When she entered the sitting room again, she was surprised to see the floor around the beast had been cleared. Even her jacket and shirt were gone. The sight of a large, feral creature in a room so full of luxury was strange. The room had a Victorian theme, but kept with the gold theme of the rest of the mansion. Everything seemed lined with gold; even the plush chairs that appeared to never have seated a soul were golden velvet. And Elizabeth would have bet the décor was older than Henry.
Arne wasn’t in sight, and the beast still lay in the same position she’d left him in, limp on his right side, his ribs lifting with each inhalation. His fur appeared to be dry now, unlike her shower-soaked hair. She’d frequently wished to see him in the light, but not like this, not injured. He was beautiful, still, even in his unconscious state. His dark fur shone, reflecting the chandelier’s light, and even the coarser, spikier hair of his spine was a striking color: a blunt pitch-black, so stark it looked like the color of nothingness.
She knelt before him, checking his incision. Already it looked better. Was her mind playing tricks, or was it actually healing? She stroked his silken fur, feeling her hand over his large ribs as they rose and fell. Whatever Hell he lived internally at the moment, she prayed the morphine would dull it.
Her hand found his face. “You’re going to be all right…Henry.” Calling him by name in this form felt out of place, but it was the only right thing to call him here.
Then it entered her mind, distant and unclear, but definitely a voice. Her hand paused, her heart startled by it. Elizabeth, he said.
“Yes, Henry,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
Where are you, Elizabeth?
“I’m right here.”
Run, as far as you can.
She paused again. He didn’t communicate with her here. He sent his thoughts to her, but it was a her that lived in his head, a her from his dreams. She continued to stroke his fur. “I’m not going anywhere.”
So…stubborn…
She smiled, just briefly.
Run! His animal eyelids twitched. She’ll kill you if she finds you. His eyes jerked beneath his lids again and a breathy sound emerged from the back of his throat. If you die I can’t…
Then she heard nothing. She searched his face that was suddenly lifeless again. “I’ll never leave,” she barely whispered while feeling her hand down his neck, her fingers getting lost in his fur. “You’re going to be all right.”
“He’s going to be all right only because of you.” Startled, she turned, finding Arne staring. She wondered how long he’d been watching. “If it wasn’t for you, he could have died, Elizabeth. Thank you…for saving him.”
She looked back to Henry. “He saved me first. More than once.”
Arne sat in a Victorian-style chair a few feet away and sighed. “Elizabeth, I know you want to be here to make sure he’s all right, but…”
“I said I’m not leaving, Arne.”
“Does Henry know you know?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“Then he will be livid when he wakes.” His voice grew firmer, more insistent. “Trust me, it won’t be pretty. This is not the way to tell him.”
“I don’t consider his life saved until he wakes up, and you better be damn sure I’ll be here when that happens.”
Sighing again, he looked away.
“What if there is some complication in the night? I will not leave him, Arne, not like this. He’s my responsibility now, and if something were to happen to him…” She trailed off.
“Then,” he began, a tone of forfeit, “I suppose it will be both our heads, not just mine.” He stood, and she just now noticed he wore a different robe and pajamas. “There are plenty of beds. As I’m sure you have figured, Henry’s is hardly ever used, so you’re more than welcome to it.”
“I’m not leaving his side. I’ll sleep right here, beside him.”
“Now, Elizabeth, that’s just—”
“Arne, you know as well as I do, I won’t give in.”
He half-smiled, shaking his head. “Very well. I just think Henry will have more than my head if he knows you were here and I didn’t make you as comfortable as possible.”
“Blankets will do just fine.”
“And some tea. I have something I think you’ll want to see.”
***
When Arne returned, three of the plushest blankets Elizabeth had seen filled his arms. Atop the stack of blankets that were probably more expensive than every blanket she’d ever owned combined, was a pillow with a plain white pillowcase. Under his other arm, a bedroll that didn’t look much different than the ones she and her father and brother used to camp with.
He set them down beside her and with a smile was gone again. While she waited, she laid a blanket over Henry, since he would appreciate it in the morning, when he was himself again. Though she doubted that would do anything to dull his anger.
She opened the bedroll beside him and laid the second blanket atop that, then topped it with a pillow.
Arne paused upon his return, eyeing the white blanket over the beast. The look in his eyes said he understood. He placed the silver tray of tea on the Victorian table—legs curled up in a way that brought it to life—wedged between the two chairs, and motioned for her to sit. She rose to her feet with some difficulty and sat in the chair with even more difficulty, the golden cushions almost too soft for her spine.
Only one cup sat on the tray, she noticed, and Arne didn’t sit. Instead he left without saying a word, but was back quickly, this time holding a large leather book in his arms. It took her aback, threw off her reality for the briefest moment. Her book. She straightened as Arne brought it to her lap. Not her book exactly, but one just like hers. Sticky notes emerged from numerous places, and the pages appeared more worn than the ones in her copy. “I understand you and Henry have similar reading tastes,” Arne said with a smile.
She met his eyes, bluish-brown and bordered in wrinkles. “Is that…his?”
He yawned, nodding. He appeared exhausted, even older. “During the many years he was holed up here, leaving everyone to believe he had moved away, he spent hours with his nose in those pages. It has been a helpful tool.”
“How many years?”
“We came here soon after his first transformation, where it would be easier to hide. He was here as Henry Senior for ten years before disappearing, then didn’t make his appearance again as Henry Junior until ten years ago, after the accident with the Portland teens. He hid away in this place for twenty-nine years, his only escape at night, when he could roam the forest as the beast. I was his only connection to the outside world—the human world. People believed I lived here alone, keeping up Mr. Clayton’s property.”
“Almost fifty years…” Elizabeth mused with a sorrowful ache.
“Henry has been thirty-five years old for forty-nine years. And I worry that it won’t be long before he will want to hide away again, Elizabeth. You can’t let that happen.” She had no time to form a response to his request, since he added with another yawn, “Morning comes soon. I will leave you to his notes. Is there anything else I can get you, Elizabeth?”
“No, Arne, thank you.”
He hesitated. “I do think it would be wise to tie him down, just in case…”
She hesitated. He’d once crushed a bear with his jaws, out of mere instinct. “No,” she said with a subtle swallow. His instincts were natural, but the man in him could fight them.
Behind his eyes, Arne deliberated.
“Arne, as long as I keep morphine in him, he won’t wake again—not until the poison’s left his bloodstream.”
“Well,” he started, turning to leave. “I’ll say it again. I’m beyond grateful he has you to care for him.” He paused, gravity weighting his words. “I’ve spent many nights praying you were here. I just thought you should know that.”