Archive of Our Own ^beta

Once, there was a nobleman with eyes like glass, distanced from the world and with the face of an angel. Promised in marriage, he was cursed on his wedding day when his bride, despairing of his coldness, killed herself and left him at the altar.

Two spirits appeared and for the sake of the maiden and her sorrow, one wished him doomed for eternity and one wished him spared and softened his punishment. The handsome face and strong body that had so beguiled the maiden were transformed to the hideous form of a beast.

Time and memory tangled and fractured. The house was cursed with its master, perfect, richly furnished, warm and bright for an hour each day, the hour he spent waiting at the altar until her broken body was found.

At the end of the hour, the house became a ruin, rotted, decayed, a fit home for a beast, hidden from the eyes of the word by magic, forgotten like him.

He was bound to open the door to any who found it on the anniversary of that day. Bound to obey any commands they gave if repeated three times.

And the curse would run its course when he learned to love and found one who would love him back in his form as the beast.

Which would never happen. For the beast needed to join with a lover and be welcomed and who would mate with such as he?

At least, that's one version of the tale… But who's telling it?

***

Once, long ago, on a winter's day with the dark rushing in and a snowstorm blanketing the forest…

…a young man named Takato, a bookseller, was lost, freezing to death, though his mind was as numb as his flesh so he didn't realize it. He was also walking in circles, which he did know because this was the second time he'd fallen over this particular branch.

Despair filled him. Stopping meant death, but he was so tired he didn't care. Snow was soft…beds were soft; logically, and he was always logical, snow made an excellent bed and he should use it and rest his weary legs.

It had been sunny, if cold when he'd left his town, and he'd been astride his horse, a plodding, placid mare, good for long journeys, less able, it seemed, to deal with a startled rabbit streaking across the road, pursued by a wolf.

Molly had reared, astonishing Takato, thrown him, and cantered back the way she came, taking with her Takato's food, the parcel of books he'd planned to deliver to a valued customer and friend, and his dignity.

Sighing, he'd stood, rubbing a bruised behind, and set off after her. Thinking he saw her pale grey rump disappearing behind a tree, he'd foolishly left the road and entered the forest.

After that, he'd trudged along, thoughts drifting from his shop to his growing hunger and his part in a Christmas play to raise money for the town's orphanage (too small and why was he the only one who'd learned his lines?) until the snow came in a whirl of white.

He was an hour's walk from home, if that, but in the cloud of flakes, he wasn't sure which way to go. Were his stumbling footsteps taking him closer to a fire, a hot bath and a glass of mulled wine or not? Something told him they weren't.

Blowing on fingers that even gloved were aching with the cold, he pushed back the hood of his cloak, the thick wool soaked and heavy with melted snow and stared around him, fatigue dulling his senses.

White and grey…The world had lost its color and when what little light remained was gone, he would go with it, winking out like a candle flame pinched between a finger and a thumb.

The wind ceased for a brief space of time and the snow fell in straight lines, not a dizzying whirl.

There. Was that— He squinted again, leaning forward as if that would help, which was ridiculous, because the amber glow was far away, a rectangle high in the sky.

A window in a tower. A lit-up window.

Light. Warmth. Safety.

With an inarticulate cry, he stumbled toward it, snow so thickly encrusted on his boots he barely had strength to lift them. The wind picked up again, but he had hope now.

A little further. A few more steps. There. He'd reached the tree in line with the glow. Now to find another to aim for.

By degrees, his way became easier. He was, he discovered, no longer walking on earth tangled with briars and frozen heaps of leaves, but a road, wide, snow covered, yes, but under the snow was stone, smooth as glass compared to the forest floor. The trees to either side were overgrown and leaned over, casting strange shadows on the snow as the sun set behind the thick clouds, unseen, dim, but when it dipped out of sight, the difference was immediate.

In the darkness, the glow from the tower window was brighter and as he drew closer, the storm almost gone now, only a few stray flakes falling, he saw the dark massed shape of a large house, a nobleman's home. Well, he had his pride, but he would gladly take shelter in the servants' hall. Or the stables, for that matter.

A gatehouse, shrouded in darkness, and the gates wide open… He walked through them and felt a resistance, as if the wind wanted to push him back. Gritting his teeth, head down, he kept going.

Closer to the house, he raised his head and studied it with only a vague interest due to his exhaustion. Two circular towers and between them the house itself. Stone steps in a fan shape, elegant even with their lines blurred by snow, led to the massive front door. A massive door, but he turned instinctively to the tower. Was there a door at its base or not? He couldn't see one as he walked around it, a fleeting spurt of vitality quickening his steps. The stone was light colored, hewn, he guessed, from the local quarries. His town had many buildings of this creamy golden stone.

It was a neglected house though; the moon was visible through scudding clouds and, reflected against the snow, its pale luminous light showed him ivy tendrils digging into mortar and panes of glass cracked and dirty.

Still, there was a light in the tower. Even as he thought that, it disappeared and he heard the thud of shutters being closed. There was someone home then! Retracing his steps to the massive door, he used the last of his strength to hammer upon it, calling out to be admitted, begging for help.

"Open! For the love of God, open! I will sleep in a corner, drink nothing but water, eat the scraps from your table, but give me shelter or I will die!"

How dramatic of him… Why had he used such an archaic phrasing? Nothing happened. Was there a bell? He was close to dropping to his knees but he searched and saw a rotted piece of rope. It fell apart in his hands when he tugged at it but deep inside the house, a bell tolled.

No one came.

With the dying flicker of hope to lend him strength, he passed his hands over the door, painted white with driven snow, and found a doorknob, metal so cold it struck at his hands through his leather gloves. With fatalistic certainty it was useless, he twisted it.

The door would be locked, barred on the inside.

It would not open. Why would it?

To his surprise, when he fell against it, it yielded to his weight and he fell forward, across the threshold, the air beyond the door as frigid as outside, the stink of mold, dust and decay tickling his nose.

He was done. Finished. He closed his eyes and waited to die.

Oblivion was a kindness not granted to him. He stayed conscious, though his eyes were closed and his ears seemed blocked. He breathed in dust from the wooden floor and an icy wind from the open door seemed intent on freezing him in place, stuck until spring thawed his corpse.

Still, it was pleasant to lie still and he was so numbed with cold that very little of him hurt.

He smiled, a foolish giggle escaping him, then drew in a breath and opened his eyes.

Footsteps, slow, heavy. Someone was coming.

He tried to raise his head; rising to his feet was impossible. He saw a tall, broad shape. A man, yes, but so misshapen, so huge that if he'd been told it was a bear, it wouldn't have surprised him.

Bears did walk on their hind legs, but rarely dressed in silk and velvet, fine fabrics, even ragged and torn as they were. And they never carried a candelabra, five candles lit, doing nothing much to dispel the dimness of the hall.

The man placed the candelabra on a table. Three steps and Takato was staring at leather boots, cracked and dull.

The man bent over, grabbed a handful of Takato's cloak and threw him out of the door with no more than a grunt.

Takato flew the few feet needed for the door to close and landed with a jarring thud that robbed him of breath for a moment. The shock of his rough handling wore off fast as the door was pulled to. Wheezing, gasping, he reached out. "No! Please! I will die!"

"You can't enter unless I let you. Until I am forced, I will not do that."

The door slammed.

Takato spat out a mouthful of snow and grit. Fury filled him, but despair tainted it. He crawled forward and beat on the door once more, repeating his previous words as if they were an incantation that would make the monster's heart feel pity.

"Open! For the love of God, open! I will sleep in a corner, drink nothing but water, eat the scraps from your table, but give me shelter or I will die!"

The words seemed right, somehow, but not his, as if another voice spoke through him. He'd acted in a few amateur productions so repeating words someone else wrote wasn't a novel experience, but this was no stage and his peril was real.

For a third time, he said them and this time they were a whisper even he could barely hear.

"Open. For the love of God, open. I will sleep in a corner, drink nothing but water, eat the scraps from your table, but give me shelter or I will die…"

The door stayed closed for the space of a dozen heartbeats; he counted them, knowing they were his last, then the door opened and those strong hands hauled him inside.

He lay sprawled on the floor where he'd been dropped, panting. Cold. So cold… His breathing slowed, as if his blood was thick, clogged with ice. The numbness was spreading but the pain it cloaked was too intense to hide. He burned, as if he'd been dipped in oil and set alight. Fire and ice; which would kill him first?

He rolled to his back, stared up at a ceiling so high above him, it might as well have been the sky, and gave a hoarse, agonized wail.

"Quiet." Thick, slurred, it took him a moment to understand the order. "You hurt my ears."

He…hurt… What? Outraged, Takato mouthed something it was perhaps as well came out as a gurgle, and glared through the shadows at his host.

"My apologies," he husked out through cracked lips. "I'll try to die with less noise."

"Huh."

He was scooped up as if he weighed as little as a kitten and slung over the man's shoulder. Jolted and jounced, kicking and pummeling a back as impervious to his blows as granite, he was carried through dark hallways and up long, wide stairs. He soon lost the ability to fight and hung, limp, nauseated and dizzy. This place was so cold, so dark, so…dead.

The man paused and Takato heard the click and creak of an opening door. Beyond it lay light and warmth, too much for him to take. It was a fire burning in a small hearth and a dozen candles, but after the darkness of the house, it blinded him.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he sought a friendlier darkness and was only roused from his dazed state when he was dropped on the floor, as carelessly as if he were a sack of apples. Except apples bruised easily and no one would be so wasteful as to drop them.

Dazed, he blinked away the dazzle of tears and melted snow and took his first proper look at the man who'd so grudgingly offered him shelter.

His breath caught on a horrified whimper that became frozen terror as the man crouched beside him and pawed at the fastening on Takato's cloak.

Hair, yellow, white, grey, stood up in a tangled, matted shock, then hung to below the shoulders, a mane of hair that smelled of dirt and dust like everything else. The face…had some giant hand grabbed it and tugged, distorting it so? In place of a nose was the snout of a wolf and sharp, uneven teeth crowded a mouth too small to take them. The skin was the worst; it was grey, thick, and hard. Stone skin.

Then he saw the eyes. No. He was wrong; they were the true horror, for they were human eyes, the green of spring grass, flecked with honey-amber, fringed with thick, dark brown lashes.

They gave him no insight into the man; they showed him only his own reflection as if they were glass.

Takato was too exhausted to scream or gibber. Too cold to care about the nightmare face above him.

"Who are you?" he whispered, shivering violently now. "What's your name?"

Again, the words emerged garbled, but now he knew why. "Not who. What. I am a beast."

Tall, broad-shouldered, but the rags wrapped around the powerful body hid its shape. Maybe that was for the best

"Beasts don't talk. Tell me your name."

"You have no need of it. You'll die soon of the cold."

The hell he would. "Tell me your name."

Why was he so sure it mattered? The man—the beast—shrugged and snarled at him, his breath as foul as his mood.

He spoke and Takato frowned, repeating it back to him through chattering teeth. "Ch-Chunta?"

"No!" With care, lips trembling with the effort, the beast tried again, but all Takato heard was that same, strange name.

With a growl of frustration, the beast tore at Takato's cloak again, rolling him over and stripping it off him. It landed in a heap in the corner and Takato, staring at it from where he lay on his stomach, took in the room.

Circular, since this was the tower, and large enough. The floor was stone but rugs, filthy, their color and pattern all but lost, lay here and there. A four-poster bed took up part of the space, heaped with sheets, blankets and furs, disordered and reeking, looking more like a nest. Rough-hewn logs for the fire were piled in, well, not a corner, but by a wall. What insects and creatures had come in with them, Takato didn't want to think about.

A chair, carved and shaped by a master hand stood before the fire. It was massive, more of a throne, but like everything else, it was marred by neglect. Wood that should have gleamed from polishing was dull and cracked and the fire's heat had damaged it in places.

Shuddering convulsively as feeling returned to him, along with a maddening prickling sensation in his hands and feet, Takato struggled to rise.

He failed.

The man—Chunta—was beside him in a moment, peeling the soaked boots and socks off his feet, the breeches from his legs, the shirt from his back. Bared him, despite his struggles, to face a blank, incurious gaze that held no pity or concern, no curiosity, no lust.

"Stop! What are you doing?" He curled in on himself, racked with cold, sobbing with shock and tiredness. Too much, all of it. The long trek, the fear, the snow, this terrifying man, as cold and hard as the floor he lay on… "Leave me alone!"

"You can go back outside if you wish."

"Huh?" Takato looked up and saw Chunta walk to the door and fling it open.

"You can leave my house."

He didn't realize it then, but that careful wording hid the truth of his situation.

"No! I don't want to die in the cold, but why did you strip me?"

"Wet clothes will make you colder."

It was becoming easier to understand him and that was common sense, he supposed. "Fine! Then give me a blanket!"

Chunta smiled and in that moment, Takato saw the beast. There was no amusement in that smile; it showed off his sharp teeth better, that was all. "'I will sleep in a corner, drink nothing but water, eat the scraps from your table…' You didn't ask for a blanket."

Hearing his words repeated in that voice that seemed more animal than human was frightening. "Well, I'm asking for one now. Please. A blanket, a rag, anything."

"No. Mine. All this. Mine."

With a glare, Takato crawled closer to the fire and curled up on the filthy rug set before it, pocked with holes from embers spat out by the flames.

"You must pay for the warmth."

Before he could ask what Chunta meant, the man walked over to the chair and sat in it, swinging his feet up and using Takato as a footstool.

The indignity, the cruelty was a blow, undeserved, unexpected. It bruised his sense of self. He was no nobleman, assuming Chunta was, though he could be a squatter with no more right to the place than Takato did, but to be treated like this? He wouldn't allow it, "Get off me!"

"Choose. The fire or the cold."

Breathing hard and fast, Takato attempted to squirm out from under Chunta's feet, booted, heavy, weighing him down. Chunta lifted his feet to help him, then took Takato's hand and dragged him across the stone floor to—

A chain. A collar. A ring set into the stone wall.

They waited for him and he struggled for nothing because the collar was soon locked around his neck, the dark metal chafing his tender skin. Chunta walked back to the fire and turned the chair so when he sat again, he blocked the warmth of it from reaching Takato.

"You—You—"

"Be quiet. I was forced to let you in but I don't have to listen to you babble and bleat."

Seething as well as shivering and unable to stop, Takato curled up again, sending resentful glares at the beast and rubbing icy hands over icy flesh to wake his body. At some point he fell into a state where he was neither awake nor asleep, drifting, shivering.

He woke to a kick, so maybe he had been asleep. It hadn't been restful but an attempt to escape the reality of his plight. In front of him were two blue and green striped china bowls, chipped on the rim, one filled with water, one with greasy scraps of rancid meat and a withered carrot.

He wished he had the moral strength to send the bowls flying, but common sense scolded him into choking down the food and gulping the water. The fire was lower now but since Chunta wasn't using the chair, some heat reached him. The room itself was snug enough, though a draft blew under the door at times.

There were windows, barred with shutters that rattled when the wind howled against them and as he stared around him, he discovered the source of one odor in the room; Chunta had pulled a chamber pot from under the bed and as Takato averted his head, he heard a stream of piss meet china.

Which made him realize he shared the same need.

"Uh, when you've finished with that, could I—"

With the air of a teacher dealing with a particularly dense pupil, Chunta recited, "A place to sleep, water and scraps."

Acidly, Takato asked, "You're happy for me to soil myself and the floor?"

With a snarl, Chunta rounded on him. "If you do, I will throw you out into the snow."

Defiance warming him, Takato retorted, "Yes, because it would make such a difference to this pigsty!"

"You don't like my home? A peasant like you dares to mock it?"

Peasant? Seriously? Enough was enough. Whatever this beast had been once, he was far beneath Takato now. Takato's family was respected, his bank account ample for his needs, and with his looks, he could have had anyone in town at the snap of his fingers, not that he'd ever wanted to do that.

"I'm not a peasant. No one is these days! I own a bookshop. And this place is disgusting and so are you. Throw me out. I'll die with clean air to breathe, at least, and the snow is softer than your stone floor and warmer than your heart."

"You prefer death to my company?"

The meal—to use the word loosely—had heartened him. He rose, using the wall to help him and, forgetting his nudity, stood facing the beast.

"Look at me! I asked for help. Why did you let me in if you didn't want to give it? Why not let me freeze at your door?"

"I had no choice!" Eyes blazing, Chunta took a step forward. "You asked three times and I must obey a command like that."

"I… asked?" Oh! He had! Three times to be allowed in and three times for the beast's name.

"Don't think that gives you power over me," Chunta warned him. "The spell goes by threes. You've used two of your three commands and you wasted one, like the fool you are. My name! What good does knowing that do you? And you're saying it wrong."

The warning saved him from demanding access to the chamber pot a few more times. The comment about the name, he ignored. He really needed to pee.

"Since you put a price on everything, as though you were the merchant, not I, how much to use the pot?"

Chunta bared his teeth again, but this time his eyes gleamed with malice. "What do you have I want, skinny man I could break like a twig?"

Takato inhaled, pushing aside the fear rising. He couldn't mean… He couldn't want… No. The very idea of it left him shaken. That hideous face close to him and that stiff, hard skin against his…

So, what then? His cloak? It was fine merino wool and new, but he needed it for the journey home. The horse had taken everything else. Except…

"My cloak has a pocket sewed into it. Inside are three silver coins." Three again… "I will barter one for the use of the pot for as long as I am here and also—"

"No. One coin, one ask." Chunta picked up the cloak and took out the coins, dropping the cloak on the floor with a splat. He set two coins on the stone mantel and threw the third into the fire, ignoring Takato's cry of protest.

"Why did you do that?"

"What use is money to a beast? I can't spend it."

"You could have…" He trailed off. "Never mind. It was yours. My cloak, though; it won't dry like that and I'll need it tomorrow. Could you spread it out by the fire?"

A moment later, he was choking on the smoke from wet wool smoldering in the fireplace as his cloak burned.

"It will be dry soon," Chunta told him with a spark of humor Takato didn't appreciate in the slightest. He went to each candle and blew them out, then climbed into the frowsty heap of bedding without shedding his clothing.

Silenced, eyes smarting, fists clenched in rage, Takato walked through the dim room, lit only by the fire, to the chamber pot—barely in reach—and used it, without missing (much) . He was so cross, he contemplated tossing it and its contents onto the bed. He'd be pummeled to pulp, but—

"If you do not lie down where I put you, I will bind your hands and feet."

He wouldn't answer. He'd ignore the beast's guttural gibes as if they were nothing but the yapping of a dog.

Back stiff, face burning with annoyance, Takato eyed the rest of his clothes but they were beyond the length of the chain. Asking for them would leave him without them forever since he knew they'd join his cloak on the fire.

He lay curled up on the stone slab by the bowls and pillowed his head on his hands.

The beast snored. Loudly.

Waking had happened so often throughout the night that when he woke truly, fully, it was with a yawn so wide his jaw cracked. Sluggish, starved, shivering and with a headache, he couldn't recall a worse start to a day.

The shutters were open and a pale light streamed through the windows. They were glassed, but most of the panes had pieces missing. Still, the air, though frigid, dispelled some of the stink.

The beast was nowhere in sight, nor were the bowls, but since he was still chained, escape was impossible.

He rose and with a sigh used the pot again, groaning as his body told him how little it liked stone as a mattress, and went as close to the window as his chain allowed, scratching at his ribs. Fleas? Probably.

He saw the tops of trees, thick with snow, a sky whose clouds held a threat of more to come, and nothing else, not even a squirrel in search of nuts or a bird or two.

At least he could warm himself without fear of being used as a rug or footstool.

He crouched as close as he could get to a fire burning with merry spits and crackles, the sole cause of cheer in the space, and waited for the beast to return. A fastening from his cloak had escaped the flames and lay, twisted and useless, a reminder he had lost a warm covering.

Nothing else to do; he couldn't see anything to eat or drink; there were no books (no books! Poverty!) no paintings or tapestries to look at, nothing within reach he could tidy, not that he was inclined to be helpful…

He eyed his clothing. If he lay on his stomach and stretched out his arm, could he snag any of it? It was his, after all. He'd been too tired to try the night before and unwilling to make a fool of himself in front of a man he had quickly learned to detest, but there was no one to watch him make the attempt now.

Chunta came back as he lay, legs splayed, grunting, straining, his fingertips brushing the edge of his shirt. He turned his head, met the first genuine smile he'd seen from the beast, and slammed his fist against the stone floor. "Damn you! Release me, let me dress and let me go!"

"No, no, and no. I want you where I can see you. All these years and then you appeared… I want to know why."

"I could—" Takato paused. If he used his final, well, wish, for want of a better word, to get the collar removed, there was no way past a man who seemed more living stone than flesh. Bide his time. Besides, Chunta held two bowls and he guessed they were for him.

He sat cross-legged and imperious and beckoned to the beast. "If they are for me, bring them here."

"Such arrogance." Chunta walked over, tipped the water over Takato's head and upended the second bowl so the thin broth could follow it. Which was a pity because the broth smelled tasty, fragrant with herbs, unlike the scraps from before. "Your breakfast, my lord shopkeeper."

He was drenched, dripping and a shred of chicken was stuck to his nose, but Takato saw his chance and took it. Rocking forward, he wrapped his arms around Chunta's knees and threw his weight against him, toppling him backward like a tree. Chunta's head struck the floor and he lay still, his face slack, eyes closed.

"Yes!" Takato crowed, then panic set in. The collar around his neck…how could he unfasten it? It had clicked into place, but was there a key to unlock it? Oh God, was it tucked away inside the beast's clothing? He tugged, exploring it by touch and found where the two pieces joined and guessed the trick to unfasten it.

He had to push this piece in and then pull here… He couldn't do it. It required a strength he did not have. Over and over, he tried, until sweat greased the metal, making his task harder, but the collar stayed in place. Only the man lying by him could free him.

The other end, then; the ring in the wall; could he tug until stone crumbled and the ring came free?

More importantly, could he do it before the beast roused? Already Chunta was stirring, his breath quickening. The window of escape was closing. Even if he got the collar off, he was naked. Running through the snow to the gates, clutching his clothes, with the beast in pursuit would end with one victor and it wouldn't be him.

He tried anyway, using the chain doubled in his hand to hammer at the wall and the ring, but he didn't leave a mark. For the first time, he saw the deep gouges around the ring; someone else had tried to free themselves.

The beast? The ring had been here a long time, he was sure of it, and the collar around his neck was loose, though not loose enough to slip over his head. He wore the beast's fetters then? Who would have the ability to capture someone so strong?

"So you can fight?"

He swallowed and turned, on his knees, the chain digging into his palm.

Swaying, eyes glazed, but on his feet, the beast stared at him and Takato saw death in those eyes.

Something told him begging for mercy wouldn't help.

He rose, trembling, but determined to sell his life dearly, and gathered up more of the chain. It was the only weapon he had.

"Before you kill me, answer one question."

He'd phrased that poorly. Why put ideas in his head?

"Hmm?" It was a rumble, a purr. "Go on then."

Now he had to think of a question.

"You were enchanted, cursed, I can see that. Is there any way I can help you end it?"

It was not what he'd intended to ask. Again, there was that sense of his words being dictated to him, of his mouth being used by someone else to speak. He wasn't unhappy with his final question, though. Whatever sin or crime this man had committed, for him to live and die like this was a sin in itself. A clean death, yes, maybe he'd earned that, but this transformation? This was torture.

Because he saw how the sharp teeth cut into the flesh around them; guessed that the thick, grey skin, leathery, hard, would be a constant torment. The beast suffered and if he inflicted suffering on any who passed his way, it was wrong, but not surprising.

It made him human. Ignoble, petty, mean-spirited, yes, but human.

Chunta stood in silence for a while. "Again, you mock me?"

Takato had never met anyone so touchy and suspicious. "Not at all. I'm serious."

The beast frowned, a fearsome sight. "You're curious about my plight?"

Time to charm and convince this hulking beast to trust him. "Yes, of course I am. Who wouldn't be? Look at you!"

"It's been many years since I did that."

Glass crunching underfoot as he was carried… Had the beast smashed every mirror in the place? Takato couldn't blame him.

"Well, you weren't born with that face so there must be a story behind it." He pursed his lips in thought, the chain slipping from his grip. "We're not far from my town. An hour, two at most, on foot. Why don't I know of this mansion or your family?"

"Because it doesn't exist in your world now. Only once a year."

"What?" Takato shook his head, broth and water still dripping down his face. "I promise not to attack you again or run away, but please; take this damn collar off. Let me clean myself and dress and maybe...could I have some food that goes in my mouth this time?"

"I don't think so."

Takato smiled, refusing to accept defeat, and spread his hands wide, standing tall. His nudity might be an advantage; he must look vulnerable, helpless. "Let's talk as two men, not jailer and prisoner. First, though…" He bowed his head, contrite and not entirely faking it. "I never thanked you for letting me in, even if the spell made you do it. I repaid you with pain, though you deserved—no, I was wrong to attack you. I admit it."

He paused, waiting for the beast to respond with an apology of his own. Nothing. Humph! Clearly noblemen weren't taught basic manners.

Biting back what he really wanted to say, gentling his tone until his words dripped with honey, he said," Let me see your head. You banged it hard. Is it bleeding?"

"Are you looking to trick me with soft words and sympathy?" The beast strode over and grabbed Takato's chin, his grip tight enough that Takato knew his skin would bear the marks of those fingers. Cold, rough, strong fingers. "Show me your face when you lie to me!"

Takato had no choice. Head flung back, he stared, and blue eyes met green. He saw nothing but those eyes, filled now with pain and longing. Eyes that no longer looked like glass. He met that yearning gaze without flinching.

"I will help you. I'll do what I can to change you from cold stone to warm flesh, from a beast to a man. I'll repay you for my life and we can part without owing each other anything." He smiled, knowing how handsome he looked when he did it. He'd never smiled and not seen an answering response, until today. Was Chunta enough of an animal to misread a smile as a challenge, teeth bared to show how sharp they were? He stopped smiling just in case. "And since I didn't introduce myself, I'm Takato of the Saijou family."

"Takato?"

"Yes." Odd to hear his name spoken by a man with a wolf's face…

"Blue eyes."

"Uh, yes."

The beast shrugged massive shoulders, then releasing Takato, he passed his hand over his face as if wiping it free of a cobweb.

"You are not like her. You are not the same at all."

"Her?" That was reassuring. Was there someone else here? An ally maybe?

Not answering his question, Chunta said slowly, "I will trust you for now, at least. I have nothing to lose and for all my appearance, I am not a monster, though it becomes more difficult to remember that with each year that passes."

A little spitefully, Takato asked, "Not a monster? Only a beast?"

Chunta growled, a low rumble in his chest, sending a shiver through Takato that wasn't all fear. "We have both been unkind. We can…we can begin again."

Takato pushed down a strange sense of elation and held out his hand. "I'd like that."

Chunta hesitated, then extended what was more of a paw, long nails sharp, a light fur on the back of it. He barely brushed Takato's hand with it. "If you betray me and try to leave, I will hunt you and kill you slowly."

That was his idea of a truce? Takato sketched a bow. "So kind. I'm overwhelmed by your generosity."

The beast wrenched the collar open and let it fall with a clang. "Dress instead of sharpening your tongue on me. Your shivering is pathetic."

"My clothes are still wet." Takato folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. "If I put them by the fire, will they be safe from being used as kindling?"

The beast scowled, but nodded, looking, Takato thought, a little abashed. As well he might! That cloak had been a birthday gift from a family friend and since his birthday was in April and the autumn had been mild, he'd only worn it a few times. He'd liked that cloak, damn it!

Using the chair as a clothes horse, Takato draped his clothes across it and added another log to the fire. His boots were stiff and damp and would raise blisters if he wore them now, but he placed them in the warmth. "Have you got any spare clothes I could borrow or a blanket? No, first a rag to dry my hair?"

It needed washing, but he could wait.

Chunta eyed him, then walked to a small door set cunningly into the stone on an interior part of the wall. Inside were three chests. The beast drew one out as easily as if it were a loaf of bread, not heavy oak, and opened it.

"They were mine as a boy. They may fit you and I have no need of them. Use anything on the bed to dry your hair."

"Oh!" Takato was fond of fashionable clothing and fine fabrics and was rarely able to indulge his yearning for them. There were always books to buy and when he had, he hated to sell them…

The chest was crammed with finery, but it was crushed and musty. Takato was so tired of being naked and cold that he didn't care. He was puzzled by the style of the garments though; they were so old fashioned, they seemed more suited for a masked ball, with the guests in costume.

In the end, he chose green velvet breeches, loose on his slender frame, but there was a belt to fix that, with a fur-edged jacket to match and under it a shirt of linen so fine and soft his fingers caught on it. A pair of soft leather slippers completed his attire, all too large on him, but not enough to matter.

He hugged himself for the pleasure of feeling the clothing against his skin, warmth seeping into his flesh and smiled at the beast. "Thank you! I'll take care of them."

Chunta seemed unable to stop looking at him. Was he seeing himself as a youngster wearing these clothes? "They don't fit me and there's a chest full. It doesn't matter if you soil or tear them."

"That's wasteful," Takato told him with a shake of his finger. "Can we eat now? Please? I'll even volunteer to cook if you show me your kitchen."

"If that's something you enjoy, you'll be disappointed to learn there's no need for your skills here."

Skills? His mother's cook would have chased him out of her kitchen if he'd tried to boil water. Now he lived above the bookshop and took advantage of the many cafes and restaurants within walking distance. "I, uh… Hmm. No need, you say? Very well."

Thank goodness for that! Does he mean there are servants here? I doubt he can cook with those huge hands and those claws…

He stepped closer to the beast. "I'm starving, but you hit your head. Let me look at it."

"I'm not hurt."

Takato clicked his tongue reprovingly. "You were knocked senseless."

As if taking care to be understood, the beast said slowly, menacingly, "I do not want you to look at it."

Takato gave up, seeing the warning glint in those green eyes. Stubborn beast! It would be best not to anger him, though. "Then food and we can talk."

"Wait here and I will bring—"

"No." Takato knew the house beyond the tower was freezing and filthy, but he wanted to see it. Get an idea of the way back to the door, at least; that would be useful information to have. "I won't stray from your side but let me come with you."

He wondered if this fragile truce would hold for long. He'd gone from chained and naked to free and clothed, but he sensed his cell had grown bigger and more comfortable without true freedom achieved.

Be wary, he told himself. Be honest, but…can I trust him to keep his word? Will he let me leave if I help him break whatever curse affects him?

It had seemed a proposal to benefit them both; the beast became a man again and he could go home.

Still, he thought, why would he want to keep me here once he's himself again? As a servant? He could hire one. The place is in ruins, but there must be something left in a mansion this size he could sell. As a companion? He doesn't know me or like me. I saw nothing when he looked at me; no connection, no heat in his gaze. Not that I would—No! Never!

Hunger drove his musings away and when the beast—no, Chunta, opened the door, he was close on his heels.

Then he gasped and stopped walking.

He'd been carried along this hallway in the dark, but he'd smelled the decay; caught glimpses of wallpaper hanging in damp, torn festoons.

Beyond the tower room lay shining wooden floors, bright, thick rugs and panelled walls showcasing paintings of landscapes and people, the paint fresh and vibrant.

He caught up to Chunta, tugging at his sleeve. "What—"

"It will be like this for a few moments more, then it'll fade away. Look all you like. It's not real. The floor you walk on is dirty and the rugs torn. The paintings—"

He broke off and sighed. Around them, the beauty faded, there, then slowly fading, as a sunset's colors fade, vivid shades washed out, then overlain by darkness.

"Now you see it as it is. An hour a day, it taunts me and if I hide in the tower, which always stays the same, I still know it's happening. It's part of my punishment to see it and never be able to enjoy it again properly."

"Why?" Takato demanded, giving Chunta's arm another shake. "Tell me!"

"First, we eat. The kitchen lies this way. Watch where you step. Where the wood has rotted, there are holes and when the floor is stone, the slabs have shifted."

Silenced by the decayed grandeur he walked through, Takato exhaled with relief when they reached the kitchen. It was huge, to be sure, echoing with silence, stinking of mold, when it should have been alive with bustling servants, the air filled with good smells of roasting meat and fresh-baked bread, but a fire burned. Chunta must have kindled it while he slept.

A vast table stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by many chairs. He thought he saw the ghosts of the kitchen staff there, raising glasses, passing heaped bowls of vegetables, brimming jugs of gravy…

"Sit," Chunta said. "I will play the part of host even if you're an uninvited trespasser."

Takato thought that was intended as a joke… Remembering the broth and the scraps of the night before, he hesitated, but if that was all Chunta had, he wouldn't shame him by refusing to share it. Besides, he was starving. Ravenous.

Chunta went to an oven, cold and rusty, opened the door and for some reason used a cloth to shield his fingers before he pulled out a beef roast in a pan. He set it on the table after carving a few slices and Takato inhaled the rich, meaty aroma with delight and bewilderment. It was steaming, fragrant, heat radiating from the pan.

"How is it like this when the oven is cold?"

"When the curse struck, this was in the oven. They were preparing a feast, you see. What was ready—and there was plenty—is there for the hour, hot, fresh, edible. After that, it soon decays."

"Ugh! No wonder it smells so musty in here." He saw Chunta wince and scolded himself for his rudeness. "If I eat it will it turn my stomach after the hour is over?"

"No. Once inside you, it'll be fine. At least, it hasn't killed me yet. It takes a little while to go off so if you eat quickly, you can fill your stomach. Eat some beef. I'll bring fresh bread and butter, apples, too."

Takato drank a mug of cool milk before it soured and made a thick roast beef sandwich since there was no cutlery in sight. He nibbled a corner of the bread cautiously, then wolfed it down with a moan of pleasure. The beast grabbed slices of beef and pushed them into a mouth that seemed all teeth. Takato looked away, swallowing hard.

They ate in silence, the food restoring Takato's wits and leaving him with a dozen questions. When he was left biting an apple that had already lost its crispness and turned mealy, he gave up, tossing the apple back into a bowl, noticing that the other apples were already wrinkled and showing brown spots.

"I'm full."

"Yes. It's lucky there was food prepared for many guests. Tomorrow, you'll doubtless empty the pantry with a whole hour at your disposal."

"Are you saying I'm greedy?" Takato demanded. "I ate one sandwich! I was hungry!"

"And now you're not."

"And now I'm ready to hear your story." Takato leaned forward, resting his hands on the table, then drawing them back. The wood was sticky and thick with dust. "Tell it to me, please."

"It's a long one and I don't see the point in telling it you like a storyteller would. I'm no actor or bard."

That was disappointing. He'd been looking forward to something to take his mind off the cold, echoing house and the unpredictable creature who was his unwilling host. "Make it as short or as long as you like."

"I am…I was…" Chunta stood, pacing the room with long steps, his shadow against the wall enough to cause nightmares. "Where to begin? So much I don't know myself, if I am to be honest with you."

"Were you a child or grown when it happened?" Takato asked, careful not to sound too curious or demanding.

"Twenty-three."

A strange age for a curse. Still cautious, wary of bruising a sore place, he asked another question. "Was it something you did?"

A shrug.

"Your family, the servants…"

"All gone. All dead by now, I think."

"I'm sorry," Takato said, picturing such loneliness and loss and shivering. "For them and you. It must have been lonely here for… How long has it been?"

Hard to tell Chunta's age but he didn't seem that old.

Chunta grimaced. "I don't age or I'd be dry bones by now. I counted the days for a while, but why bother? Many years. Too many."

Immortal? But at what a cost. Cutting to the real issue, Takato asked bluntly, "What will break the spell?"

"I wish I knew."

"Hmm." Was the beast lying? Hard to say. "Start with what you did to earn this fate."

A long sigh. "I was to be wed to a girl I'd known since childhood; Antonia. On our wedding day, she killed herself and I was turned into a beast as punishment."

Two sentences! That wasn't a story. It was barely a shopping list. "As punishment for what? Were you cruel to her?"

That grey skin couldn't blush or pale but he sensed Chunta's shocked rejection of that idea even before he answered. "No! We were the best of friends, I give you my word. I would have died for her if needed."

"People say that, but do they mean it?" Takato murmured.

"I say nothing I don't mean."

"Well, fine. You were both happy about the wedding? You weren't forced into it? In love with someone else?"

"I didn't care who I married and Antonia was in love with me, so why not?"

What? Takato's romantic experience was, well, non-existent, but he'd read widely and no hero ever wooed his sweetheart like that in the novels he devoured surreptitiously in his rooms above the shop with no one to see him. "That's as romantic as the bread and butter I just ate. You didn't care; anyone would do, so why not throw her a bone and marry her? Did you tell her that? If you did, then I know exactly who cursed you and she has my sympathies."

"Will you stop babbling nonsense! She knew I wasn't in love with her like that. She knew and still accepted my proposal. Yet on our wedding day, she killed herself to avoid becoming my wife. The blame has to lie with me, but—she knew who I was!'

Takato wanted more details than that to truly decide whose side to take, but as it stood, his sympathies were shifting.

"It doesn't seem that you did anything wrong, but obviously someone didn't see it that way. If you were cursed for causing her death, maybe you have to save a life to make up for it? No; you saved mine last night, after all and that's changed nothing…"

Voice heavy, Chunta told him, "Leave it for now."

"Huh? Well, if you wish." Takato stared around him, seeking something useful to do. He was not a man who sought idleness; he rose early, worked hard and went to be late. "Can you leave this place?"

"I can go into the garden, or the forest to chop wood. If I go too far, the air thickens around me and my way is blocked."

Panic rose within him as he recalled Chunta's words the night before: You can go back outside if you wish… Outside the house; what about the grounds themselves?

"Can I leave?" Please say yes…

He got a wary look for that. "I don't know. You're the first and only person I've seen since the curse. If you do, though, I doubt you'll be able to return."

His voice went high, a squeak of a voice. "I'm trapped here?" His chest was tight with fear. To stay here forever with a beast in a moldering mansion haunted by ghosts, no doubt; sweat broke out under his arms and down his back, a nasty, damp prickle of it.

"You want sympathy?"

Always. "Yes! I did nothing wrong!"

"You said I had not either."

"Still!"

A sticky, awkward silence fell. Takato shivered, the cold air striking at him. "Is it always winter here?"

"Yes."

More silence. It dulled his thoughts, sapped his ability to decide on a course of action.

"I could try to leave," he said slowly, "but I gave my word I would help you. Can we try to leave together? Holding hands maybe?"

Suspicion flared in Chunta's eyes, narrowing them so all he saw was a flash of red, a warning spark. "And if you pass through the barrier and I don't, what then?"

A little sullenly, Takato said, "It's worth a try."

"I will be alone again. Alone."

Chunta looked like a man with thoughts of collars and chains dancing in his head. Hastily, with a smile he knew wavered, Takato sought to distract him. "One day to think it through won't hurt, I suppose. I'm still stiff and sore from yesterday. That reminds me. If we are to share a room, it has to be cleaner. I mean no insult, but…"

"Cleaner?" Chunta cocked his head on one side. "You said something like that before. What's wrong with it?"

Takato gaped at him. "You were a nobleman living in a mansion! How can you see it as it was each day and not realize the tower room is filthy? It might not change as the house does, but it still gets dusty!"

"Because I'm a beast?" Chunta pointed out icily. "My standards are lower now, clearly."

"Well, I am not a beast and I cannot live in squalor. May I clean it? Bring in another chair? At least empty the chamber pot?"

He could be sarcastic too.

With studied indifference, Chunta said, "If you wish to play the maid servant, why not?"

Ignoring that gibe, Takato asked, "And a bath? Is there a bathroom? Somewhere to heat water for one?"

"Yes. I bathed a month ago so I have no need of one today, but you may have one. As a beast, my nose is sensitive—"

"Ha!"

"And you smell a little…ripe."

Takato smiled through set lips. "Maybe because I washed my hair in broth! Oh, and most definitely a bath for you, too. Or find me a different room in which to sleep."

The beast roared, slamming his fist against the table beside him. "No! With me, in chains in case you try to leave!"

Takato jumped up, squaring off with the beast. "You will not make me sleep on the floor again like a dog!"

They were standing close now, yelling at each other, but Takato felt exhilarated, his blood running warm and tingling. Chunta's appearance seemed to shift and between one blink and the next, he saw…no…had he seen a human face, handsome enough to take his breath away?

He saw only the beast now.

"You prefer to sleep beside me?" Chunta snarled, as if he knew the answer was no.

"I do, and now that's settled, I'll go in search of a broom," Takato told him, his anger draining away as he saw he'd silenced Chunta quite effectively. One point to him! Without thinking about it much, he patted Chunta on his cheek as he walked past him.

He didn't see the grey skin flush warmly, his handprint glowing; did not hear the shuddering, startled breath Chunta gave as he reached up to touch his face.

A kitchen. Now where would the housekeeper store cleaning supplies?

***

"Ugh! Ugh!" Takato chased a family of mice from under the bed and watched them scamper out of the door. "Unbelievable!"

Cautiously, he prodded at the mattress with the end of his broom, but nothing moved.

He was exhausted. Chunta had disappeared, refusing to help, though being left alone was no bad thing. It gave him time to think and he needed it.

Yet once he began his spring clean, that absorbed him. He forced open every window, letting the cold air stream in, and tossed every rug and piece of bedding out of the widest window to flutter to the ground below. The mattress proved to be in reasonably good shape under the many layers of bedding, if the rags and stinking furs deserved that name.

He built up the fire, stacked the remaining firewood neatly, brushed the floor and, cringing at the stench, dealt with the chamber pot.

He had left the room bare of all but the bed and the chair—and the chain with its collar. That, he coiled and pushed close to the wall, as out of sight as he could make it. No need to give the beast ideas…

Setting off to explore, timid at his first door, brazen by the sixth, he searched for furniture and bedding, curiosity making him bold.

It seemed to him that with each new room, the decay was a little less. The first room, the curtains were in tatters. By the last, they hung whole, but faded and thick with dust. Curtains, he didn't need, but he pounced on a thick hearth rug and bore it back, then returned for a finer rug, soft and with a woven design of blue waves and green grass that pleased him.

A table, the biggest he could drag, panting, along to the tower. A chair for him. A chessboard and pieces, crafted so that even the pawns held character, impish features on them granting individuality.

A waist-high bookcase! He fell on that with a cry of joy, eager to see what it held. Some, dry tomes with sermons or statistics, their pages crumbling, he set aside with care but no interest; others that seemed to his taste, fairy tales, romances, adventure stories, he piled high on the floor and once the bookcase was in place, he filled its shelves with them. It occurred to him that in a mansion this size, there must be a library. His mouth watered at the thought of it; what treasures did its shelves hold? If Chunta allowed it, he'd go there tomorrow after grabbing a quick bite to eat, during the hour when all was as it was before.

More candlesticks. The tower room needed better lighting. Candles. A jug, two glasses. Cushions after he'd beaten the dust from them.

He was staggering with weariness now and longing for food and a bath, but the first was impossible until tomorrow and the second… He hadn't found a bathroom yet.

The only lack was bedding. He'd left that until the last, wanting the bed to air with the fire blazing and the fresh breeze blowing. Night was coming, though. It was time to close the windows against the frigid air and let the blazing logs warm the space.

A seventh room held a bed with plump pillows and thick, soft blankets over linen that held a faint, fleeting scent of roses. Had they been stored with dried rose petals strewn over them? Maybe the magic could only take so much away from the poor house…

He ruthlessly, cheerfully, stole the bedding and though it took two trips along a hallway that seemed miles long by now, made the bed.

Then he sank into his chair and contemplated his efforts with exhausted pride.

Chunta appeared in the doorway, a candle in hand, a few moments later, tall enough that Takato had to crane his neck to study his expression.

"Well?" Takato asked, a little smug, a little anxious he'd taken too many liberties. A little irritated, too, that Chunta had found him relaxing, not working; where was he when the mice needed evicting? Or during that hectic few moments when a cobweb he'd brought down, not realizing it was inhabited, had left him scrabbling wildly to rid himself of a spider he swore was the size of his hand?

Chunta turned his massive head slowly, mouth hanging open, a strange sound coming from him. Growl or purr?

"You've worked hard, I see. Are you happy now? Is the room to his lordship's standards?"

The bite in the words had him bouncing up. "You! All day I worked with no help from you! Off sulking? Brooding? Well, I am pleased, but since you clearly hate it, why don't I toss everything out of the window and find some dust to scatter around."

"No, thank you. It took me some time to clear away what you already threw out of the window. In the spring, that patch of ground was always covered with wild violets and though the snow never melts and they will never bloom again, I did not like to see a pile of rubbish there."

Stricken, Takato could only murmur, "Oh." He swallowed and tried again. "I'm sorry. I should have asked where you wanted me to—"

"And I heated water and carried buckets and your lordship's bath awaits."

"Chunta!" Beaming now, his guilt vanishing, Takato hurried over to him. "You did? Show me! I'll use the water first, if I may—I'm filthy—but afterward, it's all yours."

"I told you I did not want—"

"The bedding is clean," Takato said darkly. "Touch it before you scrub off the dirt and I will—"

The beast raised a large hand to silence him. "Spare me your empty threats. I will wash. A little."

No, Takato thought, schooling his face to give nothing away, you will wash a lot, my friend.

The bathroom was closer than he'd thought, down the corridor and off to the left in a room he'd left alone since the door seemed locked. It opened now and he walked into a space with stone slabs for the floor and in the middle of the room, a wooden tub with a set of three steps leading up to it. A drain hole was under it and a pipe led from the bath into it, allowing the bath to be easily emptied. The massive fireplace was lit and over it was a large iron cauldron.

Buckets stood against the wall, some empty, some filled with water, and Chunta had left a thin towel on a wooden chair.

The room was practical but had luxurious touches too; a dressing table standing on a Persian rug with a satin covered stool, the fabric worn, held brushes and combs and what had once been a mirror hung above it. Now it was a frame with some glittering shards of glass still protruding, the single discordant note. On wooden pegs hung a thick, warm robe and a nightshirt with a pair of slippers on the floor by them.

"Chunta?" Astonished, guilty at the scolding he'd given him, Takato turned his head to smile at him. "This is perfect! Thank you."

It seemed right to do more than that. He wasn't a man given to hugs or flowery words, but he steeled himself and patted Chunta's arm. So muscular… He knew an impulse to leave his hand there and snatched it back before he disgraced himself.

Talking quickly to cover his flustered state, he babbled, "You worked hard too. See how clean this room is! We deserve this treat."

"Treat?"

"Treat," Takato said.

He eyed the bath longingly, wishing Chunta would leave and let him undress. Then he wondered why he cared; the beast had seen him naked before, after all. He'd tried to keep his borrowed finery clean but it was streaked with dust and rank with sweat. He couldn't stand it a moment longer; he took off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head, shivering as the cool air struck his skin.

Chunta turned away, almost hurrying to the door. "I will leave you to bathe."

Takato kicked off his breeches. "Yes, thank you. I'll call you when I'm done."

"No need to rush."

"No, indeed," Takato said absently as the door closed, already walking toward the bath.

He tested the water. Hot but it would not stay like that for long. He slipped into the water with a groan of pleasure and saw that the tub had a ledge around the inside. A cake of rose-scented soap, unused, a washcloth and a nailbrush…

Luxuriating, washing his hair, greasy and stiff with the broth, until it felt clean to the touch, he finally found the space of time he'd needed to reflect.

So strange…fallen into a tale…why aren't I scared? Do I think I'm dreaming? Did I die in the forest or am in bed, delirious, my mind gone? Who is he, this beast? So cruel, then so kind, so terrifying but so easy to order around…Is he playing with me? Am I the mouse and I'll leave this bath and be chained naked and shivering again? That would hurt… I said I'd help him, but I don't know why I said it or how I can do that… Can I leave? Can I? It feels as though I've been here a long time already…Hungry…Only able to eat once a day and always the same food…This is a strange place… Why don't I feel more panic, more fear? Is that the spell?

He drifted into a doze, then slid under the cooling water and woke with a flail of limbs and a splutter.

He left the bath. Dried and dressed himself in the nightclothes Chunta had provided. Combed his damp hair. Then he opened the door to call for Chunta.

Terror struck him. The air outside the room was dank and icy, strange currents of twisting through it, bringing with it the stink of rot and decay. He choked and retched, then called out, voice weak, a whisper that he wanted to be a shout.

"Chunta! Chunta! Where are you?"

The whisper threading through what was now a howling wind scraped against his ears. Mine. He's mine. Do you hear me? He will be here for ever and I will not let you take him. Mine, he's mine…

Take him? He wanted to free him, that was all. Was this the one who'd cast the spell? Were they trapped here too?

He sucked in a breath, his senses swimming. The whispered voice repeating the threat or warning, echoing in his head, was terrifying. Chunta was a beast, but he was solid and real and even comforting in a way. He wanted him here to stand by his side. He called again, summoning all his strength and ended up screaming Chunta's name against the rising tempest.

To his boundless relief, he heard the tower door creak open and saw a light appear. The wind disappeared with the abruptness of a snuffed candle and the whispering stopped. He clung to the door, panting, all the good of the bath undone, his nerves jangling. This place…

Footsteps, hurrying now and Chunta was beside him a moment later. Takato wanted to throw himself at him and climb him like a tree.

"What is it? Why did you sound so scared? The only thing that can hurt you here is me and I will not do that again, I promise. Not unless you try to leave."

"No," Takato said on a sob he blushed over later, drawing Chunta back into the warm, lit bathroom. It seemed a haven after the haunted corridor. "No, Chunta, the house was…it was angry with me and I don't know why. There was a cold wind blowing and a voice warning me not to help you."

"Angry?" Chunta shook his head. "It was a draught, nothing else. There's no one here but us. The wind can sound strange at times. The house likes you. I walked through the rooms you'd visited and they were stirring to life. A day and you've changed what I thought was set in stone."

He had? Pleased but disbelieving, Takato pushed aside his fears. With Chunta in reach, his terror was fading, his certainty that someone had spoken fading with it. Except…his forehead was damp with sweat and his heart racing. He wasn't a child to be scared so easily; something had been there, menacing him. He shook his head, rejecting the comfort Chunta offered, insisting, "No. I wasn't imagining it. There was an evil presence and they spoke to me."

Slowly, as if working out a hard sum for a stern teacher, Chunta said, "The spirit who wanted me punished might not like to see you here, trying to undo what they thought they'd fastened tightly. Ignore them. You are outside their power. You've done nothing wrong."

Takato swallowed and regained some outward calm. To his mind, Chunta was innocent too and yet here he was. Spirits, ghosts…what he had sensed was chaotic emotions, not evil exactly, but confused and seeking to hurt. To scare him. Well, they'd succeeded, not that he'd admit that if they asked.

"I see. Well they've gone now and the bath is all yours, Chunta. Pour more hot water in, though; I took you at your word and soaked for a long time."

"Yes. I expected to find you dissolved into the water along with the soap."

A joke! Takato smiled, liking the way his mood had lifted with it. "I expect you to take even longer."

"Hmm."

"There was only one robe; what will you wear? You can't dress in those rags again; it'd make the bath pointless."

"In the chests in the tower room, maybe there are some garments that will fit me," Chunta said, his reluctance plain.

"I'll leave them outside the door when I find them."

He tried to leave, but the door wouldn't open no matter how hard he tugged.

"What's wrong?" Chunta asked.

"It's stuck." If it opened with a slight pull for Chunta, he'd be embarrassed but he had to admit defeat.

"Let me."

Even Chunta's strength couldn't make the door open. Takato gave him a helpless shrug. "Maybe a different spirit wants us to stay together? It might not be safe out there."

With a grumbling growl, Chunta turned, padding over to the bath. "I will take care of this nonsense you insist on and if it does not open then, I will tear the door off its hinges. I tell you again, there's no one here but us."

Takato averted his eyes as Chunta undressed, but when he heard a splash, water cascading over the sides of the bath to drain away, he busied himself with collecting the reeking clothing and, without asking permission until they were on the flames, tossed them onto the fire. The boots alone, he set aside.

The loss of his cloak still rankled. Chunta had roared at him to leave them be, but done no more than snarl when Takato told him it was too late. Takato wondered if he was relieved to have them destroyed.

He glanced over at the bath and smothered a smile. Chunta's mane of hair was a frothing mass of soap bubbles and he was struggling to wash it. His grey, rough skin seemed smoother, as if the bath had washed away more than dirt.

Hesitant, unsure of the reaction he'd get, Takato went to the tub and climbed the stairs with a half full bucket of warm water.

"Let me rinse the soap from your hair. Close your eyes."

He poured the water over Chunta's head slowly, directing the flow, then refilled the bucket and did it again. He glimpsed a broad chest, strong arms, a muscular frame. If only the skin covering them was not this thick hide… Curious, lip caught between his teeth, he reached out and stroked Chunta's shoulder with one finger. Rough, yes, but if he closed his eyes, he could imagine he touched human skin…

"What are you doing?"

He'd expected his touch to go unnoticed, light as it was against that leathery skin. "Nothing! There was a, I thought I saw—it doesn't matter. There. Now let the water out and I'll use the last of the hot water to scrub the bath clean."

Chunta shook his head. "No need. It will do that itself tomorrow, during the hour all is as it used to be. I had…I had bathed here that day to make myself ready for my bride. It will be clean again, then grow dusty, but the dirt will disappear."

So confusing! It was not just dirt; leaves, twigs, ugh, some insects, long dead (he hoped) also floated on the water. "Oh! Well, that's handy."

His bride…Antonia. Takato bit his lip. Ridiculous to feel even a little annoyed at the thought of the handsome man he'd glimpsed bathing for a woman whose suicide would doom him to this hell.

The fire under the cauldron of water had died to embers. Takato busied himself with making sure all was well, giving Chunta some privacy to get out and dry himself with what proved to be a most inadequate towel.

He looked. He had to. It was not as bad as he'd feared. The face was the worst of it, along with the skin and the curved claws tipping hands and feet. Chunta must have been a glorious sight before the curse robbed him of his youthful beauty.

Pretending he hadn't stared, he flapped his hand. "Your hair! So wild. I'll comb it out if you sit so I can reach you."

"You are not running, screaming at the sight of me?"

Takato shook his head, wondering privately why he was not. "I'm a bookseller, remember? If anyone knows that true worth lies in the words on the pages, not the cover, it's me. I saw your true face for a moment; maybe it was the spell fading or my imagination, but I know what you look like. I'm used to you like this now."

It wasn't wholly a lie.

Chunta rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm not the same as I was on the inside either. I'm changing to a beast. There are times when I can't remember how I used to be. I'm cruel and I enjoy that cruelty. I collared and kicked you. I…wish I had not."

"I startled you. So long alone…" Takato pointed at the stool. "Sit. You'll catch a chill."

"There are more towels in the cupboard."

"Cupboard?" Takato looked where Chunta pointed and frowned. Had that ornately carved cupboard been there before? No, it had not. More magic from the house? Maybe it did like him. He drew out a thick towel and used it to briskly towel Chunta's thick, unruly hair dry.

To call it matted was to compliment it. He broke the teeth of the wooden comb, then gave up. "Let me cut it."

Chunta tugged at a damp lock, his expression doubtful. "It used to be shorter but I don't know if it will stay shorn. Maybe, like the bath refreshes itself, I'll wake up with it long again."

"It may grow back? Well, if it does, it might grow back untangled, at least. I can always cut it again."

There were scissors on the dressing table when he looked. Again, they had not been there when he sat and brushed his hair, staring at the empty mirror frame.

Yes, the house wanted him to help Chunta. Were there different forces at play here, one on their side, one adversarial?

He sheared away the thick mass of hair, cropping it short and tossing the clippings onto the dying fire. They smelled vile but he wasn't leaving them on the floor. Then he set to work forcing the comb through what was left. The color seemed more natural now, dark underneath but a warm honey everywhere else. It was strange to do this task; intimate, friendly. The beast's hair clung to his fingers as it dried and he prolonged the task, idly smoothing the hair with his fingers as much as the comb until Chunta shivered.

"I'm sorry. You must be cold. There. You are…" He paused before using a word that would seem a mocking gibe. The pointed ears his haircut had revealed, the snout and the terribly sharp teeth… "Ready to face me at chess. What shall we wager? Who gets to sleep on the bed and who gets the floor with a blanket at least?"

"No." Chunta stood, letting the damp towel around his hips fall. "We will share the bed if you're happy with me as a bedmate. It's big enough. If I snore, do not kick me, though. I'm not sure how safe you'd be if you surprised me in my sleep."

He strode toward the door, hiding nothing now from Takato's view, as though he wished him to see fully what he was.

His manhood was large, but not affected by the curse as far as Takato's quick peek showed; his back had a line of hair running down the spine to a well-shaped backside. It was as if the curse had splashed him and in some places he was soaked and others had stayed dry…

The door opened without a creak and Takato scurried out on Chunta's heels, finding the hallway free of inimical spirits for now at least.

Chunta beat him in three games, once with a fool's mate.

"I can play better than this," Takato wailed. He took a gulp of cold water to cover his blushes. It made his teeth ache with the chill of it. "Can we make tea tomorrow, maybe? Tea leaves wouldn’t go off during the day, would they?"

"Tea?"

"Or is there wine? That gets better with age."

"Or turns to vinegar."

"Humph. If you don't want a commoner like me drinking your wine, say so."

"You're welcome to all I have if you cure me."

"There is one favor…"

A weary, wary look passed over the beast's face. "Gold? Jewels?"

"Huh? No. Books. Do you—is there a library here? To browse the shelves would give me so much pleasure and you can trust me to treat them with care."

"Books?" The beast stared at him in silence for so long, Takato squirmed uneasily. Then he glanced at the small bookcase. "You like books…"

"Yes, of course, I do! I told you I owned a bookshop."

"A man can own a butcher's and prefer fish to eat."

"True, but not in my case. The only down side to my profession is that sometimes people insist on buying books and I have to let them do it or starve. Other than that, I sit in my shop reading or I venture out to auctions and sales in hope of finding something extraordinary."

"Have you ever?"

"Yes! A box full of junk, oh, it was worthless, but some instinct told me to bid on it and when I got home, at the bottom, wrapped up in a linen cloth was a first edition of Sullivan's Tales of the Faerie Folk! With the color plate at the front intact and—you will think I'm lying to you, but I assure you, I'm not—signed by the author himself!" Takato exhaled. "I never had such a piece of luck before or since."

"Your eyes…"

"What about them?"

"They're sparkling. Like a sunlit sea under a blue sky."

"I—" He blushed, pleased, flattered, but uneasy too. Why was the beast complimenting him? It hadn't been said flirtatiously; it was an observation, no more, but he blushed all the same. "Thank you."

"It was a comparison not a compliment." The best reached out and picked up Takato's queen, turning it on his hand. "There is a library, well-stocked and in good order during the hour—"

"When all is as it was? You know, it's easier if you call it 'the hour'. I'll know what you mean."

"And now they're alight with mischief." Chunta smiled. "Read what you like. If there are any treasures, take them with my blessing when you go."

"Thank you!" Takato waved at the bookshelf. "Do you also like reading?"

Chunta held up his hand, flexing his long, curved nails. "I tear the pages when I turn them. I stopped trying years ago."

"You could have trimmed your nails or used more care," Takato snapped. "If you don't enjoy reading, say so!"

"I do, but I…" Chunta stirred restlessly in his chair, then said abruptly. "Read to me. Choose a book and read to me."

"Why should I waste my voice if you're not—"

"I cannot understand the words now!" Chunta roared it, but his voice sank to a shamed whisper as he continued. "I am a beast. What beast reads or plays the piano or dances? The words are lines of ink on the page. They mean nothing to me now and I cannot…I cannot bear that loss. The long hours, endless hours… Reading would have given me worlds to visit, friends to converse with, but that escape is denied me." He met Takato's gaze and his green eyes seemed lit with fire. "So I ask you again, Takato; will you read to me or will you refuse me?"

He was out of his chair before he knew it and kneeling beside the beast, grabbing his hands and staring up at him through his tears. "Chunta…"

Chunta freed one hand and stroked Takato's hair with a light, careful touch. "I like stories with happy endings. Exciting ones, though. Lots of twists and turns and a brave hero. People can die, but only if they're evil. And no ghosts. I don't like being scared."

"I know just the one." Takato bit his lip. "It's too long to read in one night, but…I can stay until it's finished, no matter what."

"Thank you." The words seemed to give the beast some trouble, but he repeated them. "Thank you, Takato."

Takato nodded, stood, brushing away the tears he'd kept from falling until his face was hidden, and went to the bookcase. He ran his finger across the spines then tugged out a volume bound in dark green, the title bright with gilt.

"'Tales of the Greenwood'. Do you remember it?"

Chunta nodded. "I do but I was a boy when I read it last. I would like to hear you tell it. Your voice is…pleasant."

"I, ah, I do a little acting now and then," Takato confessed. "We're amateurs of course, but the local newspaper said kind things about my Hamlet—never mind. I don't recall the exact words. Some nonsense about me interpreting the character in a way that brought out hidden nuances, but I don't recall it precisely…"

He settled himself in his chair and drew the candelabra closer, the golden light illuminating the pages. He cleared his throat, gave Chunta a slightly anxious smile—to think of the weight on him to make this reading more than a dry recitation!—and began.
"'Chapter One. In which our hero discovers a new home and a strange friend.
'The summer day was drawing to an end when young Simon returned across the fields to his home, a guilty look on his face, his clothing much muddied and the glory of the day somewhat dimmed by the scolding he was sure to receive for evading his tutor and going to watch the prize fight in the neighboring town…'"

He read two chapters, before yawns he couldn't hold back forced him to stop. "I'm sorry. Tomorrow. I'll read more tomorrow. I hate to leave Simon in such a predicament, but…"

"Sleep now," Chunta told him. He'd found fresh clothing in place of a nightshirt; a thick shirt in oatmeal colored wool and leather breeches. "Tomorrow, you can eat your fill and I'll show you the library."

"Lots to do," Takato said vaguely, head muzzy with tiredness. He went to the bed, draping his robe over the foot of it and climbing in wearing his long nightshirt. "Do you want to sleep by the wall?"

"No."

"Take off your breeches at least," he said as he burrowed into the warm covers, remembering how Chunta had slept fully clothed the night before. "They can't be comfortable…"

He was asleep before he heard Chunta's answer, drowned by wave after wave of exhaustion.

It wasn't natural this sleep. He knew it when his dreams began. They were clear in a way few dreams were and in them he walked beside Chunta through gardens shimmering with summer's heat, roses riotous and every color from cream to yellow to deep orange, blush-pink, scarlet…

Chunta was the beast in his dream and yet if he glanced out of the corner of his eye, overlain on that hideous face, he saw the man, good-looking in a way that made his chest tighten with yearning, lips he longed to kiss, he who'd never known the taste of another's mouth, man or woman…

They talked in his dream, and now it was only the man he saw, or sat by a pond green with waterlilies, flashing, darting, jewel-colored fish disturbing the surface with their tails. Birds trilling and no cloud to mar the deep blue of the sky.

Idyllic, perfect, false.

Not a petal of a rose was withered and no weeds showed their heads in the grass. It was a dream and yet the lack of reality troubled him enough that he twisted away from the man's warm hand, holding his as they strolled, and he ran, a wild rush, panic filling him. Something was wrong, something out of place and when he ran, he glanced back, fearful of what or who he'd see behind him. Was it the beast he knew who was the one he feared or the smiling man who seemed a stranger?

He woke on a cry, sweat beading his forehead and turned blindly in the dark to the arms of the beast, seeking comfort. That answered his question…

Chunta held him and murmured words Takato didn't hear through the pounding in his ears but the kindness in his tone calmed him.

"It wasn't real," he muttered thickly. "You, me, the garden… It was as much a prison as this house. I want the real world, Chunta. I want flies and dandelions and clouds in the sky. I want to walk with you in the gardens with the roses out and know the thorns will pierce my fingers if I pick one without looking first."

"A garden with roses? That was your nightmare? And I was with you?"

"Mm. Maybe. It was you at first, but not really you later… He was too perfect, not growling at me as you do." He realized he was snuggling close and gasped, jerking away. "Forgive me! I didn't mean to…"

"Stay close to me." The beast's voice rumbled, that purring growl a threat and a plea all at once. "I will keep you safe."

"I…"

"Dawn is coming. Lie beside me until then. Sleep or talk to me. I've asked few questions but that doesn't mean I'm not curious about you, Takato. After all this time alone, I'm not good company, but I can listen well enough."

Takato never minded talking about himself. "There isn't much to tell. I'm eight and twenty." He poked Chunta's shoulder playfully, wonderfully relaxed in this dim warmth. "Older than you, so some respect for your elders would be nice."

"Yes, my lord."

His words held a twist of amusement but some tenderness too.

"I live in a market town to the east of the city by the River Dene. Highdene, the town's called; did you ever go there? We have a theater that brings visitors from all over the kingdom and the market is famous too. There's a saying; you must know it; 'As crowded as Highdene on market day'."

"I never heard of it; town, market or theater. How long has the town been there?"

"What?" Takato blinked at the beast. "You never… I don't know how old…it…my grandparents were born there, so…"

The beast stroked his head, clumsily patting him. "I told you I have been locked away here for a long time. Let it go. A town? You said you kept a shop?"

"Yes! A bookshop. It has been in my family for three generations." Takato drew in a deep breath, scrambled to sit facing Chunta in the dim light and began to describe it, talking about the rare editions he'd found on his travels, the smell of the old books, the tucked away corner where one elderly man drowsed every day, head bobbing over an book he'd read often and would never buy because he loved the shop too much to take away his reason for visiting it. He spoke until he was hoarse; until he interrupted himself with a yawn. "Oh, I am falling asleep again, Chunta. Why did you let me babble on so much? Did I bore you?"

Head propped on his hand, the beast said, "No. I have had no one to talk to or listen to me for a long time. You could recite the alphabet and I would never tell you to stop."

With a grin, Takato began, "A, B, C…" then snuggled down beside Chunta to snatch a few more hours of slumber.

He felt the covers pulled up over him, and thought he heard a low sigh that came close to a groan, but he was too tired to ask the reason for it.

When he woke again, his dreams seemed foolish, soon forgotten. He was alone in the wide bed and on the table where they'd played chess was food on plates decorated with tiny flowers and stylized greenery, delicately pretty. He found bread so fresh it could not be cut, only torn, pats of golden butter, preserves bursting with tart sweetness, raspberry, strawberry, blackberry, slices of cold chicken and ham, tomatoes red and glossy, apples piled high in a dark blue bowl, a three-tiered cake tray with tiny cakes and pastries, cream filled, topped with chocolate, or iced in a rainbow of colors.

Coffee steamed in a jug, hot chocolate in another, tea in a third.

He wanted to eat; his mouth watered and his belly growled, but he went to the door, opening it to the same recreation of the past he had seen before.

"Chunta! Where are you? Eat with me. Break your fast with me, not alone!"

There was no reply. He ran down the hallway, heedless of his bare feet and the nightshirt flapping and stood at the head of the stairs, wide enough for six to walk side by side and not touch.

"Chunta!"

The echoes faded and he chewed his lip. Should he search or eat?

With a sigh, he returned to the tower room. He needed to eat if this was the only chance he had each day.

Still…it would have been pleasant to have company… Had Chunta forgotten his promise to show him the library too?

After eating, replete to the point where lying down seemed preferable to exercise, he dressed in fresh clothing, this time choosing black breeches and a cherry colored jacket, and resumed his search.

The days were not the same even if stayed winter, it seemed; today, wispy clouds scudded across a pale blue sky and the sun shone, if weakly. He found Chunta in the more utilitarian part of the grounds, away from the formal gardens, chopping wood by a barn. From behind, his face unseen, he seemed no more than a powerfully built man.

Whose hair gleamed bright in the sun, still thick, but softer, the ends ragged due to his inept cutting, but free of the filth and tangles.

"Chunta! I called you to eat with me. Thank you for the meal."

Chunta brought the axe down and left it buried in a log. He turned and eyed Takato with a return to the guarded wariness of before. Did he regret their closeness in the night? Takato had no experience of love, but he knew if he felt attraction it was to men. He'd buried that knowledge deep, content to pass his days without a partner. Chunta, though; as a man, he'd been about to marry a woman. Was he one who did not care who shared his bed or had the beast different desires?

Best not to pry. He had his pride to consider and he was too shy to ask questions on this matter. Too soon. Too dangerous to allow himself feelings and Chunta was…well. He wasn't part of Takato's world. Magic, a nobleman, lost in time…

"So you're awake."

"Yes." Takato gestured at the wood. "Can I help you carry it somewhere?"

"No."

"Did you…have you eaten? I left some for you; shall I bring it to you here?"

"No."

Exasperated, all but ready to stamp his foot, Takato snapped, "If I ask you if your name is Chunta will you say no to that as well?"

"Yes, because it isn't. I tried to tell—"

Takato gave a cry of pure frustration and was answered by a quiver in the thick blanket of snow on the barn roof, high above. Startled, he glanced up and saw a sheet of ice and snow break free and slide clear of the roof, dropping, about to strike him. He cowered back against the wall, but there was no escape.

"Takato!"

Chunta lunged forward, slamming his hands on either side of Takato, looming over him, shielding him, sheltering him, taking the brunt of heavy, jagged mass on his bowed back without flinching.

Their faces were so close.

Chunta shook himself like a dog, dislodging most of the snow, though it clung still to his shirt and lay thick in his hair.

"Ch…un…ta…"

He murmured it, awed, heart hammering from his escape from injury, if not death, seeing blood, red as the roses he'd dreamed of trickle down Chunta's forehead to splash on his face.

Spellbound, he looked up and could not look away.

He saw those eyes, burning now, lit from within with a twisting, lambent flame of….desire? Could it be? His body, which had never known release, never craved it, woke to a ravenous hunger. The mouth descending to his was distorted, crammed with teeth, Chunta had to tilt his head to meet Takato's lips, and it didn't matter, he didn't care—

Their lips touched, clung softly, gently, and a moment later, Takato's eyes slid closed and he drew closer to Chunta, sliding his arms around that broad chest. It was easier to kiss him now, and the sharp teeth seemed less obtrusive, less—

With jarring suddenness, he realized what he was doing, Kissing a man. A cursed beast. His body was warm with desire and he was close to—No!

Panting, he twisted free and ran, hearing a sorrowful voice call his name. "Takato! Takato! Come back! I'm sorry if I—Takato!"

He could not. If he returned he knew he would succumb to this strange attraction and he could not do that. He could not.

Sobbing, tears streaking his face, he ran, but even in his misery he ran toward the house, not the gates, and when he reached the door, it stood open, warm air, fragrant with roses spilling out, with a hauntingly sweet melody coming from deep within.

He stumbled over the threshold and stared. It was not only as it had been, but it was thronged with people, all dressed in their finest, flowers in vases making bright splashes of color, a chatter and hum of voices like bees in a meadow.

The wedding day…it had to be. An early gathering, a breakfast, the wedding…a feast. That was what should have happened.

He knew what would unfold in its place.

Antonia would be missing from the breakfast, but that was expected; she was with her friends and mother getting ready.

So why and when did she kill herself? Could he stop it happening? He stepped forward, uncertain if he was even visible. That was answered when he had to skip sideways to avoid a servant with a tray of brimming wine glasses. The servant hadn't been aware of him at all; was walking straight at him, not a flicker of surprise on his blank face. What would have happened if they'd occupied the same space? Curious, he walked forward, breathless, waiting for an accusing cry, and reached out to touch a man's arm, ready with a charming smile if needed.

He felt cloth but for an instant; the sensation registered, then was gone. The man he'd touched didn't react. Bolder now, he slapped him on the shoulder, but it was like slapping mist; his palm connected but did nothing to its target.

Should he call for Chunta? Or was this peek into the past for him alone? His tears had dried; fascinated, wary, he threaded his way through the guests and went in search of Chunta's doomed bride.

He had no way of knowing where her room was, assuming she'd stayed here the night before, but without planning it, he found himself at the end of the hallway leading to the tower.

It didn't change when the rest of the house did and he'd never questioned that, or asked why Chunta chose to live there. Nor why the collar was chained to the wall.

He'd demand answers when he saw Chunta again.

The door was shut, beyond his power to open, but as he stood, unsure of where to go next, he heard a rustle of silk and light footsteps hurrying toward him.

He turned and saw Antonia.

It had to be her; she wasn't in white; that custom was too modern for her. Instead her dark prettiness was set off by a full-skirted gown of buttercup yellow, shimmering, its low-cut bodice trimmed with lace as delicate as dew, creamy as her skin. Yellow roses in her hair; pearls at her throat and she was radiant in her happiness.

She got closer and the image of her shattered and reformed, bringing a gasp of shock from Takato. Now, her bodice was torn, gaping, held together by her hand, clutching it and crushing the priceless lace. Her cheek was stung red from a blow and tears spilled from brown eyes. Her lips were swollen, the lower one cut and her gown was crushed and smeared with dirt.

What had happened? What was he seeing? She brushed past him and he smelled roses and blood.

He followed her into the tower room as she thrust the door open with a low moan of despair.

Stood, helpless, as she went to the widest window, opened it as though craving air, breast heaving as she struggled for calm. She went to her knees before it, murmuring disjointed prayers and beseeching God to forgive her for her sin.

Sin? What had she done?

No, he realized, remembering her story. What she was about to do.

He started forward, calling her name, but he was decades too late to save her.

He saw her yellow gown billow, heard nothing, for she made no sound as she fell, then came the sickening thud and he was in his own time again, the breakfast dishes on the table, the bed rumpled from use.

He took the same faltering steps to the window that she had done and throat closing, tears gathering, he looked down, knowing he'd see nothing but snow.

He crossed himself. "May God have mercy on your soul, Antonia."

Behind him he heard the door creak as Chunta pushed it wide.

"Takato! You ran from me and I didn't know where you were. I did not mean to—" He broke off seeing Takato's face. "I made you cry? I did that?"

"No. Well, yes, but that doesn't matter. These tears…" He sniffed, longing for a handkerchief, and settled for his sleeve, a street urchin's trick, that, but better than talking with his nose running and his eyes wet. "Chunta, the house took me back to your wedding day. I saw Antonia fall from this room, this window."

"I didn't tell you that when I shared my tale," Chunta said slowly. "How could you know this is where she died?"

"Because I saw it! She was in yellow and her dress was torn, her face bruised. She'd been attacked, Chunta and she killed herself. Put the pieces together! She was raped. She took the shame of it on herself, which is terrible and rather than marry you when she was no longer pure, she killed herself. It's tragic, horrible!"

He was already learning to read the expressions on that strange face. He didn't need that knowledge to interpret Chunta's howl of agony as he threw back his head, body taut with rage and grief. There was no attempt to hold back or control his emotions; what animal did that? The beast grieved, the beast raged and as Takato watched, helpless, still shaking from what he'd witnessed, he saw the beast fall to the floor, bent over, curled in on himself, hands squeezed into fists, dreadful sounds coming from him.

His own distress forgotten, Takato crouched close beside him, not touching him, not yet, not speaking, for what was there to say?

He waited and Chunta turned to him and rested his head in Takato's lap, his tears damp on his muzzle, his eyes closed as he sobbed quietly.

So easy to stroke that thick, fair hair, to murmur nonsense, to wrap his arms around Chunta as he rose a little so they could hug, tangled together on the stone floor, with the chill breeze blowing through a wide window, carrying with it the perfume of a thousand ghost roses.

***

Later, calmer, dry-eyed, they talked, using the kitchen since the tower room was too crowded with shadows and grief. It was difficult for Takato. He had opinions and thoughts, but it wasn't his place to voice them. He let Chunta talk and offered what comfort he could.

"She was my friend. Loyal, devoted, but with such fire in her! I saw her stand up to a farmer whipping a horse pulling a loaded cart and thought she'd snatch the whip from his hand and use it on him. She was part of my life from childhood but I could never…I had no love to give her as anything but a friend."

He'd asked this before, but he asked again, wondering if Chunta would reveal more now they were on better terms. "So why did you plan to marry?"

Chunta shrugged, an empty tumbler in his hand, rolling it idly across the table, then setting it down. "I told you before. Why not? There was no one else for me and I was sure there never would be. I was…cold? No, not that. I was behind glass. Nothing touched me, not joy, not sorrow…I was content but I could not feel."

"That is not how you are in my eyes."

"You!" Chunta shook his head. "No, Takato, I could never see you through glass. You break it, shatter it, and come close to me and I want to…"

"Yes, well, going back to Antonia," Takato said hastily. He wasn't ready to talk of their kiss. Not yet. "She knew you didn't love her and she didn't mind? You're sure of that?"

"She was happy to settle for what I could give her and I knew she thought once in my bed she'd rouse me to true feeling."

Antonia was a tragic figure but Takato found himself thinking, "Is that so? Humph! I doubt it!"

Ignoble of him. He didn't care. Chunta and he hadn't known each other since childhood but for all his inexperience with love, he was sure Antonia would have received careful, kind caresses, devoid of passion. She would never have roused him the way—

The way I could?

"Would she—if she were—would she feel…unworthy of you?" Takato winced. 'I'm sorry. It wouldn't be true, but would she…I don't know her, so…"

He saw Chunta struggle to face that question. "If she'd been taken by force, she would have been so distraught I don't know what she'd do. To have it happen on that day, when all her dreams were there for the taking… I would not have cared. No, that came out wrong. I would never have rejected her. I would have protected her, shielded her. I would have dealt with it so no one knew but us, and her rapist? I would have killed him and she knew it."

"So, why…"

"I don't know. Her death led to me being cursed but I don't know why. Did I miss the signs that some evil stalked her? Did she know she was in danger but feared to tell me?"

Takato spread his hands helplessly. "You're asking me questions I can't answer. She didn't say anything; she didn't even see me, I'm sure of it. I was the ghost to her and the guests."

Chunta's eyes were unfocused as if they saw the past more clearly than the present. "I waited for her in the chapel in the grounds. Waited and saw the murmurs change from amusement that she was making me wait a little to concern, to loud mutterings. I stood there for an hour, with servants dispatched to search for her and then they brought me the news and I went to the tower and saw her lying, broken, lifeless." Chunta made a sound, a whine of sorrow. "I went a little mad. Darkness took me and when I woke I was as you see me now and I was chained to the wall of the tower room."

"What?" Chunta hadn't mentioned that. "Who chained you?"

"I don't know. The house was empty, in ruins, and I was alone. I freed myself eventually and then running headlong down the hallway, shouting for anyone, guest, servant, anyone, I passed a mirror and saw myself."

"Chunta…" Takato clasped Chunta's large hand in his, pressing it warmly. Chunta linked their fingers with a grateful look.

"I learned my limits. That I could not leave. That the house changed back each day and I soon worked out for how long and why. The rule of three? That was told me in a dream but the one who told me, I could not see and they didn't answer my questions. It didn't matter, No one came. No one—until you."

That warmed him. To be the only one who'd broken through the enchantment and came to the beast's door…"It makes no sense. The one who deserved the curse was the one who drove Antonia to her death, not you!"

"Was my distance, my detachment to blame as well?"

"No!"

"You are a fierce warrior in my defense."

Takato drew back his hand, belatedly realizing Chunta held it still, his thumb stroking it slowly. "Nonsense. I'm simply able to view the natter objectively."

"Would you like to see her portrait?"

Would he? Did he have a choice? Takato nodded and followed Chunta out of the kitchen.

For once, Chunta was ready to speak at length. "It wasn't a surprise, but an early wedding gift from her. She engaged a painter, no one famous, but who showed great promise, and she was so pleased with Hase's work she invited him to the wedding. Her estate marched with mine so she would sit for him in the morning, then come here and we would ride or talk or wander the grounds. She loved the roses best and used the petals to make perfume. She said the fragrance of the ones she grew was never as sweet. The painting was framed and hung in the gallery here, next to one of me, but Hase covered it so no one could see it. She planned to show it to me after we were married."

"Roses… I smell them often in the house. Maybe she haunts it?"

Chunta didn't say anything, but he hunched his broad shoulders as if the idea didn't appeal.

Bracing himself for the sight of a woman he'd seen die, Takato climbed the wide stairs and turned with Chunta away from their tower room over to the west wing of the house. A long gallery, the walls hung with many paintings met him. Even in decay, they would draw the eyes, but today, though the hour was over, they seemed dusty, no more, and the air held a freshness to it.

Chunta noticed; Takato saw him turn his head and raise his muzzle to sniff, as if surprised.

He saw the covered portrait but the one next to it drew his eye. Chunta… On horseback, the wind ruffling his thick hair, a smile curving his lips, strong and lean and with a face of such beauty it took Takato a moment to wrench his gaze away and turn to the Chunta he knew.

The difference should have been jarring, but it wasn't. The eyes were the same and they held the soul of the man. He smiled at the beast and reached out to brush his fingers across Chunta's hand.

"You look magnificent on a horse. Did you ever see Antonia's painting? Look beneath the cover?"

"Yes. Once. It…She was so happy in it I came close to shredding the canvas but I couldn't do it. So I covered it and never came here again."

"We don't have to do this."

"No. You saw her. That must mean something, so let me show you this. I want to share it with you, Takato."

The sheet dropped with a tug and pooled on the floor.

His first impression was one of delight; she radiated happiness, red mouth curved in a smile, brown eyes alight, alive. She wore her wedding dress and stood in the middle of a grove, trees in leaf, a red-winged bird watching her from a branch.

"She's lovely…" He paused. Slowly, as he took it in, a sense of distaste rose, obliterating his first impression. "Chunta…look at it. I saw her briefly, but you knew her for ever. Is this…"

The beast tilted his head, peering at the portrait. "What troubles you?"

"So much!" Takato said, the words popping out. "This painter saw her in her wedding dress, innocent, sweet, and made her look…tawdry."

"What?"

The painting seemed to shift as he stared. The modest neckline was lowered to the point where the pink of her nipples showed. Her smile was one of coy seduction, wanton, lewd, and the fresh yellow of her dress was dark, shadows falling across it.

The bird had become a man, smiling at her from his hiding place behind a tree, a smile so predatory Takato shivered.

Why was he seeing this perversion? This was not Antonia. It was an insult, a slap in the face.

"Do you see the man watching her? Do you?"

Chunta shook his head, still staring. "I see Antonia, smiling as she always did."

"Aah!" Frustrated, Takato stepped closer and pointed at the man. "Here. He's slight, dark, with a wisp of a moustache and sly eyes."

"From what I recall, that sounds like the artist perhaps, but you're pointing at a bird, Takato."

"The artist?" Takato turned to Chunta, pouncing on a possible suspect. "What became of him?"

"I don't know. I told you; I woke, chained, changed, alone."

"I don't trust him," Takato said darkly, operating on pure instinct now. "Antonia was raped. The painting shows her as a slut pursued by Hase. Did he misread her kindness? Did he fall in love or lust with her and want her for himself?"

"Takato, this is foolishness."

"Is it? Someone raped—"

"Stop!"

Mouth agape, Takato stared at him.

Agitated, a flush staining his cheeks, Chunta snarled, "You keep saying that and telling me what you've seen and I don't want to think of it! I didn't love her the way she wished but she was my friend and dear to me. You're saying all that time Hase was plotting, lusting and I never saw it? I didn't protect her?"

"Did you see them together often?" Takato demanded, refusing to quail in the face of the beast's anger. "Did you know him well?"

"Not often, no. The painting was done at her home and he was an artist, not well born, not famous; not important enough to socialize with."

"I'm sure he loved that," Takato said dryly.

Chunta shrugged a little dismissively. "He would have accepted it as the way the world is."

"Maybe. Or he could have fallen in love, resented you and taken his last opportunity to take her from you and…gone too far."

"Then who cursed me? Why? What was my sin?"

The anguish cut deep. Takato cupped the beast's face in his hands, ignoring the strange texture of Chunta's flesh. "None that I can see. Maybe this wasn't punishment at all, but revenge. Evil done for evil's sake."

"Then I can never atone and escape! If I did nothing wrong…" Chunta growled low in his throat, wrenching free of Takato's hold and pacing, hunched over, looking all animal in that moment. "If it was Hase, he's long dead. Beyond my reach."

"Is he? Wouldn't the curse die with him?"

"Then where is he?"

Takato glanced at the painting. Watching… "Still here? Enjoying your pain? I felt a threat, remember? And the door wouldn't open; was that to protect us?"

"What are you saying?" Chunta demanded.

Piecing together facts, suspicions and guesses to make a patchwork reality, Takato said slowly, "Two spirits…hers and his? One loving you still, one even in death set on revenge?"

Face thrust forward, sharp teeth bared, Chunta growled, "You said if he died, so would the curse! You argue in circles."

Takato lost his temper and stamped his foot. "Forgive me for trying to make sense of a situation I was thrown into against my will! I was delivering books to my friend, that was all! I wasn't looking to fall into your story and be bound to you this way." He clicked his tongue, muttering, "Usaka will be wondering where I am and worrying, not that he'd ever show it."

Chunta went still, tense. "Usaka? Who is he?"

"Hmm? Oh, he lives in the city but we've known each other for years. He's a few years older, handsome in a cold way, always smoking, addicted to his cigars. He invested money in the bookshop once when we expanded into the building next to us and he's always seemed fond of me in a—"

"I care not."

Stamp, stamp, slam and Takato was left alone, staring first at the closed door and then at a painting of a young woman smiling with enchanting sweetness.

This house made his head ache. Was Chunta jealous? Of Usaka? Did that mean…

He found himself smiling, a satisfied, petted smile, flattered and touched by the idea.

***

He left Chunta to himself for a while, and found a bench in a summerhouse, sheltered from the wind and with no doors to lock and trap him. This required thought.

Antonia. What did he know of her? Loving, a little stubborn, fierce and no weakling… If she were attacked on such a happy day, gently reared and protected as she was, her shock would have been great if it was one she'd considered a friend. She would have fought, though, fought instinctively, with all her strength. Screamed and had her mouth covered by a rough hand. Then…

He frowned. She hadn't seemed foolish. She had to know any scandal could be hushed up if a person was rich and well-connected. Would have trusted Chunta with her life. If she was virginal no longer, yes, in the eyes of the world, she was ruined, but Chunta wouldn't have been so narrow-minded and judgmental. All his wrath would have been for the assailant.

For Hase. It had to be him. The changed portrait (and who had done that?) proved it.

So where was he? The curse, the snatching of Chunta from his high position, the transformation… That involved power. Dark power. Would a struggling artist have such power? Why wouldn't he have used it already to gain fame and wealth?

Takato leaned his head against the crumbling stone of the summerhouse wall, closed his eyes and groaned. He was doing a jigsaw with no picture and half the pieces missing. Playing a turn on a violin with one string. Making soup from water and—

"You despair so easily."

He opened his eyes. Antonia sat across from him, still in her yellow dress, but it was pristine and her face was free from bruises.

A few days ago, he would have jumped and squeaked, but now he stood, as a gentleman should, and bowed to a ghost.

"Miss Antonia? Allow me to introduce—"

"I know who you are." She scowled and he saw fury in her eyes. "You are the one who did what I could not and woke Junta from his sleep."

"Junta? You mean Chunta?"

"Yes, you fool! I don't know why you call him that, but he seems to like it." Tears brimmed, sparkling on outrageously long lashes, but didn't fall. "You must save him. If you're to steal his heart from me, then that's the least you can do. Don't you dare refuse!"

"I didn't say anything!"

Antonia stood and stamped her foot. "He is in danger! While he was alone, Hase didn't care. He slept and waited, a spider in a web, but you’re stuck in this web now, little fly, as Junta and I are stuck, shaking it, breaking it, and he's coming toward you to eat you up."

She snapped her teeth and he did squeak then, though he covered it with a cough.

"What happened that day? I'm guessing and Chunta's upset and angry. You're the only one who knows the truth."

The tears fell then and the bruises bloomed dark on her face making his stomach twist with pity and anger. "Worse than you can ever imagine."

"After he…hurt you…did he run away? I'm sorry to bring up painful memories, but if this is to end, I need to know what happened."

She flinched from the intensity in his voice. "Run away? How could he do that when I killed him?"

She vanished, there, then not, and Takato was left staring at air, air scented faintly with roses.

***

In the end, he told Chunta. Who eyed him with suspicion for a moment, before sighing and slumping back in his chair by the fire.

"I could see her having the resolution for that and then being overcome with guilt. She carried a small dagger with her at her belt. It was silver, with rubies set into the hilt, but it was sharp enough. Murder? That would have made what happened well-nigh impossible to conceal even if I stood by her. The story would have spread and her reputation would have been in shreds. She would have been shunned and that would have affected me. I would not have cared, but she came from a family where such things mattered. They would have disowned her, loved though she was."

"They sound charming." Takato shook his head. "Never mind. She haunts this place and so does he. We know more now, but how did Hase get the power to do all this?"

"I want this to end," Chunta said, his voice rough. "I've changed my mind, Takato; leave. It isn't safe here. If Antonia can speak to you, will Hase be next? You say you felt his presence and it terrified you; what if he appeared like that when you were walking down the stairs and you stumbled and fell? Or if he trapped you in a room and drove you mad with terror?"

Chunta wanted him to leave? Why did that make him feel wretchedly unhappy?

"Excuse me? I'm no weak child to be so overcome, especially now I know what lies behind all this. I'd stay calm and reason with him."

"Hmm."

"As for leaving; I gave you my word I would help you."

"I release you from that promise."

"I make it again!"

"Why do you fight me so?"

"Because you're un unreasonable beast and I—" He swallowed back the words begging to be said; I'm falling in love with you. "I refuse to be bullied by you."

Chunta stood and walked over to the bed. Bending, he reached under it and drew out a dusty bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

"I put this here when I brought up the food this morning. You sleep soundly, my lord. Such sweet little snores…"

"I do not—"

"You wondered if it would stay drinkable and there's only one way to find out."

The remnants of breakfast were on the table still. Takato stared at them, then gasped. "The food is still fresh, Chunta. I'm so used to that being the case that it never struck me. But see; the bread isn't even stale from being left uncovered."

"I saw. I noticed. I told you that the house was changing, Takato. That gives me hope."

"Yet you wanted me to go?"

"Change bought with your life or sanity? No. I'd sooner stay in this hell for eternity than see you harmed."

"Chunta…" Takato gestured at the bottle, absurdly touched by that sentiment. "Open it, then and if it's drinkable, we'll toast to an end to this and peace for those who deserve it."

The wine was rich, mellow, soft against his tongue. "Ah! This is delicious, Chunta."

"It was a good year."

"What year was that? No, don't tell me, just top up my glass."

"Drunkard," Chunta teased him.

"I have a strong head," Takato informed him loftily.

He might have got away with that half-truth if Chunta had drunk his share of the bottle instead of pouring a small glass and sipping it. Takato took care of the rest and his last clear recollection was of insisting Chunta dance with him as he showed him the steps to the waltz, a dance Chunta didn't know but seemed happy to learn.

Held in Chunta's arms, smiling up at him as the tower room became a ballroom when he closed his eyes and rested his head against a broad shoulder, the vast space dazzling with hundreds of candles, musicians playing tunes that set the feet to tapping.

He swayed and clung and slowly their movements stopped and he stood, locked in Chunta's arms, scared to raise his head because the face of the beast was no longer one he feared or shrank from.

Chunta took the decision from him. Long fingers tipped his chin up and Chunta kissed him, gently, but with growing hunger.

He remembered kissing him back, senses swimming, then nothing more.

He woke in the darkness, in their bed, nestled close to Chunta, both naked.

When his senses returned, he tried to keep still, but it was impossible. Chunta stirred, giving a low, satisfied growl and drew him closer still.

What had happened? How potent had that wine been that a bottle of it had left him so tipsy?

He was suffering no ill effects though, He was sleepy, his mouth dry, but his head didn't ache and his stomach was settled.

He was also achingly hard.

"Ch-Chunta?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you awake?"

"A foolish question since I answered you."

"I suppose it is, but…if you are…tell me what happened. Please? We were dancing and you…"

"Kissed you," Chunta said. He stroked Takato's back, long, sure strokes, possessive strokes. "I'm glad you didn't forget my kisses."

"And then?" Takato whispered, wondering if he wanted to know.

"You fell asleep in my arms."

"I am naked! Did I strip before falling asleep or did you do that?"

"More of a joint effort."

"Are you laughing at me?" Takato demanded.

"A little, yes."

"Did you…did we, uh…"

"Make love?" Chunta rubbed his muzzle against Takato's neck, as if marking him with scent. "Takato, if I'd taken your body with mine, you would know it. Would feel it in every part of you. Besides, it's only been a few hours since you passed out—"

"Fell asleep!"

"When I make love to you, I will not be satisfied with a few hours. I would spend the night learning every line of your body, every place on it that brought a gasp to your lips, a sparkle to your eyes. I would drain you until you were weak and whimpering and mine. You lay next to me and you snuggled in close, but I did nothing to you beyond hold you. Sweet torment, Takato. Lying beside you, not touching you, is sweet, sweet torment."

Takato swallowed. In the friendly cover of darkness, with no one able to see his blushes, could he be honest?

"You have suffered too much already, Chunta. I would not add to your pain."

That was as far as he could go and even that boldness had his cheeks burning hotly, his heart pounding.

This was…Chunta was a beast, cursed…They were dealing with the ghost of Chunta's betrothed, an enemy whose motives were unclear but whose malice seemed undying and the very house itself seemed able to shift and change but by whose will he did not know.

This was madness. They should not do this.

"Takato—"

He couldn't speak, but he could move. A little. A small press forward, letting Chunta feel—

"You will not sleep again this night, Takato. I will not let you slip through my hands that way."

Sleep was optional. Making love to Chunta had become essential.

He closed the door firmly on every doubt and question and when Chunta's lips met his, he responded with all the fervor he had in him.

He was used to it now; angling his face just so to avoid the thrust of the muzzle. Careful with his tongue against the sharp teeth… He wasn't used to Chunta's caresses, bolder than he'd expected, as if pent-up desires had overflowed. His flesh woke, responding to the light scratches from Chunta's long, curved nails and the unexpected softness of the back of Chunta's hand as it was drawn across his stomach, low down, so low…

"You will lie with me willingly, Takato? A beast like me, ugly and misshapen?" The vulnerability in those halting questions caught at his heart.

"Strength, kindness, endurance…none of those are ugly and neither are you in my eyes. Do you think I want the darkness to pretend you're as you were? No! It's because I'm shy. Light a candle, Chunta. Light a dozen! Let me see you and if I turn away, it's because I—I don't want you to see me, shameless, needy, hungry for you."

He felt the tension leave Chunta and heard a low chuckle. "I don't need a candle, Takato. I can see in the dark. I see your blushes and the wildness in your eyes and I feel…" His hand moved lower, a light touch, and he sighed with delight. "You're hard for me, Takato."

"No, no, it's not like that… What do you mean, you can see—Chunta!"

He struggled, panting, but half-heartedly, willing Chunta to take that hardness within the tight grasp of his hand and claim it as his.

Chunta heard his unspoken pleas; he swept his hand down, gripped and caressed and Takato squeezed his eyes tight, fighting a wave of arousal that came close to defeating his resolve not to find pleasure before Chunta.

He'd sometimes wondered what it would be like to experience this. He'd pictured a shadowy shape, a man who would be literate, handsome, quiet of voice, affectionate considerate…

As Chunta pushed him to his back and kneeling over him growled deep and rough, bending his head to nuzzle and lick and nip, leaving a trail of hot kisses from his throat to the straining hardness painting his stomach wet, that pastel fantasy winked out of existence, replaced by what he truly wanted, no, craved.

This. This strength and ardor, this consuming passion, the murmured, muttered praise and openly voiced need. He wanted Chunta's roughness that carried no risk, because for all the scratches and bite marks left on him, the skin wasn't broken and the sensations ignited, then faded. He wanted Chunta's confidence that meant his inexperience and shyness didn't matter. Something told him this was new for Chunta too, but he seemed to learn quickly.

On the rumpled sheets, the pillows sliding, they moved together, a growing frenzy glossing over the moments when Takato was caught between need and embarrassment, batting Chunta's roving, exploring hands away, then crying out as Chunta refused to allow that. He was allowed no escape. Chunta was man, not beast, but he had an animal's innocence, if that was the word, when it came to what he did. He sought out where the musk of Takato's arousal was strongest and used his muzzle and tongue to take that scent to himself.

That led to Takato on his belly, clawing the sheets, squirming wildly as he was licked open, dark, secret places, Chunta whining, excitedly, plunging his tongue into Takato's hole to loosen it because his nails were too sharp…then replacing that wet, limber softness with his cock, rigid, thick, long.

There was no one to hear if he screamed but the man responsible for that scream. The tower room seemed to wrap around them, a haven, for this one night at least, safe, inviolate.

Takato, on his knees, on his back, astride Chunta, took that thickness deep and threw his head back to keen out his joy.

His climaxes blurred, his body was weak with pleasure, his skin tingling, alive. He clasped Chunta to him, sobbing his name, biting his shoulder as his exhausted body quivered and yielded the last creamy drops of his come.

"No more," he murmured, gentling his words with a kiss. "Please, Chunta…I can give you no more tonight."

"It isn't night." The shutters stood open and Chunta turned him to see the pale grey sky flush rose and gold. "It's dawn and you can sleep now, my lord, my love, but let me bathe you first."

"Bathe?" He snuggled into sweat-damp sheets and yawned. "Too sleepy…"

He heard Chunta leave and fell into a doze, barely registering Chunta's return. He was scooped into strong arms and carried through hallways that were glowing with the sunrise, perfect, though it was surely too early for that, and into the bathroom. The bath was half full, the water warm, not hot, but against his heated skin, it was soothing. The wash he got left his scratch-marked skin stinging but Chunta was careful with him, turning the mundane task into an act of love, chasing water droplets with his tongue and making Takato smile sleepily.

Chunta helped him out and wrapped him in a thick towel, then carried him back to their bed.

"I will bathe and come back to you soon. Sleep now."

"Mmm…"

A light touch on his hair, smoothing it, and Chunta was gone.

***

He woke with a sense that the slightest movement would bring a reminder that all pleasure had a price, but his discomfort was forgotten when he saw Chunta.

"Chunta! What? How did you—" He sat up and stared, open-mouthed and astonished.

Human. Handsome, straight of limb, dressed in clean, rich clothes that set off a body still strong but capable of grace and expressive gestures.

"The curse has gone." Chunta smiled at him. "It must have been what we did last night. I thought that might do the trick."

That was an odd way to describe those warm, rich hours of intimacy and connection. Takato let it pass; Chunta had to be dazed with joy at his release from his undeserved captivity.

"I'm so happy for you." He smiled, unable to look away from this new Chunta. "Though, strange though it is to say, I will miss the beast."

"Foolish of you."

Chunta had used those words last night, but they'd been tender, amused; now they were said with a curl of the lip. "Is it? I fell in love with you in that form, after all."

"So you did."

Chunta seemed so…cool to him this morning. Why was he not rushing over to embrace him, to kiss him? Was this the distant man Antonia had failed to rouse to life?

Takato's stomach rumbled and he patted it. "All the exertion last night… Shall we go to the kitchen and eat? Tell me I haven't missed the hour—no, of course! If the curse has ended, the house will be…" He paused. "Though if it has been decades since the curse, is the house still whole or is it crumbling with neglect?"

Chunta scowled. "So many questions. It's late since you slept so soundly, and the house changed, then back again. The food is rotting as we speak, so you'll go hungry."

Takato glanced at the table. The food that had been there was gone, the plates empty.

"But, if you brought some here from the kitchen, it would have stayed fresh, I'm sure."

"Do I look like a maid? A servant?"

"Chunta!"

The frown disappeared, replaced by a charming smile. "Forgive me. I'm still adjusting to the change."

"Of course." Takato was naked and his clothes out of reach. He was reluctant to leave the bed and bare himself to Chunta's gaze but he wasn't sure why. There was no part of him Chunta hadn't seen, after all. "I will, uh…What shall we do?"

"You could leave now your task is done," Chunta suggested and turned away, through the door and gone before a shocked, hurt Takato found words to answer him.

Alone, he dressed, moaning softly at the pain stabbing through him. His backside was tender, his hole throbbing hotly. He didn't regret the excesses of the night before, but it would have been pleasant to be pampered and spoiled a little. Chunta had been assiduous in his attentions, bathing him with such care and now…

Fool! This isn't right! Something is amiss here and you're blind to it!

He didn't want to listen to that voice, but he couldn't ignore it.

Chunta, his Chunta, would never act this way. If the change was the result of the curse disappearing, well, it was a change he couldn't fix.

If something else had caused it…

He left the room and found the mood of the house had altered to a tense watchfulness. Odd creaks made him jump; stray, icy breezes came from nowhere. He peeked into a room and found it desolate, decayed. The house had been moving to spring in some ways; now it had stepped back into winter.

Why? The closer he and Chunta had become, the more the house liked it; why had their lovemaking not left its mark? Why had the house resented it?

He tiptoed along the hallways and realized he was scared of meeting Chunta. How foolish…or should he trust his instincts?

The gallery was close by and he went into it, drawn by a compulsion he didn't fight. He stood by the two portraits and sucked in a startled breath of horror, his gaze going from one to the other.

Antonia's showed her standing over Hase's lifeless body, blood dripping from her dagger. Her face cold, triumphant, held no guilt.

Chunta was still astride his horse but he held a crop and the horse's flanks were streaked with blood, its eyes wide, rolling with fear. His face was contorted with rage, making it ugly.

Forcing himself to stay calm, Takato studied them carefully. What message did they convey? Who changed them? Three forces at play; Hase, Antonia and the house itself, perhaps…

"I'm a bookseller," he said under his breath. "This is all beyond me."

He paced the gallery, failing to make sense of any of it, then returned to the paintings.

"Show me something useful! I know Antonia killed Hase, but why is Chunta cruel in the picture? He was unkind to me at the start but since then, he's shown me his true self and I have…I love him. Why is he different now? I don't want him like this! Free of the curse, yes, but still my beast, still in love with me."

He glared at Chunta astride the horse, then blinked. Not Chunta. Hase. For the space of a breath, it was the artist astride the horse, wearing Chunta's clothes…

Terror struck at him then, in that sunlit gallery, dust motes hanging in the air, no sound but his rapid breathing as the truth dawned on him.

Then he spun around and saw Chunta—no, Hase posing as him—a few feet away, smiling at him with such malice he froze, a rabbit in the grip of a wolf, helpless, fear-taken.

"You should have left. I told you to go."

Strength returned in a flood. "You tell me to do nothing! You are evil, pure evil. Where is Chunta? What have you done to him?"

Hase flicked elegant fingers dismissively, his eyes watchful. "Fooled him as I fooled you. Told him his lovemaking had so sickened me I was leaving and watched his heart break. It was amusing. I have so little to entertain me now. He'd become used to his state; she knows how to evade me and hide, with the house giving her shelter… You were a gift, foolish, trusting, so ready to fall in love. I should thank you for the spice you lent to the long, empty days here, I suppose."

"You've been suffering too… The three of you, all trapped here… You sinned and didn't care, poor Antonia thought she had and paid the price…and Chunta! He is innocent and he's—" Anger choked him. "How dare you use his face to hurt me and use mine to hurt him!"

Hase yawned. "Now, you're less amusing."

"I will end this nightmare," Takato told him and wished it was more than bravado. "Send Antonia to heaven, you to hell and let Chunta and I leave to live out our lives."

"How?"

The blunt question had him gaping. How indeed?

"One last chance," Hase told him. "Go to the gates, keep walking, and go back to your life. The spell will not hold you. Go and forget him."

"Is that what you want?" Takato saw a small opening and sought to widen it. "To stay here and do…nothing? Chunta can at least feel the air on his face, pick up an axe and chop wood, sit by the fire and feel its warmth, eat good food… You're a ghost, powerless, impotent. You can gloat and sneer, but after all this time, is that really sufficient reason to keep this torment going?"

"Quiet, you fool."

Takato laughed in his face. "No! I like to talk and I ask you this; did you love her? Hate him? Why are they suffering for no worse sin than not loving you in her case or noticing you in his? You raped her! On her wedding day, you spoiled everything and she died in grief and guilt and pain. You are the only one who should suffer, Hase! There's no repentance in you. You're still trying to hurt them and why? For the love of God, tell me why?"

The figure in front of his shifted and he saw Hase properly for the first time. It was a relief. To see those green eyes lit with hatred, not love, was horrible.

"Because I'm not the one keeping us here. She is."

"What? She? Antonia? How dare you blame her!"

Hase sighed, seeming diminished now, taller than Takato but skinny, scruffy. "She didn't know she was doing it. She won't listen when I tell her, but it's true. I raped her, yes. I didn't mean to. I loved her, or I wanted her…so long ago now that I can't recall the truth of it. She was wasted on your precious lord. He didn't care for her, didn't see her. I did. She posed for me and I saw the passion his indifference would destroy, the love she had that he would turn away from and I tried to—I went too far and couldn't stop—"

"You disgust me. Don't make excuses for such an unforgivable act."

"I've begged her to forgive me and she won't. Now, she won't even let me do that." Hase snarled, lips peeling back. "I hurt her, yes, and she stabbed me. Her blood and mine, hatred and fear and lust and despair… We made the spell, cast the curse between us without realizing it and when we died we were tethered to this place. Junta is a beast because if she can't have him, no one else should either! The way to end this is for her to forgive me, and let him go to you, but she never will."

Aghast, struggling to make sense of it all, distrustful, yet accepting, Takato shook his head and stepped back. "I can't—I need to think."

"You want time?" Hase shrugged. "There's plenty of that. Take eternity if you like."

He vanished as Antonia had done, an abrupt disappearance that left Takato alone with a head full of tumultuous thoughts.

And a single aim; to find Chunta. His Chunta.

***

The house helped him there. He realized as he raced along the hallways, up and down staircases, calling, searching, that the house was Chunta's spirit in a way. He trusted it. He thought now that the malevolence he'd sensed outside the bathroom was Antonia and it was the house who'd kept them locked in, safe, together, but he was traversing quicksand, unsure what was sold ground and what was deceptive, shifting.

As he ran, candles flared to life, guiding him, an arrow of light pointing toward the master of the house.

He found Chunta where he should have looked first; the tower room, slumped in his chair, staring into the fire.

"So you're still here? Did you get lost on the way out?"

"No time for that nonsense!" It got him Chunta's attention at least. "Hase came to you, looking like me. Did the same with me, but it was you."

"What?"

Takato considered what he'd said to be perfectly clear but he slowed down and explained it again.

Chunta glared at him, still resentful, still suspicious. Takato couldn't blame him. "Then how do I know it's you now and not him fooling me again?"

"Did he touch you?" Takato demanded.

"No…"

"He cannot. Neither can she. But I can touch you, Chunta and I will." He strode across the room, grabbed Chunta's face and kissed him with a fierce love behind the press of his lips, impatient for this nightmare to end and their lives together truly begin. Because he knew that was the only way they would be happy; together. "There. If you don't know what my kisses are like after last night, I give up on you, you foolish beast."

"Takato?" Chunta's coldness melted and he pulled Takato onto his lap, enclosing him in strong arms, kissing him again and again until Takato squirmed and protested.

"I have more to tell you! And ow, sitting is…uh, that is…"

"Are you in pain? From our lovemaking? I hurt you?"

The quick, worried questions did more to reassure Takato than the kisses. Hase could not have even pretended to care. "I'm in some discomfort but it was worth it. Now let me stand and tell you what Hase shared. I need your thoughts on this, Chunta. It's a maze we can't escape alone. Let's work together to find a way out."

After an hour, they were no closer to a solution.

"If what he said is true, it all lies with Antonia, but she has never shown herself to me. I have no way to compel her to appear," Chunta said slowly.

"No… She came to me when she wanted to. She didn't seem unfriendly… A little possessive but she asked me to free you…" He trailed off. Had that been more deception to make him see her as an ally? Or did she truly not know what she had done and was still doing?

Chunta stood, head flung back. "Antonia, if you're listening, end this. I will never give you my heart. It belongs to Takato. Your revenge has gone on long enough. My friend, my dear friend, be at peace."

Takato rolled his eyes despite a glow of delight at Chunta's declaration of love. "That was not convincing in the slightest."

"Then what do you suggest?" Chunta demanded.

"We leave. Both of us. Now." Takato nodded firmly. "Hase told me the spells here couldn't hold me. I say they can't hold you either! Hold my hand and we will force our way past this barrier. I don't care who made it; we will break it down and be free."

"And the two of them?"

"Let them find their own way to the fate their actions have earned them."

"You don't mean that," Chunta said, hugging him close. "You're too tender-hearted to abandon them, but I agree, it might bring them both out and we can talk, the four of us and maybe find some common ground."

They left the tower room with no difficulty and walked to the top of the stairs. Takato spared a thought for the library he'd never seen, but he was too eager to escape to suggest a detour.

He hesitated, nonetheless before taking that first step down. Something warned him of danger and he grabbed Chunta's arm, hauling him back.

"Chunta!"

The air thickened behind them, forcing them forward and still clutching Chunta's arm Takato fell, crying out in despair.

The steps were wide and long. Falling from top to bottom would likely kill him, but he could not find anything to grab and Chunta had stumbled forward too and was falling with him.

He waited for the first stunning impact but it never came. A wind rose, swirling around them, cushioning them. They regained their footing and with that vengeful push at their backs and the wind to counteract it, they all but ran down the steps, breathless, still linked.

"That was—"

"Terrifying." Takato turned and bowed, feeling a little foolish but it needed to be said. "Thank you, whoever you are."

"Yes, but now run, Takato. Run." Chunta caught his hand and tugged, heading for the massive door.

Takato expected it to be locked but Chunta grabbed the handle and growled. "Open for us. My house. My door. Open!"

It swung wide, but it was as well they darted through, for it slammed behind them with a vicious bang.

Outside, the sky was dark with swirling clouds and hail fell in sheets, striking their exposed skin sharply.

"To the gate!" Chunta shouted, fighting to be heard over the howling wind. "Do not let go of my hand! Do not leave me!"

"Never!"

They struggled forward, a distance they should have covered in a few minutes an arduous trek, each yard gained a small triumph.

Eventually, finally, they reached the gates. How long since he walked through them in search of a haven? Takato had a feeling it was longer than he thought; that time here ran differently, but that was not his concern now.

Chunta took hold of the gate, locking his fingers around it. "I can go no further."

"I can and I will take you with me or stay here with you!" Takato yelled, striving to be heard.

Bold words, but he told himself they were true. The gates were barred now and to raise that bar would require letting go of each other.

No. Each using one hand, the hail spattering their faces spitefully, they lifted the bar clear. Takato flexed a hand so numb it had lost all feeling and pulled one gate toward him.

"Now! Quickly!" He slipped through with a cry of relief, but felt his fingers slide free of Chunta's grasp. "No!" He turned back, cold fingers scrabbling for Chunta's, but Chunta closed his hand into a fist.

"What are you doing?" he screamed. "With me, Chunta! I won't leave you. I promised!"

"I wish there was another way, but there isn't. I can feel the barrier blocking my way. She will never let me go and I won't let you share my hell."

"It wouldn't be hell if we were together!"

Chunta shook his head, tears falling, freezing on his face, his muzzle white with the soft snow that had replaced the driving hail. Without speaking, he pulled the gate toward him and let the bar drop into place. The clang of metal on metal was like a bell tolling, mournful, final.

"Thank you, Takato. I'll never forget loving you."

"What? No! Chunta, I love you too! Please, let me in. Let me—"

The blizzard swirled around him, blinding him, and when Takato lurched forward to grab the gates, to shake them, pound on them, demand to be let in, he fell forward onto bare green grass, fragrant with early bluebells, wound amongst the blades.

Dazed, he wiped the snow from his face and stared around him. He was in the wood, but there was no house, no gates, no Chunta.

Sobbing, he pounded his fists against the earth, tearing at the flowers, desolation and grief filling him until there was no room for any other emotion. He sobbed until his eyes were swollen and his throat raw but he was as alone when he stopped as he was when he began.

Drawing in deep, shuddering breaths, he stood, swaying, weak and exhausted.

"I will not let this be the end, Chunta. I will not forget you or our love. Do you hear me, beast? Do you?"

He found a stone, sharp-edged enough to blaze the tree, peeling back the bark, and let the sun guide him home. He marked his trail, blazing tree after tree, and when he reached the road, he built a cairn, knee-high so he could find his way back.

Then he followed the road back to his town and his old life, rebellion burning bright in his heart.

"Stupid, self-sacrificing beast! Idiot Chunta! How dare you! How….Chunta…"

It turned out he still had more tears to shed.

***
Chunta turned from the gates, chest heaving with sobs, then straightened, wiping the tears from his face. "He's gone. Now leave, Antonia, leave, Hase. There is nothing for either of you here. My suffering cannot be greater than it is in this moment if that is what you wish to see."

They shimmered into his view and he saw their faces.

"Junta, my love…"

"Not that. My friend, but now? Not even that."

"Forgive me…"

"I can say the words to both of you, but do I feel forgiveness? No. You put me through this and none of it was my doing. Trapped me here in this guise, made me send away the man I loved… I wish you gone."

They exchanged glances. "We will go to whatever place awaits us, but your fate needs to change," Antonia said. "I think we have power enough to do that."

Hase shrugged. "We can try. What do you want? To look as you once did? To leave, but into the same time you once lived in, centuries before he was born, or to stay here, maybe for ever, truly alone, and hope maybe he'll return. I'll grant one wish and she should be able to do the other."

"Then I wish…to look as I did and to wait here."

Antonia made a small, hurt sound. "You love him so much? He will forget you!"

"It doesn't matter. I won't give up the smallest chance that we might be together again."

He'd made his choice.

***
Takato's return, months after he left, had become old news, though he still got sidelong glances from some and his family had quietly, gently, refused to listen to what they thought of as the babblings of a lunatic.

Usaka was unsympathetic but at least let him talk.

"If I accept it as truth, and you're not a liar, then you can forget him, allow this to sour your life, or go back. Three choices."

Dully, staring at the wineglass he held and unable to forget another bottle shared with Chunta, Takato muttered, "The house vanished. I told you that."

"But it was real once."

He nodded. He'd researched it and found some few scant references to the house and its master along with the tragedy, but they were confused and contradictory.

Not surprising; it'd happened centuries earlier.

"Then on the same day you found him before, go back to the woods and find him again."

"That's months away!"

"I can't help that," Usaka told him and lit another cigar, the smoke thick enough to drive Takato out of the room.

***

He told no one of his plans, but filled a sack with books and set out, this time on foot, at dawn. The town's streets were misty, the air chill, but he strode forward, intent on his purpose.

The cairn was there, though tumbled down; his blazes still marked the trees. He touched each one as he passed, murmuring an apology for his vandalism and those trees that had not yet lost their leaves rustled, a wind stirring them in what seemed like forgiveness.

At the final blaze, was nothing but trees, bare earth and the death of hope.

Still; it was early. He could wait. He drew out an apple from his pocket, a book to read, and settled down with a tree at his back.

The hours passed. Surely it hadn't been this late when—

A flake fluttered down. Another. It was snowing when none was expected and Takato leaped to his feet, heart hammering.

He blinked and the gates were there. Hesitant, unable to believe it after months of loneliness, night after night restless, yearning for the touch of a hand that never came, the sound of his name spoken on a growl, he stepped forward.

"Chunta! Chunta!" He rattled the locked gates and drew breath to yell again.

Through the thick, soft flakes, he saw a familiar figure and his breath caught on a sigh of longing.

Chunta, walking, no, running, coming toward him, not as the beast, but the man Takato had never known, not truly. For a moment, he saw the beast and bid him farewell, then the gates swung open and he stepped through and into Chunta's arms.

"You came back to me."

"It's you? Is it you? No trick, no spell?"

Chunta smiled. "If I kiss you, will you believe it's me?"

"Maybe…"

The kisses, many of them, were convincing. They stood, close enough that the snowflakes couldn't come between them and smiled at each other, shyly, almost hesitant.

"How is it that you're no longer the beast, Chunta?"

"I have been like this since the gates closed on you all those years ago. Each year, I came to wait…"

"What? It has been a few months for me! I came on the first anniversary of that day!"

"For me, three years have passed."

Three years… Takato held him closer. "What of the other two?"

"Gone. They faded away when the gates closed on you and I hope they're at peace, but I don't sense them here. The house is whole again and the seasons come and go as they should. I can plant vegetables, cook food that isn't from that wedding feast…"

"And can you leave?" Takato turned to the gates. "Try it! Come and let me show you my world, Chunta!"

Chunta gave him a doubtful, sorrowful look. "Takato…"

"Try!"

Chunta walked forward and paused. "I cannot," he said quietly. "In your world, I'm dust and the house has gone. I sacrificed my happiness with you to let you go and for the sake of the ghosts who were set free too, but I can't change that truth, Takato. We live in different times."

"Then…"

"If you choose to stay, the gates will close and never open again. We'll have this house and land and I think time might start again and we'll age and die, but you'll never see your family again, your friends, your bookshop."

"If I choose… Will it be my choice this time, Chunta," Takato demanded. "Or will you play the noble lord and make that choice for me? I cried! I thought I'd lost you! I missed you'"

"You think I did not?" Chunta ran his hands through his hair, longer now, his features becoming familiar as Takato studied them, as if the beast and this handsome lord had merged in his thoughts. "I raged and howled and suffered, but I knew you were safe and that was all that mattered."

"Yet you came to the gate each year."

"I would never have given up hope of seeing you once more, but Takato, this has to be the last time. Hurry; one more kiss, then leave while you can."

"Idiot beast," Takato said. He picked up his sack of books. "I'm freezing. Let's go inside, Chunta. Let's go home."

***

Did they have a happy ending? The years passed and they grew old, as people do. But perhaps a little slower to age than most. They tended the gardens and walked through orchards and woods, sat by the fire and read, made love as the mood took them, which was often, and when their story ended, they turned the final page together.

It seems they did.

The End