Beauty and the Beast (Demon Tales 1) (12 page)

Brigg…

The queen shrieked and lifted her hands. A
gust of wind, so strong and sudden, lifted Torc off his feet and
threw him against the stone steps. He landed with a grunt, brick
dust crumbling around him. Cally stared, wide–eyed, and willed him
to get up. Torc might not have been kind to her, but he was Brigg’s
brother.

The guards took hold of her arms and dragged
her up the stone steps. She stumbled and caught her toes in the
stupid dress, and fell to her knees. The knights just continued to
drag her, regardless of the fact her shins were being ripped open
on the rough surface. Pain flared in her arms where they gripped
her with metal gloves. She turned her head and stared down the
steps at Torc. He was up on his feet, but clearly shaken. He
watched her being dragged through the massive wooden doors with an
expression that spoke of confusion and anger.

Tears fell from her eyes, her vision
blurred. Cally was thrust through the doorway, and unceremoniously
dumped onto the cold, stone floor. The great doors closed with a
deep bang and she mourned the loss of the outside. Cally sagged
under her mother’s harsh glare, she kept her eyes low, hating how
tears fell unchecked from her eyes. Her legs stung, her arms
throbbed, but those pains were nothing compared to the agony that
cracked through her heart and whipped at her soul.

Alone again.

“My daughter. Look at the mess of you.” Cold
fingers curled under Cally’s chin yanking her face upwards. Cally
kept her eyes low, determined not to show pain in her eyes. She
could feel her cheeks wet from tears, and she cursed inwardly for
allowing her mother to witness them. “Bringing shame on my house
once again.” Her mother’s bony fingers dug into Cally’s chin like
claws. Anger burned in her throat, and hatred filled her mind.
Cally lifted her eyes and pinned her mother with all the rage she
felt.

“You are the only one that shames this
house
…Mother.”
She spat the words through a tight jaw.

Her mother shrieked, and slapped Cally
across the face. A hot sting bit her cheek and Cally stared back at
the fuming queen. “Evil bitch.” Cally growled, shocked by her
bitter rage. She could taste it, and it tasted as foul as the woman
standing in front of her.

A thin smile spread across her mother’s
painted mouth. “You’d better believe I’m evil, Callindra.” She
dropped a cold hand onto Cally’s head, her palm brushed over one of
Cally’s horns. Cally flinched away as a spear of fear stabbed her
heart. A grim expression twisted on the queen’s face, and Cally
shrunk away reflexively.

Cally stayed on the floor and watched her
mother casually turn and address the guards in the massive hallway.
The queen sauntered away, in her bright red dress that left nothing
to the imagination, as she ordered the guards to take Cally to her
room to await the farrier. Cally’s heart dropped and her stomach
heaved. The farrier only meant one thing, her horns were going to
go.

Brigg leaned his elbows on the oak table and
dropped his face into his palms. The alcohol had made his head swim
and his mind slow, but it hadn’t dulled the ache residing in his
heart. Fury raged in his gut, and he was seconds away from storming
out of the castle to collect Cally. Sam had been no help. His
constant rambles of a woman who he allowed to be ‘removed’ from his
life did nothing to assuage Briggs own misgivings about Cally.

Sam had gotten himself pitifully drunk, and
was now passed out on the lounging chair on the other side of the
room. What Brigg wouldn’t give to pass out and forget. He had
downed enough whiskey to fell a beast double his size, but his mind
would not yield. He let out a bitter-sounding noise and ran his
impatient hands through his hair. He lowered his hands and stared
at them with hatred. They weren’t supposed to look like this. His
hands—his whole body should not be covered in fur. He was a Rain
Demon, the most human-looking of all demons, not a beast.

He pushed off the long banquet-sized table
and staggered towards the drinks cabinet. The room spun around his
muddled mind, and he had to grab a chair to keep from falling.

“Pathetic bastard, Brigg,” he groaned,
gripping the whiskey decanter with a wobbly hand. Anger erupted
inside him when he realized it was empty. A cold rush of
frustration surged within. “I can’t even pass out to forget!” he
yelled, sounding like a wounded animal. If he were sober, he might
have flinched from the agony reflected in his voice. But he was
fuck-faced, so he didn’t care. Let them hear him. Let them laugh at
the cursed Rain Demon who fell in love with a human.

He fell forward and laid his hands on the
table. “The most beautiful human to ever live…” he whispered. Pain
lanced his heart, and loss suddenly gripped his lungs with an iron
fist. How had he let this happen? He’d let a small human woman
floor him. Cally had stolen his heart—and the longer he went
without seeing her, the more certain he was that she hadn’t put him
under a spell. No spell could feel this real, could it?

The diningroom door burst open, the sound
cracking through the air violently. Brigg whirled around and had to
catch the table to his side to stop from falling over. As it was,
he swayed like a sapling in the wind—courtesy of the alcahol. His
brother stood in the doorway, his chest heaving as if he had just
run a marathon. When Torc’s eyes fell upon him, Brigg swore that he
saw disappointment in his younger brother’s stare.

“Brigg, what the fuck?” Torc growled as he
turned his eyes on comatose Sam. Torc eyed the waiting maid and
fisted his hands. “Remove all the alcohol from this room!” he
bellowed. The young demoness stepped forward and lifted her head.
Torc watched her and Brigg felt sorry for the young girl, but she
didn’t seem fazed by Torc’s clear anger.

“They have drunk it all, sir.” Her voice
carried through the room, and Brigg raised an eyebrow at her
confidence. Torc seemed keyed up, completely vexed. Brigg had only
seen his brother like this after battle. Something broke through
his drunken haze. A feeling of fear climbed his throat and Brigg
took a clumsy step forward.

“What’s’appened?” Brigg heard the clumsy
slur and he suddenly hated being drunk. Torc turned his stare back
to Brigg and an expression very much like guilt swirled in his
eyes. Panic clawed at Brigg. “Did you get Cally back to her castle
safely?” he asked. His brother visibly winced and Brigg’s mind
cleared…slightly.

“I have something to tell you.”

Fear stabbed like a knife in Brigg’s chest.
He stood stock still and watched Torc impatiently. His brother held
his hands in tight fists, his chest still heaving with heavy
breaths and it was then that Brigg saw unease run through his
brother’s stance.

“What the fuck did you do?” he asked in a
deadly, low voice. Images of his brother hurting Cally filled his
mind, but he refused to believe it. Torc shook his head and ran one
of his hands through his fur. A flash of fear sparkled in Torc’s
eyes and Brigg roared in frustration. “What the fuck did you do!”
his voice boomed in the large diningroom and he heard a gasp of
fright from the young demoness to his right.

Torc looked up and held up a placating hand.
“
I
didn’t do anything, Brigg.” A frown crossed Torc’s face
as if he didn’t believe his own words and Brigg lunged forward,
grabbing Torc by the scruff of his neck.

“Tell me, brother! I am seconds away from
tearing off your fucking head. Tell me!” Brigg couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t hold back the beast within him clawing under his skin.
Helplessness raced through his mind. Torc didn’t fight, he just
stayed still and watched Brigg with wary eyes. Seconds ticked by.
Brigg shook his brother again. “Fucking tell me!”

“All right!” Torc snapped. He tried to pry
Brigg’s hands from his shirt, and glared with fury before giving
up. “Get out of my face, and I’ll fucking tell you.” Brigg held on
for long moments while he pushed his beast back into submission. He
stepped back and fisted his hands at his sides, all the while
glaring at his brother.

“Tell me.”

Torc visibly sagged. He turned his eyes
around the room, and Brigg sensed that Torc didn’t know how to
start. Brigg growled.

His brother’s head dropped. “I think I was
wrong.” Torc shook his head and ran shaky hands through his hair.
“There was no welcome party for Cally. No relief that the princess
was home.” He lifted a troubled gaze to Brigg and shook his head.
“They dragged her through the doors like some trash. They…they
allowed her to fall on her knees, and they dragged her…”

His brother’s words hit his ears and pounded
inside his brain. Brigg staggered back as his legs gave way. Shit,
but the alcohol made thinking hard. Brigg looked back up and stared
at Torc. “Did you see the queen?” Surely her mother would be
pleased to see her?

Torc nodded grimly. “Yes. She had three of
her guards drag Cally up the stone steps. And of course she didn’t
lift the curse.” Torc turned and slammed his fist into the wall.
Brigg watched with a cold, numbness as his younger brother battled
to control his own temper. “Fuck! She didn’t want to be there.”
Torc roared. “I am so sorry, Brigg.”

Cally’s words from days ago filtered through
his brain. “
I don’t want to go back.”
He remembered the
pain-filled expression that crossed her eyes, and his heart
constricted.

“She hadn’t wanted to go back,” he
whispered. Torc turned and watched him. Brigg lifted his head and
looked at his brother. “She said she didn’t want to go back.”

“Shit,” Torc growled.

Adrenaline punched through Brigg’s body. He
stood up and pushed back the urge to vomit. His head swam
violently—now was not the time to let the alcohol take over. “I am
going to get her,” he announced, feeling empowered by his words.
Torc watched him for a long moment before he gave a nod of
agreement.

“I’ll join you. No matter that she’s human,
she needs our help.”

* * * *

Cally sat on her plump, four-poster bed and
stared at the blue sky through her window. There was not a cloud in
the sky, the sun was shining, and she could just about make out the
sounds of the market happening below her turret room. The castle
was bustling, but Cally had no idea why. None of her maidens had
been allowed into her room. None of the staff, for that matter, had
come within meters of her since she had returned. Her door was
locked. Food had been shoved into her room hastily—as if the
servants were afraid she might attack.

The idea was tempting.

She was a prisoner once again. This time at
least she had a bed, and her arms weren’t tied—well, not literally.
She let out a heavy sigh and ran her hand across the soft
bed-coverings. The material that used to offer her comfort and
warmth no longer held the same appeal that it once had. Cally knew
it was silly—a fool’s dream—but she pined for her demon. Every time
she had tried to close her eyes, since she’d been unceremoniously
thrust into her room two days ago, her mind had filled with Brigg’s
dark, stormy eyes. When she had managed to fall asleep, her dreams
were plagued by the thoughts of his touch—his kiss—only to wake to
the sour knowledge that she was never to know such pleasure
again.

Cally heaved another heavy sigh, and wound
her arms around her drawn-up knees. Water collected at the corner
of her eyes, causing her to swipe her face along her knees. She was
alone, and frightened.

A loud knock at her bedroom door made her
snap her head around. She watched the door open with a solid lump
of dread in her chest. The bitter taste of fear filled her mouth.
Cally scooted to the edge of her bed and stood on wobbly legs. A
small, blonde maiden stepped into Cally’s room. She had her arms
full with blankets. She kept her head low as she hurried to the
fireplace and began to lay the blankets down on the stone
floor.

Cally watched from where she stood. Her legs
had locked into place. Three more maids came into the room,
purposeful in their movements. The last of the three looked at
Cally. The woman was older, with grey hair. Cally had never seen
her before. The woman had a pinched look about her features that
immediately set Cally’s nerves on edge.

“What are you doing in my chamber?” Cally
asked, trying hard to keep steel in her tone. The blonde maid
looked up from her task of laying out a deep green material, and
Cally could have sworn that sympathy shone form the young woman’s
eyes.

The pinched-looking maid frowned. “I am here
to measure you,” she said with a snipped, cursory tone. Cally swung
her gaze around the room. None of the others looked up.

“Measure me?” she repeated, hating the
confusion fogging her depressed mind.

The pinched-mouthed maid sighed, a
long-suffering sound, and propped her clenched fists on her hips.
“You don’t think I can make a wedding gown without knowing your
measurements, do you?” The woman reached over, grabbed Cally with
cold, gnarly fingers and turned her roughly. Cally spun numbly. The
woman’s words settled into her brain and Cally swallowed back the
tears that crowded her eyes again.

“My…wedding gown?” she said finally, her
voice trembling with every word.

The woman proceded to measure, seemingly
unconcerned by Cally’s shocked demeanour. She tugged at Cally’s
arms and scratched with her sharp nails when she pressed the tape
to Cally’s skin. She muttered something about the queen being right
about Cally being ‘slow’, but Cally didn’t hear it all. Her mind
stalled on the fact that a dress was being fashioned for a
wedding—her wedding.

The knowledge of her fate was not new. It
was no shock that her mother would want her married off fast,
especially since she had gone missing and returned. Still, the
knowledge sent a cold panic through her body that had Cally swaying
on her feet.