That means the storm’s right on top of us. I come to another fork in the path, sheets of rain coming down so hard that even if I hold my hand over my eyes, I still barely make anything out. The squelching mud beneath my feet tugged off my socks a long time back and my toes sink into the freezing mire.
I blink, suddenly dizzy, and so, so cold. How long have I been out here? My chattering teeth are a rat-a-tat-a-tat snare drum in my head. Have I ever been warm in my life? With the rain lashing me from above, and the sinking mud from below, it’s suddenly hard to remember if I have.
Maybe when my mother was alive. But she’s been gone a long time.
Dead. She’s been dead a long time. Cold in the ground. She’s so cold and I did nothing to save her.
I failed her. I’m still failing her. I’m failing everyone. I try so hard but it doesn’t matter. Every day I wake up and think, maybe this will be the day, but it never is and now— Now—
I sink to my knees in the mud, and then lower. I drop my forehead to the mud, the forceful rain lashing my head from above forcing me even lower. Maybe I’ll just finally join her and give up all this struggling. I can only fight for so long.
And suddenly all the fight’s gone out of me. I’m as weak as a kitten. Even the thought of trying to get back up again and take another step feels like trying to climb Mount Olympus.
The cold creeps up my legs, from the outside in. I’m coming home, Mom. I’m sorry.
I close my eyes and give in to the cold.
“Daphne! Oh gods!”
And then suddenly, I’m being lifted, I’m flying. Is this what it’s like when the gods pick you up to carry you to heaven? Will I wake in the Elysian Fields with my mother, finally at peace? A smile crosses my face.
And then I pass out.
Twelve
Beast
I sprint with her back into the house. She weighs nothing in my arms. Insubstantial. Beautiful and precious even covered in mud, more precious, because her shivering and clacking teeth mean she’s still with me.
I run with her up the main staircase and straight to the bath. I cradle her in my arms as I start the shower in the corner. It’s custom made, big enough for two with double shower heads. I turn on both of them to full blast. As soon as the water is even moderately warm, I climb in with her. We’re both wearing clothes and filthy but I don’t care.
Nothing matters except getting her warm.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper, rubbing my hands up and down her arms. “Come on, warm up for me. Can you hear me? Give me a nod if you can hear me.”
Her eyes open to mere slits but she nods as steam starts to fill the bathroom when the water finally heats. I run my hand under the jet of water.
“Fuck,” I hiss. Too hot. I don’t want to send her into shock, either, so I turn down the temperature. We should go slow.
I turn it to a moderately hot temperature and then arrange her under the spray. She jerks and tries to turn away from it but I hold her steady. “Shh, it’s alright. Everything’s gonna be alright now. I’ll take care of you. I swear it. Just give into the warmth. Let it seep into you.”
And it’s like those are the magic words, or maybe it's just my voice she’s responding to, because she turns and curls into my arms like it's the most natural place in the world for her to be. My breath hitches but I don’t stop.
I peel her soaked, filthy sweater off over her head and she lets me, then curls right back into my chest. And then she just nestles there. Like I’m her safe place in the storm.
Ha. Right. She ran away from you into the storm.
If she’d been out there even five more minutes… What the fuck was she thinking?
But I know, don’t I? I remember the look of fear on her face before she turned and fled—and that after standing up so magnificently to me, with that fire I want to harness and flame even hotter, to show her all she can be—all they never let her be. Her father has stifled and straight-jacketed her for her entire life.
And then to find her, curled up and nigh unto death in the garden, my beloved labyrinth where I’ve spent so many hours cultivating my precious roses…
I want to rage. I want to throw things and roar and scream.
But not while I have such precious cargo in my arms. I hold her to me and rub her back as the mud sluices out of her hair, the powerful water cleaning her.
And that’s when I notice that it’s not just mud swirling down the drain. There’s blood, too. I pull back from her and she lets out a little whine of protest, but I have to see what she’s done to herself.
“You’re hurt!” Long scratches wind up and down her arms.
She looks down at herself impassively and shrugs. “The rose thorns. It’s fine.” And then she flashes her big, luminescent green eyes at me. “I don’t mind the pain sometimes. My mom used to say that feeling pain meant she was still alive. It’s why she loved roses. They always come with thorns. Beauty plus pain. They were her.”
Then her eyes blink woozily and her forehead collides with my chest again. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“That’s right, honey. That’s good. I’m going to know everything about you. But first, let’s get you clean and warm.”
She nods into my chest, so much shorter than me that her head only comes up to the bottom of my chin.
My chest squeezes, and not just because she’s wrapped her arms around me. I’ve never— I mean, this isn’t what I was— I’m supposed to be the one—
“You’ll never be cold again,” I lean over and murmur into her hair, and she nods again, like she believes me.
Thirteen
Daphne
When I wake up, it’s the middle of the night and I’m shivering in spite of the fact that there are blankets piled on top of me.
“Daphne?”
It’s him. The Beast. The same one I ran from earlier today. Gods, I’m so cold. My teeth are still chattering. I can’t remember why I ran. I think he yelled and it all seemed scary? Or maybe I was scared of myself? All the things he’s made me feel since coming here?
“S-so c-cold,” I manage to get out through clattering teeth.
The fire is blazing in the corner. Even without glasses or contacts, I can make out that much. And when he moves from the chair by the fire, I can see his dark, hulking form moving closer to the bed.
But I’m not afraid. Not now and maybe not ever again. Not of him. Not of the man who brought me in from the cold and so tenderly held me and washed the mud out of my hair. Who tucked me in bed and murmured to me in that deep, rumbling voice of his the entire time. I don’t even remember the words he said, just the deep, reassuring bass of it.
A giant, cool hand presses against my forehead and I wince. I’m trying to get warm here, and he touches me with his freezing hand. I pull away.
“You’re burning up,” he rumbles. Of course I am. My immune system was depressed from stress and no sleep and the stint in the tower, and then a run in the freezing rain…
I frown groggily and peek one eye open at him. Then I squint. I don’t even remember closing my eyes. Huh. Funny.