Beloved Beast

Chapter Twenty-Five

            Even in her dazed and stabbing state, she had the presence of mind to roll onto her back and bring her nails up, swiping them in a raking fashion down one side of his face.

            Her attacker howled with rage and her terror intensified as he reared upward, permitting Elle a chance to scramble out from beneath him only to be rendered invalid with an explosion of pain. It took her all but half a second to register the smashing blow to her face. It was a rattling of senses as his large fist made contact against her cheekbone, spewing blood and an agonizing cry past her lips.

            She hadn't time to press through the red-hot throbbing that engulfed her for thick and brutal fingers seized around her throat.

            Elle began to thrash and buck beneath him, her agony forgotten as a new horror reared beneath his crushing, smothering grip. Clawing at the hands tightening against her windpipe, she fought for air. As the blood flooded to her ears in a relentless pounding, the darkness thickened and pressed closer on her consciousness.

            She would have wept had she the ability to emit a cry. She would have fought harder had she the capacity to overpower him. She would have done anything to be with her family again, to live without the restrictions and inhibitions she'd placed upon herself. As her strength waned, the fight easing from her muscles, the world began to slip away. The terror receded to a softening measure of calm and acceptance though she pledged, that if given a second chance, she would confess all of the things that resided in her heart to the man who had unwittingly captured it.

            It was this and more that flitted across her ebbing awareness when an ungodly roar rent the air – and then the pressure was gone, just like that, and there was but clean, breathable air.

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            A red-hot rage hissed through Don's body, setting flame to the rigid muscles that stretched with the first devastating crack to the bastard's face, and he felt instant gratification at the ominous sound of splintering bone.

            It was not enough. It would never be enough. It did nothing to soften the violence welling up inside of him or thin the turbulent black haze that encroached on his vision. On the contrary, he welcomed the aggression filling his lungs with fire, and marveled in its seething intensity. It fed the dark parts of him as they came careening to the surface, complementing his scarred visage. Fury. Possession. Taking of life. It moved him. Stirred him to animation and wild abandonment. It fueled the beast.

            Solomon staggered with a grunt of pain, grasped his jaw and spit blood.

            The ruffian was big, but Rossetti was bigger.

            With a viscous growl, he lunged and issued a second crack to the man's abdomen, this time doubling the bastard over. As he crumpled to his knees with a low, agonizing groan, Don stepped around him, the blood humming in his veins as he rolled his shoulders, readying his fists.

            "You touched her. You put your hands on what is mine." Don lost himself in the rage that consumed him. He saw nothing. Heard nothing. Felt nothing but this overwhelming desire to kill. "And now I will take your life for it."

            Vaguely aware of the shattered china crunching beneath the press of his boots and the disarray of the room, he advanced with a deafening roar and delivered a third crack that flattened his opponent.

            "Don ..."

            Rossetti froze. That soft, weakened entreaty full of pain, penetrated his rage and drew him from the madness that ravaged him.