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

Chapter Twenty-Four || To Learn a Beast's Name

MY THROAT PARCHED. In an attempt to conceal my failed attempt of fleeing, I shrugged the robe from my shoulders as if I was considering to bare myself. The flames heated my back, chasing me forth. I knotted my fingers together and wet my lips as speak to the man masked in the shadows. Droplets of wine reddened his sleeves and dripped from his fingertips.

"Can a woman not visit her husband unquestioned?" I neared him.

Behind me, the flames roared and cracked. Every muscle in my body burned, shouting at me, begging me to escape the room. But I did not. I clenched my teeth together and approached.

My gaze narrowed. He held a palm over his eyes and tilted his head back. "Are you...drunk?"

"No." I realized that it was not wine that stained his sleeves. "Perhaps—yes." The sight of the pained expression upon his pressed lips and narrowed eyes had me lowering my head. He loosened a deep groan and returned to rubbing his temples. "Though, not nearly enough."

It was the smell of liquor that told me otherwise. I said nothing of it.

Wordlessly, I knelt beside him and made quick work of the buttons that held the cuffing of his sleeves. I pressed my lips together as to silence the question upon my tongue. The slice very likely had something to do with the shattered wine glass and the maddening headache that grasped him. Unprompted, I disrobed and pressed the cloth that had preserved my modesty to his bleeding palm.

It was then that I made note of his fingernails, for they resembled those of wolves. Thick, curved claws tipped each of his fingers and by the way his hand stiffened, I suspected he was not particularly fond nor accustomed to them.

I felt his scrutinizing gaze upon me—for but a moment. He turned his head, addressing his words to the burning fire. "You must fear my death greatly to have given up your prudish chaste. Or perhaps, you wish to conceal other things." The dryness in his voice had me wincing. "Rather than butcher me when given the opportunity, you choose to rush to my aid." He dipped his head back.

I dared not fill the silence and instead busied myself with blotting at his wrist.

"I was certain you would plunge that knife into my chest, Ismae," he murmured. "But you did not. And it made me wonder...why?" The subtle slur of drunkenness clung to him. "Why does this woman, who long boasts and threatens of murder, deny this opportunity?" He turned to me.

"I need my lord husband alive," I whispered softly, unsure whether I wanted him to hear me. I thought I may have known the answer. Somewhere, dancing between flitting thoughts and vanished breaths. If I did, I would keep it like a well guarded secret to take to the grave. "I cannot allow him to die when there is still much to be won from him."

"You lie." He drew his arm from my fingers and rose. I nearly flinched, even more so when he snapped, "So concerned over my well being that you thought to burst into my bedchambers clad in nothing but a nightgown?"

I set a hand over my chest, painfully aware of the eyes raking my figure with ridicule. And the sharpness of his words...I set my jaw. "My attire is suitable, my lord, should I deign to loosen your lips and draw the answers from you."

He barked out a joyless laugh. "That very well may entertain me well past dawn. That is, if you dare to seduce your husband. Or perhaps you hope to leave me hungry for yet another taste of your lips." I noted where his gaze strayed. "Ismae," he gritted. "I do not like to do things in halves."

"Then do not, my lord." Nimbly, I stood to my feet and wove myself into his arms, allowing my wrists to settled upon either of his shoulders. I peered through my lashes and lifted my gaze hesitantly—as if I were shy to meet his eyes. It came to me more easily than it should have. And then, I whispered, "Allow me to entertain you."