Beast (The Submissively Ever After Series Book 1) (8 page)

Amber eyes twinkled, but didn’t disguise the look of dominance. Something inside me howled with defiance, needing more, yet terrified of being the focus of that single-mindedness. In the beat of my heart the moment broke.

"If you want the man, then you’d best be prepared to face the beast."

The warning seared my mind.

He broke our gaze, settling on those around the table. His voice was huskier than it had been when he’d spoken before. "Well, the contract is binding and without the presence of your father to break our agreement, I suggest we end the squabbling and get to know each other. Belle, can I offer my hand for a stroll around the gardens before diner is served?"

Hesitant stares reached across the table, fumbling like lovers’ hands for a grip. Mark’s gaze was stony, not giving anything away, focused on Belle. She gripped the table, her eyes silently pleading as she rose. A surge of smug satisfaction washed away the remnants of my fear. I stepped back at the scrape of the chair and watched our host take Belle’s hand.

I felt their touch like a kick in the pit of my stomach. A flash of anger surged, burning away any sorrow I’d felt for her. My lips slid back from my teeth in a snarl. I was getting too wrapped up here, losing myself in this twisted game of show and tell.

I closed my eyes, willing the feelings away and shuffled backward. I’d lost my anchor and these fucking visions were killing me. I grabbed my wrist, not caring about the bone-grinding ache, and searched for that familiar line.

My thumb slid over the smooth skin, searching for the razored track. The sound of my heart was deafening—a derailed train—all that was left to experience was the crash.

I twisted my hand, my thumb still searching, still needing. The pale skin and faint purple veins were all I could see. I yanked my arm higher, my gaze searching. The scar was gone.

No.

My grip eased. I twisted my right wrist over.
That’s not the wrist I cut.
"It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t...." 

My right wrist was bare, not a mark, not even a blemish. I swallowed the sob in the back of my throat and turned back to my left arm. It has to be here. It has to be. The skin was bare. The road I’d traveled had been erased as though it’d never existed at all, as though I never existed at all.

It’s just a dream, remember?

I jerked my chin up, nodding as the unspoken voice whispered.
It’s just a dream.
This wasn’t my life. I wasn’t this ghost, trapped by a sadistic piece of shit. An icy chill cut away the layers. The breath of winter seized me. False smiles cracked like the shattering of glass as Mark tipped the bottle. Blood red wine splashed inside the crystal glasses.

"A toast," he muttered, never once taking his eyes off Belle’s sisters and their spouses. "To the lovely couple."

Beatrice leaned forward, knocking the bowl with her ample bosom. "You don’t believe any of this, do you? Father would never have gone to such lengths, unless...."

Mark held her gaze. His pupils seemed to swell until the inky darkness swallowed the blue. "Unless? You can say it, Beatrice. You’ve heard the rumors, and believed them, I assume."

She blanched. The bowl rocked back into place as she straightened. "I’ve heard, but believed is another matter entirely. What you and my sister do behind closed doors is of no consequence to me, as long as you aren’t interested...."

"In the money?" Mark whispered.

Beatrice’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open slightly, just before she closed her lips over the rim of the crystal glass. I watched the red wine sluice around the edge, before her throat worked.

The others around the table followed suit. I guessed they were all in need of a distraction.

"You assumed I didn’t know about the last boat? The one carrying the majority of your family’s fortune? The one docked at Scully Harbor?"

The stifled air inside the dining room turned viscous. I tried to inhale and swallowed the air instead. A glass rattled. I scanned the table. All eyes were on Mark.

"Do you take me as a man of limited intelligence?" His question was met with vacant stares. "I take that as a yes, then. What did you think was going to happen? I’d marry Belle, take her away from the rest of you thieving cunts?"

"Now, there’s no need—" Beatrice’s husband grabbed her hand.

The flare of anger in her eyes said she was not to be consoled so easy. Beatrice tore her hand from his grasp, slamming her fist down on the table. The blow rattled the plates. Venomous stares found her target. "If you think you’re getting your murderous hands on our money, you’re very much mistaken."

Silence filled the air as a wicked smile slipped across Beatrice’s lips. "What, you thought none of us knew about your little meeting with our father? Two of you went in the woods, Marcus. But only one came home."

M
ark’s eyes widened. "You knew?"

"About father, yes. But this,"—her gaze skirted the room—"no. None of us did."

"More wine?" Mark raised the bottle to meet their empty glasses. There was something about the gesture that nagged at me. A forgotten moment wore at me, like the beginnings of a blister. Glass clinked, draining the rest of the bottle as Mark finished. "Then I guess I need to re-structure my plan."

Beatrice looked at the glass in her hands with an odd expression. That nagging thought bloomed into a fist which gripped my insides as she murmured. "What plan is that?"

Mark glanced up, holding her gaze. "The plan where I kill you and live happily ever after."

"Happily?" Selene’s husband was the first to fall. His head slammed against the table, smashing the dainty porcelain cups, and stayed there.

Beatrice never took her eyes off the glass she held. What was left of the wine coated the sides with each sway of her hand. Her sister, Selene, pitched forward, clawing the table, until her eyes widened and she dropped amongst the delicate porcelain table setting with a crash. I jumped at the sound, staring the slick trails of blood leaking from her nose.

The crimson drops bloomed against the crisp white doilies as her husband fell to the floor beside her. Beatrice grasped the tablecloth, dragging the plates, cups, and bowls with her as she tried to stand. Mark sat on the opposite side, watching with a blank stare as she stumbled, making two steps toward the door before she succumbed. She hit the ground, her arm outstretched in a warning to those who entered.

His deep voice wrenched my gaze to the doorway as Lord Bête stepped through the doorway, with Belle in tow. He froze at the sight of Beatrice’s outstretched hand against the floor, then rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her.

The change in the room was sudden. One minute the walls contained a calculated murderer, then the next Mark turned into a whimpering fool. He grabbed his throat, pulling the bowl and saucer in front of him to the floor. A shrill scream tore through the room. The sound punched me in the chest. I ground my jaw, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but watch as she rushed to her lover’s side.

The hunter lifted his hand and pointed at Lord Bête. "He did this. Poison."

He slumped forward, grappling with her hands as she pulled him from the chair.

"No. No. No." Belle sobbed. I could hear the hysteria bleeding into her voice. I wanted to turn and run and drag Lord Bête with me, knowing this was the defining moment. This would change the course of not just their lives, but mine.

"Goddamn sonofabitch!" Mark growled. "He’s trying to kill us. He wants you for himself."

The poison didn’t affect him like it had for the others, but Belle never seemed to notice. She tore her gaze from her lover’s eyes. Rage blazed as she focused on the man beside her sister. "You did this? You did this!"

Lord Bête stood, dropping Beatrice’s head to the floor. There was a cruel look of hopelessness burning from his eyes, a resignation before a spark of anger ignited. "You. You did this! You murdered these people, and their father?"

A harrowing snarl tore through the room. Mark shoved Belle from his side and climbed to his feet. "You think you can take all this from me?"

I was caught in the undertow and sucked down to the murky depths of his greed as Mark lunged for the table. The carving knife sat in the middle of the table, well within reach. His hand was around the hilt, drawing the blade up at the same time his other hand went around Belle’s neck.

The tip rested against the groove of her neck before I realized what was happening. I was caught on the sight of the blade and the pressure against her skin. Her pulse pushed her skin against the blade. A drop of blood welled under the steel and slid like a silent tear down the base of her throat.

"Move, and I’ll cut her fucking throat."

The way Mark held the knife and the deadpan expression was all the warning he needed. The mysterious host nodded, lifting his hands above his head in surrender.

"Mark. Stop, you’re hurting me." Belle whimpered.

The single drop of blood was greeted by another, then another, until the slow trickle found traction into the crease of her bosom. Belle didn’t truly understand who he was, yet. She didn’t recognize what he was capable of. But I could tell that Lord Bête understood. "What do you want?"

A flash of panic swelled in Mark’s eyes. He shifted his gaze around the room, as though he struggled to put into words the entirety of his greed.

"You have plenty of time, why don’t you think about it? You can rest your hand. No one’s going to do anything rash. Take all the time you need."

The knife left her neck. The steel, coated with her blood, left her skin and hovered in the air. Mark’s gaze jumped from their host to Belle. "This contract, its bound with some kind of magic, isn’t it?"

Lord Bête nodded. "Yes. Sealed by the blood you spilled. Sebastian was a good man, a faithful husband and father, right up to the very end, not to mention, my only friend. We’d known each other for a long time. He didn’t deserve to die cold and alone. But he’s part of the magic that surrounds this house now. He’s one with the forest and will forever remain so."

Belle rocked forward. A whimper slipped from her lips. The tortured sound swallowed everything else. I felt my own tears cold against my cheeks, while inside I shook and shuddered, seething with hate. I turned, giving this grieving woman my back. I couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, knowing all she’d brought upon, not just herself, but us as well, with her careless love.

She could’ve been anyone. She could’ve been me. I made the same mistake for love. I would’ve given anything for Gaige to love me—for us to have a happily ever after. But, he left me with a scar and a lifetime of torment. One which, in some sad way, I was glad to be rid of.

Silent steps carried me to the man who whispered from the shadows, seducing me in the dark. Magic thrummed under every floorboard. I felt the power here, unrelenting. No matter how old or dark this house had become, the energy would never die.

I raised my hands, feeling that same power through my fingers as I trailed his cheek. A nerve jumped near his eye. I moved close, brushing his arm against my breast, focusing on the amber liquor in his eyes.
Who are you?

"I need...."

The moment was snatched away by those two words I’d come to hate. I dropped my hand and turned away.

"I want you to change the agreement. Belle is mine, her family’s wealth is mine as well. It’s not like you need it." Mark snarled, his eyes skirting the wealth in the room.

"Belle is mine. It’s written in blood." Lord Bête snapped.

Mark yanked Belle’s head up, his fist wrapped in her hair, and drew the knife to the base of her throat. One move and this would all be over. Some small part of me almost wanted it to end.

"Stop, okay." The man beside me raised his hand.

"In exchange for this Belle, I’ll bring you another to your liking." Mark chuckled.

"And if they’re never to my liking?"

"Then I guess I’ll have to keep looking, won’t we?" Mark jerked Belle by her hair. She sobbed, slapping his hand with feeble swipes. But the game was all but played out now.

"If I consent to this, she must never be harmed. That is the promise I gave to her father. Her needs above all else."

A sickening smile spread across Mark’s face. He reached up, plucking a fresh drop of blood from her throat. "Belle, never to be harmed. Deal, and look at that, made with blood, too. Now, tell me. Where is the cellar in this place?"

A sound wrenched me from the dining room. I opened my eyes, soft light filtered in, making my eyes water. I blinked, shedding the blur. My thoughts were slow, caught on the lord’s look of sorrow and helplessness that made my heart ache.

The sound came again, this time from the land of the living. I forced my eyes open as a shadow moved. A sigh filled the air and it wasn’t my own. A thin shaft of sunlight streamed through the crack of the curtain, lighting up one side of Mark’s face. He stared down at me. His twisted smile dragged long lines from the corners of his eyes.

I caught the shift, but too late. Seized by his words as he raised his fist and swung. "Tag. You’re it."