Don brushed a hand over his face and discovered that the wind had pushed his hood to his shoulders. It mattered not, he thought, surveying the deserted seaside. There was no one present to gape in horror at his hideous face, but he righted it all the same and turned searing eyes on Elle.

As he regarded her in the gray light of day, gauging her expression, he was shocked to find a fluctuating look of bewilderment. With bated breath, he watched as she touched her lips, still reddened and swollen from his kiss. Her eyes, so large and unguarded were a gateway to the innocence and fear within and perceiving the latter brought him no gratification. In truth, it left him all the more perplexed.

His heart pitched against his chest, every discordant breath drawing the scent of jasmine deeper into his lungs, intensifying the desire that beset him.

A scorned witch deemed him unworthy of affection, and perhaps in this shape and form he was. When had he become the very darkness he had sheathed as armor? Where do the darkness end and the light begin?

With her, a voice answered from within.

She had touched a part of him that he refused to give and having kissed her twice, having tasted the forbidden sweetness of her surrender, though small and unsure it had been there was no coming back from it. He wanted the light. He wanted her.

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

Elle stood reeling amidst a rising wind, heedless of its gust, aware of nothing but the profound mark of Rossetti's kiss. She recalled the feel of him beneath her hands: the well-defined muscle beneath his cloak, rippling with every ministration and the strength in his firm, yet surprisingly gentle grip.

She recalled the feel of his lips, chiseled with imperfection, taking avid possession of her mouth. He had tasted strongly of spirits; the hint of ale lingering on the heat of his breath as it whispered across her lips. The moment his mouth had captured hers her world had shifted with the turn of her heart. His kiss had been anything but chaste or gentle and the intensity and shock of it had elicited a throbbing of fear - and something more. As he deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue against hers, nipping her lower lip with his teeth, claiming her whereas no other had done, she felt something within her stir to life.

Fear lingered at the base of her spine but it fell secondary to the eagerness that surged in her veins. It wasn't so much his virility that alarmed her most, but rather this slow-rising, smokeless burn of a hunger unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

It was not like her to behave so brazenly and she was shocked by her own wanton response. Her sisters had often described such intimacies but none of which she truly fathomed. She was inexperienced in the ways of men. She was just eighteen summers and had never even kissed a boy - until now.

Nay, not a boy, but a man, came a small voice. You don't know what he's capable of, it stated. And though true that may be, Elle seemed powerless against the feelings bombarding her to heed it.

Rossetti sought to push her away in hopes of quelling her curiosity, when in fact, it all but magnified it, as did it rouse her to a staggering awareness of sensuality she knew not existed.

A deafening crack of thunder startled Elle from her thoughts and suddenly she found herself at Rossetti's side.

The currents turned turbulent against her ears, compelled by a strong gale that swept over the shoreline, spewing sand to sting her face.

"Time to go," Rossetti growled above her ear, taking her arm to lead her back to the horses.

Elle's heart began a crescendo of unease as the elements unleashed a sudden downpour of thick rain. Rossetti's strides were much wider and she struggled in vain to keep pace, stumbling in the process. If not for his grip on her arm she was certain she would have fallen headlong into the sand.

They were completely soaked by the time they reached the horses. Her hair, having come undone by the wind, hung in ringlets about her face. She could feel cold, tiny beads of rain trailing her nape and she shivered.

Rossetti lifted her, planting her in the mare's saddle. As her fingers fumbled to find the pommel her mare suddenly jerked at a resounding clap of thunder, throwing her sideways - and into a pair of strong arms.

Elle gasped as she clung to Rossetti's shoulder, momentarily stunned, feeling the muscle there bunch as he held her.

"I think it best you ride back with me," he shouted over the deluge of rain and raging wind, and before she could object he deposited her in his saddle.

A second later, he mounted up behind her.

Elle inhaled a breath as his arms and thighs braced on either side of her, realizing just how large of a man he truly was, trapping her within that virile heat that snatched wildly at her senses.

"What about the mare?"

For a moment she believed her voice had gone unheard, carried away with the howling wind.

Drenched as they were, she could feel the warmth of him through their layers of wet clothing. She could feel the breadth of his chest broaden against her back with every breath and the span of his forearm as it draped her waist.

"I have her," he assured against her ear and the brush of his mouth sent a ripple of undulating heat through her, warming her in places despite the unrelenting cold.

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

As they started back towards Rossetti Keep, the heavy rainfall had ebbed to a fine sprinkling, the worst of it having passed.

By the time they neared the keep, Don bristled with tension and anger. He inhaled a deep breath, the air fraught with the sea - and jasmine. His mouth formed a hard, grave line for every jostle of the saddle brought her further into the crook of his thighs, making him all too aware of the fire in his groin.

For so long he had wanted for nothing. His life had become obsolete. At some point he had accepted his role as the monster that stalked and commanded the shadows. It was the way of things that he seldom believed it to be otherwise. But he hadn't anticipated on this. The pull of her and everything she awakened in him. She made his heart pitch a different rhythm. She tangled his breath like no other. She made him realize just how strongly he yearned for physical contact.

But it was only a matter of time before she rejected what and who he was. She would find him repulsive and that is what kept him confined to the shadows.

As their horses approached a clearing up ahead, a commotion at the front gate drew him from his thoughts. The path broadened, granting him a view of the tasteless looking men on horseback demanding admittance from his guard.

"Let us through, old man!" demanded one ruffian on foot who came to tower over a stalwart Givens; jamming a finger in his burly chest.

"Are you daft? Turn your hides and get on your way!" Givens retorted, undaunted by their grimy, roughened faces, his own weathered countenance set in irritation.

Don felt a shadow of a grin; Givens had been with him for some time, he was his right-hand man, and though wizened and gray with age, he was adept at swordplay, and not easily swayed.

The squalid group had yet to notice him so he stole that moment to survey them. There were five, each man as equally disheveled as the next; their mouths a cavern of cracked and blackened teeth. Their garb was riddled in filth and a stench so foul it reached across the way to him, causing Don to scowl in distaste.

His eyes fixed on the last man taking up the rear, this one honing his distrust all the more. He was smaller than his comrades and Don noticed, not quite as unclean or disruptive. He also noticed that the man hadn't uttered a word or sound. Nothing could be made of his visage for he was heavily cloaked. His stature was slight as he sat erect in the saddle, emitting a distinguishable air of command. So why then, Don thought with a narrowing of his eyes, did the man linger at the back?

The fact that they each sported a blade at their hip had not gone unnoticed, or the stench of deviance and menace that permeated the air like the odor that clung to their soiled bodies.

They seemed to notice him at last, each pair of eyes swiveling in his direction. Almost immediately, they changed course and settled with intrigue on the woman in his saddle.

Mine, the word resounded so profoundly, so shockingly in his mind that for a moment his jaw went lax with incredulity. As it registered, he realized it had been there all along, hovering at the back of his throat, awaiting every breath that might expel it to the air.

As he observed their heated curiosity of her, it intensified the fire in his blood - and the need to possess this woman, so no other could.

With a growl, he twisted his horse to the side to shield Elle from their lewd, seeking eyes.

The largest of the five, whose eyes lingered on her more than he cared to permit, queried with a toothy grin. "Have you too come in search of the Beast?"

Don's expression darkened as he replied in a brusque tone. "Only fools would seek the company of a beast."

They snickered, their faces cracking more so than smirking as they cast glances to and fro, and although they exuded boldness, their shifting eyes betrayed their underlining fear and uncertainty of the monster in question.

"Fair enough," the bigger man responded, seemingly unmoved by the emotions that kept the others at bay.

His black eyes took on a sudden speculative gleam and he advanced closer, "Might you be the beast we seek?"

Don tensed as the man's eyes reached for the contents of his hood only to avert to the features of the woman in his lap

He resisted a snarl as a startling, unsuspecting emotion much akin to possessiveness surged beneath his skin, and it burned a fiery, demanding path in his veins, vowing violence to any and all who dared to touch her.

He didn't like the way the man looked at her. He didn't like those black eyes touching her.

"What is your business here?" he demanded.

The black-eyed man smirked, "We are bested by the storm and are in need of shelter and food to get us through the night."

"If you are so acquainted with beasts then it should come as no surprise to find that I am not hospitable."

There was a flat, uneasy silence as they took in his meaning. Their eyes did a strange, furtive turn-about as murmurs of beast circulated between them.

After a moment, "Have you nothing to spare?" one man exclaimed with an edge of desperation, mindful of nothing but the demand of hunger.

Any man with a brain would have enough sense to turn them away. It takes a beast to recognize another, and though he didn't share in their pleasure of carnage, they were paired with similar darkness.

They were thieves and cutthroats. They marauded for sport.

The eyes were a window to the soul, and theirs laid bare their wicked natures.

If he cast them away, they would seek out a village - his village. And what sort of fate would befall the villagers at their hands? What dangers would they present to Elle's family?

Why should you care? The darkness in him challenged. They rebuke you. They fear you. They loathe you. Why concern yourself with their wellbeing?

He dismissed the thoughts with a glower. The villagers may regard him in an unsavory light, but as their feudal lord he had obligations to uphold - ensuring their safety being one.

Clenching his jaw, Don said, "I will provide you food and shelter, but on the morrow you will remove yourself from my lands, do we have an understanding?"

The men exchanged a round of sly grins, all but the smaller man at the rear whose face remained hidden. He had observed the exchange in silence, drawing little to no attention to his person and Don couldn't help but think that this man was far more a danger than his comrades.

"Much obliged!" the famished man replied in earnest.

Don dropped his gaze to the man that remained on foot and felt something lethal and feral flare beneath his skin as those black eyes moved unhurriedly over Elle.

An involuntary growl rent the air and Don realized the ungodly sound had erupted from his own throat. "She is mine."

"Careful Solomon, the Beast is territorial," one of the men half admonished with a wry grin.

The man called Solomon sneered, his eyes narrowing to black slits as they veered beneath a sudden shaft of sunlight, and like the eyes of an animal snared in the dark, they reflected an unnatural iridescent glow, before vanishing altogether, leaving Don to question its existence.

Had it been a trick of the light?

"What about you then?" the same man prodded, "Do you have a name? Or shall we call you Sir Beast?" the query followed up with another round of laughter and mockery.

Don clenched his jaw, "You depart at dawn."

They chuckled and murmured something intangible, the sound of it grating away at his decision. These men could not be trusted and yet, he had just granted them liberty of his hall.

Ives, the stable boy came barreling towards them only to halt at the sight of unruly men that greeted him

"Ives, see to their horses," Don instructed grudgingly, "Givens will assist you."

The boy gave a reluctant nod and drew wary eyes over the rough-looking men.

Don waited until they were halfway through the gates before dismounting.

Once on foot, he turned to Elle and cursed. She was pale and visibly shaken, the cold having taken residence in her body. Seeing her as such struck a fierce, protective chord in him and with that, he drew her down from the saddle and to his side, whether to protect her from the cold autumn air or the lustful eyes of the men, he knew not which.

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

Elle was grateful for Rossetti's warmth, even drenched as they were the virile heat of him reached through her sodden clothes to her chilled bones underneath.

She was thankful to be inside and away from the biting air, but more importantly, away from the men. She didn't need her sight to know that these strangers were trouble. She had felt their eyes on her. Their jeering murmurs on her ears had had a clear undertone of deviance. Their presence made her skin crawl and their putrid stench invaded her nose, urging her to recoil and mourn the smell of the sea.

She had always had an uncanny ability to discern evil, and these men emanated malice, and when compared to Rossetti, she could not find one similarity.

She had been certain he was going to forbid them entry and the thought snatched with panic at her heart. The village was not far from the keep and they would surely happen upon it. What peril would these men pose to the village folk? To her family?

Much to her shock and relief, Rossetti had granted them access of his hall. For a moment, Elle believed her ears had deceived her. His unforeseen act of kindness would spare the villagers any tragedy, and it had her questioning how anyone could depict him as ruthless and unkind, when even now, he put others safety foremost?

The men ambled ahead of them, likely led by Rossetti's man, Givens, as their churlish laughter could be heard down the corridor, the sound of it harsh and strange on the stillness of the air.

"I'm afraid we have guests," Rossetti grumbled with a note of displeasure as the steward's steps could be heard approaching, "See that they are given food and ale to sustain them for the evening. I will be there shortly." Rossetti advised, "If you see the chambermaid inform her that she is needed."

"Aye, my lord," Edmund responded somewhat apprehensively, followed by his receding steps.

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

Don halted at the base of the stairs where even there the cold stalked them. He peered down at Elle and tensed. The wind and rain had done a number on her, having twisted her cloak and raveled her hair, but the worst of it being the purplish-hue that was now the shade of her lips.

She swayed a little on her feet and he caught her arm. "Damnation," he muttered as he cast a heedful glance down the corridor where the sound of uproarious drinking commenced.

He could only hope that ale and mutton would entertain his unwanted guests for the duration of his absence. He would have preferred turning them out into the elements, hurling them back to whatever squalor they crawled from, but it was better to have them under his careful regard than out pillaging his village.

On that notion, he reached down and swept Elle into his arms.

She tensed, her hand going to his shoulder, "My lord, I can walk - "

"It is better that I carry you," he ascertained as he began to ascend the stairs, "You will catch ill if I don't get you dry soon enough."

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

As Rossetti carried her upstairs, Elle realized that arguing would be futile. Furthermore, she was terribly uncomfortable and wanted to be rid of her wet clothes.

The storm had taken them by surprise and though autumn apprised of chillier nights to come, on this day, it had been unnaturally cold, and she couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something evil had crept with the storm, bringing with it a sense of dread. And that lingering anxiety had her longing for her family.

With the foul-smelling odor of the men behind them, her senses sharpened in awareness to the man that carried her. He smelled nothing like the others. His scent was a dark, heady zest of leather and ale, softened with hints of soap, and she realized, inhaling deeply of it - the sea.

As she breathed it in, she was reminded of the lulling waves, the rough-grainy sand beneath her feet, the briny tang in the air, and... their kiss.

Elle averted her face, feeling color rise there.

She had no reason to trust Rossetti. His kiss should have alarmed her in ways that had her fleeing for the early horizon. But never had a man made her feel all tingly and warm when the air itself was bitter cold. Never had she felt frightened and exhilarated all within a spent breath.

She wasn't like her sisters. She was plain and indifferent to the hearts of men.

Why then would Rossetti kiss her? Why kiss her with such - passion? Did he think her beautiful despite her blindness? Or had he kissed her only to prove himself a monster? The last was perplexing to her for how could a brushing of the lips be anything but a sweet gesture of affection? How could anyone mean to use it as a way to frighten another? Or was she too innocent in the ways of men to understand what drives one to kiss a woman?

She was unsure of a lot of things, but one thing she was confident of, was that no man had ever engaged her senses in such a vitalizing way, or had ever set her apart from them the way Rossetti did. He didn't treat her like some halfwit hindered by her sightless eyes. There was a kindness and gentleness to him that he fought so hard to disguise with abrasiveness. He had shown compassion and concern for others though met with unequivocal reproach and contempt.

Something unfamiliar and strange seized at her heart as a thought passed her by. What if these feelings, these emotions, were something more? Something derived of the heart? She had never given the likelihood of love much thought and realized just how much the prospect of it frightened her. Without her sight, she sensed and felt everything so very deeply. What were to happen if her heart was beholden to another, if she opened it to another level of unsuspecting depth?

Had Rossetti done just that only to have his heart returned in pieces? What tragedy had shaped this shadow of a man?

In spite of all that, there was a terrible need in her to delve deeper into the magnetism between them. Her senses were subdued by the dark masculinity of him. He made her insides clench and twist on the exhale of a breath. His nearness felt like a touch of flames, hot and burning to the skin. He made her aware of a sensuality she knew not she had. Shouldn't all that be worth knowing?

It would be a great undertaking to break down his iron-clad defenses, but she would not be deterred. She would match his hardness for softness.

She had but only one resounding fear that in the end, her heart would lay in two.