Tucking myself into the archway to get out of the wind, I raise the phone to my ear. “Hello, Adam.”
“Daphne! There you are. I’ve been so worried.” My phone beeps, belatedly telling me I have several missed calls. I kept it off for most of the day, only turn it on at the end of the drive to text Rachel again, telling her not to worry. I meant to turn it off by now, but when my finger hovered over the power button, I couldn’t bring myself to press it. Maybe I needed to feel connected to something familiar. Or maybe needing a way out—my last chance to call the cops.
“Sorry. I’ve been…distracted.”
Adam says something but his words are all broken up.
“Adam? Can you hear me? The reception is going in and out.” I step away from the building’s stone face.
“Where are you?” Adam asks. “We need to talk. Are you at your apartment? Or the lab? I’ll come get you.”
“Um, no, I’m not home or at Belladonna. Listen, I’m taking a few days off. I working on…something. Something important.” Were those footsteps beyond the door? I’ve got to explain things to Adam before the Beast shows up. “I’ve got to go—”
“Daphne, please listen. I need to apologize.”
Apologize to me? “What?” The door creaks and I turn away.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. All those things I said—I’ve been wanting to say them for a long time.”
My mouth falls open. I can’t believe this is happening now. The door yawns open behind me, filled with shadow.
“I know you’re not experienced in these things,” Adam says. “We can take it slow—”
“Adam, I really, really can’t talk about this right now. If you’d just—”
A large hand closes over mine, snatching my cell phone out of my grasp. The hand grips it so hard the screen cracks, then lets it fall to the stone floor. A polished shoe kicks it onto the lawn.
I gape as the Beast looms over me. “Oh my gods! You’re crazy.”
The Beast lunges forward.
Eight
Beast
“Please,” Daphne begs. “I came like you said. What are you going to do to me?”
I tug her along, ignoring her pleas. I’d prepared a room for her, full of warmth and comfort. I thought she might not be tainted, too far gone. She might deserve better than her cheating father and lying lover.
I was wrong. She’s just like them. She deserves nothing. She dares to come to me with his name on her lips? She deserves every punishment I’ve planned.
Her cries echo down the hall as I drag her to the stairs. Her purse falls to the floor, its contents scattering.
“Stop this!” she screams.
Her glasses go flying. She fights harder until I catch her wrists and draw her close.
“Stop. I can’t see,” she pants. She’s always been a little nearsighted. Has her eyesight gotten worse? She stares up at my face, her gaze vague, confused.
Once she looked at me with affection. Awe. No more. Never again.
Because of him.
Growling, I bend at the waist and toss her over my shoulder. She pounds on my back, which has as much effect as a sparrow fighting a storm. I take the stairs two at a time. My heart pumps like bellows, the heat of my rage spreading through me.
I don’t stop until I’m at the top of the tower. There’s a prison here, a cage I designed especially for her. I hadn’t thought to use it so soon, but…
“Welcome to your new home.” I tell her, easing her down to the floor. As soon as she catches her bearings, she flies at me, but I clang the door shut.
In the dim light, she squints at me. I wait for her eyes to widen, some sign of recognition. But her features twist in anger.
“I knew you were crazy.” She grasps the bars, her body shaking. With emotion or cold? The tower is chilly, and with the sun going down, the temperature will only drop.
I turn away before I grow weak, start feeling pity for my captive.
“This was a mistake,” she mutters half to herself. “I should’ve gone to the cops!”
I pause on the top step. “Why didn’t you?”
“I thought I could talk to you. Make you see reason.” Her voice sounds so woeful, I clench my fists to keep from returning, unlocking the door. We could sit like we used to. I could explain everything…
No. She and her father showed me no mercy. Now it’s her turn to suffer.
“Too late for that, princess,” I tell her, and leave her shivering in the cold.
Nine
Daphne
When I was a girl, I’d play at being princess. While my mother worked in her garden, I’d romp around, pretending the rose bushes were my castle. I imagined lush rooms with roaring fireplaces and floor-to-ceiling windows with views to beautiful gardens. My imaginary castle also boasted a fully-equipped laboratory. Because even when I played princess, I still was a scientist.
I never imagined I’d find myself in an actual castle. Much less locked in a tower.
Correction: locked in a cage inside a tower. Floor-to-ceiling bars mark the boundaries of my prison.
Wind whistles around the turret, setting my teeth on edge. The sound is un-ending, along with the cold. Winter came early this year.
I tuck my feet under me, but it’s no use. The flagstones are freezing. It rained a little last night, and the water that seeped in froze before dawn.
Things got a little better when the sun got high, but now it’s sinking again. Along with my hopes.
I press my forehead to my knees, shivering. I should’ve worn something thicker than leggings and a light sweater. My chest feels hollow and my head aches. The start of a cold or something more sinister? My immune system isn’t strong at the best of times, and the stress of the past few days and this chill isn’t helping.
My only hope is the brutal Beast, who dragged me here in the first place. But he’s obviously a few bats short of a belfry.
Why am I always so sure I can fix things? That people will listen to logic? Life isn’t a science problem. You can’t always come up with a logical hypothesis and expect people to react in predictable ways to achieve desirable outcomes. Even science rarely works that way. Some problems take decades and longer to solve. There’s too much chaos in the world.
And the Beast is the perfect expression of chaos made flesh.
A heavy step on the stair makes me lift my head. The Beast appears, his mask firmly in place. What does it hide? I wish I had my glasses. His hair looks thick and lush, but I could be wrong. I’ve never seen him clearly.
When he catches me staring, his dark eyes flash. He glares back. But I’m used to it.
The key clinks in the lock and the door slides against the flagstones, admitting a shiny pair of shoes. The Beast dresses well, at least. Tailored slacks, expensive sweater over a dress shirt.
Jailor-chic.
I remain curled in a ball, unwilling to give up any of my body heat to greet my guest.
He sets a tray down on the floor a foot in front of me.
“Dinner is served.” His voice is deep, slightly raspy. Somehow familiar. I search my memory but I’m cold and tired and on my best day I’m not good at placing names and faces. Besides, no one I know is as big as this guy, wears a mask, or is completely psychotic.