Chapter 12
Not a soul in the room was breathing. There was a gasp, as everyone in took breath as one, but anxiety over the monster stationed before them allowed no one to exhale.
The creature was up on its hind legs, which were well muscled and reached the height of Celine herself. It sniffed the air for a moment before crouching down on all fours and staring down every person in the room with a menacing glare.
"Get her out of here!" barked Zuriel. He set Celine down and thrust her gently towards Rhys, though the strength of the push caused Celine to fall to the ground. Her palms skidded across the floor, and stung painfully as she scrambled to rise back to her feet.
Zuriel stripped off his coat his haste, his eyes never leaving that of the beast before him. He growled at it, in a low, menacing voice that Celine did not recognize.
He was unbuttoning his shirt now, and it only took moments for Celine to realizing what the purpose of this action was: he was going to transform. The realization elicited a whimper from Celine. She had been sure that she accepted this side of him. So, so sure. But now, faced with the chance to see him become a creature to be feared, she felt total and complete terror- not the understanding she had hoped for.
Rhys was by her side then. He helped her stand and tried to carry her away.
"No!" she protested, and shoved him softly away. He obeyed her, much to her surprise. He, too, knew she needed to see this.
And then it began. Zuriel's face began to change first. His nose grew, before Celine's very eyes, into something of a muzzle. His eyes turned a strange, clear silver. His body was next. It began to grow in height, and his feet burst from his shoes. By the time they were visible, they were covered in white, thick fur, and resembled paws more than human feet. His ankles were elongated into that of a dog's hocks.
Everything happened too quickly for Celine's eyes to keep up with after those few, breath-taking moments.
She did not realizing her eyes were shedding tears until she felt a droplet of those said tears tickled its way down her overheated cheeks. She covered her mouth to keep from crying out in fear.
She was back on the floor now, too weak with shock to stand. She should have expected this horror, should have known it was coming. She felt disloyal and guilty for her visible fright.
Zuriel seemed to have forgotten the existence of every person in the room. He was starting towards the other werewolf. He crawled, at first, and then he was running at a pace so quick he was across the expanse of the ballroom and atop the dark-furred intruder before Celine could blink. From that point onward, she could not keep up with the fight that ensued. She blinked, and they were on the ground, Zuriel being on top with his fangs sunken into the other lycan's shoulder. Another blink and the werewolf had Zuriel pinned against the wall. Another blink. Zuriel had his claws halfway down his opponents back.
Celine was not sure how the others in the room were reacting. She heard the screams of a few children, and from the sound of it, many of the servants had left the room in search of a safer environment.
A howl sounded. She recognized the sound immediately as Zuriel's. It echoed throughout the ballroom, and drew more noise from the people around him. The howl, which had sent chills up her spine when she had not known its origins, caused her knees to buckle and her lungs to cease allowing her to intake breath.
At first Celine thought Zuriel had been hurt. Reason was almost overtaken by love and compassion, and she rose to run to him, but a pair of hands stopped her. She turned her head and saw that it was Rhys. She was about to scream at him to let her go, but his hand flew up to her mouth and covered it, preventing her from making any noise. She realized all too quickly that this was a precautionary action. Zuriel was not himself now… He could very well tear her apart.
With relief, Celine saw that the other werewolf was on the floor. The howl that had sounded was a battle cry, and not a wolf-like scream of pain. Zuriel was winning.
Crimson blood stained much of Zuriel's snow hued fur. She prayed that it was the other animal's, and not his own. Rhys slowly lowered his hand to uncover her mouth, so that she could breathe again.
A growl rose from the throat of one of the lycans, though from which one, Celine was not sure. She folded her hands together in silent prayer; her eyes open wise and aware. Tears continued to spill from her eyes, which stung with the salt from them. She ignored the little bit of pain. She had no time for it.
There was a yelp, sharp and piercing. It silenced everyone left in the room. Zuriel had the intruder by its throat, pinned against the wall. Its animalistic feet dangled in the air, and its ears were flat against its head like a dog that had just been beaten.
Zuriel dropped the lycan then. It felt to the ground with a loud, sickening thud. With that, the thing began to transform. Its size reduced by half in a matter of seconds, and the whimpering sound that were being emitted from its mouth became the cries of a man. The body shuddered until it returned to a recognizable form: Roland's.
"O my goodness, "Celine whispered tearfully. She looked from the man on the ground to the man the white lycan was transforming back into: her Zuriel. She looked from one man to the other, unsure of what to do. Her feet felt frozen in place.
She rushed forth before Zuriel was even fully himself, trusting that he would not hurt her. She heard one of the servant's shout for her to stop, but she ignored the plea.
She grabbed his face passionately and held it between her palms, examining it for any signs of blood. The fur that had covered it moments ago faded rapidly into nothing. There was a cut on his eyebrow. It trickled blood, and she wiped it away quickly with her palm.
He was breathing heavily, his stomach, which was thankfully unmarked, heaving as he gasped for breath. There was a large gash on his thigh, and she realized that he was entirely unclothed. She cared very little about this fact.
Sobs could be heard, desperate and sorrowful. It took her a moment to realize that the cries were her own. Zuriel offered a soothing shush, but it did no good.
"I am sorry, Celine" he gasped out. She shook her head, trying to tell him that it was not his fault, and finding that her voice was lost in her panic.
Finally, she turned to Roland, who lay on the ground at her feet. He was holding his side, and a scarlet pool of blood was beside him.
Despite all of this, he looked disgusted and smug.
Celine bent down and moved his hand to check the severity of his wound. To her horror, she saw that the hard, white material sticking out from the gash could be nothing but his ribs. She fought down the bile that threatened to fill her mouth.
"He is dying, Celine," said Roland suddenly. His eyes looked more cunning than sorrowful over his impending death. "You should go to him. He needs you".
With a little chuckle, Roland began to choke. Moments later, blood spurted from his mouth and spilled over his chin and the side of his lips. He drew in a large gasp of air, and then moved no more.
It took a few moments before his words sunk in.
Rhys came up behind Zuriel with a cloak fetched for him by one of the maids. He swung it over his comrade's shoulders. He knew the toll forced transformation took on Zuriel's body. Strong, immortal man or not, he would be sick for the next few days, that was certain. Zuriel muttered a quick "thank you" before gliding over to his love.
"Celine…"came Zuriel's voice from behind her. She could not guess the emotion that drove his voice forth. He was with her then, lifting her into his arms and crushing her tightly against his chest to warm her.
For his sake, Celine fought to keep herself calm. She could still feel warm tears flooding over the curves of her cheeks, but she fought them back the best she could.
"He is lying, Celine. Do not worry, "he whispered into her ear. Celine could hear the ballroom doors opening and closing as the servants began to filter back into the room.
She hoped he was right. But she could not stake her father's life on hope. She had to find out for certain. But now was not the time to think of her father.
She looked up at him. His handsome, perfect face was now bruising in a few places, including his right eye and his left cheek bone. She gasped, feeling guilty that she would even think of the father that had abandoned her when she had a lover to care for.
"Put me down, please," she said anxiously. He reluctantly did so.
He looked alright, beaten or not. He looked strong and healthy as ever. But he was exhausted. She could tell so. She asked Fiona to get her a pitcher of hot water, and Rhys and a few of Roland's guards ran to get a sofa for their leader.
Celine circled him quickly, checking his back for any signs of wounds. She pushed aside the cloak. There were four long, deep gashes, all side by side, running from his left shoulder blade down to the right side of his lower bad.
"Oh, Zuriel," she whispered sympathetically. Fiona arrived with the hot water, as well as a white cloth with which to wash and dress Zuriel's wounds.
"Leave us, all of you," said Zuriel authoritatively, once the sofa was set behind him and Celine. Only a select few of his servants had ever seen him in his lycan form. He knew how terrified they must be, and he was thankful, as always, for their loyalty. But now, Celine was what was important to him. He needed to be alone with her, to calm her and relieve her of her overwhelming fears. He would make up for this tragic night when he had the time. Now, however, he did not.
"Sit, my love, "he said quietly, taking Celine by her upper arms and trying to force the action he suggested. She refused.
"No, please, you sit, Zuriel. I will fix this. I will heal you. Just relax, please!" Her voice was shrill as she fought down her rising panic. She winced, realizing how dramatic she was being, and breathed in and out deeply a few times to cease it.
"Please sit," she tried again. Zuriel nodded, not wanting to overwhelm her further, and sat on the sofa without letting his bloody back touch it. Celine went around to the back of the seat and, wetted cloth in hand, began to clean his wounds carefully. Both were silent. Zuriel found himself, for the first time since he had been bitten, in a shocked state of mind. He was not sure what to say. He wanted desperately to know what Celine was thinking. He wanted desperately to know what that damned ass Roland was thinking when he had brought this upon them.
His jaw tightened as he stared at the bloody trail that led out of the ballroom doors. One of the staff must have taken the body away. He did not care what they did with it, as long as it was gone from his sight.
He was angry at the man for having done this. Angry that he had been forced to change in front of Celine. Angry that he has lost a night that would have otherwise been so perfect.
Anger turned to fear. He feared how Celine was accepting everything she had just seen now. He feared how she would accept it later. He could tell by the look of terror on her face that she had not really considered all that being a werewolf ensued.
He felt his fists clench, but after only moments under Celine's tender care, he could feel his tired body relaxing. Her delicate hands moved over his wounds, cleansing them and then dressing them. She pressed her cheek against his good shoulder so that she could easier wrap the bandages around his torso and back. He could have sworn he could feel wetness about her face, as if she had not yet stopped crying. His back felt colder in the area she had touched with her face after she lifted it, confirming his suspicions that his angel, his precious, frightened angel, was not done crying.
He relaxed yet again when he felt her warm lips plant a small, loving kiss on the place where her cheek had just been. The action, miniscule as it was, was so sweet and docile that he was unsure of how to react.
She came around to the front of the sofa now, so that she was facing him. Despite her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she still looked just as angelic as when she had first entered the ballroom. Her eyes looked even prettier after they shed tears, like the darkest part of an emerald.
She took his face in her hands, like she had before when checking it for wounds. This time, though, she was searching his eyes for mental wounds, as if she feared she had somehow scared him on this cursed night.
"I am sorry for my fear, Zuriel. Truly," she whispered the words, because the emotion in them would not permit her to speak any louder. Her lips quivered.
Zuriel said nothing. There was nothing to say. He gathered her in his arms and rocked her ever so slightly, trying to remove her pain. She was a contradictory thing through and through. She obviously felt that she had somehow handled the events that had just taken place in a childish way, just as she was, now, crying like a little girl. In fact, she was more a woman to him now than she had been before any of this. Any other female would have run after the sight Celine had been forced to endure tonight. Instead, she was apologizing as if the sin was hers.
She quieted after a few minutes. The echo of her gasping sobs faded until the room was, once again, silent.
"I need to see him. My father… I need to. I do not know if he is alright. I need to…." She repeated herself a few times.
Zuriel closed his eyes as he held her, mentally knocking back the frustration he felt. Tonight was painful enough without Roland's lies, and Celine's believing them. He knew Roland had lied. The man knew nothing but how to lie. His life was a lie, based on the false hope that he would one day have Celine as his bride.
After so many years on this earth, Zuriel could spot the truth quicker than anyone he knew. Roland was a liar. Everything from his disgusting grin to his leery eyes had given him away moments before his death. But Celine was in too fragile a state to enter a mental war with herself over whether or not her father was well. And Zuriel could not simply send his servants to go check on her father. Celine would need to see it herself.
No doubt William was living as lavish a lifestyle as he had always dreamed of. It would be good for Celine to see how pathetically better off he fancied he was without her.
"I will take you tomorrow," he promised, his lips moving against her hair.
"No!" Celine sat upright, looking piercingly into his eyes, determined to make him see reason. "You must rest for a few days. You are not well. You are exhausted. Please! I will go alone."
"Alright, alright," he said, stroke her hair until her head was back on his shoulder and she seemed calm. Never had he seen a woman so fiercely protective over her loved ones before- him included. A day of rest was all he needed. His body would recover faster than Celine imagined.
"I will be accompanying you though Celine. You are going to have to trust me. I will be fit enough for travel."
Celine shook her head into his shoulder for a few moments before giving up and giving in. He was right, as usual, she was sure of it.
Having been used to not seeing anyone but Zuriel in the castle for so long, Celine found that she was prone to scream whenever a servant turned the corner. She kept herself silent, fearing that Zuriel may have a headache, as she accompanied him and Rhys to Zuriel's bedchambers.
No one asked if Zuriel was alright. They knew that as long as the man was not dead, he would heal in due time. They also knew that Celine would need privacy with him, so, after Rhys had Zuriel safely in bed, he left the couple so that they would be undisturbed.
Celine crawled into Zuriel's bed next to him. The general rules of engagement between men and women were below her now. She hardly cared if it was improper to be in a man's bedchambers unaccompanied, let alone in his bed unless they were bound in wedlock.
She was careful as she rolled softly over so that she was close enough to touch him. She was not sure where he was hurting and where he was not. She placed her warm hands gingerly on his chest, and pressed the length of her body against him, as to keep him warm. Zuriel, unbeknown to her, smiled up at the ceiling at the action. He was hardly even cold, and within the hour, he would be warmer than she was. That was how his kind operated. Nonetheless, he let her do what she pleased.
She stroked his chest in a careful sort of way, afraid that she was both crossing un-crossable boundaries, and possibly hurting him.
They fell asleep in that position, resting assured that, should any other disturbances happen, the servants guarding his bedchamber door would see to them.