Beastly Intentions Ch. 08

He had his back to her, wrapping his hand with a square of white linen cloth which instantly turned red from his blood. Melissa could hear his voice, hear him cursing her as he clumsily wrapped the makeshift bandage and tied it using his teeth.

"I hope you bleed to death," she hissed at him.

"So you're awake. I guess I should have expected you to do something as common as biting, considering you're just some wench from the village my nephew has taken a fancy to. Did you flaunt your dubious charms in from of him, knowing he was a titled gentleman?"

"What is it to you? You only want him dead so that you might steal that same title and his lands and monies." She struggled to rise from where she was, only then realizing that he'd tied her hands and her ankles together. "Let me go," she ordered him, glaring at him with just a hint of wildness in the hazel of her eyes.

"You spout orders well for such a common tart. You know, you are attractive in a rough sort of way. If you apologize and promise to behave, perhaps I'll keep you on as my own mistress after I finish with my nephew." He looked down at her, smiling lewdly, his uninjured hand stroking down her cheek.

Melissa snarled, snapping her teeth at his hand while she struggled against the rope that tied her so tightly. "I'd rather die," she ground out.

"That is easily arranged. You interfered with a plan I've been working on for years, girl, and one that is none of your affair. If you could have kept yourself out of my nephew's bed, it wouldn't be necessary now for me to kill you." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a long slender knife. "Do you have any last words?"

Melissa saw the knife and felt a terror unlike anything she'd felt before. She felt the cold blade against her cheek and closed her eyes, knowing he would torment her with it before finally plunging it into her. She wouldn't beg for her life, as it would do her little good, at least not with a man such as this one.

"Let her go, Uncle," Nathaniel's voice said from the doorway.

Melissa opened her eyes, gazing at the man she loved, relief leaving her limp. He held a pistol in his hand, the gun pointed at his uncle. She could see the rage in his eyes, a rage that grew as he saw the blood on her lips and the bruise that was developing on her temple.

"Nathaniel, my boy, this woman was stealing your books. I tried to stop her and she bit me." He held up his bloody hand, keeping the other one, the one with the knife, against her throat.

"No more lies, Uncle. I know the truth. I know about the drug and how you used it to poison my father and then myself, to turn us into beastly monsters and drive us mad. I know everything. So if you don't want me to use this pistol on you, you'll drop the knife and step away from Melissa, now!"

The man's eyes narrowed and he stared at Nathaniel for just a moment.

Then with a move too fast to be stopped, he reached out and hauled Melissa up in front of him, the knife digging cruelly into the soft skin of her throat. "I don't think so, nephew. Now, I think you need to hand that pistol over to my man, Jeffrey. Do it slowly and perhaps I'll let her live after you're dead."

Nathaniel growled low in his throat, his amber eyes changing and turning feral. Melissa could see the beast wanting so desperately to be free, to challenge his uncle and kill him with his bare hands. He turned slowly, holding the pistol out to Jeffrey.

Jeffrey took it, turning it back on Nathaniel.

"Kill him, Jeffrey."

"Wait, uncle. Before you have me killed, just tell me why? Why did you do this to me, to your brother? Why change us the way you did?"

"Money, what other reason would I wish to see your father dead?" He laughed and Melissa could feel his body shaking behind her. "Well there was one other reason. Your father stole the only woman I could ever love from me. He knew how I felt about your mother, he knew and he went after her anyway. That bitch decided that she'd rather be with the titled son and not the second son who wouldn't inherit, and chose your father over me."

His arm loosened and he let the hand holding the knife drop next to his side, pushing Melissa away hard enough that she fell against one of the sofas.

"Don't move," he ordered her, before pacing in front of Nathaniel. "She used to tease me, knowing how I felt about her, wearing provocative clothing, rubbing up against me when your father couldn't see. She talked about us being friends and all the while she was laughing at me. Well, I got the last laugh, the bitch. She wasn't so high and mighty when I fed her the poison."

"You killed my mother?" Nathaniel growled out the question, the words barely discernable as rage made his bones creak and his body tremble as if the change were coming on.

"It was easy, the whore sent for me, wanted to tell me that she was expecting, that Darius, your father, was getting better. She was happy. So I acted happy too and sent for a bottle of champagne. It was easy to slip the poison into her glass. When she drank it, I hid away the evidence and made it look as if she'd killed herself with the tea she'd had brought in earlier." He laughed hoarsely, his eyes glittering with the memories.

"You ran into the room, screaming for your mommy like such a little boy. You stood over her, watching her writhe and stiffen on the floor, her mouth gaping open as she tried to speak, to tell you that it was I who'd done this to her."

He laughed again, though it sounded empty. "Then I showed up, the savior to help raise you since your mother had taken her own life, and your father had gone stark raving mad. Of course, I helped him along in that. You know the rage you're feeling? His was three times that when I told him what I'd done. If Jeffrey hadn't had him shackled and chained to a wall, he'd have ripped me limb from limb with his claws."

"You bastard," Nathaniel growled, his breathing coming in harsh pants, the bones under his skin moving as the beast sought its way out of its fleshy prison. "I'm going to kill you," he snarled, his mouth opening in pain to show the gleaming white incisors lengthening and growing sharper.

"You won't have the chance," his uncle said lightly. "Shoot him, Jeffrey."

Jeffrey stared at the man, and then glanced at the man he had called Master for so many years. His hand shook as he held the pistol, lifting it and aiming it carefully at Nathaniel's chest.

"No, Jeffrey, the head, shoot him in the head, you blathering idiot."

Jeffrey glanced over at the uncle again, licking his lips nervously before tightening his resolve. The pistol lifted and Melissa, having just freed her ankles from the ropes, screamed.

"No! God Jeffrey, don't kill him!"

She started to throw herself at him, to stop him, when he turned suddenly, the pistol going off. Melissa watched as everything seemed to happen in slow motion, the bullet speeding from the muzzle of the pistol, thudding into the chest of Nathaniel's uncle. He stared in horror at Jeffrey for a moment, then his body slumped, falling forward on the floor, a small spot of red blossoming upon the white silk covering his chest.

Nathaniel took two deep breaths, fighting back the change that still threatened to take him over. When he was under control, he took the pistol from Jeffrey's shaking hand, turning just in time for a small, warm bundle of female flesh to throw herself into his arms.

"I thought he was going to kill you," she said, her arms going around his neck, dragging his head down to her. "I thought you were going to die," she managed to say before her mouth found his.

He kissed her gently, his hand stroking her hair and then down her back, hugging her close. "I'm fine, my love," he said, lifting his head. His eyes went to Jeffrey who'd tottered over to the sofa, falling onto it and staring at the dead body of the man who'd had such a hold on his life for more years than he wanted to count.

"Are you all right, Jeffrey?" Nathaniel asked him.

"I've killed your uncle, Master Nathaniel," the servant said, his hands shaking. "I had no choice, he'd have killed us all."

"He was insane, Jeffrey. And you are right, you had no choice, none at all."

He put the pistol down on the desk, turning to hold Melissa tighter.

"I'm sorry that you had to be part of this mess, my love," he said, tenderly pushing her hair from her forehead and inspecting the bump left by his uncle's fist. He placed a gentle kiss there and was about to turn again when the sudden explosion of the pistol going off, caused them both to turn.

Jeffrey sat, slumped, against the sofa on the floor, the pistol he'd taken off the desk clutched in his hand. His eyes were glazed, blood running from the hole he'd put in his head.

"Oh God," Nathaniel breathed, holding Melissa against him as she turned her face from the carnage. "Jeffrey, why?"

****

Garren turned the page, growling his frustration as he saw that the rest of the pages were blank. It was the end of the story and nowhere in the book had been the recipe for the cure. He sat and stared at the leather-bound cover again, trying to control the rage that had him itching to tear apart the pages.

Instead, he opened the book to the back page, the back of the book where the slit from his claw had found the letter from his mother. Carefully widening it further, he pulled back the thin leather. A flash of yellowed paper greeted his eyes and he pulled the leather just a little more, reaching inside and snagging the paper with the tips of his claws, careful to not rip it.

He spread it open slowly on top of the book, the paper old and brittle. In his mother's handwriting, across the top, he saw the words he'd longed to see. It was the cure. With the book and the paper in hand, he rushed to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open, running down to the kitchen.

****

Brenna came home from her afternoon of tea and cakes, eager to see Garren. She hadn't wanted to leave him this morning, instead, wanted to bask in his attentions and their love. But he'd been restless and anxious, finally telling her to go, to enjoy herself, for he had work that needed doing.

She had left, but her feet had dragged and her mind had often strayed back to Garren throughout the day.

Now she was home. She handed her gloves and cloak to the butler, giving him her bonnet as well. "Where is Master Garren?" she asked him, her eyes shining and a flush of color on her cheeks.

"Master Garren has been in his room all day, Miss. A terrible roaring he's been making, scaring the staff and all." His voice grew lower and he leaned close. "He hasn't answered his door either, Miss. We were thinking of sending for you, but now that you're home..."

Brenna turned and headed toward the stairs, her feet flying over the slick surface of the risers. She didn't stop nor slow her step until she was at his door.

"Garren?" she called loudly. "Garren, it's Brenna," she knocked loudly on the door, pressing her ear to the stout wood as a low moan came from the other side. "Garren?" she called again, trying the handle. The door opened slowly and she stepped cautiously inside, suddenly terribly afraid of what she would find.

She didn't see him at first, for he'd lowered the heavy drapes and it was dark in the room. But then a noise caught her attention and she hurried forward.

"Garren?" she called again as she saw him lying on his side on the floor, his back toward her. She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out to touch him. "Garren, what is it?" she asked, her other hand coming to her throat.

He growled, rolling to his side to face her, his eyes wild with pain. His lips were twisted into a snarl, his teeth snapping together with brutal force. His arms were wrapped around his body, almost as if he were trying to hold himself together.

"B...Brenna," he managed to grit out between his clenched teeth before his body convulsed, his head going back against the floor, a hideous roar bursting from him.

Brenna stared around the room, rushing to the bed to grab a blanket. She saw a thick tin cup lying on its side on the stand, a tiny trickle of dark liquid coming from the rim. "What have you done, Garren?" she whispered, tearing the blanket from the bed and going back to his side.

He writhed on the floor, his body shaking violently, his eyes tightly closed. His hands were clenched desperately across his stomach. He shivered, his fur matted to his skin, terrible sounds coming from between his lips. He rolled back to his side, his back arching, his mouth pulled tight.

Brenna tried to cover him with the blanket, tears of fear streaking down her face. "Garren, what's wrong? What can I do?" She watched as his mouth opened but no sound came out. His arms flung the blanket off of himself and he shuddered, his entire body shaking. "I...I'll get help, Garren. I...I'll get a doctor," she hurried toward the door.

The sudden lack of noise had her turning back. He was still on the floor, his back to her once more, but he wasn't moving. Not a hint of breathing caused his shoulders to move or a shudder or shiver moved his arms or legs. No sound came from his mouth. A terrible fear seemed to bloom in her, wrapping her heart in utter horror.

"Garren," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Her steps were hesitant, her hands shaking as she fell to her knees beside him once more, reaching for him. "No," she cried, rolling him to his back, his head lolling limply.

A sob shook her shoulders, tears almost blinding her to the changes that had taken place. The fur was gone, leaving his skin smooth and pale. High cheekbones were brushed by lashes that were incredibly thick. Long black hair fell back from a face of incredible male beauty. His chest was still wide but without the thickness of the beast, his hands, now relaxed and opened, were large, with the slender fingers of an artist. His clothes hung upon his slightly smaller frame, for while still a tall man, he no longer had the bulk of the beast.

But none of that mattered. His chest was still, his eyes closed and unmoving.

Brenna threw herself on his chest, her arms gathering him to herself, sobs wracking her slender form. "NO!" she cried. "I love you, Garren, you can't be dead."

She cried as if her heart were breaking, for in truth it was, broken and in shreds, unable to believe that he was gone. Her tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt. She felt the hand touch her face and shook it away. "No, leave me with him," she cried.

"Brenna?" a male voice said from under her. It was familiar, but without the husky rasp of the beast. "You're going to drown me with those tears, love."

Brenna's head lifted, her eyes going to the warm amber eyes of the man on the floor. She stared at him, shocked. "Y...you aren't dead?" she managed to stutter, sniffling.

"No," he said, shaking his handsome head, his hand touching her cheek. "I thought I was," he said, lifting his head to touch his lips to hers gently. "But I couldn't leave you, Brenna. I love you."

"Oh God, I love you too, Garren," she cried, tears once more streaking down her cheeks. She helped him rise, pulling him slowly up from the floor, flinching every time he moaned as if it were her pain. "Is this true? Is the beast gone?"

"Yes, my beloved. The beast is dead and now you must deal with the man." He pulled her down so that she fell across his lap, laughing at the shocked look upon her face. "And..." he said as she cuddled against him, "you will marry me so that I might claim you properly."

A slow smile spread across her beautiful face making her blue eyes seem to glow. "Are you asking me or telling me, Garren?"

He growled, though it was a human sound, bending his head to find her lips with his own. He claimed her with that kiss, groaning at the intimate contact of his human flesh, soft and warm, meeting hers. He tasted her, smelled the perfume of her skin, and heard her soft sighs, all with the senses of a man.

When he finally lifted his head, her eyes were soft, lambent with the pleasure he'd given her. Her hand slipped from his cheek and into his hair, playing with the soft tresses that fell across his chest. "I'll marry you," she whispered.

Garren's head bent as if to kiss her again stopped only by her fingers against his lips.

"On one condition," she said, smiling shyly.

He cocked his head, staring down at her, his eyes narrowing. "Condition? Very well, what is it?"

"We don't wait for the wedding night," she said, her cheeks blooming with color.

Brenna squealed when he sat up suddenly, lifting her easily against his chest and standing up. He twirled her around, laughing when she scolded him.

Going to the door of his room, he kicked it shut before striding to the big bed. Laying her gently upon the mattress, he followed her down, his fingers going to the front buttons of her dress. His lips sought hers, his mouth opening over hers, his tongue laying claim to the soft inner reaches of her mouth.

He kissed her cheeks, tasting the salty tears that had tracked down her face, and his mouth brushed over her eyes, feeling the feathery tingle of her lashes against his lips. His hands spread open her dress, groaning at the sight of her breasts, bound by the red silk chemise she wore and the strictures of her corset.

She helped him with the laces, as eager as he to feel him against her bare skin, their fingers tangling, making him laugh. "My claws would be a good thing right now," he whispered, tasting the line of her neck under her ear.

"I'd rather these hands to your beastly paws," she answered, pressing his palms against her breasts over the pretty silk. She gasped as he found her hardened nipples, rolling the pebbled buds with his long fingers.

She tore open the shirt he wore, her hands moving over the smoothness of his skin, sprinkled with dark hairs. Brenna kneaded the hard muscles with the pads of her fingers, hearing his moan even as he yanked the small straps of her chemise off her shoulders, pulling the fabric down over her breasts.

Garren's lips found one taut tip, his mouth opening around the sweet pink flesh and suckling it into heat.

He played with that tip, rolling it on his tongue, sucking upon it then using his teeth to nibble, all the while hearing her breathless pleas that drove his passions. His hand found the edge of her skirts, pulling them up so that they bunched around her waist, reaching down and yanking open the ribbon that held her pantalets closed. His palm slid down over soft skin, his fingers slipping into even softer heat, finding her wet and ready for him.

Brenna groaned, her hips arching upward as his finger slid over her clit. "Please, Garren," she pleaded. "Don't stop."

"Never, my love," he moaned. He fumbled with his pants, managing to get out of them without moving his hand from her sleek, wet flesh. His cock was rock hard, the tip slick with his own passions. He groaned as he felt her hand wrap around it, stroking it as she had the night before. He jerked against her palm, wanting nothing more than to oblige her and keep his promise, to never stop loving her, to hold her and keep her with him forever.

Garren's hand, his fingers sensitive to every nuance of her, pleasured her woman's flesh with intimate strokes, feeling the proof of her virginity like a hidden veil keeping him from her. His mouth moved from her breasts to her stomach, his hand slipping out of the pantalets to pull them from her soft body, exposing smooth pale skin and light curls to his eyes. He pushed her legs apart, smoothing his palms up the inside of her thighs, holding her open to his eyes and his fingers.

He could smell the scent of her arousal strong in his nostrils and bent his head, wanting to taste of her sweet cleft, his tongue sweeping over her wet channel, lapping at the taut bud of her clit. Her hands were in his hair, holding him to her as if afraid he would stop what he was doing. Tiny cries of pleasure came from between her lips, his name a long sigh as her hips danced under his caresses, pressing against his mouth.