enter my keep, nor can she harm those in my protection.”

“She hurt Erik.”

“Only because she had power over him already.”

“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

“For Erik? I am afraid so. You are welcome to stay here, within the protection of these walls, until your child is delivered.”

“I had hoped my daughter would be born at Hawksbridge.”

The wizard sighed. “If you wish, I shall see you safely back to Hawksbridge. I can seal the castle against her evil. You and all who dwell there will be safe from Charmion’s power so long as you do not admit her to the castle.”

Kristine nodded. There was no hope for Erik. She must think now of their child. His child. “Thank you.”

“I am sorry, Lady Trevayne. I wish I could do more.”

“Kristine. Call me Kristine.”

“And you must call me Caddaric.”

She smiled faintly. “For a moment, I thought the spell had been broken. For just a moment, he looked as I had always imagined him to be, as he must have been before Charmion’s evil curse.”

“You have never seen him as he was?”

“No. I wish . . .” She fought back a wave of hopelessness, blinked back the tears that were ever close to the surface. “You and Charmion, you’re so different, it’s little wonder you did not get on well together.”

Caddaric nodded. “Her magic has always been as dark as the place she calls home. Did you know we are the only two witches left in the land? I was the light to balance her darkness.”

“Has she always been so . . . so evil?”

“Sadly, yes, though I thought there was hope for her when first we met. She could have done so much good, yet she preferred the dark arts. I fear they will yet be her downfall.”

Kristine thought about Charmion’s castle, shrouded in mist and darkness, so different from Caddaric’s home. It was hard for Kristine to comprehend evil, harder still to understand why a witch as powerful as Charmion—a witch who could, with a word, surround herself with beauty—chose to live in the darkness of Cimmerian Crag.

She closed her eyes, suddenly weary.

“You should rest,” Caddaric suggested.

“Yes, I think I will. Thank you for everything.”

Rising, Kristine made her way to her chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, the drapes were shut against the sun. With a sigh, she sat down in the chair beside the hearth and removed her shoes. When she stood up, she saw that the bed had been turned down, the pillows plumped.

Magic, she thought. She’d had enough of magic, both black and white.

Erik woke with a cry, the images of his nightmare all too vivid. He had been fully a beast in his dream, and yet he had been capable of human thought. He had seen himself running with Valaree, killing a deer, fighting over the fresh meat, and all the while what little humanity he still possessed had been appalled by his actions. He had run through the night, had howled his anguish at an uncaring moon. And then he had seen himself lying at Kristine’s feet, his tongue licking her palm, his tail wagging as she stroked his head. . ..

Rising, he glanced around, noting that he was still in the tower room and that night had fallen. He padded toward the window, only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw himself reflected in a shard of broken glass. Nothing remained of Erik Trevayne save for the right side of his face and his right arm. The curse had swallowed up the rest of him, clothing him in coarse black fur.

Why was he fighting it?

He took a deep breath, and Kristine’s scent flooded his nostrils. Kristine. She was worth the pain each breath cost him. He would endure anything to have one more day with her, one more hour.

Charmion would win the fight. He knew it, knew it was futile to resist. But he would not surrender. He might be beaten, but he would not give up.

He was reaching for his trousers when there was a rap on the door. “Lord Trevayne?”

“Enter.”

Caddaric stepped into the room, and the door closed behind him. “I am most truly sorry that I am unable to break the curse.”

Erik nodded. Back turned to the wizard, he drew on his trousers and reached for his shirt.

“Kristine tells me she wishes to return to Hawksbridge. If it is agreeable, I shall take you there. As I told her, I can cast a spell that will protect your castle and all who dwell within its walls from Charmion’s magic.”

Erik slipped his shirt over his head and quickly secured his mask in place before turning to face Caddaric. “You can do that?”

“Yes. I regret that, since you are already under her power, I can do nothing for you.”

“My life no longer concerns me. It is Kristine and the babe who must be protected now.”

“Then we are in agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I believe we should leave on the morrow, early.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“Kristine tells me she has never seen you as you were. Is this true?”

Erik nodded.

“I do not wish to offend you but, if you like, I can conjure a temporary spell that will enable you to be as you once were for a brief period of time.”

“I am not offended.” Erik looked at his left hand, felt excitement stir within him at the thought of being as he had been before the curse, of holding Kristine in his arms, of touching her and having her touch him in return.

“This evening, then?” Caddaric asked.

“Yes. How long will it last?”

“It is a difficult spell to maintain, but I believe I can assure you of an hour, say, two hours before midnight?”

Kristine looked up at Erik and shook her head. “How can he do that?”

“I don’t know. Does the thought displease you?”

“Of course not. But how does it work?”

“He didn’t say, only that it is a difficult spell to maintain for long.”

“What time is it now?”

“Near ten.”

She stared up at him, her heart pounding. To see him as he had been, to be able to touch him . . .

“Erik.”

“I know.”

He gazed into her eyes, hardly aware that the lights in the room had dimmed. Soft music filtered through the air. A fire sprang to life in the hearth. He heard a soft whisper, like the rustle of silk, as Kristine’s dress was magically transformed into a long white sleeping gown.