Beast

Rupin cleared his throat. Leona leaned back, lifting the book so that he would have a view of her breasts straining against the neckline of her dress. She parted her legs the tiniest bit.

"Her hot, soft flesh was completely pliant underneath him. He mastered her completely. They spent the entire night on the divan bed, the king lost in hot ecstasy, the slave girl as mysterious and aloof as ever. Her breasts shook and swayed with the motion of their lovemaking, a hypnotic rhythm that held the king's eyes.

"She was sweet cream from the pitcher. She was the gentlest of waves on the beach. She was the most delicate, inner petals of the flower. Sugar on his tongue.

"The motion of them turned hard and insistent, even violent. The king was afraid he may hurt the girl, but no, she was more than able to accept the most fervent of his attentions. Perhaps she was even matching them, as if he had awakened something in her, or she was coming into the discovery of it now, a door that, once unlocked, could never be closed again.

"What kind of satisfaction was this that only birthed a new and more fervent desire? Where was the final the relief from this hot hunger? Where was the line between them? Had they always been two separate halves waiting for this moment when they would finally and eternally become one?

"This was the fevered thought the king had as soon as the aching, shuddering, crashing, all-consuming force of his—"

"I have to go," Rupin said, standing up like a shot, teetering on his feet for a moment as if he might fall and then all but running from the room.

Leona watched him go and then laughed.

She thought about following him...but no, she decided, let him go, off to his bedchamber or to his gallery or wherever. She hugged the book to herself.

Maybe Rupin would be so embarrassed now that he'd send her away early. That would be the most gratifying victory of all, to know that she'd deprived him of the extra time in which he might have hoped—

There was movement down below, in the garden. Was it—? Yes, it was Rupin. From the window, she saw that he'd gone out for an evening walk in the snow, just like usual. Leona sagged a little. Was that all? Had she not antagonized him enough to warrant even a minor interruption in his routine?

She went to her room, taking the fur-lined boots from the closet (a gift from Rupin; everything in the closet was a gift from Rupin, but thus far she'd elected only to wear her own garments, sent from home) and the fur-lined coat as well, wrapping herself tightly and then barging out into the elements.

The snowfall was gentle but thick, and it obscured her view. She took a single covered lamp, and Rupin's tracks were still fresh enough that she could follow him. What she would say when she found him she didn't know. She only knew that she was angry, and her anger demanded confrontation.

Her pride was much-abused by this entire affair, and she'd held her tongue until now, but there were limits. If her father had ordered her to marry Rupin she could have lived with that, much as she hated him. She could have played the martyr to her satisfaction then; lots of women had.

But this ritual of lending her out, like a good draft horse, borrowed for the season? That was simply barbaric. And the suggestion that she would ever, ever consent to marry Rupin of her own free will? That was the ultimate insult.

She might be forced into such a thing, for lack of the power to prevent it. But she would never choose it. That he thought such a thing was possible was the most beastly thing about him. His presumption was why she hated him. And the reason why he had to pay.

She worked herself into such a fury that she almost didn't see it right in front of her: a splash of blood, frozen in the snow. A little at first, and then more, and when she turned the corner around the hedge of a rosebush (unnatural winter blossoms shifting in the win) it was as if the ground itself bled.

Here was the body of the fawn, its neck bent and legs tangled together. It must have been lost and crept in to nibble the foliage on the bushes. And then...

Leona heard the crunch of heavy footsteps on the snow. Her light flickered with the shaking of her hand. Don't turn around, she thought. If you never see it, maybe it won't really be there.

But of course, she wanted to see it. Even if it meant dying.

Later, she'd comfort herself that at least she didn't scream when she turned. It helped, perhaps, that she saw it for only a second. Any more of those agate green eyes, those powerful paws, that lean, muscular body, and the lustrous texture of its fur smeared with blood would have been too much.

It was a leopard, she saw, but many times larger than any other of its kind. The king of cats. The shifting wind brought the scent of its carnivore feasting to her nostrils. The animal stared through her. Though it had just eaten, its hunger would never be satisfied. It could gorge on her unspoiled flesh and be hungry again before the meal hit its belly. This was the story its eyes told her.

And then she dropped the lantern.

It shattered, and darkness took her. She held her breath and waited for the killing moment. At least it wouldn't take long. A virile hunter can kill in one swipe of its paw. She imagined her body sprawled out next to the fawn, their blood comingling, her skin as white as the snow beneath her. She waited with arms spread...

But it didn't happen. She stood there in the storm, holding her breath, but inexplicably she kept on living. The great cat, it seemed had gone, and she was alone again.

***

Twelfth Night. The final day of Christmas. Tomorrow Rupin would hold the Feast of the Epiphany and again invite the entire village into his home, including her father, and it was then he meant to formally ask for her hand.

He was in the midst of reading her some horrid Russian fairy tale, but Leona wasn't paying attention. She was busy trying to burn a hole through him using just her eyes. Yes, he'll make a big show of it, she thought. The great Rupin, deigning to marry a mere merchant's daughter. How gracious, the people will say, how gallant!

And she is a lovely girl, they will whisper (lovely, but not beautiful). Yes, that much they'll grant her, though their voices will have an edge of pity, as if to say it was a shame that such a lovely girl with such a noble husband could never be a true noblewoman in her own right. How perfectly tragic...

"Beast!" she muttered.

Rupin glanced up from the book.

"Yes, I was calling you a beast," Leona said, louder. She went to the fireplace, jabbing at the burning logs. The light from the embers reflected in the glass eyes of the lion skin rug, gilding its bared fangs. "Do you find me charming, Beast?" Leona said.

"As sunshine on a winter morning," he said, absently. "I seem to have lost my place. I think it was—"

She threw the book across the room. He crossed his arms.

"Forget that," she said. "I asked if you find me charming."

"I already answered you."

"I didn't like that answer. Give me another one."

"Which answer would you prefer?"

She switched tracks. "You mean to ask me to marry you tomorrow. Do you think I'll say yes?"

The storm was particularly violent tonight, and the wind howled against the windows. At times Leona thought the old castle might shake to pieces over their heads.

Things had been different since the night of the gallery. Her victory over him was short-lived. From that point on he'd seemed increasingly sure of himself, and all of her efforts to fluster him wilted.

And the great animal was no longer about the grounds, it seemed. She hadn't seen nor heard a trace of it since that night. Its absence made her edgy. She was sure Rupin was responsible.

"You know you're not a real man, don't you?" she said, still holding the fire poker.

"What am I then? A beast?"

"Not even that! A beast has mettle. A beast feels. You're more like a painting. A figure without substance. Have you ever fucked a woman? I bet not. I think you'd break. Like a doll."

Still he didn't react. She sneered and pulled up the hem of her dress, revealing the long, sensuous curves of her well-turned legs. She pulled them up a long way.

"I've slept with men before. If you're going to propose you should know that. Let me tell you about the last one: He was a young trapper. He came to sell pelts to my father. I snuck out to the stables with him after midnight. It was dirty in there. Do you want to hear how he did it to me?"

She thrust her hand into his lap, and now finally he moved. He bolted to his feet, in fact, and the look on his face stopped her dead in her tracks, but only for a moment.

"You shouldn't talk like this," he said. He ran his hands through his hair, a distressed gesture she'd seen him use only once before. He left, and she knew without even going to look that he was going to the garden.

She sat with her back to the window, refusing to watch him. Tomorrow it would all be over. But no matter what happened it couldn't erase the embarrassment of it all. She wanted to wound Rupin's dignity as badly as he had hers. She wanted him never to recover.

She had a vision of herself hanging from an elegant noose twisted out of the lace curtains in her room. Yes, that would be a scene he'd never forget, wouldn't it? Not that she really wanted to die, of course. She just wanted a gesture grand enough to convey the proper, stinging rebuke. It would be just as good to—

The sound made every hair on her body turn upright: the call of the great cat, as loud and as bloodthirsty as ever. Coming from...just the other side of the library door!

Leona held her breath, and her heart froze. She heard the click of its claws dragging across the tiles just outside. The whiteness of a blizzard outside blotted out all of the windows. Leona approached the doors, touching the cool brass of the knobs and turning them.

It was there. Its eyes made her knees weak. They were so close that she could have counted the spots on its hide.

She backed away as it came in, the whiskers around its muzzle twitching as its lips pulled back around the warning growl. She backed up until her spine was against the fireplace stones, and when there was nowhere else to go she slid to her knees. Is this really happening, she thought? Please, whatever happens, don't let this be a dream...

The animal shouldered past the tables and chairs, knocking everything out of its way. Soon she was on her back on the lion skin rug and it was standing over her, peering down. She felt the tips of its fur, soft and coarse at the same time. Its breath (and the scent of blood) choked her. She gasped as its rough tongue licked her cheek.

This is it, she thought. This time she would really die. She was afraid, but still pleased. They'd find her here, sprawled out on the floor of the library like the body of the fawn in the snow. It seemed as beautiful an image as any in Rupin's art gallery. A shame she hadn't thought to take off her clothes. It would have made a picturesque nude scene....

Without thinking, she raised her head and gave her killer a kiss. It was a small gesture, pressing her lips to its muzzle for less than a second, but it engendered a tremendous reaction.

The animal backed away, as if her kiss had been a spark from the fire. Leona sat up, afraid at first that it was about to run. But something else entirely happened: it changed.

The great leopard grew smaller, and as it diminished its hide rippled and its limbs changed shape, and the spots became a constellation of freckles against tanned skin. The proud, defiant cast of its face gave away to all-too familiar features. Only the eyes stayed the same: hard and staring and deep.

Eventually the cat was gone, and in its place was a dazed, huddled, naked man, his body still racked with the pain of the transformation, sweating and panting as if he'd just finished a fight or a race or a nightmare, or something in between all three. Leona blinked several times, expecting him to disappear, but he remained.

Of course, it was Rupin.

***

Another log on the fire. His face glowed in the flames. She sat at his feet like a dutiful daughter, listening.

"It was seven years ago," he said. "I was young. Thoughtless. I spurned lovers without a care. One of them decided to teach me a lesson."

He shifted in his seat. "

A curse, naturally: that I would take the form of a beast every night, and that the curse wouldn't be lifted until a woman agreed to be my bride." He traced the roses in the chair's upholstery with one finger. "Of course, no one would marry me when they found out."

"But why?" said Leona. "If marriage would end the curse then what did it matter?"

"The taint of the devil was all over the thing. You don't know what these superstitious country folk are like. I'm lucky they didn't burn me at the stake. Besides, who would savor the idea kissing a mouth that's tasted fawn's blood?"

He laughed. Leona, unconsciously, licked her lips.

"You can see, of course, why I asked for you. You and your father are outsiders, so you don't have the same...prejudices, as these people. I thought you might..." He groped for words. "Well, it was a foolish notion. I'm sorry to have brought you into this."

Leona rubbed his bare arms. "Oh, Rupin," she said. "I'm..." The lump in her throat was pride. She swallowed it. "I'm sorry. How you must have suffered..."

He looked away. "Not suffering. Just shame. I might have killed myself, but would the curse even end then? Or would I be a beast in my tomb, forever? It was unbearable..."

"Please accept my apology anyway."

"Why are you apologizing now? What difference does all this make?"

"If I had known you were a man with such a capacity for...well, anything at all, I would never have treated you this way. But it's all right, darling. Don't think about it."

She combed her fingers through his hair (thinking about the shaggy, clean, beautiful fur of the Beast as she did), and leaned in, her lips finding his. She kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and as she did she drew him up out of the chair and down onto the lion skin with her.

The animal pelt felt so good against her naked back. Rupin was on top of her. Together they fumbled with her clothes. When she closed her eyes she saw the stern, calculating face of the Beast in her mind. It was coming up on midnight and the heat was creeping down into her body. She flexed against him, again, enjoying the sensation of the fur rug on her bare back. So comforting, that feeling. And so alluring...

Rupin's mouth on her mouth; Rupin's hands on her breasts; Rupin's thighs pressed against hers. These things were solid, tangible, real. But hat the same time, in some corner of her mind where thoughts and memories became equally as real, she relived the memory of touching the Beast.

Its body had been intensely hot. The Beast was made of heat. She let her hands crawl down Rupin's bare back and pushed her mouth up against his harder. A log cracked on the fire and a single orange ember spat out, landing just next to her face. She ignored it.

She remembered the delicious thrill of the Beast pinning her on this spot, and the feeling of its rough tongue on her skin. She imagined running her hands across its flanks, feeling the rise and fall of its ribcage and the hot breaths steaming from its muzzle. She imagined splaying her hands across its hide and tracing invisible lines between its spots...

"Not like this," she said out loud. She turned so that she was up on all fours, her rear arched into the air, inviting. "Take me like this," she said. "This is how I like it."

His cupped her behind, squeezing. She had never noticed before, but Rupin's hands felt rough. Not like the hands of a pampered lord at all, really. She braced herself for what came next. Was he hesitating? Or savoring the moment?

The Beast would have done it right away. The Beast would be hard and immediate, like with the fawns. Even Rupin didn't keep her waiting all that long; his calloused fingers held her in place while the tip of him searched for entrance and then, finding it, slid into the wet ache at the center of her. She purred.

Her body flexed back and forth in front of him. Yes, this felt right. Even better when he fully mounted her, lying across her back, his hands braced on the floor, his arms running over hers, so that their bodies were locked in the same position, neither able to move without pushing against the other and driving him further and harder into her.

She pictured the Beast mounting on her this way, almost crushing her underneath it. The muscles of its inhuman frame would be as strong as steel. It was a beautiful machine, and she was caught up in it. The throbbing, insistent push of its cock deep inside her would be hard, too. Her nails raked the floor and a chorus of growls, shrieks, and squeals slipped out of her.

She was going to scream, but even as she opened her mouth the Beast's jaws clamped down on the nape of her neck. She froze; it held her like that, helpless and trapped in place while it continued having its way with her. One bite and she would die. Its claws splayed out on the floor next to her hands (so small in comparison). Could her body contain everything the Beast was putting into it? Or would she break into pieces?

Her knees were sore and her arms were close to giving out, but if she let herself fall her own weight and momentum would snap her neck in the Beast's jaws, so she had to remain upright.

She pushed herself up with all her might, but it was harder and harder with all of the power of the Beast pushing, pushing, pushing her down, the muscles of its flanks flexing. It couldn't go fast enough, she realized. Even its strength was inadequate next to its want. There was still hot blood on its breath. She loved the smell.

Her fingers clawed at the furry hide of the rug. "Oh God!" Leona cried, a strangled sound. The Beast growled under its breath, and then it was spurting and filling her up. It was a surprisingly potent sensation. It released its grip at the same time and she fell, panting in a heap. Her hips and rear stayed arched in the air so that it could continue pumping her again and again. She purred at the hot, satisfying feeling and buried her face in the floor. The fire burned low.

They stretched out on the rug, twined in each other's arms. Of course, it had been Rupin making love to her, not the Beast. But she liked to imagine it had been the other way. Maybe, on some level, it really had.

But now a curious anxiety hung around her. The impression of a task left half-finished lingered but refused to take definite shape. Rupin also seemed to have more on his mind.

"Perhaps this next matter should wait until your father is here..." he said.

She nestled closer to him. "Midnight has come and gone. It's the morning of Epiphany. You can ask me."

"Can I? Very well. Leona: Will you be my wife?"

In answer, she grabbed his hand and kissed it. It seemed good enough. They held onto each other a while yet. Then, almost hesitant, Leona asked, "Do you feel...different?"

"I'm not sure."

"How can we tell if the curse is lifted?"

"I don't know. I don't have any experience with curse breaking." He shifted a little, sitting up. "Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit odd."

"Odd how?"

"It's like...a straining. Like a lock that's just had the key put into it. I feel—"

"Your hands!"

They had become bigger, and his fingers were thick and padded. When he flexed them, they both saw the claws.

And now spots traveled up his arms and over his body. He tried to talk but his mouth was no longer shaped as it should be. Leona backed away, confused. She shook her head. "I don't understand. Shouldn't the curse end when I agree to marry you?"