Depravity: A Beauty and the Beast Novel (A Beastly Tale Book 1) (13 page)

“You’ve raised me, taught me, and uprooted our family to protect me.  Let me bring you breakfast when you forget to eat.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he nodded.

“I like the sisters,” I said so softly that he had to lean forward to hear. “But you should rest easy when I’m here.  Their life does not call to me.”

He met my eyes with relief and gave me a brief hug to which the population of the room softly aw’ed, embarrassing him.  I smiled at him as Ila joined me and closed the door. We retreated to the bathing room by an unspoken agreement.

“I can see the questions running through your mind,” she said as we descended.

“Yes, but they aren’t necessarily about the sisters,” I admitted.  “We’ve touched a little on the mood of men.  What do you do with an angry man?”

“You want to know what we do, or would like advice regarding how you should handle an angry man?” Aryana asked, rising from the water in one of the tubs.  She stepped over the edge and motioned to the back room.

Absently, I licked the glaze from my fingers as we moved.  I didn’t want anyone knowing about the beast nor did I want their questions if I admitted to having to deal with an angry man.

“What you would do.”

Ila waved Gen from the room as she stepped into the trough and gave Aryana a concerned look.  Aryana sluiced water over Ila and handed her soap without acknowledging the look.

“When our clients leave the baths, some choose to follow us upstairs for muscle relief.”  They worked together to lather Ila’s body, using languid strokes.  I would have felt uncomfortable, but neither seemed aware of the other’s touch as they remained focused on me.

“Many who visit us do physical labor that leaves them sore and strained,” Aryana continued, absently smoothing her hand over Ila’s right breast and leaving a soap trail.  “A man with pain is more likely quick to temper.  We can show you our techniques, but you must promise never to use them.”

I eagerly agreed.  The beast didn’t seem to do physical labor, so I didn’t think the information would benefit him, but I always sought to learn new things.  Learning this could lead to other things that might eventually lead to knowledge that could help control the beast’s temper.

Ila frowned while sliding her hand between her legs to wash her lower parts.

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

Aryana helped her rinse.

“Better to have understanding of a room in the light before trying to walk about it in the dark.”

Ila nodded and took a moment to stand before the stove to dry.

Aryana’s remark made sense.  What they had to teach probably bordered on inappropriate, but knowledge made choices easier.  If I knew what obstacles to watch for, I wouldn’t trip on them.

Aryana led the way upstairs to a room where Gen lounged on a flat sofa with no back.  He didn’t seem surprised when we entered.

“Gen, would you mind being our display for a skin and muscle touch?”

The adolescent, around my age, shrugged and nodded, but remained sitting.

Ila took me by the hand and led me back into the hall where we waited.  “There are many aspects to a man.  For you to fully understand them, we need to show you some of the dangers you might innocently overlook.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

Aryana called softly from within the room, and Ila smiled.

“You will see.”

When we walked back in, Gen lay on the sofa on his stomach with a light sheet over his head.  Aryana caught my curious look.

“Just as we veil our faces to keep the focus on our bodies and our clients’ needs, we must cover Gen’s face to keep our focus on his body and our explanation.  Gen’s body, not his face, will tell us his needs.”

Interesting, I thought, stepping closer.  Gen still had the thin wiry muscles of youth, and I enjoyed looking at him.

“If releasing the pent energies does not remove a man’s anger, we look at his body as a whole.  Tension, which can cause anger, can be carried in many places throughout the body,” Ila began her explanation, running her hand lightly over Gen’s back and down his leg to the sole of his foot.  She then ran her hand the opposite direction on the opposite side.

She explained the placement of certain muscles and what kind of touch to use to soothe the tension from them.  When she’d covered the back of him, including the muscles of his butt, she asked him to flip over.  She was careful to keep his face covered.

Immediately, my eyes drifted to his penis, and I thought of the poor wood nymph’s wilted root.  Gen’s penis lay relaxed against the tangle of hair surrounding it.  Under it hung a large sac with two obvious lumps.  Ila chuckled at my long stare and gave me the names of each.  I knew the term penis, thanks to one of my father’s medicinal books, but ballsack was new and sounded odd.

Aryana took over the instruction of the front, starting with the arms and legs, then going to the chest.  Their explanation of the tissue beneath the surface fascinated me, and I wondered if Father would be as interested.

“The soft area of the stomach, below the ribs and above the hips, should not be touched using any of the techniques we’ve shown you so far,” Aryana said, trailing her fingers lightly over the skin.

I noticed Gen’s penis twitch again as it had occasionally since he’d turned to his stomach.

“A man’s rod will often respond with the use of any of these techniques; and that is what you must watch for because, instead of relaxing him, you may be causing an increase in pent energies.”

She slid her hand over his stomach again in a firmer touch and trailed over the crease of his thigh.  His penis jumped significantly.  She trailed her hand lightly over his ballsack, and I watched in fascination as his penis stood upright.

“If it gets to this point, you can be assured, you are in trouble and should leave quickly before he becomes of a mind to have
you
release his pent energies for him.”

She grasped Gen’s penis firmly, and I watched the head of it turn red.  Ila took a small vial from a nearby shelf and drizzled oil over the tip, which Aryana smoothed down its length.  Then, she proceeded to stroke it in a smooth, slow rhythm.  I couldn’t look away.

Gen began to twitch slightly on the sofa, his hips thrusting forward to meet her downward slide.  The room grew warm for me.  The sac, which had been loose before, began to tighten and shrink.  Aryana stopped, abruptly releasing his penis and stepping back.  Ila used a gentle arm to nudge me back as well and motioned me to remain silent.

“Aryana,” Gen rasped from under the sheet, his hips bucking forward.  When she didn’t answer, he bolted upright, whipping off the sheet from his face.  He angrily glared at Aryana and Ila.

“I did not agree to this,” he ground out, his face flushed.

Aryana held up both hands.

“A few moments more of your patience, Gen, might save our dear Benella from terrible mistakes,” she said softly.

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded and lay back down, curling his own hand around his penis.  He didn’t stroke it as Aryana had.  He held it as one would a bruised appendage.

“If a man’s energies are pent and not released, he will become volatile, unpredictable.  Tension will creep into his body and often stay there even after the energies are eventually released.  If you touch a man, no matter how innocent the touch, watch for the signs,” Aryana warned.  “Be sure your touch is only releasing tension and not building pent energies.”

Fascinated, I nodded my understanding.  It did sound a bit like the beast. Even after his encounter with the wood nymph and he’d released his energies, he had still kept his tension.  The sisters were right about the dangers.  I would never attempt anything like what I’d just learned on the beast.  I feared his response.

“Come,” Ila whispered, taking my hand.  “Some mysteries we will leave you to discover on your own.”

She led me from the room as Aryana gently removed Gen’s hand and replaced it with her own.  Before we reached the end of the hall, I heard his loud groan.

*    *    *    *

The dark, rolling mist waited beyond the groaning gate of the estate.  I calmly stepped into the shadows and walked forward until the gate closed behind me.

“What would you have me clean today?” I asked softly.

“The servant’s quarters in the kitchen in exchange for as many berries as you can carry,” he said in his typical aggravated tone.

“Lead the way.”

In the kitchen, he left me to work, darkening the room occasionally to watch me after I’d changed from my dress.

The chairs stood in good repair, and a new table had taken the place of the damaged one.  I dragged half of the broken table outside and tugged the mattresses out, one by one, for an airing.  I even scoured the floor in the room and washed the window.

When I finished, I changed and wandered back into the kitchen to find food on the new table along with my bag filled with berries wrapped in two layers of soft cloth.  No doubt, many would be crushed before I returned to the Water.

I ate my fill of bread, quail, and squash, then shouldered my bag.  As soon as I moved toward the door, the beast returned in his shrouding mists.

“Will you stay?” he asked.

“I cannot.”

He left in a fit of anger, and I found my own way to the gate.  As I predicted, some of the berries did not survive the journey.  Crushed by the weight of other berries, they bled through the cloth, my bag, and into my dress near the hip.

When I reached the bridge, a cooler wind gusted from the north and clouds drifted over the sun.  The berries I carried would need either to be dried or eaten before they spoiled.  Without the sun to help, drying would prove too difficult.  I wandered to the market district and traded oats for berries.

Bryn was within the cottage, cooking dinner when I returned with the remaining berries and the small portion of oats.  I let her know they were for Father when I set them down.  She nodded and coughed lightly into her apron before telling me dinner had another twenty minutes.

Sitting in Father’s chair, I perused a book, listening to the scrape of the spoon on the pan and the occasional light cough while thinking about the beast.

Perhaps tomorrow I should bargain my time for answers instead of food.

*    *    *    *

The next morning, Father remained near Bryn’s bedside instead of leaving for the Whispering Sisters.  During the night, her light cough had turned into a deep, grating whoop of air.  None of us slept well from dusk to light, and nothing Father tried worked.

Dressing quickly in my stained dress, I took the coins I’d saved and ran to the business district to knock on the doors of anyone boasting knowledge of medicine.  I finally found a learned doctor who claimed knowledge of the illness as well as a remedy.  It took all of the coins I had to convince him to follow me home.

Bryn still lay in bed, rasping for breath when we arrived.  The doctor asked Father to leave the room while he examined her.  He cautioned Blye, who was already dressed for work, to remain until he concluded his exam.  Several minutes later, he exited the bedroom.

“You should all remain in quarantine until this passes.  Here is the medicine you will need once you start to cough.  Take one dose a day.  If you run out, I have more for purchase.”

He and Father spoke quietly for several minutes before the doctor took his leave.

Father sat heavily in the chair before the fire.

“Blye, there is only enough medicine for three, should we all become sick.  Do you have coin for another bottle?”

“I purchased cloth with the coin I had and am making my own dresses for the shop to sell.  I have nothing until I finish them,” she said with a worried quaver.

“Benella?”

I shook my head.

“I gave the doctor everything I had to get him here.”

“He is going to tell the Head, and they will place us under mandatory quarantine.  Take your bag and leave.  Forage for what you can to trade should we need it.  Go,” he said sharply.

Grabbing my bag, I flew out the door, not arguing with the fault in his logic.  If we were to be quarantined, no one would want to trade with me for anything I found.  The whole point was not to spread the sickness.

Dark, heavy clouds hung damp in the sky, casting gloom over the town.  I raced lightly to the Whispering Sisters and called to the guard that Bryn was ill and Father would not return until she recovered.  I asked him to discreetly let Blye’s seamstress know, too.

He nodded, and I spun away in a hurry to leave the Water behind me.

On the outskirts of the estate, the sky rumbled and let loose a torrent of cold, spring rain to pound the ground.  I sloshed the remaining distance to the gate, disheartened to see it raining inside, too.  I’d hoped the magic would keep it out and let me dry.

No mist waited for me, so I found my own way to the manor, shivering as I let myself into the kitchen.  A small fire crackled in the hearth, and I eagerly closed the door on the poor weather.  Disregarding the trail of water I left, I crossed the room to warm myself.  The heat from the flames barely heated my fingers and did nothing to reduce my trembling.  Only dry clothes would warm me.

My boots made squishing noises as I walked to the servant’s quarters.  I closed the door, then struggled to remove my dress.  Peeling off the wet mass wasn’t easy.  Shivering, I dug in my sodden bag for my shirt and trousers.  The pants were soaked, but the shirt had escaped most of the water and only felt damp.  I removed my wet binding, laid it over the footboard of the bed, and tugged on the shirt.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I removed my boots and socks.  The cold floor further numbed my feet while I gathered up my dress and pants.  With my wet clothes draped over one arm and my boots in my hand, I opened the door to a mist filled kitchen.  It was so dark the light of the fire didn’t penetrate more than a few feet into the gloom.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” the beast rumbled from the darkness.

Holding my dress to shield my bare legs, I hesitated in the doorway and debated if I should retreat into the room until I dried.

“My sister is sick.  Father sent me to gather what I could to trade for more medicine.  We were all told to stay in quarantine, so you might not want to come too close.”  I was less concerned about spreading sickness to an enchanted creature than I was about tempting the beast.

“There is washing to be done.  Follow me, and I will show you to the laundry.”

The fire snuffed out, and his tail bumped against me.  I had no choice but to drop my boots and walk across the cold stone floor, holding his tail so I could follow.

It seemed that the winding path led behind the kitchen.  Rain pinged against a window, and the sound echoed in the room.  I continued to hold onto the beast’s tail, unable to see anything.

“Stand here,” he said gruffly as his tail pulled from my grasp.

In a moment, a fire burst to life on each end of the room, flooding the large area with light.  At the opposite side of the room, two windows marked the wall with a door that led outside.  Near the door, three wooden half-barrels squatted heavily beside the fireplace.  Not far from there, a long table abutted the wall and racks for drying lay in a tumble.  In order to wash anything, I would need to right the drying racks and fill the tubs.  Both tasks requiring more bending than I would want to perform when dressed only in a shirt.

Turning, I eyed the mist just outside the arched entry I’d come through.

“May I have something to drink, sir?”

The mist receded, and I sagged with relief.  I quickly tossed my dress over a drying rack and moved the rest of the racks into place between the tubs and the arch.  To the left of the back door, lay a pile of dirty linens.  By arranging several of those over the drying racks, I created a screen for myself before setting to work.

A large kettle and a cistern to the right of the fire gave me what I needed to start the process.  The beast returned while I sorted through the soiled pile, his clicking growl announcing his presence.  Arms around a mound of linens, I didn’t turn to acknowledge him as I dropped everything into an empty tub.

The growling faded as I tested the heating water, so I braved looking around.  A clay pitcher and a stout cup had appeared on the long back table.  Cautiously, I tiptoed from behind my screens and poured myself some water.  My throat felt dry and slightly sore, probably from walking in the rain.  The cool water soothed it enough that I could focus on laundry.

It took a long time to fill the tub with hot water and even longer to scrub soap into the cloth.  The soapy steam tickled my throat enough that I coughed occasionally.  While I let the cloth soak, I filled another tub with cool water for rinsing.  The heat from both fires warmed the room so much that I had to wipe the sweat from my brow.  I no longer felt the chill from the floor.

Coughing made my throat sore, which made me cough more as I rinsed and wrung out the water.  I changed the material screening me from the dirty ones to the clean ones and washed the second tub of linens.

A mist invaded the room again while I worked, easily two hours after I had started.  He made no noise, not even a growl.  I felt his eyes following me as I moved from the washtub to the rinse tub.  As I twisted the material, sweating and coughing, I realized I would need to walk from my screen to hang the second string of bedding.  But, the shirt I wore only hung to the tops of my thighs.  As I considered the situation, I decided I didn’t care as much anymore.  I was hot and tired and wanted to finish, return home, and go to bed.  With that thought, I realized I had Bryn’s ailment.

Stepping from around the screens, I coughed harder and heard a slight wheeze as I inhaled.  Yet, I continued to drape wet linens over a drying rack along with several shirts with torn button holes and missing buttons that I had found and washed.  As soon as I deposited the last piece, I touched my still damp dress and looked toward the arch.

“Finished,” I said softly.

Outside, the rain continued to pound against the door, so it didn’t matter if the dress was dry.  But would I make it home?  Bryn had grown gradually worse in a short period of time.

“Will you accept my offer?” he asked.

“What exactly is your offer?” I asked.  The heat I felt no longer came from the fires, but from inside.

“Stay with me, do as I command, and I will grant your every wish.”

“And my family?  Will I see them?”

He growled fiercely, giving me the answer I’d already known.

“I cannot accept your offer.”  A cough ripped from me, and I struggled to catch my breath.  “But I don’t think I can leave yet, either.  May I stay in the servant’s quarters until the rain stops?”

The mist swirled around me, blocking all light from the fires.  His hand brushed my brow lightly, the touch brief.  Suddenly, he bumped into me, knocking me into his arms.

“You may stay until you are well.”

With him carrying me, we flew through the halls to the kitchen.  He gently set me on one of the bare mattresses and left in a whirl.  I shivered in the cool room, coughing so hard my stomach hurt.  He returned with a thick comforter and covered me gently.  I closed my eyes and asked for one more thing.

“Please send word to my father.  I don’t want him to worry.”

*    *    *    *

Heat burned through me, and a crow cawed loudly.  Wind roared through the room, making the beds shake.  From the shadows a demon rose. Black with glowing red eyes, it opened its massive maw and bit down into my chest, opening me wide and tearing me apart with each cough.  I faded.

*    *    *    *

“Help her!”

The roar filled the room, a distraction from the painful cough consuming me.

“Are you willing to pay the price?” a voice demanded sharply, sounding vaguely familiar.

“Wretched woman, haven’t I given you enough?  What more would you take from me?”

“Secrecy.  Before she leaves, you must reveal yourself,” the voice said in an angry, spiteful tone.  “No mist to hide you.  You deserve no respite.  You’ve learned nothing.”

A moment of silence reigned while the demon continued to devour me.

“Yes, I will pay the price and wish you to hell,” he said raggedly.

“Here, give her one dose of this each day until she is well.  Now, don’t bother me again unless it’s to give me what I want.”

A cold wind rushed through the room, then a large hand burrowed under my head to lift me slightly.  A cup pressed to my lips and liquid touched them.  I swallowed convulsively three times before the hand lowered me to the mattress again.  The liquid flowed down, burning through the wounds the demon had chewed, until I cried and begged for help.

The beast whispered promises in my ear.  He asked me to give him my obedience, and he would stop the demon’s feasting.  I thought of my father and, hoping he didn’t suffer the same fate, shook my head to deny the beast.  The bed trembled with his anger.

*    *    *    *

The demon left at some point during the night, but the wounds he’d caused remained to fester and boil.  Again, the beast lifted my head and forced me to drink the vile draught of water and medicine.  It didn’t burn as much when I coughed afterward.

He continued to whisper in my ear as I drifted in and out of sleep, making outrageous promises in return for my word to remain with him forever.  His insistency didn’t make any sense to me, and I shook my head to deny him each time.

*    *    *    *

When I opened my eyes the following morning, I groaned at the sunlight streaming through the single window and wished I hadn’t cleaned the glass so well.  I coughed lightly and remembered the dreams I had of a creature ravaging my chest.  Licking my dry lips, I turned my head to look around the room and found that I was alone and the door to the room closed.

I struggled upright and managed to bring myself to a sitting position.  My bladder needed relief, and a chamber pot sat in the corner.  The cold floor abraded my suddenly sensitive feet as I shuffled toward the pot. The shirt that I’d worn made it easier to do what needed to be done and get back into bed.

As soon as I pulled the cover over me again, the door crashed open and the dark mist rolled into the room.

“How long have I been ill?” I asked, not caring about courtesy.

“This is the second day,” he said, sliding a hand under my head and forcing me to drain a cup of plain water.  It sat cold and heavy in my stomach in a good way.

I felt sleep pulling at me.

“Did you send word to my father?” I asked.

“Yes.  He knows you are safe and being cared for.”  His fingers touched my hair, and my eyes fluttered closed.

I slept several hours before waking again.  The light through the window didn’t shine as brightly.  A chair near the bed held a cup filled with water. I reached for it eagerly and drained it before making another visit to the chamber pot.

My limbs shook less, but sleep still pulled at me.  Again, when I returned to the bed, the beast reappeared in his masking mist.

“Are you feeling well enough to leave?” he asked angrily.

The thought of trudging home made me wince.

“If possible, I would leave and not exhaust your hospitality, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t make it very far,” I said, wondering if he would insist I leave regardless.

“Very well,” he said, seemingly mollified.  “Another night then, unless you’d rather stay indefinitely.  There are many rooms much more suited to a permanent guest.”

I opened my mouth to deny him, but he continued.

“Beds soft enough to sink several inches and drapes thick enough to keep away the deepest winter’s chill.  And wardrobes filled with dresses of supple cloth to caress your skin.  You would want for nothing,” he assured me.

“Why are you so desperate to keep me here?” I asked.

“Why do you refuse me so insistently?” he countered with a growl.

“Because you’ve given me no reason to stay,” I said without meaning to.  Perhaps being ill prevented my good sense from filtering what came out of my mouth.  “You don’t know anything about me.  Now, tell me why you want me to stay.”

He roared loudly, during which I caught a curse on all women, then he left in a fury.  He slammed the door so hard it tore from the hinges and fell flat to the floor.  I was glad the chamber pot wasn’t near it.  It would have been a mess to clean up.

I rolled to my side, facing the door, and noticed a tray with bread and a bowl of broth on the chair.  Guilt swamped me for aggravating him so much when he’d obviously been taking care of me.  I ate the bread, dipping it in the broth, while I tried to arrive at a reasonable explanation for his insistence that I stay.

Though he’d always seemed angry, he did provide for me.  Yet, the night I’d run from Tennen and the vines pulled me to the estate—the night the beast had asked to see me naked—made me doubt that his care was due to compassion.  However, since then, he’d asked of nothing improper from me, only that I clean...and one time that I read to him.  Could he just be lonely?

What about the other enchanted creatures, though?  And the old woman he’d brought me to when I’d hit my head on the pole?  I recalled the conversation I’d heard while dreaming of the flesh-eating demon.  Though I knew the demon was only a product of my fevered mind, I felt that conversation had been real.  She’d given him the medicine I needed, and he had promised something in return.

The beast truly did provide for me.  But why?  I fell asleep before I could arrive at any conclusion.

*    *    *    *

When I woke next, I heard the crackle of a fire from the kitchen and noticed its soft glow illuminating the floor where the door had lain.  Someone had removed the door while I slept.  My stomach rumbled, and I looked to the chair, hoping for more broth.  Instead, a gown draped over the back of it.  The dress had more ruffles than I cared for, but I knew the beast meant for me to wear it as an example of what he could offer.