Page 62 of Beauty's Beast

Valaree regarded him curiously. “You have not yet fully accepted what you are, have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“There is no shame in being what we are. Our kind have walked the earth for countless centuries.” She gestured at his left side. “You see what denying it has brought you.”

“I am not like you,” he replied quietly. “I am not a werewolf.”

“No?” She cocked her head to one side in a gesture that was becoming familiar. “What are you, then?”

“Just a man.”

“Indeed?” She glanced pointedly at his left side, and he knew she was remembering the long black hair now covered by his clothing.

“I would rather be what you are than what I am becoming!” he exclaimed. “At least you can be human when you wish. My humanity will soon be lost to me and I will be nothing but a beast.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am under a powerful curse, one that can never be broken.”

Understanding dawned in Valaree’s deep brown eyes. “Surely there is a way to break the spell.”

Erik laughed bitterly. “Yes, but only a woman long dead can end it.”

Valaree closed the distance between them and laid a slender hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry. Truly I am.” She regarded him for a long moment, her dark eyes filled with sympathy. “You are welcome to stay here, with me and my family. We will help you in any way we can.”

“You are most generous, Valaree.” Erik glanced at the wolves who were lying beside the fire, watching him through dark, intelligent eyes.

“You will stay with us, then?”

“As tempting as your offer is, I cannot. There’s something I must do.”

Valaree looked up at him. He could smell her desire for him. She ran her fingertips over the half of his face that was no longer human, softly stroking his transformed cheek. Her touch, so gentle, so accepting, made him ache deep inside for things that could never be.

“I hope you will come back to us, Erik.”

Not knowing what to say, unwilling to make a promise he might not be able to keep, he didn’t say anything, merely smiled down at her.

“I will be here, waiting,” she said softly. “If you ever have need of our help, you have only to call my name, and I will answer.”

It gave him a curious sense of comfort to know that when he was fully a beast, there was a place where he would be welcome, accepted.

He left the cave that night, his hood pulled low over his face. Without his mask, he dared not travel during the light of day. With luck, he would reach Charmion’s fortress at the top of Cimmerian Crag before dawn.

Driven by an unrelenting sense of urgency, he pushed Raven hard, pausing only briefly to rest the stallion. And always, in the back of his mind, he said a prayer for Kristine’s safety.

Dawn’s fingers were lifting the cloak of night from the earth when he reached the foot of Cimmerian Crag. He stared up the long, winding road, a shiver of apprehension sending icy tendrils down his spine. He had learned to his sorrow just how powerful Charmion was, and only his fear for Kristine’s safety compelled him to confront the witch now. He glanced at his left hand, felt the familiar horror unfurl within him. No matter how often he looked at his deformed body, he never got over the shock, the revulsion. Always, he felt the sickening fear in his gut, and with it an overpowering helplessness.

He stared up at the dark fortress that sat atop the mountain like a great bird of prey. Gathering his courage, he urged Raven forward.

Trees dripping grey-green moss grew on both sides of the narrow path, their extended branches hovering over him like the bony fingers of death. He heard the croaking of frogs. The hootof an owl sounded nearby, ominous somehow. Some thought the screech of an owl signified bad luck; others thought it was an omen of impending death.

He drew in a deep breath. There had been a time when he hadn’t believed in such nonsense, but Charmion had changed all that. A shiver of unease snaked down his spine as a huge white owl flew past his shoulder.

As he climbed higher, a strange silence fell over the land. No birds sang in the trees; even the wind was still. Raven snorted as they rounded a sharp bend in the trail. The left side of the path fell away into a deep abyss.

And still the trail climbed upward, higher and higher, winding round and round the mountain until, at last, they reached the top.

Built of black stone, Charmion’s fortress rose from the earth like an enormous beast of prey. Two huge stone gargoyles flanked the entry.

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