Kill the Beast: Book One of the Beast Hunters

By Michele Israel Harper

Kill the Beast: Book One of the Beast Hunters

Ro remembers the castle before. Before the gates closed. Before silence overtook the kingdom. Before the castle disappeared. Now it shimmers to life one night a year, seen by her alone.

Once a lady, now a huntress, Ro does what it takes to survive-just like the rest of th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Love2ReadLove2Write Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Sep 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781943788347

Michele Israel Harper

Author of Wisdom & Folly: Sisters, Zombie Takeover, Beast Hunter, and the recently released Kill the Beast, Michele Israel Harper is also a freelance editor and the acquisitions editor at Love2ReadLove2Write Publishing, LLC. Harper has her Bachelor of Arts in history, is slightly obsessed with all things French-including Jeanne d'Arc and La Belle et la Bête-and loves curling up with a good book more than just about anything else. She hopes her involvement in writing, editing, and publishing will touch many lives in the years to come. Visit www.MicheleIsraelHarper.com to learn more about her.

Book preview

Kill the Beast

Kill the Beast

Book One of the Beast Hunters

Michele Israel Harper

Love2ReadLove2Write Publishing, LLC

Contents

Also by Michele Israel Harper

Year One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Year Two

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Year Three

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Coming Soon

Author’s Note

Appendix A

Appendix B

Appendix C

French Guide

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Reviews

Beast Hunter

Zombie Takeover

Wisdom & Folly: Sisters

Common

Drifting

Where Will We Take You Next?

Also by Michele Israel Harper

Now Available:

Wisdom & Folly: Sisters, Part One

Wisdom & Folly: Sisters, Part Two

Zombie Takeover

Book One of the Candace Marshall Chronicles

Beast Hunter

A Prequel Novella to Kill the Beast

Kill the Beast

Book One of the Beast Hunters

Coming Soon:

Vampire Feud

Book Two of the Candace Marshall Chronicles

Queen of the Moon

Dreamworld

Copyright © 2018 Michele Israel Harper

Published by Love2ReadLove2Write Publishing, LLC

Indianapolis, Indiana

www.love2readlove2writepublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN-13: 978-1-943788-34-7 (Ebook edition)

ISBN-13: 978-1-943788-33-0 (Paperback edition)

LCCN: 2018907462 (Paperback edition)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

Quotes from La Belle et la Bête by Madame Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve are in the public domain and translated from French into English by Michele Israel Harper.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by Sara Helwe (www.sara-helwe.com)

To my mom,

---

My writing would not be a success without you.

Thank you for all you have done for me!

Year One

<< Promets-moi, reprit le monstre, de te souvenir de la parole que tu viens de me donner, et de la tenir en homme d’honneur, en amenant une de tes filles. >>

—Madame Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve,

La Belle et la Bête

Promise me, replied the Beast, to remember your word that you have just given me, and to keep it as a man of honor, in bringing me one of your daughters.

—Madame Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve,

Beauty and the Beast

1

Tonight, Ro would do something she swore she never would. She’d trade her life for her father’s.

Ro shoved the silver-tipped bolts one by one into their slots in her quiver and snapped it to her leather belt. Two small hand axes followed.

The fabric of her red cape swirled around her, whisper soft, as she flung it across her shoulders, her mind swirling with the missive she’d received from her sister, Cosette.

…Père is nearly mad…said the beast came to him in a dream…demanded he bring the daughter to whom he gave the rose or die…

And the one line she’d sent back.

Tell him I will go.

Her père needn’t know that Gautier had already hired her to find the beast. To go to the château where Père had so long ago promised her to the creature within. And Gautier needn’t know that her père had already paved her way—through his cowardice.

Two years. Two years she’d worked for Gautier. Two years she’d run from the curse her père had placed her under.

But no more.

Tonight she faced her destiny. Tonight, she discovered if she could make a new one.

She thrust all thoughts aside and focused on her mission.

Mouth set in a grim line, she donned her arm bracers, shoved a few more daggers in place, and slung a twine of ebony rope across her shoulders. She raised the hood, carefully concealing her tightly braided hair. Her crossbow slid into its holster on her back, and she checked her hidden daggers one last time and adjusted her red cape.

The creature she hunted couldn’t see red. Or so she’d been told.

She draped a white fur cloak over it all, her weapons all easily accessible, to blend in with the falling snow outside.

She stole from the castle: unseen, unheard, unnoticed.

A banquet raged within, but Ro didn’t care. The revelers would only distract others from her leaving. She had a job to do.

The sooner it was done, the sooner she could be on to her next job. Never feeling, never thinking, just doing. Always moving.

Her boots crunched on the crusted snow as gleaming flakes drifted on slow currents past her, resting in exquisite beauty on her hood, her shoulders, her boots. Her gaze slid to the spindly branches reaching high, praising their Creator.

A Creator who cared more for His trees than He ever had for her.

She dropped her gaze. Her steps quickened.

No more thinking.

The well-oiled hinges made no sound as she eased into the stables. A horse nickered a few stalls over. She paused. No other noise. No other movement. Faint laughter and music spilled from the château, but nothing more.

She saddled her stallion with the speed and ease that came with familiarity, then slipped reins over his head and a bit into his mouth.

As she led him from the stall, she made sure the back courtyard remained empty of revelers before tugging him toward the servant’s exit in the stone wall.

Ro glanced behind her, and a wry grin lifted her mouth. Their prints were vanishing in the increasing snowfall.

Perfect.

She eased the heavy wooden door shut, then mounted and urged her horse forward. She paused, her senses prickling.

Twisting in her saddle, she lifted her eyes to a window far above. A lone figure watched her. He raised his goblet in benediction. Though his face was wreathed in shadows, no doubt that loathsome smirk was plastered on his face.

Ro’s stomach clenched, Gautier’s laughter from the first time they’d met still ringing in her ears.

Ro? I didn’t know you were a female. Although your clothing leaves something to be desired…

He roared with laughter until Ro would’ve gladly silenced him with one swing of her fist.

Oh, well. I guess it can’t be helped. Your reputation is an impressive one, you know. Tell me, did you really kill all those foul creatures yourself?

If she hit him, she wouldn’t get paid. So grit her teeth and bear it she did. Right up until she could leave the brute and focus on completing the numerous tasks he gave her, rewarded with many a heavy coin purse at each satisfactory conclusion.

Until the night he’d given her this task, more important than any other. Evidenced by the underlying threat accompanying it.

She’d refused.

He’d covered her hand with his, his smile as false as everything else about him. I would hate for anything to happen to your family. Surname Reynard, oui? And the youngest—Cosette, non?—it would be a shame for her to be turned out to the streets. I would take particular delight in ensuring she has a place to go.

His wolfish smile solidified it. She would go.

Two years she’d spent making a name for herself. LeFèvre. A name that could not connect her to her family. All for nothing. Gautier had found them anyway.

Urgency invaded her gut as the cold penetrated her memories.

No matter how much she detested her employer, she still had a job to do. Gautier was not one to be crossed.

Ro whipped her head and her thoughts back to the task ahead and urged her horse forward.

She had a long, dangerous ride ahead of her tonight.

She could not fail.

Her family’s lives depended upon it.

2

Ro was in position long before the moon reached its apex. This was it. The one night of the year she’d be granted entrance. Excitement coiled in her stomach, twisting every which way. She’d been waiting for this day her entire life. Since that day.

Snow dusted her hood, her shoulders. Coated the decaying landscape with something other than rot. Her horse’s gentle breaths fogged the air.

And finally, the moon eased into place.

Like a mirage becoming reality, a castle shimmered in the distance. It solidified, bringing extensive grounds bathed in darkness and the heavy wall surrounding it into view. Just as her memories dictated.

Memories she’d been told year after year were only her wild imagination.

But this was real. So real, every part of her ached to see the glorious château once again. And it stole her breath away, just as it had every year. But this year…this year she would see what secrets it held.

She urged her horse forward.

The iron-wrought gates were held shut by the biggest tangle of brambles she’d ever seen. She glanced at the walls. Thorns the size of ravens stuck out in sharp relief, taunting her. They would make climbing the wall nearly impossible, even with her tools. She’d never get in that way—or out.

She slid to the ground and tested the heavy vines tangled in front of the gate. They didn’t budge. She pulled one hand axe free. Thwack! Not so much as a dent.

She cursed and smacked the twining branches. Maybe she couldn’t get in after all. Maybe Gautier—and her père—would understand. Ro flinched and glanced over her shoulder. She could almost feel Père’s hand raised and flying toward her as it had when she’d refused to take his place, a memory that still haunted her.

Ro lifted her eyes to the overcast sky and almost asked for courage, just in case anyone was listening, but stopped herself.

She knew He wasn’t.

Ro turned to her horse, sliding the hand axe away, and pulled an oversized axe from her saddle. Ro turned back to the thorny barrier. Her eyes widened as they fell on the gate. The heavy wooden vines had curled away, perfectly framing the gate to the château within. What in all the realms? Had it happened when she’d touched them?

Sliding the large axe back in place, she pulled her horse after her. No need leaving him to the wolves. She paused. If she couldn’t get out, she wouldn’t leave him to the creature within either.

She dropped the reins and pointed to the ground. Stay, Fairweather.

The horse nodded as though he understood her.

Ro bit back a grin. Cheeky.

The lovesome creature seemed to smile at her.

She didn’t doubt it. This horse seemed wise beyond any other she’d had as her companion.

Protect yourself, she muttered as she moved toward the gate.

The horse echoed her admonition with a soft nicker.

The musty odor of roses long dead greeted her as she slipped under the hedge. The vines creaked and groaned as they slithered far away from her. Her eyes widened. Amazing.

Unhooking the ornate latch, she paused. Should she turn back? Would this be the job that claimed her? Fear spiked as the old woman’s cries reverberated in her head. "Keep to this path, and it will claim you! You will die."

She growled at herself even as a shudder wracked her body. Now wasn’t the time to go soft. She pushed the gate. It swung open with the piercing siren shrill of rust.

Glancing into the thick woods, she debated running back to Fairweather, mounting him, and pounding away. Never looking back. But then she wouldn’t get paid. She might never get hired again. And her family would certainly fall to Gautier’s threats.

Curse him that he’d ever found out who they were!

She shook off her fear and took a deep breath. Her footsteps made no sound as she moved forward. Easing through the slight opening, she left the gate open and took in her surroundings.

Rot. Decay. Everywhere. No sign of life.

She froze. The extensive grounds she remembered from childhood? The ones she thought she’d just seen, bathed in darkness? Gone. Nothingness hollowed out where they’d been. Her eyes tracked the castle wall she’d just entered, twisting branches encasing it and lit faintly with moonlight.

The entire wall, miles and miles of it, emptied into a sheer cliff. Darkness spread across the whole of the castle grounds, screaming at her in the utter silence. She staggered under the weight of it. Non. It’d never looked like this.

Her eyes sought the château. Her dream. It looked shriveled, black, twisted—nothing like it had before.

It towered above of her, only accessible by the bridge before her—the one that spanned the aching chasm. She peeked over the edge. A void stared back. Blackness that reached up and seized her soul.

She jerked away and focused on the château. It crumbled, on the verge of sliding off the precipice it rested upon. It would only take the slightest of nudges.

Surely no one could still be alive in these conditions. Her jaw tightened. No one but a magical beast, that is. Not after so many years.

Murderer. It was all she could do not to bellow the accusation at the château. Blood pounded through her veins, and she squeezed her fists. Non, she couldn’t go in there furious. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm.

Her job wasn’t to dwell on the past. It was to kill the beast, so find and kill a beast she would.

She would have her justice. All in good time.

A whisper reached her ears, and she spun around.

The gate stood fastened tight—tighter than before—almost impossible to see through the tangle of thorns. But, it hadn’t made a sound! She rushed forward and tugged on a branch. It didn’t even shift under her hand. She looked away, then back again. Still sealed shut. She whipped out her hand axes and hacked at her only escape route. Nothing. Her axes, again, made not a mark.

The bridge shifted underfoot, a trickle of stone leaking into the chasm below.

Another curse slipped out even as fear seized her heart. Why had she left the large axe with Fairweather? What if this bridge crumbled to dust and she had no way out? Ah! Of all the times to be distracted by a foolish old woman’s rant!

She shoved the axes into her belt too close to the shrubbery. A thorn sliced her knuckle, drawing blood. A wave of dizziness wafted over her. Her eyebrows dipped. Since when did a little blood affect her? She put her knuckle to her mouth, biting back frustration as she sucked away the pain.

She eyed the wall. She’d have to take her chances with the deadly thorns if she needed to escape quickly. She shook her head. Impossible.

She sucked the cut and waited for the dizziness to pass, then turned around and gasped. Where rot and decay had prevailed moments before, now a glorious château stood before her, resplendent in white stone and gilded accents and blue turrets, brilliant moonlight glancing off every surface.

Orange trees lined the broken-shell path, rich and bursting with fruit and white blossoms. Every tree and bush within sight was full and lovely and green. It’d been years since she’d seen that much green.

No bridge was in sight. No awning chasm. Just gardens and shrubbery and rolling green hills. Her eyes feasted upon the richness of the color.

Fireworks burst to life behind the castle, welcoming her. She jumped with every boom, eyes wide, panic at being discovered tightening her throat. Yet she couldn’t move.

It looked exactly as it had when she was a little girl.

She ripped her hand from her mouth, and the scene before her snuffed out. Even the moonlight seemed to darken.

Reeling, senses overloaded, Ro staggered across the bridge. She fumbled with her weapons, hands flitting over each one. Every footfall loosened another trickle of stone to disappear forever. She halted in the middle of the bridge.

It was a—it had to be—a dream. Right? She shook herself. She was a huntress. A warrior. Now wasn’t the time to let any of this affect her! Not during her most dangerous—and lucrative—job.

Her heart pounded, overtaking every other sound in the quiet night.

She had to think! She had to—her hand landed on a bag at her waist. Fairweather’s feed. Anger sliced into her. She’d tied it to her belt, not his feeding pouch.

How dare she get so distracted when it mattered most! Not only could she get herself killed, her horse would starve. He could scrounge for nothing in this wasteland. Always care for your beasts. Père’s words had been pounded into her head since she’d first cared for his horses. And now she was entering her most dangerous job with the mental acuity of the town simpleton.

Ro slowly calmed. Her senses sharpened. Her purpose became clear. A beast was within that castle. A beast that had captured the prince before he could be crowned king, killed him, and brought down this curse upon their heads.

It was because of him her family had disowned her.

It was because of him nothing would grow in all of France.

It was because of him she’d never see the prince or hear his voice again.

She marched back to the wall, every sense attuned to the shifting bridge beneath her feet. She hurled the bag over the gate—but it hit something and fell back, lighting up the sky with its own fireworks. Ro had never seen anything like it. Lightning arced in a wild pattern, showing as much of a wall towered above the brambles as below it. The lightning died out, hissing and popping in protest.

If nothing else had announced her presence, that’d just done it.

She was trapped.

Ro turned and headed straight for the château, her footsteps swift. She had a job to do, and with or without the Creator’s help, she was going to do it. And although her chances of surprising her prey were nonexistent after her many mistakes, she was determined not to make another.

Lifting her crossbow free, she cocked it, slipped in a bolt, and released the safety. She took out a vial of garlic oil and liberally dabbed her neck and temples. Draping a bulky wooden cross she kept for occasions just like this around her neck, she crossed herself and mumbled a monotonous litany of protection.

Not that it would do any good.

She uncorked a glass jar filled with salt and herbs and left it open at her side. It would trap any magic she encountered. She snorted. Or so she told those who hired her.

She preferred to throw the salt in a creature’s face if necessary. And it tasted quite heavenly in wolf stew.

Her crossbow and axes would do more to protect her than any of the relics she carried, but superstitious town folk rarely hired her without them. And this was her biggest-paying job yet. The only job she would need for the rest of her life if she completed it. So what if she smelled vile?

Still, unease slid through her. Something was different. Warnings whispered to her from all sides.

Taking a deep breath, she considered asking the Creator for help but snuffed out the idea. He didn’t want to hear from her, and even if He did, she most certainly didn’t want to hear from Him.

She crept forward, crossbow held before her. The full moon lit her path. Not a bird stirred within the confines of the castle wall. Trekking across the expanse of the crumbling, powdered-shell bridge, Ro approached the high front doors that were covered in rust and sagging inward.

Ro’s fur cloak—the pelt of the great white wolf she’d last hunted—pooled around her feet. Another thing she should’ve left with Fairweather. But no matter. She’d be back for it.

Or she’d have a new one to replace it.

3

Ro conquered the sprawling steps of the château, none of the loose stones breaking her gait. Her back to the château’s wall, she peeked through a broad-paned window. Complete darkness met her gaze, whether from the filth of the glass or the state within, she wasn’t sure.

She glanced to either side. Access to the château ended abruptly on either side of the stone steps leading to the front door. She wouldn’t be exploring other entry points to the castle today. She took a deep breath and stared at the massive front doors. Her only way in. She moved toward them.

Standing before the towering doors, she debated entering. They looked ready to collapse at the merest wisp of wind.

She reached for them. They groaned open, on their own, listing dangerously. She rested one hand on the axe at her side, the other clamped around her crossbow. Entering, she kept the wall at her back, eyes darting everywhere.

Her gaze lit up everything it rested upon, requiring no extra light as she hunted. Ro couldn’t explain it; it just happened.

She gaped at the main staircase, splendid even in its decay. Facing it, she took a moment to orient herself, then headed toward the stairs. Whispers floated around her, so soft she questioned whether she truly heard them.

A girl! It’s a girl!

Ro spun toward a set of double doors to her right, crossbow pointed.

Silence. Nothing. No one was there.

Palms clammy without her permission, she placed one foot on the staircase and paused, scanning her surroundings. Shadows danced in every corner. Visions of things not there played with her mind.

She tested each step. At the landing, Ro stared to her left, then her right. Left. The west wing. That’s where her prey lurked. Or so she’d been told. Instructions ringing in her head, she eased left. The room brightened. But the light didn’t come from Ro.

Where? Where is she?

Ro crouched next to a pillar, ears straining. Had she really heard voices?

Whispers floated around her. Excited. Hushed. Indecipherable. Light touched every surface in the room yet came from nowhere, moving through the room as if held aloft on a candlestick.

She darted up the left staircase, sliding till her back bumped the wall. Reaching for the doorknob, she eased the door open, crossbow before her. She slipped inside and closed the door without a sound.

Darkness. Moonlight barely peeked through the windows. Just as she wanted it. No better way to hunt. Her eyesight picked through the dark and illuminated what she focused on—a gift she’d used to her advantage again and again. A gift she’d told no one about.

No one liked to believe in magic—not this kind of magic, and least of all her—but she was hired when people wanted normal. And normal was what she would give the village of Champagne. And, perhaps, the entire kingdom of France.

Normal is what she’d give her family. No more threats, whether from starvation or Gautier himself.

No more beast. No more enchanted castle. No more magic. She was good at snuffing it out. Somehow.

Her eyes darted to every corner. The wide corridor and vaulted ceilings left plenty of hiding places. Checking every angle, swinging her sights side to side, up and down, she conquered the silent walkway and faced another set of stairs.

It was time to kill a beast.

Hours later, she had yet to find the west wing.

Signs of the beast were everywhere—shredded tapestries, footprints, tufts of hair—but she had not sighted him once.

She’d found the dungeon, the kitchen, an enormous library—she’d almost gotten distracted but managed to control herself—and a plethora of guest rooms, gaming rooms, music rooms, smaller libraries, sewing rooms, and more, all singing of former beauty. But no master suite. No hall lined with family portraits that granted access to the west wing.

And the light followed her. She’d lost it more times than she could count, but somehow it always found her. Always lit her path. Always made her feel the hunted, not the hunter.

She came down the right staircase a third time, baffled. She couldn’t understand it. It was almost as if she were deflected, again and again. Away from her goal. Away from the right path. But she didn’t know when, and she didn’t know how.

The château may have had over two thousand rooms, but she’d memorized its layout, inside and out. She knew where she was going.

She moved back to the front entrance and massaged her tense shoulders. Think. Think! Surely there wasn’t much time left. Rubbing a spot clean on the glass, she checked the sky. Dawn peeked over the horizon.

She had less than an hour before the sun rose and the beast would be lost to her. She’d have to start again. Next year. She didn’t want to wait that long. And she didn’t want the word failure following her around. She had a reputation to maintain. Her family to protect. She—

Her senses froze. Nothing had changed, not a sound, not even a shift of wind, but suddenly its presence filled the room. She turned slowly, crossbow raised. A grin threatened to erupt on her face. At last.

A hulking beast, his frame filling the width of the enormous staircase, stalked her. His eyes glowed red, intense, and his muscles strained with each step. Drool slid off his fangs, dripping a trail on the carpet. Each drip sizzled and evaporated in a hiss of smoke. Lovely. His bite was venomous. She had to be even more careful.

As she waited for her moment, she tried to classify the form before her, but she hadn’t seen anything quite like it. Though somewhat wolfish in the face, wild boar tusks protruded from his jowls, and he stood upright like a man. Its arms were long and hanging, somewhat like an ape’s, and each finger was tipped with thick, pointed claws. Coarse hair covered every inch of him, stripes undulating black and gray with a hint of tan. Some fairy creatures wore clothing, but not this one.

Her breathing slowed to almost nothing. She aimed—searched for her mark. Released her breath. And faltered. The tuft of white fur, right over his heart, visible one night a year, vulnerable only this night, was missing. She hesitated, her indecision nearly costing her.

The beast sprang. Her arrow flew. The creature swatted it away midair and…disappeared.

Ro blinked. Non. It couldn’t be.

She looked above her, behind her—he was gone. Her heart pounded, and her eyes roved over every inch for clues. She couldn’t have failed. Not so easily.

Ro eased toward the stairs, checking each direction. She knelt and inspected the faded burgundy carpet.

His scent was heavy—the thick, coarse hair freshly fallen. The holes in the carpet from his acidic drool, still smoking. She followed his trail down to where he’d sprung. Oui, he’d been there. She hadn’t imagined it.

She hesitated a split second before backing up and running toward the place—over her head—he’d vanished. She jumped, crossbow clutched tight.

Sunlight blinded her.

She slammed into the wall and tumbled to the ground. Shaking her head, Ro staggered to her feet. Her jaw dropped as she looked around her.

The gloomy castle had vanished. Or rather, the black, crumbling marble was replaced by a gleaming castle so magnificent, the streaming sunlight reflecting off every clean and polished and gilded surface hurt her eyes. Her breath caught as she stared in all directions.

Servants bustled around her, each intent on his or her task.

Yet, the tumult around her was hazy—fuzzy. It was as if she were in a painting. A live painting. How could that be? No one noticed her. She cautiously eased forward, sniffing for the beast’s heavy odor.

Not a trace of it.

A bright-blue coat at the top of the staircase caught her eye as its owner disappeared through the doorway’s arch—to the left.

Tall, broad-shouldered, an air of command, and the costume of a nobleman rather than a servant—Ro stared after him in disbelief. She hadn’t seen finery like that in years. Seventeen years, to be exact. She shook herself out of it and darted up the stairs. She wanted answers. He would have them.

A blinding beauty, long staff in hand, materialized before her as she reached the first landing. Ro stopped. The woman wasn’t distorted in the least. She looked straight at Ro and scowled.

You. The woman’s accusing finger pointed right at Ro’s chest. You don’t belong here. Be gone!

Flicking her away as one would a troublesome fly, the woman hurled Ro away from her with one wave of her perfectly sculpted hand.

Ro slammed into the wall far below her, and the bright sunlight evaporated. She gasped for air. Sliding down the wall, she feebly tried to keep her crossbow raised. She fought against losing consciousness as the decrepit and sagging castle once more filtered into view. She was alone.

Gray and foggy sunlight struggled to break through the filmy windows. Pre-dawn sunlight. If she didn’t get out now, she’d be trapped. For a year. The château would vanish at any moment, as soon as the muggy sunlight kissed it. She had to get out. She had to—her thoughts drifted away. Dust motes danced through the air in graceful movement, luring her, enchanting her. Distracting her.

Her view tilted and darkened. She shook her head and struggled to stay awake, one thought on her mind. Gautier had a few things to explain.

She stilled.

Gautier…would not be pleased. He had hired her with blatant admiration for what she could do, yet no handsome face could hide the animal within. Ro knew within seconds of meeting him: he was a monster.

And now that monster had power over her family. They would starve. They would be imprisoned. And Cosette would be at his mercy. Just as he’d promised.

I have failed was her last thought before darkness claimed her.

4

"B ut what is she doing here?"

Ro’s eyes flew open as the roaring words pounded through her consciousness and ricocheted off the walls. Her gaze snagged on the enormous beast—even more grotesque in the glaring candlelight, if that were possible.

He kicked a vase, shattering it, then raised a chair and slammed it on the ground.

The splintering wood covered the groaning protest of the bed as Ro jumped off it and braced her back against the window. She felt for the latch and her coil of rope at the same time. Her rope was gone. The latch wouldn’t budge.

What? the beast bellowed to no one in particular. His ears perked, then he spun and stared right at Ro.

Her hands went for her weapons. Gone.

His pounding steps advanced until his bulk loomed over her, blocking every other sight. She fought to open the window at her back.

What are you doing in my castle?

Ro bit back her unprofessional shriek and flinched at the sheer volume of his voice.

The beast leaned closer. I said, what are you doing here? Where did you come from? How did you get in? Are you stupid, girl? Answer me!

Her hair streamed behind her with each gust of his foul breath. She stared at the beast, not breaking eye contact, refusing to cower, barely restraining her panic.

The beast’s chest heaved, drool dripped from his fangs, his hair was matted and full of burs—he was by far the worst-looking fairy creature she’d put out of its misery yet—and still not a white mark in sight. Anger boiled in her chest. Gautier would answer to her. Whenever she escaped.

Something snagged her attention. The drool—it no longer turned into acrid smoke. Her gaze flew to his eyes. They were no longer red, but a clear blue. She blinked. Blue?

Oh, by all the saints, do you not speak French? English perhaps?

The beast broke into the most ancient-sounding dialect of the English language she’d ever heard. It was painful, really. She wanted to cover her ears at the screeching noises he made and laugh at the same time. She did neither.

Ghosts of words teased her senses. Maybe she’s a mute?

Her eyes jerked around the room. Who’d whispered that? Her eyes sought the beast again and stayed there. No use looking for phantom dangers when a very real danger stood before her.

He sighed and straightened, moving away. His head nearly touched the vaulted ceiling. Was he twice as tall as she? As he moved away, she searched her person once more for a weapon. Any weapon. Even the small knife in the tip of her boot was gone.

You won’t find them. They’re in the chasm below.

The beast had switched back to French.

Her hand froze on the tip of her