Beloved Beast

Chapter Twenty-Six

Some would argue that Don was more beast than man, and in that moment, with the blood of another crusting his split knuckles, the tenderized skin smarting with the flexing of his fists, ragged breaths sawing in and out of his burning lungs, he could not  discern the parts that made him human.

            Revulsion and rage gathered in his heart. A bred-in-the-bone violence festered and flooded his veins. A red-hot clamor lit his soul. It was careless. Explosive. Deadly.

            The vision of Elle, sobbing and battered, served to incite his fury. It fed his dark and predatory side; fueling a visceral intensity he hadn't felt since... you burned a village to the ground.

            Had she not intervened, he would have readily killed the bastard, and not felt a whit of remorse thereafter.

            You are a cold one, after all.

            The thought rang with authenticity in the upheaval that was his mind. The affirmation was there in the blood that smeared his hands, and the unreflective need to inflict violence upon another. Long ago, he had embraced what he could not change and surely now, Elle would recognize, that he was dangerous and volatile, that he was all of the speculation and hearsay epitomized, and that it took nothing on his part to end a life.

            She wasn't supposed to get hurt, but evil shadowed his every stride. His offenses were too great to evade; his misery and ghastly past insurmountable. Elle was in imminent danger here. For her sake, he had to send her back to the village. With the weight of many deaths tallied against his soul, hers was one he could not bear – could not risk. The icy mass fixed beneath his sternum responded with equals parts of alarm and fear at losing the only person that meant anything to him.

            A rough sound gathered in his throat as a sharp ache speared his chest. Already, he mourned her absence. If he could have anything, it would be her. Elle was everything in his span of nothingness and he knew, once she was gone, he would look for her in the dark. Seek every timid smile. Want for every gentle sigh. Yearn for her shy and unpracticed lips. In part, she belonged to him... and not. If he could take anything from their brief time together, it was that she had given his unsympathetic heart a blithesome beat, and if he was doomed to live an eternity without her, then he could at least part with that.

            It was all of this and more that made her susceptible to danger, for she was his undoing – the chink in his dark armor.

            "You are incensed." Sera stated, the bright tapestry of her emerald eyes a fitful and unnerving gleam in the muted light, announcing the unnatural thing that lurked behind the face of a stranger. "That is good. I have need of your wrath."

            Disgust slithered through him, temporarily mollifying his rage. How could he have ever loved this heartless creature? Or have felt even a modicum of tenderness for her?

            "Tread carefully, witch, lest I fix my wrath on you."

            Sera snickered softly, "No need to restrain your beast on my behalf," She smoothed a pale hand over her auburn tresses, adding in a sickeningly sweet tone. "It is the part of you I fancy most."

            "You led that bastard here." Don seethed, his anger resurfacing, "You showed him the hidden passage to my chambers. If it is my compliance you require, then your strategy needs some adjustment."

            "I had to be sure of your loyalty to me." Sera hissed, her green eyes snapping. "She is a terribly small and unassuming creature, anyhow – unfit to handle you."