The Beast Within: Crucible Bay

By Christine Fykes

Part 2 of the Beast Within trilogy - Bernadette and her consort, the Beast, continue their wild sexual adventures as she gains more conjuring skills and embark on a journey to unveil their destiny. All the old rules no longer apply and Bernadette takes great delight in discovering what it means to be the new Queen of the Night. What is wrong and what is right rarely enters into Bernadette's forays; all she knows is what feels good and how much her desires are now guiding them to their inevitable fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirabilia Novum
• Release date: Jun 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463248553

Christine Fykes

I'm an old soul in a new writer's body. Feels good. I am thankful for my family, my friends and the kind people at Mirabilia Novum who are helping me bring my fantasies to you.I can sometimes be found on Twitter, Second Life, OSGrid and the Great Canadian Grid; but if I'm there it means I'm procrastinating from my writing, even though I like to call it "research".

Book preview

THE BEAST WITHIN

Crucible Bay

by

Christine Fykes

Published by Mirabilia Novum at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Christine Fykes

Discover other Mirabilia Novum titles at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mirabilianovum

PROLOGUE

There was a time when the ages past and present met, when the old ways and new collided. There was a time when the old ways were observed in secret and the dark ways that kept the good folk safe were as cherished as the new that promised eternal salvation. The dark would come and go, as it always had, and for those who lived upon the land, or now in these changing times at least close enough to it, that fear of the dark perhaps lingering did drive even those most modern in thought back to the old times and the old ways. Crossing oneself before a sacred place, whistling whilst passing a graveyard, the tossing of salt over the shoulder and taking pause at the passing of a dark cat, all these and more though now mere superstitions were once held as truths, dire and potent. Oft times with good cause. The old ways held fast in many a good place and in just such a place as this our story is told.

1. HIGH HARBOR INN

It was late into the night when the lone rider clambered off her steed, her dark cloak swirling about her like a shadow, and passed the reins to a slovenly boy who had been slouched in the doorway of a somewhat shabby inn. She hauled a large and heavy leather pack off the back of the horse then turned and tossed the boy a coin.

Stable. Groom, feed and water.

Don't do grooming. And feed's extra.

Don't lie to me.

Wasn't lying. I'm a man of business.

Same thing.

Feed's extra.

She tossed him another coin. You're a thief. Make yourself useful. Learn how to groom.

The boy trudged around to the back of the inn where the stables waited, followed by the tired and hungry horse. He paused only to watch as the woman hefted her pack and strode through the doors of the inn, her cloak parting to reveal her long, bare and pale legs..

To any discerning eye the High Harbor Inn was a sad and dismal excuse for an establishment. The outdoor signage was faded and chipped, the words exhorting clean beds and good food barely legible. Every pane of glass in the window frames was intact but scoured and smudged with years of grit and neglect. The upper two floors visibly leaned out over the street, as if threatening collapse at the slightest provocation. A widow's walk upon the roof was missing sections of its rails. The wooden walls of the sagging building, once painted with an unfortunately gaudy shade of blue had faded into a grimy grey and brown to match the unpaved street that wove itself between and down the other tatty buildings perched on this rise of craggy rocks which overlooked the harbor of the town called Crucible Bay.

In the front hall of the inn, Bernadette let her heavy pack settle to the floor as she gaped in wonder at the room around her.

Gone were the low ceilings of the rustic homes and cottages of the village she left behind. Gone in fire and smoke, to be sure, but gone in her mind as well. Here the ceiling soared and a massive iron wheel hung overhead, bearing a circle of glowing lanterns. The amber light cast delicate shadows upon a wide and worn staircase reaching invitingly up to the warm rooms beyond. A large desk with ornate (yet roughly carved) woodwork stood to one side and beyond that was a larger room with a large fireplace and several broad tables. Compared to anything in the village she once called home, to Bernadette, this place was a palace.

Hello?, she called out. There seemed to be no one about until Bernadette heard a light, snuffled Wha'? and then a small bald head rose up from behind the desk revealing a pair of small, dark eyes behind a pair of thick spectacles. The beady eyes on the small bald head squinted at her.

Oh. Hello. It's late.

Yes it is. Do you have a room?

A room? It's a room you want? Oh!

The little bald head sprang up, revealing that it was attached to the body of a short spindly gent with a long crooked neck who wore a suit of clothes that may have one time been grand on the body of a larger man but were now threadbare excesses decorating his sloping shoulders, bandy arms and hunched body. He scurried about, rearranging items on the desk with no apparent purpose before finally settling into what he imagined was a proper pose of authority.

How long will you be staying?

Not sure. I need a large room.

Large?

Something on the top floor would be best.

Top floor?

Do you always answer in questions?

Questions?

Bernadette sighed and leaned across the desk, pulling back the hood of her dark cloak and letting her bright red tangle of hair fall around her pale face. She fixed the little headed man with her sharp blue eyes and smiled gently.

Give me a large room on the top floor. Can you do that?

The little man blinked, his mouth sagging open ever wider, and then used his entire body to swallow hard before answering: Yes, Ma'am.

The little man squinted as he fetched a key off the wall behind the desk and then laboriously lead the way up the creaking staircase. At the top of the stairs, he opened the only door and scurried in, turned and with a slight arthritic bow gestured for Bernadette to enter. She stepped through the doorway, regal in her gait, almost gliding, with her full, dark red and black embroidered cloak sweeping a path through the dust. The only room on the top floor was a sprawling expanse with a cathedral of rough hewn beams arching across the ceiling. The floor was made from broad hewn and grimy planks. A single stone fireplace, large but empty, dark and cold, was jammed into a corner. A large bay window with filthy glass panes opened out onto the access to the widow's walk.

Not much here. Not used much, to be honest. Just a bed, is all.

This will do fine.

We have nicer rooms downstairs.

I like this one.

I'll have to get you blankets for the bed.

Yes.

And wood for the fire.

Yes.

I could bring up a chair, if you need one or would like. Are you sure you don't want a room on the second floor?

Bernadette gently tugged the little man back to the door, patting him on the shoulder as she manipulated him out into the hall. This room is perfect. I know the stairs are steep and your back is worn and tired. Do your best for me and I will be sure to show you my appreciation. She pressed a large coin into his palm.

Yes?

Yes, Ma'am!

Bernadette pressed him back out into the hallway. And make sure the chair is large and comfortable.

The little man sagged as the door closed and he murmured: Yes, Ma'am. before pocketing the coin and scurrying off down the hall to the stairs.

Bernadette leaned against the door and