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

Chapter Twenty-Seven || To Fear for a Beast

MY CHEST SEIZED.

He snarled out, staggering back as the thorned vines lunged for him. He deflected the first viper, dodged the second—

Those roses darted forth, nearing his chest. For a sickening moment, I stared helplessly as they plunged—through his heart. No. I stumbled towards him. That could not be. He reeled back, lurching into me. I wedged myself beneath his arm.

No. Not his heart. I released a breath. His side.

A tendril of roses crept forward, writhing along the carpet as to snag him. "Raoul," I ground out, fighting the sway of his body.

He swore, pressing his bloodied hand to me. "Get out," he rasped fiercely. "Or they'll decide to bite you."

"Then step away," I snapped, wary of the creeping roses, readying to lash out once again. I grasped his elbow and tugged him back, retreating as far from the windows as the walls allotted. I never took my eyes away from the withered roses—I did not dare, for fear that they snagged the opportunity.

The petals had wilted and fallen, baring starved barbs, each eager to tear through the carpet as they dragged back. I blinked. The wretched vines descended into the hell-hole they entered through, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. Slowly, as my breath calmed and the roaring in my ears ceased, sounds seeped into my mind.

"Merde," he gritted. "I did not think them to do that—not now...not like this."

Something fell atop my foot. Blood dripped from his hand and fell to my skirts, seeping through and staining my skin.. His fingers were pressed over his side, failing to capture the blood that slid through. "You..." I evened my breath. "You need to tend to that."

His eyes met mine, breathing ragged. "Would—" he winced "—you be a dear?"

It was a taunt, one I suspected motivated and built upon the intent of concealing his agony. I took a breath and braced myself. "I see no reason for me not to." His brows lifted in surprise. "Raise your arm up, keep it above your chest. And hold this—" I knelt and tore a strip from my skirts "—over your side."

Without waiting to see if he had done as I asked, I turned from him and left the chambers as steadily as I could. My heart stumbled and raced, stuttering in a manner that was strange and unwelcome. I drew my arms over my chest as to subdue it.

And once I gathered the courage, I called my maid for some hot water and bandages. I stood there, in the hall, stifling the thudding of my chest with a hand. That fear I felt—when I thought the roses had killed him...and the relief that washed over when I realized they had not...what was I to make of that? I shook the thought from my mind.

Soon, a bucket of heated water and bandages drifted towards me, some mumbled words exchanged as they met my fingers. Once I steeled myself and gathered my wits, I dared to set foot within my chamber to find my husband seated in the waiting chamber, beside the hearth.

"Let me see that," I murmured as I knelt beside him and dipped a cloth into the bucket. With my attention fixated upon my own fingers, I wrung out the water. Gingerly, I took his clenched fist in my open palm and carefully nudged his fingers open. He made no sound—spoke not a word. I felt his eyes upon me, heated gaze stripping me bare.

I clenched my teeth together and made work of his sliced palm, making sure not to reveal the trembling of my fingers. Once his hand was tended to, I shifted my attention to the wound at his side. As I tenderly daubed away at the blood, I felt a breath leave me. "It is not too deep." Yet it concerned me.

"I never said it was."

I lifted my head and found him watching me, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. I scowled and promptly flung the washcloth into his face. He chuckled and took the cloth, wiping away at his side. "And of course you never thought to mention it," I muttered.