AN: Jacqueline18, Megumisakura, Philomina and Kirai-Ninja, thank you so much for your reviews. A quick sidenote: Italics in this chapter are flashbacks.
THE CREATURE
He ran swiftly and silently through the forest, hoping to put as much distance between them as possible. The closer he was, the greater the temptation to return to her, and if he returned to her, he wasn't sure he would be able to control himself.
He had never been kissed before. Never. He had seen it happen many times, of course. He had seen Safie tenderly kiss her daughter, Abigail. He had seen Felix kiss Safie with passion and tenderness. He had seen Victor kiss Elizabeth. He had seen gentlemen kiss the hands of noble ladies upon first meeting them.
But he had never before shared the intimacy of a kiss with another. He had never shared any kind of intimacy with another.
He had never realized how powerful a simple kiss could be. He had not expected Lena's lips to rob him of every thought, to render him weak and helpless and completely overwhelmed. Every atom in his body had cried out with pleasure and desire. With need. He had wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, to feel her curves pressed tightly against him.
He had never known the power of desire firsthand. Now he felt like an opium addict, eyes dazed, muscles weak, thoughts blurred and confused. He wanted more, and was simultaneously terrified that the more he got, the more he would crave.
But his instincts had kicked in. In all his years of life, any measure of happiness he had experienced had immediately been followed by agony and despair. His brief time with Monsieur De Lacey, his rescue of the little girl who fell into a river, his meeting with the child, William Frankenstein. All had been followed by abject misery.
He had run. Even as he cursed himself a coward, he had run. Despite what Helena thought, he really did trust her.
But he did not trust anything else. He did not trust fate, that cruel mistress, to look kindly upon him.
When he finally stopped running, when he finally stopped to think, he realized that he had left her completely alone. He cursed himself. If he wasn't with her she couldn't sleep. It had been like that since the first night, the night she had spoken to him, when her voice had cut straight through the red haze of anger and misery that consumed him.
"If you are here to kill me, I have the right to see your face."
Her logic was obviously flawed. He had killed several people and they had never once seen his hideous face, and in all his studies he had never heard of any natural human right to know the identity of one's killer.
But it wasn't her words that stopped him. It was her tone. She sounded so calm, as if she were speaking of the weather, or the harvest. She sounded as if she was speaking to another human.
He wanted to hate her for that, but his heart would not listen to his mind; the idea of being spoken to as if he was – dare he even think it! – a normal, intelligent man… the very idea was intoxicating.
"Then I must not be here to kill you, for I do not intend to show myself."
He turned around immediately, and began his trek back through the foothills of southern France, this time at twice the speed with which he'd escaped. Thoughts of her haunted him every step of the way. Every detail of her face, her eyes, her hair… The smell of her, the taste of her lips. He cursed himself a thousand times over for ever having stepped foot in her bedchamber.
She paused, and slowly sat up from her pillows. Long curls of pale yellow hair tumbled over her shoulders. He could see her, even in the near total darkness, for his creator had imbued him with unnaturally keen eyes.
She was not afraid.
"You sound remarkably intelligent for a man who steals into young women's bedchambers in the middle of the night."
Oddly enough, he was flattered by the compliment, even though it was embedded in an insult.
"Have many men stolen into your bedchambers, to give you such insight?"
"No," she replied with a small shrug, taking his verbal hit without even a flinch. If she heard the wild fury that often accompanied his voice, she did not acknowledge it. Perhaps it was not there? He thought about that for a moment. His blood still ran hot, still electrified with the hellish energy that sustained him. His senses were open at full blast. But his mind was not a raging chaos of hate and fury.
In fact, his mind was very much interested in this woman. Not in destroying her, or striking terror into her heart.
His mind was interested in... talking to her.
By the time the Dubois estate came into view, the sun was rising in the eastern sky, casting golden light over the pale stone of the manor ouse. It was sunrise, and men and animals alike had begun to stir. Animals he could handle; animals liked him. It was the humans he had to avoid. He cursed himself again, retreated back into the shadows of the great, ancient trees that guarded his forest, and watched her window and waited.
"Was I screaming?" she asked suddenly. He tilted his head, frowning. What a strange thing to ask! What a strange little human!
"You were… crying," he replied. This time, he spoke without any trace of mockery or disdain. He was very curious about this woman. She had been absolutely terrified when she was asleep. If it could even be called sleep; she shuddered and whimpered and twitched, as if she could see him even in her dreams and was frightened beyond reasonable thought.
But then, the moment she awoke, that fear disappeared, and in its place he'd found a calm, clever little creature completely in charge of her environment.
She nodded, and then glanced down at herself, at her hands. "Usually, I can't remember who or where I am after I wake up. This is unusual." She frowned. "You are most likely just a hallucination," she added, more to herself than to him.
"I assure you, I am no hallucination," he murmured. She glanced up, in the direction of his voice, for the first time, and he flinched away instinctively. And he cursed himself for his cowardice. She couldn't possibly see him; he'd closed the drapes over her windows and half-shut the heavy brocade fabric that hung around her bed. And yet he still feared her eyes. Strong, clear eyes full of curiosity and concern.
"There is no way for me to determine that," she said. "Hallucinations have all the appearance of reality."
He didn't know what to say. How could he possibly make her believe that he was real without showing himself to her? And how could he possibly show himself to her without having to kill her?
Because, in all honesty, he didn't want to kill her.
He had once been a gentle creature, innocent of any crimes. His father had made him what he was today. Why should this young woman, who had no attachment to Victor and had never sought to harm him, pay for Victor's mistakes with her life?
"If I am here tomorrow night," he said hesitantly, "then you will know I am not a dream."
An hour passed before he saw any sign of movement. Her younger sister, Margot, brought a lamp into the room and bounced up onto her bed to rouse her, but she was already awake.
When she stood, he could tell she hadn't slept at all. She moved slowly, not dazed from slumber but dazed from the lack of it. Margot spoke with a worried expression on her face, but Helena waved away her concern.
Much of the day passed as such; the entire family commented on her lack of energy, even some of the servants mentioned it to her in concerned tones. She gave them all that kind, appreciative smile and avoided their questions.
Then she did something she did not usually do: she came looking for him. She coerced Margot to accompany her on a walk and struck out onto one of the little paths that weaved through his forest. He followed at a careful distance, wondering what she was up to, and eventually she began to slow her pace and fall behind her sister.
"Hurry up, Lena," Margot called as she skipped along down the path. She was excited about the late-summer wildflowers that bloomed along the banks of the Bordeaux.
"I'm tired, let me take my time," Lena replied wearily. "Besides, if you get there first you'll get all the pretty flowers."
Margot was very soon out of earshot.
"I know you're there," she said in a soft voice, keeping her eyes on the trail and stepping carefully over branches and roots. He froze. Had he made a noise? No, of course not. He never made noise, not in his own woods. "I know what it feels like when you're watching me," she added. He frowned.
"I told you never to come looking for me," he growled. She stopped walking, but did not turn to face him.
"You also told me you would stay with me," she replied. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and the pain that laced it made him want to touch her so badly he had to clench his hands into tight fists to keep from moving forward.
"I will be back tonight." Even as he said it, he could hear the strain in his voice.
"Why?"
He hesitated. Why, indeed?
"Because you need to sleep."
After a moment, she said, "Yes."
"Don't get too close to the river," he commanded. He had already pulled someone from the cold, hungry grasp of the Bordeaux. He had no desire to do it again.
Lena paused, staring through the trees at the sunlight that glittered off the water of the Bordeaux.
"I won't," she said faintly. Then she smiled, and though the smile lit up her face, her gaze was sad and distant. "You know, I have never had the courage to come out here before. Not since I was a child."
He frowned, wondering at the conflict of emotions that he saw within her. "Then why did you come?"
Lena blinked. Then she shrugged. "You make me feel safe," she said simply.
He did not reply. He couldn't. Her words had stunned him silent.
She turned and continued through the woods until she reached the clearing, a small meadow blanketed by a rainbow of wildflowers and sheltered by a thick copse of ancient willows. On the other side of the floodplain, the river sparkled and danced within its banks, still swollen with snowmelt from the mountains. He remained hidden in the shadows of a large willow, watching her.
"Go," he said finally. "I will see you tonight."
"But will I see you?" she wondered.
This time, he did not smile.
"No, Helena. You will not."