Beast within the Beauty || A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Chapter Seventeen || To Tend to a Beast

I  FOUND HIM unconscious on the blood-drenched floor. His chest barely rose at all and he made no move to acknowledge me. Hesitantly, I knelt beside him and gently shook his shoulder. He made no move to respond. "Get up," I whispered.

He grunted in response.

If I were to leave him here, he would certainly bleed to death. It was tempting, so very tempting, to turn away and leave him be. I knew that if I did, guilt and shame would eat away at me until I found my grave. I could live with that. Certainly. I clenched my teeth together. I could. But, would I? I cupped a hand over his wrecked shoulder.

I called for a servant, eyes pinned away from his face. His fingertips gently slid over and rested atop my hand. "They..." he croaked. "They can't be of help."

I took a breath, staring at the blood caked beneath his fingernails. "Then...tell me what to do."

"You've done enough." His heel dragged along the carpet as if he intended to rise to his feet. "Thank you." There was a hoarseness to his voice, a rawness that I could not quite comprehend. He was thinking of something else.

"Let me help you," I whispered, feeling his gaze on the gashes along my wrist.

He responded with silence.

After a moment, I fumbled for his hand and drew his arm around my shoulder. Bracing much of his weight against the wall, I stood to my feet. He hissed softly, a fist clenched as he took some of his weight upon himself. Remorse wrenched my heart.

"Back," he ground out. "Eastern side." Wordlessly, I followed the whispered directions he offered as to guide me to his chambers. Each step I took left an ache burrowing deeper into my foot and chest, drowning me in that sensation. I pressed my lips together.

His blood seeped into my clothing, slickening the grasp I had on him. He grumbled something incoherent against the shell of my ear, startling me enough that my foot snagged on the last step.

My breath hitched, stumbling as I kept us from toppling to the floor. I clenched my hands around him, fighting the sway of his weight. Grunts eased from his lips as he shifted his weight to his own legs, leaning on me gently. I bit down on my tongue.

Once I had found his bedchamber and hulled him across the room, I unwrapped his arm from my shoulder and allowed him to collapse on the floor before the fireplace. A breath left me, along with his weight. His chest shook with each cough, droplets of blood spraying out to stain the already-red carpets.

He looked...pathetic...pitiful, even. The Beast. My husband. Yoann. My chest tightened.

I crawled toward him, seating myself beside his hand. A wince etched itself onto his face. I tore my eyes away and instead focused on the wounds sprinkled across his flesh. He made a sound of disdain, as if prompting me to look. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

"Ismae," he coaxed with a shaky breath. "Tend to your own wounds."

"They're just scratches," I whispered, shifting so that I knelt behind him, guarded from his prodding gaze. And from the sight of his face.

Carefully, I wiped away the shards of glass embedded into his flesh. Fortunately, cloth, bandages, a bucket of hot water, and needle and thread were brought up by his servants. I heard them rush to leave the room, allowing the heaviness to seep after them. I worked by the flickering flame of candles, gently pressing the cloth to his heated, bloodied flesh.

I shut my eyes and took a breath, visualizing that I was at home, tending to the injuries of returned knights. I was not caring for a man I had intended to kill nor a man I had grown to...appreciate. With a beath, I proceeded.