Beloved Beast

Chapter Forty-Four

            The world thought the worst of him, so why not satisfy their exaggerated opinions?

            He could almost hear the sharp shrill of Sera's laughter – mocking him, gloating about the victory of her impenetrable curse, and how, at last, it had brought the Rossetti Beast to concede to defeat.

            And she would be right.

            Don felt defeated.

            There was no incentive to be righteous, not anymore. No gentle to balance the aggression. He'd had a taste of sunlight and the idea of forging ahead in darkness, without her, was a condition he was unwilling to shoulder. He had lost everything; why did he have to lose her too? He knew he was capable of violence ... and now there was nothing to prevent him from indulging those tendencies, nothing but a modest grain of hope, a fragile belief that he could resurrect Elle.

            It was the only thing that kept him from the mercy of his madness.

            Don knew not if Veda or Sera lived, but judging by his unaltered appearance, he could only assume, somehow, the latter at least had survived the fall.

            It was a refreshing thought amidst all the overwhelming grief. Hungry for war, his rage was a familiar slow burn ... a comfort to his unsated revenge. A watery grave was too kind for a de Ceville. He wanted blood – mage blood, and if Sera was alive, there would be no place on earth where she could hide; no spell powerful enough to revive her a second time. He would see to correcting that mistake by killing the elder first. If they lived, they would elude death for the last time.

            But the height of his revenge would not come in the form of inconceivable torture, although maiming was imminent and indeed an integral part of exacting his retribution – no, the pinnacle of his revenge was loving a woman that his former lover could never aspire to be, and he would be sure to impart that explicit detail before ripping her black, conceited heart from her chest.

            Don resented Death for taking his nymph, but next to his demons, it was a tentative alliance that would abet in sending his enemy back to the nether world ...alongside her traitorous sister. He would not rest until every de Ceville was eradicated from the world and he would make it his life's mission to ensure that no other mage could harm another living soul. Let Sera's impending – or present, death serve as a reminder that if anyone dared to employ magic, they would answer to the Rossetti Beast.

            Hunting the otherworldly would become his new favorite pastime. It would not relieve his despair or slake his demons, but it would be enough to taper the rage, at least until he found a means to break free of Sera's curse.

            That was his ultimatum for fate. Anyone that wielded magic, was an extension of his enemy, and he would make an example of them all. If he could not have Elle ... if fate saw fit to keep her from him, then his prey-to-be would reap the consequences. They would suffer tenfold as a whole for taking something precious from him.

            Every. Last. One. Of. Them.

            Don breathed a sigh of relief when his portcullis came into view. He hollered out to Givens, his tone urgent as he clutched Elle to his heaving chest.

            Seconds later, the iron lattice groaned as it was raised, admitting him entrance.

            He launched into the courtyard and wrenched on his reins, his horse whinnying as they came to a rough halt in the mud.

            As he jumped from the saddle, his sore muscles and shredded back screamed in agony. Although he had wounds that needed tending, no matter how fatal they were, Sera's curse would not permit a demise. That was a courtesy his enemy was not inclined to give ... but still, infection was a son-of-a-bitch.