Beastly Beauty

Five

After the crack of gunshot came the crack of bone.

A scream of agony rose, mingling with an animal shriek of rage.

The thing in the room with them was as tall as a man. Its silver predator’s eyes glinted like a knife’s edge. White fangs flashed in the moonlight. Beau glimpsed a nose hilled up into a snout, dark lips edging a cruel mouth. Powerful muscles rippled under thick fur. Slashing claws curved from long fingers.

“My God … what is it?”

“It’s a wolf!”

“A monster!”

“It’s the devil himself!”

Raphael’s pistol lay on the floor. He was on his knees beside it, cradling his right arm. His hand was bent at a sickening angle from his wrist. He raised his head; his eyes were bright with pain.

“Shoot, you bastards!” he bellowed.

Antonio aimed his gun, but before he could fire it, the creature swooped down on Raphael and yanked him to his feet. It stood behind him, shielding itself, a strong arm across Raphael’s chest, a clawed hand squeezing his neck.

Hands raised, his gun held high, Antonio took a few steps forward. “Let him go. We mean you no harm.”

The creature snarled; it curled its claws into Raphael’s chest. Crimson flowers bloomed across his shirt.

“Shoot, Tonio!” Raphael shrieked.

Quick as lightning, Antonio lowered his pistol and aimed, but before he could fire, the creature stepped out of the moonlight into the darkness, dragging Raphael with it.

“Let him go,” Rodrigo pleaded. “Spare his life and we’ll never trouble you again, I swear.”

A sound came from the darkness. Guttural. Mocking. A demon’s laughter.

“Help me,” Raphael rasped.

As he choked the words out, Beau felt a rough hand close on the back of his jacket. The next thing he knew, he was being propelled through the darkness, too stunned to feel afraid.

“Take him!He’s young and tender. He’ll taste better!” someone shouted from behind him.

Beau understood then; fear had shattered his confusion. He tried to dig his heels into the floor, but they skidded over the smooth stone. He twisted around, trying to break free, and dropped his dagger. “Let me go! What are you—”

The tip of a blade pressed into his back, silenced him. “Play along,” a voice hissed in his ear. “We’ll come back for you.” It was Miguel, sober now.

The creature stepped back into the light. With a sweep of its arm, it sent Raphael stumbling toward his men. Ramon caught him. At the same time, Miguel gave Beau a vicious shove forward. He lost his balance and fell to his knees.

The thieves scattered like rats. Beau wrenched his head around and watched them swerve past chairs, skirt the dining table, and disappear through the doorway. Miguel said they’d come backfor me, his mind yammered. Butwhen? He forced himself to look up at the beast. A cold, argentine fury glinted in its eyes. Saliva dripped from its fangs.

Beau’s fear spiraled into terror. He scrambled to his feet and tried to run past the table, but the beast saw the move coming and blocked him. He whirled away and sprinted for the other end of the table, but before he made it even halfway, the beast was there. It was circling him, tormenting him. He had no weapon. His dagger was somewhere on the floor. He had to break free and run while there was still a chance of escape. But how? How?

Breathe, jackass, he told himself. Think. He sucked in a lungful of air and slowly exhaled it. His heart slowed, his head cleared, and he realized that he’d been cornered like this many times before. Stalked by town bullies. Chased by the sheriff. Hunted by his drunken, raging father.

He knew what he had to do.

He backed away from the beast slowly, never taking his eyes off it, until he bumped into the table. The chairs that had stood next to it had been shoved aside or knocked over. He moved along the table’s edge, his hands behind him, fingers grazing plates, spoons, a tipped-over goblet, feeling for the one thing he needed but not finding it.

“Come on, come on … I know you’re there,” he said under his breath.

Napkins, a gnawed bone, a crust of bread, walnut shells … and all the time, the beast was moving closer. Beau could smell its musky, rain-soaked fur; he could feel its eyes boring into him. And he knew he had only seconds before it sprang and sank its teeth into his throat.

And then his fingers found it. The thing he needed. A thing that was heavy and cold and sharp. They closed on its handle, and with a roar, Beau threw the carving knife.

The blade missed its mark, but the heavy hilt hit the creature in its face. It backed away from him—just a few steps, but a few steps were all Beau needed. He leapt onto the table, clambered across it, and jumped down on the other side.

Then he ran.

For his life.