Beauty and the Wolf (11 page)

She buried her fingernails into his back. When she could stand it no longer she cried, “Please, Draven. Make love to me!”

He shifted his massive body on top of hers again. Isabella’s pulse skittered as he supported his weight by one hand and parted her center with his manhood. She snaked her hands around his neck. Pinching her eyes shut, she knew this was the moment of no return.

The tip of his bare shaft began to penetrate her but Draven’s body began to tremor and he stopped in midmotion. Isabella glanced up. She thought she saw his dark eyes flash an unearthly shade of red, but she couldn’t be sure. As he avoided her stare, she knew what he must be thinking. He couldn’t risk impregnating her.

“You drive me to lose my senses. But I must stop,” he breathed. “I cannot fill you with my tainted seed.”

Her cry of disappointment was muffled against his chest. She was aching with desire, inflamed with the knowledge that he was inches away from showing her how much he wanted her.

“I am being a selfish cad, putting you in this situation,” Draven said in a rough voice. “It isn’t fair to you.”

As she listened to his heart beating wildly, Isabella began to cry. That’s where he was wrong. He was being unfair by denying her
.

Finding it impossible to dispel the emotion that stirred her soul, she lifted her lips to his ear. “If it makes any difference, I care for you deeply.”

Draven reared up like a horse who’d been cruelly provoked. To Isabella’s horror, his face convulsed with anger. “You can’t fathom the torture I’ve been through—and I don’t deserve your affections!” he thundered.

He whipped a hand into the air. Slashing downward, his fingernails missed her face and arm by inches. She screeched.

When he realized what he’d done, he drew back. “My God, Isabella. I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

She didn’t want to hear it.
What had come over him?

Pushing him away, she gathered her clothing and escaped from the room.

Draven flew to the doorway behind her. “Isabella!”

 

The beast lurking within him was starting to emerge without a full moon—and that beast was far from a metaphoric monster.

He’d been smart enough to stop before he made love to Isabella. But the scent of her blood had been too much for him to bear. He was losing control. Her smell was as sweet and as addicting as a fine wine and it had triggered a hellish wrath.

Soon there would be no difference between Draven the man and Draven the animal.

His Gypsy hex was punishment for the arrogant behavior he had displayed in his youth. And though he was trying to better himself from the egotistical boy he had been, his actions tonight proved he couldn’t.

The only pure thing in his life was Isabella. Had he pushed her away forever? He hoped not. He would rather die than be without her
.

He stumbled to the mirror where his disdainful reflection stared back. His hair, matted and damp, and his expression, gnarled and ugly, lent him an alarming look. Loathing the person he saw, he drove his fist through the framed looking-glass. Shivers of broken glass rippled outward while he let out a primal scream.

The chilling bay belonged to the beast within him and he didn’t give a damn who in the house heard it.

A
n animal’s howl pierced the air as Isabella groped her way back to her suites. It sounded as if it came from inside the house, but how was that possible?

Blinded by her tears, she managed to enter her bedchamber and press her back against the door. Draven’s hatred-filled face flashed in her mind. Why had her profession of love spawned such anger?

His disposition was either gentle or violent and there seemed to be no gray space in between.

Heartbroken that Draven had refused her so violently, Isabella thrust herself on the bed. She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed until she fell asleep.

When she awoke the next morning, her face was puffy and tender. Weakened by the horror of the previous evening, she decided that she wouldn’t get out of bed today. There was nothing left for her in this horrible place. No husband in the traditional sense. No affection from her mother-in-law. And no freedom to leave it.

Frowning, she tucked the edge of her pillow beneath her elbow and reached idly for the amulet around her neck. It was gone!

Flying upright, she searched the bed-sheets to no avail. Panic replaced Isabella’s lethargy and she bolted out of bed. Could Draven have swatted it off with his frenzied swing? She scoured the hallways and every inch of her room, but the amulet was nowhere to be found.

Despair seized her. Either someone had picked up the necklace—or it was in Draven’s bedchamber.

A knock at the door broke her train of thought.

“Isabella, please open the door. It’s me.”

Draven.
Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. “Go away!”

“Hear me out.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Please, Isabella. Open the door.”

The sound of his voice churned resentment inside of her like acid. “Why? So you can attack me the way you did last night?”

“No. Please listen. What I did last night is deplorable. Inexcusable! But you must understand it was something I had no control over. That is why you must let me in. I need you to do something for me.”

“You want to ask
me
for a favor? This is preposterous. For all I know you ripped my amulet off my neck last night just before you slashed the bed-sheets.”

“But you had the amulet on when you ran from my room, Isabella,” he protested through the door.

If Draven was telling the truth, it would mean that either it fell off in the hallway or somebody came into her chambers and stole the amulet while she had slept. But who would do such a thing? Could it be the same person who wanted Helena dead?

“Isabella, please. I have to talk to you.”

She remained motionless, unsure what to do. Could she trust Draven? Did she want to?

“Very well,” Draven continued. “I’ll discuss this through the door if I must. I’ll admit that I’m unpredictable and marred.”

“You’re worse than that. You’re a monster.”

“Isabella, you must understand how powerful this curse is. I’m beginning to lose control of my reasonable self. Believe me when I say you are the last person I want to hurt.”

Tears blurred Isabella’s eyes despite her efforts to fight them back. Her heart was battling her common sense. The war brought her to the conclusion that it was a curse in and of itself to be afraid of the person one cared about.

Yet she had promised Draven that she would help him . . .

Against her better judgment, she stepped to the door. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because remorse is eating away at me.”

“Last night’s episode did irreversible damage, Draven,” she said softly. “You managed to avoid breaking open my skin, but you broke my heart.”

He began to pound on the door. “I beg you! Let me in, Isabella. I have to see you.”

Her hands trembled. As if she were being willed by an unknown force, she flipped over the latch. Draven entered the room. His eyes were wildly dark, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

He raised his hand and waved it in her direction. “After you fled my quarters last night, I put my fist through the mirror in agony. But now the injury has completely healed. Isabella, mysterious—even dangerous—forces are at work here.”

Struggling to keep her emotions in check, Isabella closed the door behind him. She walked briskly to the other side of the room and sat in front of the fire. Draven followed. He bent down on one, quaking knee and took her hand.

“I’ll understand if you never want to see me again. And the fact that you’re frightened of me sickens me to the bone. But I need you by my side more than ever. I need you to help me.”

Isabella snatched her hand from his hold. “Draven,” she said, “I came back to this dreary place in good faith. I was hopeful that we could come to at least respect one another in this marriage and start a family. But I’m not sure I can go on anymore—”

Draven reached for her hand again. He flattened her open palm against his unshaven cheek. “God knows how much it would kill me to be without you,” he admitted. “But it seems that an inexplicable force keeps drawing us together under a cloud of doom. It’s your amulet, Isabella. Listen to me. My curse prevents us from ever being together in any normal sense of the word. And your curse dooms you to destroy me. Our paths are condemned.”

Nausea clenched her stomach.

“Don’t you see,” he said. “What I face upon the rising of every full moon is unbearable. Even if it was an accident, I’ve killed before. If I commit murder again, I will go mad again with guilt. You must put an end to my agony, my Bella. You must put an end to
me.
”

She jerked her hand away and rose to pace in front of the hearth. “I told you I can’t help you.”

Draven stood and withdrew a tiny pistol with an intricate, mother-of-pearl handle from the pocket of his dressing robe. He placed the pistol in her hand.

Looking at him with a mixture of pity and terror, she shook her head.

“This pistol contains one silver bullet,” he informed her. “Silver contains lunar properties that can stop the monster I become. Do it, Isabella. Do it right this instant. Put me out of my misery. Stop me from hurting you or another human being ever again.
It is your destiny!
”

Isabella’s fingers shook beneath the pistol’s cold metal. She threaded her index finger through the trigger hole and held the weapon out in front of her. Not only did she want to kill him after how he had acted last night, perhaps that was the only answer. If what Draven said were true, it was the only viable way to prevent a killing spree. Isabella knew all too well that he was mentally unstable and violent.

But there must be an alternate way. Like Draven, she could never live with herself knowing she had committed murder.

She flung the gun across the room and collapsed to the floor. “Take your pistol and get out!”

Draven retrieved the pistol from its spot on the rug. He turned to face her with a grave expression while she buried her face in her hands.

She heard him move to the doorway, but he paused before he exited the room. “Isabella, if you won’t put a stop to the hell-bent monster I become every full moon, then may God help us both. The blood of all future victims will be on your hands as well as mine.”

“Just go,” she screamed.

After he left, she slumped into a chair by the rain-streaked window. Minutes stretched into miserable hours as Draven’s ominous words hung in the air. They convinced her that if she could turn back the hands of time, she would never have come again to this terrible place.

S
till nestled in the armchair, Isabella developed a pounding headache. She rose and ate all the scones from the tray Gwyneth had brought her, but her hunger pangs—and her colossal headache—told her that she needed to eat more. After she had supper, she would search for her amulet then prepare to leave Thorncliff Towers for good.

The Elgin clock on her bedside table read six o’clock. She could have Gwyneth bring her supper on a tray, but she decided against it. If she spent another minute alone in her suites she would surely go mad. She padded to the dry sink and filled the basin’s saucer from its pitcher. After splashing a handful of water over her face, she rang for Gwyneth’s assistance in getting dressed.

The girl arrived in no time and helped Isabella into a dress of primrose yellow embroidered with braids of garnet-colored silk. It was one of the many stunning dresses Draven had given her. Her heart dropped.

As she made her way to the dining hall, a sense of nervousness spiraled up her spine. She wondered what she’d actually say to her husband when she saw him.

Entering the room, Isabella was relieved that there was no sign of her husband. Would her father appear? She wanted to tell him that her amulet was missing. While he helped her find it, she would also let him know that she was going to take his advice and leave Thorncliff Towers for good. But it seemed that their conversation would have to wait.

Nerves humming, she sat down at the table. Rogers appeared carrying a glass of merlot. She had planned on eating downstairs, but now she was in no mood to do so without her father. She asked the manservant to send a tray to her room.

Leaving the dining hall, she crossed the foyer. To Isabella’s surprise and relief, her father came hobbling toward her on his cane. He planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“Good evening, darling.”

“Papa, I hoped you’d be downstairs.”

Harris frowned. “Where have you been all day?”

“In my room.”

“You look tired. Don’t you feel well, Isabella?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“Have you been crying?”

She looked away. She couldn’t tell her father about the violent episode in Draven’s bed last night. Nor could she tell him of his insane pleas to end his life. But she was going to tell him about her missing amulet.

“Papa?”

“Hmm?” He seemed distracted, just as he’d been in her room yesterday.

“You’re right. I
have
been crying because the amulet you gave me is missing.”

“Missing?” her father said.

“I’ve looked all over for it, but it’s gone.”

“What happened?” Alarm rose in his voice.

“I know it sounds extraordinary—and I would never accuse the staff openly—but I presume someone stole into my bedroom while I was sleeping and took it.”

“What would provoke someone to do that?” he asked. “We both know the amulet isn’t of immense value since I never unearthed the bracelet of Amenhotep.”

A blush heated Isabella’s cheeks. “Few people in this region know of the necklace’s history.”

“True.” Harris paused. “Are you absolutely sure you had it on when you went to bed?”

Visions of Draven’s violent swing made her shudder. “I’m not sure.”

“Did you search your bedroom?”

“Yes, but there’s no sign of it.”

Agitation heated Harris’s face. “Well, it has to be here somewhere. I’ll arrange for a thorough investigation this minute. We won’t stop searching until we find it.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Satisfied, darling?”

She wrapped her arms around him. “Yes.”

“Not to worry,” he said.

Isabella bit her lip before saying, “Papa, after we find my amulet, I want to leave this place.”

“That’s a very wise decision, my dear.”

Isabella gave her father a parting hug and she made her way up the grand staircase. She wanted to tell Helena face-to-face about her plans to leave. Their conversation would stop the noblewoman from criticizing Isabella once she was gone.

When she reached her mother-in-law’s suite, Isabella tapped lightly on the door. Alice, a girl with a long, thin face and fly-away hair, opened it and let her in.

“I’m so glad to see ye, m’lady.” The young girl wrung her hands nervously. “I’m happy to sit with my mistress, but I feel as if my work is pilin’ up somethin’ fierce.”

“Please go and attend to what’s necessary, Alice. I’ll stay with her ladyship for a while.”

Alice dropped a curtsy before motioning to her mistress’s bed. “Lady Winthrop is awake but I’m afraid she’s not in good spirits,” the girl whispered.

Isabella expressed her thanks. Once the maid had exited the room, she strode to Helena’s bedstead. The two women locked eyes.

Helena’s body appeared dwarfed in the sea of plush linens and pillows that surrounded her. However, her face displayed a healthier color than it had yesterday and the ornery blaze in her eyes had returned.

“Good evening.” Isabella sat in a chair near the bed.

“Isabella, how good of you to check in on me.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Helena answered before taking a sip of her steaming tea.

Isabella took in the décor of the room. Surprisingly, it was precisely how she would have arranged the furniture and the color scheme, if given the chance.

“You look uneasy, my dear.”

“There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. You do know you were poisoned, don’t you?”

Helena’s expression remained icy. “Yes, I’m aware of the attempt on my life.”

A brief silence passed between them. Helena sipped more of her tea.

“Well,” Isabella continued, “I wanted to tell you that, in case you hadn’t been informed. I also wanted to tell you that I am leaving this place.”

“Again?” the elder woman said callously.

“It’s much too complicated to explain everything. Suffice it to say that I feel my life is in danger.”

“Danger?”

“Yes.”

“Before my poisoning, I would have disputed that fact.” The dowager smoothed the counterpane covering her torso. “But it’s obvious that a lunatic is running loose in this house. However, I would be more inclined to believe that you were leaving because you realized that you and Draven aren’t meant to be in love.”

Isabella squared her shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

“You may think that I wanted Draven to find someone to marry,” Helena said.

“Didn’t you?” Isabella asked sharply.

Helena waved her hand in the air. “One can never wish things for Draven. He can be so volatile and moody. I believe his mind is permanently marred.”

Isabella placed a hand over her lower, right arm—the arm Draven had nearly sliced open last night. She cringed.

“Draven is a very handsome young man, an expert charmer in fact. Just as his father was. But you are right to leave him. He is evil and selfish.” Helena’s eyes formed two, catlike slits.

Isabella raised her chin. “Have you never wanted Draven to be happy?”

“It’s not that. He has the capacity for violence. Just who do you think is responsible for my heinous poisoning episode? Hmm?”

Isabella sprang to her feet. “Certainly not Draven!”

“How can you be so sure?” Helena clenched and unclenched the damask coverlet. “I have startling news for you, Isabella. Draven is a man with Gypsy blood in his veins. Despite my best efforts to raise him as a gentleman, he was born a bastard. You see, he is the product of his father’s affair with a Romanian tart.”

Isabella remained silent.

“Why aren’t you surprised to learn that your husband is not my blood kin?”

“Draven told me as much.”

The countess sank back against the pillows. “And I thought he preferred to keep secrets.”

Isabella clasped the pillars of the bedstead until her knuckles turned white. “I don’t think you know him at all.”

“You’re wrong. As a result of his tainted blood, Draven harbors a raw, uncontrollable side. He is full of hatred and has been ever since he was a child. He used to taunt the Gypsy children who trespassed on our property. He would throw rocks. He even lit one of their caravans on fire. He’s never had empathy for others.”

“And what did you do about it?” Isabella’s temper flared.

“I tried to make him a gentleman, but I couldn’t change his inherent wickedness
.
”

“If he’s wicked, I suspect you are the reason for it.”

Her words seemed to stab Helena like a knife. The dowager’s face twisted and Isabella could have sworn she saw remorse shadow her face.

“Perhaps you are . . .” Helena said.

“I am what?”

“Perhaps you are
right
.”

Isabella hadn’t expected the words.

“I should have pitied Draven for being born a bastard. I should have loved him more. . . .” The noblewoman’s voice trailed off.

Isabella was speechless.

But the countess’s sentimental moment didn’t last long. Her eyes flattened into cold stones. “It would be in your best interest to keep your distance from my stepson. His behavior becomes more erratic every day. You will be free of him when you return to London and that is best.”

Isabella knew firsthand that Draven was capable of violence but she didn’t want to hear it from her mother-in-law. In fact, Helena’s words provoked her to defend Draven to the ends of the earth. “Although Draven has many character flaws, I don’t believe he has it in him to poison anyone.”

“I hope you are right.” The dowager sighed. Closing her eyes as a signal of dismissal, she murmured, “If you’re not, that means we are all in grave danger.”