An'desha stared, aghast, embarrassed, humiliated. Oh, he knew that the Hawkbrothers were free enough with their favors, but—
—but how could they carry on like this? And light in front of him! They were trying to hurt him! He hadn't done anything to deserve treatment like this!
He felt his skin grow cold, then hot; his throat choked, and his stomach knotted. As he struggled to control himself, astonishment turned to something darker, in the blink of an eye.
He flushed again, hotter this time. From "how could they," the thought turned to another.
How dare they!
His hands knotted into fists; his stomach cramped. He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth would shatter. He choked back an exclamation of pain and outrage.
Firesong continued to flirt, without a single glance at him.
His heart pounded until he shook with the rhythm and blood roared in his ears. His jaw ached as he clenched it tight.
Firesong leaned closer to Darkwind and murmured something that made the other Adept laugh aloud, throwing his head back and showing a fine set of white teeth. Firesong laid one elegant hand on Darkwind's shoulder.
Rage flared, fed by jealousy, into an all-consuming conflagration which left room for only one thought.
I'll—I'll eviscerate him! Though which "him," he couldn't at that moment say. He struggled with his numb, impotent anger, fought with the feelings that threatened to bind him where he stood.
Something dark uncoiled like a newly-awakened snake, deep inside him. It oozed through his veins and tingled along his nerves.
For a brief moment, his rage lacked a target, torn as it was between Firesong and Darkwind equally. But then, as Darkwind made to snatch at a feather from his bondbird's tail to give to Firesong, it all turned against the interloper.
How dare he!
And suddenly, as soon as he had the target, his anger was no longer impotent.
The darkness filled him, burned his fingers, longing to be unleashed. He felt power rising in him, rushing to his summons eagerly, flowing into him, all too familiar from the anger-fueled mage-attacks of Mornelithe Falconsbane—power that was poised to tear the guts right out of Darkwind's treacherous body and fling them back in the bastard's face—
—tear the guts from—
—tear—
Realization froze him in place, just before he let the power loose to turn the interloper inside out.
What am I doing?
He stopped himself, appalled, before the power got away from him; hauled it back and quashed it; dispersed it, let it drain out of him in a rush that left him trembling, this time not with anger, but with horror.
I nearly killed him—
—nearly—
—oh, gods—
Rage turned inward and ate itself, and with a strangled sob of terror, he whirled and fled the garden.
He dashed up the stairs to the second story, blinded with panic, with fear, and with tears of shame. There was only one thought in his mind.
I could have killed him. I could have. I almost did.
Panic gave his stumbling feet the strength his body lacked. He had to get away, away from everyone else, before something worse happened. What was he? What had he become?
Worse yet—what was he still?
A monster. I'm a monster. I'm the Beast....
Falconsbane was alive and well, and living inside him. Waiting for a chance to get out, or better still, looking for a way to make An'desha into the kind of sadistic, perverted, twisted horror he had been.
He heard the running footsteps of someone following him, and turned at the top of the stairs, intending to send whoever it was away, far away from him—away from one irrevocably contaminated with the lurking shadow of Mornelithe Falconsbane. He wasn't thinking any more clearly than that; he only knew that no one should be near him.
But he didn't get a chance to say anything, for it was Elspeth who had followed him, hard on his heels. He had been misled by the soft sound of her bare feet into thinking she was farther behind him. She didn't stop when he did; she ran up the last three stairs and caught him up in her arms and in an impulsive embrace as soon as he turned and faced her, ignoring the fact that she was dripping wet and so was the brief tunic she wore. That simple embrace undid him completely.
Oh, gods....
He collapsed against her without a thought and began to weep, hopelessly; she held him against her damp shoulder, and stroked his hair as if he had been a very small child caught up in a nightmare. In a moment, it didn't matter that her tunic was wet; tears of pain and panic burned their way down his face and into the sodden cloth, and his throat ached with the effort of holding his hysterical sobs back. He simply clung to her, a shelter, a sure refuge, and she supported him.
"An'desha, it's all right," she said quietly, over his strangled sobbing. "Dearheart, it wasn't what you thought it was! Darkwind and I are bonded and Firesong knows it, and Darkwind knows how Firesong feels about you! They were only teasing each other, dear, truly, and they would never, ever have done that if they had any idea how hurt you were just now. We just all thought you were tired and wanted to be left alone, and Firesong's had mischief in him all day."
"But you—" he got out, through the tears. "You—"
How she knew he was trying to ask why she had followed him, he had no idea—but she knew, or guessed right, and gave him the answer.
"I was the only one close enough to see your face, ke'chara. It was only play, and now they're teasing Kero. You were so quiet that we all assumed you'd join in after you revived a little. No one else knows you ran off. You mustn't let things like this bother you so much!" She held him very tightly for a moment, and he felt the warmth of her concern flowing over him. He wanted it to help; he wanted to feel comforted.
It did nothing to thaw the frozen center of his fear.
Worse, she only thought he'd fled, like some stupid jilted lover, like an idiot in a ballad. She hadn't a clue why he was falling apart like this.
He had to tell her. She had to know. It might be her life he threatened next. Would be, if Falconsbane got loose.
"That's not—" He fought the tears back as they threatened to choke him into incoherence. "Elspeth, it wasn't that—didn't you feel it? I was angry, and power just—took over and I almost struck Darkwind! I almost killed him!" He pulled away from her, afraid that he would somehow contaminate her as well. "It's Falconsbane!" he choked out. "He's still—here, he must be, he's still controlling me and I—I—"
He began to shake, trembling with absolute terror. How could he have done that? How could it not have been the Beast within?
Yet she did not draw away from him as he was certain she must, and when she pulled him back against her shoulder he did not resist.