ice.
Daphne whimpers and I cross the room, kneeling by the bed to take her small hand. I check her forehead. The fever is breaking.
“Stay with me,” she whispers through parched lips. “Don’t leave.”
“I won’t, sweetheart.” I hold a glass of water to her lips until she drinks. When she’s done I ferret out a jar of salve from my lab to smear over her chapped lips. Caring for her feels natural. Like everything in my life led to this moment.
For years I’ve burned with one purpose: revenge. It’s her father’s fault that I’m a Beast, too ugly and gruesome for anyone to love. Far from throwing themselves at me—if women ever saw me now, they’d run. Just like Daphne did.
And yet, I forgive her. How can I do anything else when she clings to me so trustingly? My heart was frozen as the winter earth, and her touch melts the bitter frost.
“I’m here, Daphne. I’m not going to leave you.”
Fifteen
Beauty
“Open for me, sweetheart.”
I glare at the masked man sitting across from me. He regards me steadily. He still hasn’t replaced my glasses but in the past few days, the slightly blurred angles and contours of his face, neck and hands have become familiar to me. For all the torment he’s dealt, he can be surprisingly gentle.
Even when his patient is increasingly grouchy. And mouthy.
“You know, I’m not a baby. I can feed myself.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He says nothing and proffers the soup spoon until it’s a millimeter from my lips. I sigh and open my mouth as instructed. Ugh, broth.
“Chicken soup? Again?” I settle back on the pillows as he scrapes the bowl for another tepid spoonful. “What I wouldn’t give for a cheeseburger.”
“You need to replenish your fluids and electrolytes.”
“Thank you, Dr. Obvious,” I mutter. His good brow raises. I curl my fingers into the blankets to keep from reaching up and touching his face. Not the first time I’ve had the urge.
He spoon feeds me a few more mouthfuls. Ever since I grew strong enough to sit up, he’s insisted on feeding me. I give him a hard time but secretly I love it.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than feed me? Tend your roses? Torment another prisoner? Play your giant organ?” I let my gaze flicker to his crotch. Like always, he’s dressed impeccably, with well-tailored slacks and dress shirt, shoes and cufflinks polished and gleaming. A veneer of elegance that only draws attention to his powerful body. Always enclosed in such fine clothes, but lately, with nothing else to distract me, I can’t deny that sometimes my thoughts wander to wondering what he might look like underneath…
Now both his brows are raised. “My giant organ?”
I blush. “Um, yeah. The instrument, oh Masked One.” I flutter my fingers in the air and hum Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor. “Like, for composing an opera.”
He studies me and I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far. I’ve let more of my joking personality out in the last few days, because, fuck it, what do I have to lose? It feels good. I usually keep this side of myself stuffed down. The only one who’s seen silly Daphne is Rachel.
“No organ,” he says finally, scraping the spoon in the bowl to scoop up the dregs. “No other prisoners. Just you.”
“Lucky me.”
“Indeed.” He feeds me the final bit of soup.
A smile cracks my face. He blinks at the sight of it. I’m as surprised as he is. Here I am, getting nursed back to health by a crazed man in a mask, and I’m almost…happy. I have a million questions swimming around my head—why do you have a lab? How long have you been studying Battleman’s disease? Are you close to a cure?—but I don’t want to break the moment, this temporary truce.
And my instincts are right, because his stiff jaw loosens a moment and the Beast almost, almost smiles.
“I’m feeling better. Stronger. Can’t I get out of bed?” I’ve already been up today. He helped me to the bathroom and gave me a bath. Not as torrid as our first bath together, but enough to make me blush.
“Maybe tomorrow.” He sets the bowl down and heads over to the fireplace to add a few logs. He keeps the place toasty warm now. There are brocade curtains adorning the giant windows, and thick Persian rugs on the floor. Not that he lets my feet touch the ground. He treats me like