It is never too late to be a better man. Her words carried with Don as he hurtled through the shadows, the candlelight lost on the gray, granular stone.

How could he tell her that there was no better to be found in a heart full of darkness and a mind awash with hell?

He was in awe of her. Scolding him one minute, encouraging him the next. Her soothing voice touched the cold, unanimated parts of him. Elle made him yearn for the life he mourned – for the former man he grieved. He could brandish his figurative claws and hiss through his teeth like any wild beast, and still, she would not be dissuaded.

Having no real illusions that things could turn out differently for him, it was a pleasant thought all the same to think that Elle could adhere to his darker side – the side he abhorred most. That she could accept his vices and physical imperfections.

A ravaged man at best, rife with wrongs, he knew not how to obtain peace. There were no rights to be had for a man like him. No expectations of redemption. No truce with his demons. His every transgression lurked in the dark chambers of his mind, riding his tailcoat of darkness, tied with a heap of grief – and it always led to this unvarying impasse that was his life.

Affliction came in many variations and no amount of ale – or a beautifully receptive woman of heedless tendencies, could keep such horrors at bay. For Don, they were in the form of flat, empty eyes that dominated pale faces riveted with fear. It was the bloodied and mangled bodies strewn amid a devastated village, and the dejected cries of the brokenhearted hardly discerned over a raging fire.

Stumbling mid-stride, a ragged breath escaped him as he braced a clenched fist against the harsh stone; his chest tightening in correlation to the haunting images pressing with unimaginable pain against his skull.

          You have not harmed me.

But he would. It didn't matter that Elle filled him with warmth and commotion. Or that her gentle presence inspired mirth and idealism. Or that she was the very thing he never knew he needed in this forlorn and impaired life. He did not deserve her kindness and wide-eyed innocence.

It was only a matter of time before his control slipped.

And then the beast would get her too.

********************

Sleep eluded Elle, though exhaustion pressed behind her tired eyes, the late hour demanding she retire to the bed.

       His bed, a small voice corrected.

Unable to bring herself to do as fatigue entreated, she elected to pace a maddening groove before the hearth, her skirts swaying about her ankles as her restless mind recounted their earlier exchange.

Anger still burned at the back of her throat, alongside traces of ash wafting from the simmering fire. It was an emotion she rarely had the pleasure to alight upon, but Rossetti had the ability to rouse such said emotion, and likewise, a fundamental desire to reach the shattered parts of him.

This hardened and unfeeling monster, whose beautifully flawed mouth and gentle, coaxing hands rebutted all he alleged to be, was damaged in ways she feared could not be repaired. But there was a willing tenderness in him that disproved his villainous proclamations. The compassion and gentleness he insisted on not possessing, albeit imparting, hinted at hopeful vestiges of the man he used to be.

With a weary sigh, Elle turned away from the hearth and, taking a few tentative steps, collided with an item of furniture. Smoothing her hands over its solid, sturdy frame, she discovered a piece fit to accommodate a very large man. Sinking into its plush seat, she curled her legs and many skirts beneath her, wondering how many times Rossetti had reclined in this very chair, deliberating things before a crackling fire.

           I have snuffed lives just as you would extinguish a candle. I was what stood between innocence and evil, and it was the latter, little one, that I was more eager to oblige.

Having an affinity for pushing others away, Rossetti seemed hell-bent on doing the same to her. The grim admission had been a strategic effort on his part to thwart her, to convince her that he was every bit the irredeemable monster, and perhaps there were some unfavorable truths to him that remained to be seen, or in her case – perceived, but she was more determined than ever to pry them from him.

She hardly knew the man, surely not enough to warrant this sudden interest in him, but she knew rejection and she knew pain, and that medley of darkness gestured compelling and compassionate things to her heart – things she struggled to decipher or put a name to. They both were a deviation from what was considered normal, whatever that may be, yet had found each other in a critically harsh and uncompromising world. And Rossetti may be constructed of surly edges, to which she would undoubtedly hold him accountable for, but she would not be moved to fear by harsh words and a mercurial temper.

          What happened to you? Elle thought as her head lolled against the cushion at her back. What catalyst had taken place before the dust had settled and the darkness had invaded? What had transpired for Rossetti to have relinquished all hope?

        He gave his heart to a de Ceville witch.

It was that thought, accompanied with a tremor down her spine, that idled on her mind as she at last, fell asleep.

******************

It was a few hours until sunrise when Don opted to return to his chambers. Having spent a good duration of the night keeping vigilance over his inebriated guests, who ultimately succumbed to their greedy consumption of ale, surmised that they presently posed no threat.

Come morning, he would relish in their departure, until then, he would have to contend with whatever came his way.

With Givens relieving his post, he ventured out to the stables and retrieved Elle's staff where he had secured it to his saddle. Admittedly, he did not have the presence of mind to grab it upon their arrival and made a mental note to be more mindful of the item as he proceeded to his chambers, every muscle protesting with exhaustion.

Recalling his rancor with her, his expression turned rueful. If anyone was undeserving of his spite and stinging words, it was Elle.

Though petite of stature, her heart was remarkably big despite how ungenerous fate had been to her. Entrusting her with unseeing eyes seemed an onerous responsibility for one so innocent and trusting amid a world riddled with dangers. It made her desirable prey for bloodthirsty wolves such as the ones currently slumped around his table.

           And men like you? A derisive voice taunted.

Men like him? As if there were any striking distinctions between him and the men that occupied his hall.

          She doesn't seem to think so, another thought rivaled.

Don was absolutely convinced that Elle had not the slightest inclination as to the evil that permeated the world, therefore, how could she possibly rule him out?

His chamber door suddenly emerged in the dim candlelight, flanked by stone walls and shifting shadows that could almost pass as vengeful spirits. Taking hold of the latch, he paused, but when met with silence from the other side, proceeded inward.

The room was cast in a soft gold that volleyed around the room, creating more shadows than illumination despite a shaft of moonlight that filtered in through the heavy drapery suspended before the balcony.

Don's eyes immediately sought her slight frame among the bed – only, he tensed as something akin to alarm slithered low in his gut.

The bed was empty.

Suppressing a growl, his hands fisted with anger. Had the little fool returned to her chambers? Had her father, somehow, slipped past his regard and retrieved her? Had they made good on an escape?

Whirling for the door, with the intent of turning over every corner of the keep, a sudden flash of red in his peripheral broke his determined stride.

His expression softening, Don drew closer to the chair – and there, curled within it, Elle slept before the fire.

A few steps more and his shadow lengthened across her, the clamor in his chest calming at the sight of her sleeping face.

Donned in heavy garb and equally heavy shadow, he realized that neither device was required with her. With eyes fastened on Elle, he stripped away the damnable material and cast it to the darkness he held in like distaste. Standing there without his hood and cloak, bared for all to see, he braced for the onset of emotions that came with discarding his defenses. But shockingly, there was nothing. No pang of uneasiness. No feelings of vulnerability. Just an unexpected swell of relief and liberation.

Lowering on his haunches, he placed her staff against the arm of the chair, all the while, his eyes never straying from her face.

Resting amid a sea of red skirts, her dark head slanted downwards, she was, in the simplest of terms, lovely. And before finding a permissible reason to not touch her, he reached out and stroked one delicate shoulder.

A soft sigh fanned his palm and he quelled an expletive as he drew back his hand.

Jaw clenching, Don reached beneath her and lifted her from the chair, marveling once more at her slight weight that fired every protective instinct in him. Arms tightening in a possessive gesture, he sucked in a sharp breath as she turned her face into the crook of his shoulder. Crossing the remaining distance to the bed, he placed her there with more ease than he thought feasible.

Just as he moved to step away and resume her place near the fire, her breath hitched. "My lord?"

Don turned as she sat up, her hands flexing in the skirts that pooled around her.

"I did not think you would return."

Taking a step toward her, "I find that I am unable to resist your allure, little nymph." He watched in mild pleasure as her skin reddened per his candor.

Clearing her throat, "I had assumed on account of avoiding further strife, you would have sought sleep elsewhere." Her dark eyes flitted around the room as she deliberated over her next words. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

A frown creased his brow, "What I said?"

Tilting her head, she reached up to push a strand of hair from her face, the unassuming gesture inviting his burning stare. "That my father and I conspired to escape."

Grimacing at the mention of her father, "You tell me. What am I to believe?"

Dark, amber eyes danced in his direction, "I intend to honor the arrangement that you and my father agreed upon."

"And I'm just to take your word for it?" he countered harshly.

Elle stiffened, her eyes flashing daggers, "As am I to heed the word of a bad-mannered beast?" she contested, anger finding its way beneath her ivory skin in a flourish of red.

"It is not wise to mock me or speak trivially of the word."

"Mayhap I lack conviction in said word because you have demonstrated nothing to sanction fear. What am I to be afraid of exactly?" she challenged, "Aside from your belligerent tongue and fickle temper?"

Mouth twisting into a partial grin, "I can assure you my tongue has other talents." And before she could so much as turn another shade of red, Don stalked closer, saying in a voice full of discretion, "Are you acquainted with many beasts, little one, that you can readily absolve another?"

"Given your brash behavior and mistreatment of my father, I'm beginning to suspect that you are compelled to prove me wrong. You misjudged him –"

"I misjudged nothing," Don interjected sharply, "Your father's objective was to take your place and he intended to plead his woes. I haven't the patience or heart to consider his plight or reasoning, let alone surrender what's mine."

If shock at the word registered anywhere behind those deep, amber eyes, she schooled it carefully. Then to his astonishment, with a quickness some would not expect her to possess, she came to her feet in a flurry of pale skin and red satin, her hand lashing out to grip the bedpost.

"Show me," Elle demanded in a resolved tone of determination.

Don stiffened, "What?"

"I want you to show me what makes you a beast." She insisted, pushing her head back though the gesture did little in terms of height as she fell just short of his chin.

Dubious, he shook his head, "You cannot mean that."

"Unlike some people, I mean what I say." She snapped haughtily.

His mouth quirked at the corners, which well-nigh prompted another grin, something he realized he was doing more of late. "I recall keeping my end of the bargain." And then, his voice taking on a sudden graveness, "And how do you propose I do as you request?"

A fortifying breath was her only slip in her steely expression. It betrayed her tremulous state within as she released her grip on the post and stepped towards him. "Let me touch you," her soft words were but a mere whisper on the jasmine-filled air between them, but Don felt their impact between the inner spaces of bone and tendon that forged his body, every part of him captivated by her.

"I do not see the point in that." He hissed on a ragged breath, a deadly combination of emotions warring at the prospect of her touching him.

A delicate black brow arched, "How can you not, when I cannot see you for what you claim to be?"

"What of your precious propriety? Would you not deem this behavior inappropriate?" he teased half-heartedly.

"I see no other way to settle our disagreement, and would you not concur that you and I are past the point of refinement?"

An overwhelming sense of panic urged Don to retreat, to retrieve his cloak that he had foolishly abandoned. Every instinct hummed with aversion as his heart-rate dragged in unison to the swell of sickening dread that sent his stomach plummeting.

When she raised her delicate hands as if to touch him, he seized her wrists. "Nay," he admonished in a low growl, "You do not know what you are asking of me." His grip tightened to the point of bruising, forcing her to wince.

Cursing under his breath, he loosened his grip but maintained a firm hold, but even the likelihood of harming her did not discourage the resolute gleam from her striking, amber eyes.

And in a soft and unwavering voice that brooked no dissuasion, she said, "I am ready to be afraid now."