Chapter 9 Seeing Beauty in the Beast #2
I wondered if the manor came alive differently at night, or if it was always like this.
Shadows that pooled in corners and climbed the high ceilings.
A darkness that seemed to drape over portraits of long-dead ancestors.
All those eyes that seemed to follow our every step like silent witnesses to secrets better left buried.
I questioned if the daylight would soften its edges and breathe some life into its stone walls.
Something I wouldn’t know yet, having not left my room all day.
The air carried the faint scent of wax and old wood, and every creak beneath our feet felt like the house itself was whispering its history.
He showed me the drawing room first, its grand piano covered in a thin layer of dust, the sheet music still open as though someone had played it and never returned.
A sitting room followed, with faded drapes and untouched furniture that looked as if no one had sat there in decades.
Each room was beautiful, but frozen, caught in a moment that time itself had forgotten.
“It’s like walking through history,” I said softly.
He gave a quiet hum in response.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the shadows along the walls.
“…Or through ghosts.” He added quietly, and there was something in the way he said it. A depth that reached beyond the stone walls and ancient portraits. And for the briefest moment, I wondered if he wasn’t speaking of the house at all, but of himself. Like the ghosts he carried within.
We passed more rooms, each more breathtaking and melancholier than the last. But then, as he opened the next set of tall double doors, I gasped.
The library.
It was magnificent.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with books of every size and age.
A rolling ladder leaned against one end, and at the centre stood a vast mahogany desk littered with ancient tomes, their spines cracked and well-loved.
Above us, a chandelier hung low, casting warm golden light across the spines, turning the entire room into a cathedral of knowledge.
“Oh… It’s incredible,” I breathed, stepping inside.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admitted as I turned in a circle, trying to take it all in. He watched me from the doorway, his expression unreadable, but his eyes tracking every movement I made as if I were the most fascinating thing in the room.
“I’m glad it meets your approval,” he said finally. I turned to him, smiling, unable to hide my awe.
“It’s more than that. It’s like magic.”
“Magic…” he repeated quietly, as though tasting the word. Then, softer still,
“Yes… something like that.” I swallowed hard at that, blushing and hoping to blame it on the roaring fire from the elaborate fireplace.
I wandered deeper into the library, unable to stop myself from reaching out to run my fingers along the spines on one of the countless shelves.
The scent of leather and parchment filled the air, the faint musk of old paper mixed with the warmth of the fire crackling in the great stone hearth.
It was a room that seemed alive, breathing softly through the flicker of candlelight and the whisper of pages turned by ghosts.
“This room…it feels different from the others,” I said quietly, as he still lingered near the doorway, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his gaze tracking the curve of my movement.
“It’s the only one I use. The rest of the house belongs to the past…a walk in history like you said,” he admitted, and I looked over my shoulder at him, his tall form haloed in firelight.
“So, this room is your favorite?” I asked and he hesitated, as though the honest words would taste strange on his tongue.
“This room brings me peace. It’s quiet here. The shadows don’t seem quite as loud.” The confession felt like a small window had opened in him, and I couldn’t help but smile softly.
“Peace suits you,” I said, and for a heartbeat, his eyes softened.
Then he looked away, as if remembering who he was meant to be.
I turned again, back to running my fingers along the spines of the books.
Titles in gilded letters, some in languages I couldn’t read.
The beauty of it all filled me with something childlike and giddy, and before I knew it, the words slipped out without thought.
“I feel like Bella in Beauty and the Beast.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I froze. My face heated instantly.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, hiding behind a curtain of hair.
“That was… childish.”
But instead of mocking me, his deep voice came from directly behind me, so close that I felt the warmth of his breath against my ear, making me flinch in surprise.
“Would that make me the beast, I wonder?”
I shivered. Not from fear, but from the way his voice sank into me like velvet and shadow. Slowly, I turned, and found him far too close, his mask catching the amber glow of the fire, his eyes unreadable.
“I… I didn’t mean…” He tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk threatening the corner of his lips.
“It’s all right…I’ve been called far worse, I can assure you,” he murmured. And before I could think of what to say, he reached out and gently guided me toward the fireplace.
“Let us sit,” he said, his tone softer now. I did as I was told, letting him lead me away from the books. My heartbeat still thrumming wildly, and he moved toward a small table beside the hearth where crystal decanters caught the firelight. The liquid inside shimmered like molten gold.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as I lowered myself into a leather, wingback chair. I hesitated, wondering if adding even more alcohol was a good idea right now.
“All right,” I said finally, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt.
He poured a generous measure into a glass and handed it to me.
I then took a cautious sip and nearly choked.
The burn hit instantly, searing down my throat like liquid fire.
I coughed, eyes watering, and set the glass quickly on the table beside me.
He chuckled, a deep, low sound that was far too rare.
“Not to your taste, I take it?” he said, amusement coloring his tone.
“It's strong. What is it?” I asked, having to clear my throat first.
“It’s brandy. Not exactly made for mortals who sip tea before bed.”
“Noted,” I rasped, glaring weakly at the amber liquid.
“I think it’s trying to kill me.” He smiled then, an actual, genuine smile and it did something disarming to his face. His features softened, his humanity slipping through the cracks of his darkness.
“Don’t worry, I will protect you.” He teased, yet his words were weighted with promise and duty, one I knew he had already proven true since rescuing me from the warehouse.
“I thought you’d like this room,” he said, surprising me. I blinked, caught off guard.
“How did you know that?”
“Because I know more about you than you think,” he said, his voice low again. A flicker of unease rippled through me, chased by curiosity.
“And what do you know exactly?” He leaned a shoulder against the mantel, looking at me like I was a puzzle he was still learning how to solve.
“You work in a bookstore, called ‘Written in the Stars’ in the Fulton Market Building, you lived with your best friend, a Goth named Stacey, that was before my brothers got their hands on you.” The way he said this last part had every word dripping in bitterness.
I stared at him, shock stealing my voice for a moment.
Especially as it was the first time he had mentioned the elephants in the room… his brothers.
“So, what, you’ve been watching me? Following me?!” He arched a brow, his tone turning deliberately casual despite my outburst.
“On account of the stalking, yes.” My mouth fell open slightly.
“You’re actually admitting to it?” A dangerous smirk tugged at his lips.
“I like to think of it as research.”
“Research,” I repeated dryly.
“Do you… research all your victims?” I forced myself to ask.
His smile faltered then, the light in his eyes dimming. He turned his gaze to the fire, the shadows dancing over his face.
“Only the ones that matter.” He said unwaveringly, and I gasped at the admission. The silence that followed felt like it held more truth than he intended to give. I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as I dared to ask,
“And me? Am I one of your victims?”
He didn’t answer right away. The flames crackled between us, and for a long moment, he simply stood there, watching the fire as though it might speak for him. Might help him with the answer.
When he finally looked back at me, his expression was unreadable, his voice quiet but heavy with something that made my heart ache.
“I haven’t decided yet.”