It clattered on the street a distance away and she bent again, her fingers beyond feeling as she grabbed the next largest piece, a jagged triangle with a deadly tip. It took her mind over, joining the savage fear, and made her breaths frantic. Her mind drifted to thoughts of chasing after him, making her adrenaline pump. Surely, with such a weapon she could gain the upper hand.

Before she could engage the idea, a firm, warm grasp surrounded her wrist and she jerked, jumping at the sight of Mr. Clayton so close to her. She backed up, her heart speeding, and tried freeing her wrist; but he held on, his eyes steady on hers, and shook his head. A warning. It was then she remembered he wasn’t the enemy. He had saved her from the enemy, because she’d been too weak to save herself.

A sharp pain radiated from her thumb and she looked down to find her fingers clasped so tightly around the glass that it had drawn blood. Mr. Clayton’s eyes shifted to it before fixing firmly back on hers. Silently, he held out his other hand, demanding the weapon.

Reluctantly, she dropped it into his hand. An exhalation escaped her, releasing all the energy adrenaline had stolen from her body, and her knees nearly buckled. Shame filled her to the tips of her ears, and she attempted to make her breaths less animalistic as she hesitantly met Mr. Clayton’s eyes.

But they didn’t speak judgment, or even pity. His expression was unreadable and set in stone, but his eyes smoldered in the way they did every once in a while, when it seemed an invisible guard had been dropped. Only now, they radiated with some internal glow, coming from the inside out and making his irises appear more like melting caramel. Somehow, this man who lived a life of privilege and who demanded strict obedience understood the monster inside her. Somehow, condemnation was absent from his stare.

He released her wrist, probably when he saw the forfeit in her eyes. As though he fought his own battle inside, his brow creased. She braced herself against the car, a tingling sensation beginning to work itself into her limbs, and she ignored the pain in her back and thumb as she closed her jacket over herself.

She passed him a silent nod, since her tongue couldn’t conjure words, and he nodded in return. He began to leave, but paused. “Ms. Ashton, I’ll be over to repair your pipe after I return from Portland early this evening.” He seemed to hesitate, as though he wanted to say something else, but then turned away.

She had no response as she watched him leave, punch a code into his lavish gate, and then disappear within it. When he was out of sight, she released a deep sigh and sank into her hands, leaning against her now dented car before sinking to the ground. Though she didn’t cry, her chest shook. Regardless of why Mr. Clayton had come to her rescue, and regardless of her shame, she was indebted to him, not just for saving her life but for preventing her from acting on the darkest impulse she’d ever had. She owed Mr. Clayton everything.

She forced her limbs steady and picked herself up, afterward picking up her bag and keys. Her umbrella seemed too far away, but she picked that up too, even though she now found it useless. She shivered at the rivers flowing down her hair and into her clothing, and winced at the pain in her spine that bit from deep within when she bent over.

No matter her pain, however, Brian’s was probably ten times worse, judging from the way the entire car had rocked when he’d hit it, one whole side nearly lifting from the ground. And for the first time that morning, satisfaction filled her being.

She entered her car and closed the door, leaving her in silence so still her ears rang, and as she started the engine, she attempted to analyze her astonishing rescue. Mr. Clayton had appeared from nowhere. Where had he come from? If he’d come from his gate, she and Brian would have heard or seen it. Besides, the gate had been closed just now when Mr. Clayton had approached it. Wherever he’d come from, he hadn’t taken the time to fully dress, so he wouldn’t have taken time to close the gate. That meant he hadn’t come from his house. And aside from the forest, there was nowhere else…

Her thoughts stopped short and she lifted her head, remembering every exchange between her and Mr. Clayton from the moment they’d met. The memories took her breath away as they played on repeat, replacing the sight of steering wheel and drowning windshield. His brown eyes, the way he didn’t want her here, the way her fearlessness enraged him. His disappearance at night. And he knew about her pipes, like he’d been listening to her and Brian’s conversation just before Brian had attacked her.

Oxygen came with difficulty.

Of course, he’d been listening, right from the Beast’s forest. His forest.

Chapter 15

Plenty of daylight remained when Henry and Arne returned to Hemlock Veils. Water still covered the town, even with the sun’s cameo appearance, and the Maybach’s tires splashed through puddles. They passed Jean’s, with its windows dark and the sign flipped to Closed. He tried picturing Elizabeth’s first day of business. Had Brian been stupid enough to show up? With everything in him, Henry hoped he was smarter than that. Tension shot though his muscles at the thought of Brian and the way he’d displayed his true colors. Eustace used to say, years ago, that you could see the true character of a man through his drink. And Brian showed his that morning, ugly and despicable. It’d left Henry more enraged than he’d been in years, all Brian’s incessant pushing and touching.

Worse, he’d felt more protective of Elizabeth than he’d ever felt of anyone, or anything. Instead of wondering why, he’d simmered in rage, waiting for Brian to finally leave Elizabeth alone, like she’d insisted. But he hadn’t. And the sun had risen at just the right time, giving him only long enough to find his clothes and half-dress himself.

He’d wanted to do more than hit him. He wanted to do what he was sure Elizabeth had been contemplating. God knows Brian deserved worse. But Henry still considered himself, in most respects and at least in this form, a reputable human being.

He exhaled slowly, laying his head back. His mind replayed Elizabeth cowering then nearly losing it. In the beginning, all he’d wanted was to see her afraid, just to prove she was like the rest. A horrifying beast, capable of ripping her to shreds, and she wanted to befriend it. Then a coward of a man takes advantage, and her eyes widened with a fear he had begun to think she wasn’t capable of. And now the image of fear in her eyes haunted him.

It haunted him so much he almost wanted to take back their deal. She accepted him in his monstrous form. It was something he would never understand, yet he found himself yearning for that acceptance. Perhaps, if he could persuade her to go outside, he could determine why she understood him, why she wasn’t afraid, and even why he felt such an intense connection when meeting her eyes.

He hid that connection during the day, or tried to. It was becoming more difficult to be his false self with her, the self he’d taught himself to be: cold, distant, and pretentious. But letting his guard fall wasn’t an option, because of all the people he wanted to protect, Elizabeth topped the list. Recently, she was the only one on it.

This morning, when he’d interfered with Brian’s plan, Henry worried he may have dropped his guard too low to rebuild, but he’d already seemed to build it again when walking by Jean’s on the way to the diner, an hour later than normal. Through the glass door and windows, it appeared that Regina was the only customer. Elizabeth had been resting her elbows on the counter, smiling as they chatted over steaming coffee, and though she wore a happy face, the disappointment in her eyes was unmistakable. He’d wanted to come in, not just because he’d been craving her coffee, but because he’d been craving the sight of her, and in that specific moment, the sight of her smile. It announced she was whole, announced that Brian had lost.