Free The Beast by Lindsay Mead Page A

back into the gallop.
    Staying low to Charming’s neck, Belle watched behind them. The hellhounds bounded over the fallen tree with considerably less grace. One tripped, tumbling into the ground, but it recovered fast.
    Belle was thrown into Charming’s neck as he unexpectedly came to a sliding halt. Hurriedly, she pushed herself up and raised her gun to defend them, expecting the hounds to be nearly on top of them. Except, they’d stopped at the edge of the road; snarling and growling—but not attacking!
    Cold wind whipped Belle’s body, sending a chill up her spine. The hellhounds backed away as it slammed into their faces, rustling their heavy fur. Not taking her eyes or revolver off the enemy, Belle swung her leg over the saddle horn and hopped to the ground. She trained her gun onto one hound and drew her second revolver. Closer she stepped, half taunting them.
    Shockingly, they continued to disengage. Their teeth snapped angrily at the air. Then they turned and she watched them fading, then disappearing into the waning ice fog. Belle stood there, mouth agape, unable to believe that they had gone—that the moment she turned her back, they wouldn’t come charging out at her.
    Charming pawed impatiently, his hoof striking smooth cobblestone. Belle looked in surprise at the masonry they stood on, then followed it to the gate which had stopped Charming’s mad run. Tall, iron bars stood three times as high as Belle. At its center was the shield for the Vakrein royal family. Wild, thorny rose vines wrapped the bars and traversed the entire length of the connecting stone wall.
    Belle stepped closer to the gate, reaching out to touch one of the blooming roses. As she did, the heavy fog cloaking what lay beyond seemed to move away. Gasping at the massive castle, Belle stopped in her tracks.
    She whispered in awe, “Castle Vakre Fjell.”
    It was colossal in size, rivaling the surrounding mountains. The many pointed rooftops reached to high peaks, with a single tower surpassing them all in height. Flags attached to these high piers fluttered in the wind. A hundred windows, taller in length than her own house, decorated the castle’s stone walls. Every corner of the building was sharp and severe, radiating its strength to those outside. But the roofs were curved just enough to lend a bit of dainty elegance to the overall appeal.
    Had Henri sought shelter here? Her eyes skimmed the bridge, but the wind kept it clear of snow. Belle grabbed the gate, intending to test its lock, but it clicked open at the slightest pressure. Pushing the gate the rest of the way, she stepped through and Charming followed.
    “Halt!” A man emerged, aiming a rifle in her direction.
    Swiftly, Belle trained her revolvers on the stranger. She eyed his military clothing suspiciously. “How did you get here?”
    A weapon cocked over her shoulder. “Drop your weapons.”
    Whoever they were, they had her. With slow, exaggerated movements, Belle turned her revolvers upward in surrender. The man she couldn’t see yanked the guns from her hands, then took her sabre.
    “Now walk.” The first soldier jerked his gun, pointing to the castle.
    They spoke Vakrein, which Belle fortunately knew. That at least told her they were from here, but it also raised many more questions.
    Belle didn’t move, speaking in his native tongue. “Please, I mean no—”
    “Walk, witch, or we’ll shoot you where you stand,” he threatened.
    The pure hatred on his face told Belle not to disregard it. She turned onto the bridge, forcing her sigh inward. Her feet stilled. The walkway was wide, flat, and without railings. Below was a long drop into a rocky canyon.
    Belle had the sensation that she was standing on the thinnest of ice. One wrong move and it would shatter, sending her a thousand feet to her death. Fear tensed up her muscles, making her breathing shallow.
    A gun barrel shoved into Belle’s back, forcing her forward. The bridge didn’t immediately crumble.