Beauty and the Werewolf (29 page)

The four designated stopped milling and rushed back out the door.

She headed for her room, sure of only one thing. She had to get out there and find him. Find him, before Eric did.

Sapphire already had one of her breeches outfits ready, and a pair of sturdy boots. With the clothing was her hand-crossbow, a quiver of bolts meant to go on her belt, another for her saddle and two knives.

“Follow Thorn”
was already written on the slate.

She scrambled into the clothing with Sapphire's help, and belted the crossbow quiver and one of the knives on a second belt over her coat. There was something nagging at her, something very wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it—

It was nagging at her so badly that before she ran out the door, she stopped, and snatched up her mirror, flinging magic and the demand for the Servant or the Godmother to appear into it.

The Servant appeared in it almost immediately, looking startled. “What?” he exclaimed. “Your summons was very urgent—”

“Sebastian's gone!” she interrupted him, explaining quickly what had just happened. Her hands were shaking as she held the mirror.

The Servant's lips thinned. “Your intuition is correct—something is wrong. It is more than Sebastian transforming out of season—much, much more. Someone has altered the curse on him. I will inform Godmother Elena. Find Sebastian. And at all costs, keep Eric from him.”

She didn't even bother with saying farewell; she just left the mir
ror on the table and dashed for the stables, pulling on her gloves and tying her hood around her face as she ran.

A wide, cream-colored ribbon with thorns stuck through it like pins bobbed beside the nose of her horse; the horse was already saddled and ready. She only paused long enough to fasten the quiver to the saddle, then used the mounting block to get in place. The ribbon dashed ahead; the gates were already open. Not a good sign. Eric must be ahead of her.

But Eric didn't have the Spirit Elementals helping.

She urged the horse into a canter; he didn't like running in the dark like this, but he obeyed her. They sped down the edge of the forest—this was definitely Sebastian, and not a wolf, for a wolf would have gone to cover immediately, but Sebastian was trying desperately to find something he recognized as a trail. Thorn's ribbon flew on, as fast as a man could run, or faster, and he didn't seem impeded by the snow at all—
that ribbon is going to get lost in the snow and the dark,
she realized, and impulsively seized a “handful” of magic and flung it after the vanishing bow like a snowball.
Light! Follow!
she willed, and the little sphere of power lit up with a mild glow, following the servant as if it had been tied to Thorn by a tether.

She made another and tossed it above her head; now the horse could see where he was going. He snorted, and answered her rein and heel with eagerness instead of reluctance.

She had never seen one of the Spirit Elementals out in the snow before; it left no trace on the top of the snow, and sped along as if it was completely unimpeded. The horse caught up to the ribbon just as it flitted through a gap in the underbrush and down a trail. The horse was barely keeping up. It plunged through snow that was at times chest-high, but her urgency had passed to it, and it did so without hesitation or complaint.

Thorn seemed to know exactly where to go, and the few times that Bella was able to spot anything like a track, the prints did look like wolf tracks, and there was blood spotting the snow, black in the dim light from her orbs.

Chill that had nothing to do with the cold wind cutting through her coat and numbing her hands and feet came over her.

I'm never going to find him in this forest if he hides… What if he bleeds to death?
Werewolves healed immediately from most wounds, but not those caused by silver, and the crossbow bolt that Eric had fired had been tipped with silver.

But the Spirit Elemental was still speeding over the snow, and there were three more out there somewhere, tracking Sebastian. Sebastian wouldn't see them, not in his panicked state, and she didn't think he would scent them, either. She had to believe in them, believe that they could keep up with him, that they could find him, if he got out of their sight.

Then, abruptly, the track turned off the path and into the deeper snow. The track twisted and turned and doubled back on itself; if the wolf wasn't in charge, then Sebastian was using incredible cunning. That wasn't likely; the man had fled Eric in fear of his life, but this was the sign that animal terror was driving him now.

So again, it wasn't Sebastian, it was the wolf. That made it doubly dangerous, not just for her, but for him. Sebastian would surely have stopped somewhere and hidden if he were in command, knowing that the more he ran, the more blood he would lose. The wolf didn't know that. All it knew to do was flee.

Her heart contracted with fear, and she sobbed.

The horse's sides heaved, and there was a foam of sweat on his neck as he labored through the snow. How long had they been running? It all blurred into a nightmare of shadows and snow and an agony of fear. Her mind was full of nothing but pictures of what
could happen—finding Sebastian dead, or dying. Eric finding him first and killing him. Never finding him at all. If he transformed to a man at dawn, he would be out here, lost, naked and wounded. The cold would kill him without any need for Eric to act further. Eric would be entirely blameless.

Why is Eric trying to murder Sebastian? I thought he was Sebastian's friend!

She clamped her lips down on a moan of grief.

Then Thorn put on another burst of speed, dashing ahead. Bella urged the horse forward; it surged into a clearing. The light-orb flared, movement at the far edge of the clearing caught her eye as the orb circled and there was Sebastian, turned to stand at bay inside the hollowed trunk of an enormous tree.

He was exhausted, eyes dull, trembling in every limb, but he still brought up his head and growled.

She pulled the horse to a stop.

The horse heard the growl and threw up his head, eyes rolling, but remained steady. It was very quiet in this clearing; there was nothing but the sound of the horse dancing a little in place with nervousness and blowing hard, and that low, warning growl. Her heart pounded, her mouth was dry and the growl evoked a chill in her blood as old as time.

She stared at the wolf. It stared back at her with no recognition, only pure terror and hysterical defiance.

I might have to shoot him.

She felt for her crossbow, for the arrows. They were still there.

Can I shoot him?

The wolf pulled back his lips from his teeth, snarling at her. Every time she moved a little the snarl got louder.

But her crossbow bolts were plain wood and steel. If she shot him, he'd start to heal immediately.

I might have to—

Without the silver tips that Eric had on his arrows, if she shot him, she'd hurt him, but not for long. Enough time for her to get out of reach, maybe.

She made sure the little crossbow was in the sling at her side, and the quiver still on her belt. Slowly, deliberately, she eased herself off her horse, and sought for magic as the wolf sang a song of animal terror.

The night lit up with magic, more than she had ever seen before. There was plenty here to do what she needed to do, swirling and eddying around Sebastian, around herself. More than enough to try to wake the man again. She began gathering it to her, walking one slow step at a time toward the wolf, sinking up to her calves in the soft snow with every step.

I can't move fast in this snow,
she realized, fighting down shakes and the overwhelming desire to forget this folly, to turn and run, as she had run the night that Sebastian bit her.
No one could move fast in this. If he rushes me—

She clamped down on the fear. She dared not fear
him.
She had heard that animals could smell your fear, and it made them want to attack you. She had to be afraid
for
him. “Sebastian,” she said, over the low growl coming from the tree trunk, where the wolf had squeezed in so far back she could barely make out the shape of him, the glinting teeth and the shining eyes, even with the help of the orb. “Sebastian, it's me. It's Bella.”

She took another step closer. The growl took on a pitch of hysteria.

“Sebastian, you have to remember. You know who you are. You're not some monster. You're a man, and a wizard. Come back to me, Sebastian.” She pushed a wave of magic power in front of her, and the Light Sphere brightened in reaction.

But there was some barrier between the magic and Sebastian. It had been there before, but it was much stronger now. She had to get the power past whatever it was that was blocking her from helping him. She pushed harder. The magic crowded into the tree trunk, surrounding Sebastian, glowing a faint gold. The wolf was aware of it, too. He turned his head, snapping at it.

Was this going to need actual, physical contact? It might be the only way to force the magic past what must be another spell.

“You must remember, Sebastian,” she insisted, willing the magic into him, as she had willed it back at the Manor. She took another step. Now she was almost close enough to touch him. “You
must.
Sebastian!” She made the next words into her spell and behind them she put all the force of her fear for him, all the force of her heart, that had told her that there never would be anyone for her but this man, this sometimes exasperating, but always fascinating man— “I love you, Sebastian! Come back to me! Come back to me!
Come back to me!
”

With the last words she gave a final
push,
as hard as she could. At the same time, she plunged toward him with her hands outstretched, as the wolf's growl spiraled up in pitch until it sounded like a scream.

She flung herself, her magic, her emotions on top of him; she threw her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life, while the wolf thrashed, and growled, and snapped. She closed her eyes so she wouldn't see the teeth closing inches from her face, and held on, draped over the beast's back while it bucked like an untrained horse.

The wolf heaved, battering her against the side of the tree trunk, but there wasn't that much room in here, and he could neither shake her off nor do her much harm, and he couldn't get out while she held on to him. She continued to hold on to him, though her arms
felt as if they were being torn from their sockets, willing the magic into him, and with it, sanity. The wolf's head snapped back, his skull smashing into her chin, and she saw stars for a moment, but still hung on, and kept up the relentless pressure.

This would work!
“Sebastian!”
she croaked, saying his name over and over. He'd come to himself once, back at the Manor! He could do it again!

The wolf's head snapped back again, this time smashing into her nose. She went half-blind with the pain, but somehow managed to hold on to him, even though her eyes streamed tears and every breath came as a sob.

“Come. Back. To. Me!”
she howled through clenched teeth, both fists buried in the fur of the wolf's throat, arms just barely able to encircle his neck and shoulders. She gathered her will again, for another effort. She concentrated only on one thing. Sebastian, looking out of the wolf's eyes at her.
“You. Will. Come. Back. To. Me!”

The wolf shivered all over, and froze. Then there was—well, it wasn't a sound so much as a feeling, the feeling of something giving way. Whatever barrier that had stood between Sebastian and the magic vanished in an instant, and once again, the swirling magic was literally
sucked
into Sebastian.

The wolf collapsed beneath her. The orb of light flared, lighting up the area like a lantern.

Cautiously, she let go of Sebastian's neck. The wolf lay on his side, panting with exhaustion, but otherwise not moving. The wound on his hind leg oozed blood, sluggishly.

“Sebastian?” she croaked, bending over him and tentatively stroking his muzzle.

The wolf whimpered. He fixed a desperate gaze on her.

“Get away from him.”

She jerked upright.

Eric stood beside her exhausted horse, his far more lethal crossbow aimed at Sebastian.

Magic, but a nasty, dark-tinged magic, like the dust of dried blood, swirled around him.

She stared at him, berating herself for not seeing it sooner.
“Magic generally runs in families.”
Wasn't that what the Godmother had said?

“
You
did this to him!” she burst out, without thinking. “The curse—it was you!”

He snarled, all pretense of charm gone. “And why not?
He
had everything!
I
had nothing! Was his blood any better than mine? And then his father died, and no one was prepared to take over, so I did! And I ran the estate, the forest and the lands better than the Old Duke had! Why shouldn't I have it?”

She wanted to reply,
Because it isn't yours,
but she knew better than that. Any opposition could make him fire.

“Did I kill the boy?” he continued, voice cracking with strain. “No! I took care of him! I took care of the inheritance by rights I should have had! And I was honest the whole time! I didn't take a penny or an acorn for myself, except to give myself the things that a proper Guardian should have! And did anyone ever reward me for it? No!”

She made an abortive move, and the tip of the arrow moved to aim at her. “So I cursed him! What of it? All he ever really wanted to do was be left alone to play with his magic! So, three nights out of the month he had to be locked up! So what! Nobody was hurt, and I was
still
in charge!” His eyes narrowed. “And then you came strolling through my forest, and you— Bah! Uppity, snippy shrew that you are! You weren't like other women. You wouldn't shut up when you were told, and I had to stop you before you ruined everything I'd done.”