The Beast of the Barrens Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Join my email list

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Beast of the Barrens

  a villain romance drawn from Beauty and the Beast

  Val Saintcrowe

  THE BEAST OF THE BARRENS

  © copyright 2021 by Val Saintcrowe

  http://vjchambers.com

  Punk Rawk Books

  Join my email list and hear about all my new releases first.

  Join here.

  Hang out with me on Facebook.

  Join my group to hear me babble about what I’m watching and reading.

  Click here.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The sky had taken on the gray color that signaled the coming of dawn, and still, the card game continued.

  The Popina Tavern had been closed for hours now, and the staff had all been sent home. The players were serving themselves drinks now, though everyone had long since dropped out of the game besides the final two players.

  Anyone watching would speak of the game for years to come, the way that Chevolere Vox, the Beast of the Barrens as they called him, seemed too eager for Federo Abrusse to stay in the game. When the elder man, street lord of the infamous Abrusse family, tried to gather his winnings and go, Chevolere leaned forward, his eyes glittering behind the black leather mask he always wore, and said, “What will it take to keep you in the game? What do I need to put into the pot to entice you?”

  Abrusse laughed, getting up from the table. “I am an old man, Vox. My bed is calling.”

  The mask was similar to a typical mask worn by revelers at a masquerade party, mostly covering the top part of Chevolere’s face, from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. But on the left side, it went lower, down over his cheek, all the way down to nearly cover his jaw. Speculation was that this was to cover whatever horror was beneath. No one had seen the scars beneath Chevolere’s mask, but the rumors ran wild. Some said he had been burned in an awful fire and that his face was pink and horrid beneath, a mass of twisted flesh. Others insisted it was acid that had scalded him instead, that his skin had been eaten away and now there was nothing beneath but the thinnest stretch of muscle and scar tissue. Still others said that he had been mauled by a wild animal. Reports ranged from wolves to bears to large predatory cats like some sailors told stories of in the rugged lands across the seas.

  Chevolere began taking off his rings, tossing them in with the chips that they had been using to play the game. He took off jewel after jewel, and Abrusse laughed and laughed, saying he was flattered, but he was also exhausted.

  “Some other time,” said Abrusse to Chevolere. “We will play again, I promise it. I have enjoyed my time with you.”

  “Nothing would entice you?” said Chevolere. “Nothing at all?’

  Abrusse considered this. Finally, he raised one shoulder. “Perhaps if you put up this tavern, your place of business, your livelihood. And we both know you would not risk such a thing.”

  Chevolere smiled, his mouth curving below his mask. “This could be possible, but if I do such a thing, you must put up something equally as precious to you.”

  “What? One of my businesses?”

  “No, no,” said Chevolere, putting his jeweled rings back on his fingers. “No, you have many businesses, and this—as you say—is my livelihood. Something irreplaceable, instead.”

  “I have no notion what that might be.” Abrusse sat back down at the table. He had not agreed, but he might as well have.

  “Your daughter,” said Chevolere. “The youngest girl, the one who is still living at home with you. If I win, you will give her to me to do with as I wish.”

  A collective gasp went through the other players, all shocked that Chevolere would suggest such a thing.

  Abrusse did not get up from the table. “Ziafiata is the light of my life. Are you suggesting I let the likes of you marry her?”

  “Did I say anything about marriage?” said Chevolere.

  There were more murmurs from those assembled.

  “Your daughter ran off with the son of your enemy a year ago, did she not?” said Chevolere. “It is not as if she is pure and untouched. There is no marrying her off, regardless. She is tainted.”

  “That is not true,” Abrusse growled, slamming a palm down on the table. “I promise you that that blackguard never touched her.”

  Chevolere shrugged.

  “I would certainly never let a brute like you anywhere near her.”

  The Beast of the Barrens was rumored to have beastlike appetites when it came to women. So much so that the madame of Sereine House had forbidden him from visiting the beds of any of her girls. She was the only one who was brave enough and strong enough to take the man into her bed, and he visited her exclusively. What he did there no one knew, but it was said to be horrifying.

  “Make another suggestion,” said Abrusse.

  “I have no other suggestion to make,” said Chevolere. “Are you frightened that you will not be able to beat me at cards, is that it?”

  “I am frightened of nothing,” scoffed Abrusse, “least of all a game of cards.”

  “Then let us play,” said Chevolere. “We both have something precious to lose. It will be quite the game. Doesn’t your heart beat faster at the thought of it?”

  Abrusse sighed, but he was still seated at the table. No one was truly surprised when he acquiesced, putting his own daughter up as collateral in a card game.

  The game that followed was tense and prolonged. Each man took as much time as he possibly could to make each move. Each time he decided to exchange a card or stay with his current hand, each man could be seen to weigh the decision long and hard.

  At first, Abrusse had the king of stones face out on the table and Chevolere had the three of roses.

  But then Chevolere’s face cards included the five of roses and the two of roses and Abrusse had only the three of rods and the two of daggers.

  It would all rely on what cards the men had in their hands.

  When they lay their cards down in the final round, Chevolere had a full suit of roses, including the una. Abrusse had a pair of kings. He had lost. He was angry, demanding to examine the deck, which Chevolere handed over easily enough.

  Abrusse went through the cards twice, raging the entire time that Chevolere must have cheated, that there was no other way to assemble such a hand. But he could find nothing wrong with the deck, and eventually he quieted, his face drawn and haggard.

  The sun was struggling into the sky now, and the golden rays fell on Abrusse’s wrinkled face. He was solemn and silent for some time, turning the cards over in his hands. Finally, he stopped and set them down, face up.

  “There must be something else you would wish from me,” said Abrusse. “You cannot be serious as to actually follow through on this intention. My daughter is not…”

  “Not the sort of the thing a man offers up as collateral in a card game?” Chevolere’s smile was not kind. He snatche
d the cards away from Abrusse and set them inside a case. He began to gather up chips from the middle of the table and stack them in rows. The chips were made from wood, and they were scratched and grooved from use. “Well, that was your choice, wasn’t it, Federo?”

  “Take one of my inns,” said Abrusse. “The Cliff Tavern is right across the street. Think how you could expand if you had control of it.”

  “I will come to collect her in two hours’ time,” said Chevolere.

  “Two hours?” Abrusse was on his feet. “She will hardly have had time to wake up and get dressed for the day!”

  “I don’t trust you not to spirit her off somewhere,” said Chevolere, calmly stacking wooden chips.

  “Play me another game then,” said Abrusse. “When people hear of this, they will think…”

  “That you have no concern for your daughter?” said Chevolere, his voice taking on a hard edge. “That you are, perhaps, uncaring and irresponsible?”

  Abrusse’s nostrils flared. “Do you have some quarrel with me, Vox? If so, you might have come out with it like a gentlemen instead of using underhanded trickery and—”

  “It was a game of cards, sir,” said Chevolere, tilting back his masked face. “You could have won as easily as I.”

  Abrusse shook his head slowly. “You must have cheated. You—”

  “Two hours,” said Chevolere. “See that she’s ready for me.” He got up from the table. Concealed in his sleeves were more than one card that he’d palmed and hidden during the game. He didn’t like to think of it as cheating, however. He thought of it as ensuring the proper result.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ziafiata Abrusse woke after a fitful sleep and thrust aside the bed covers to get out of bed. She went to the window and looked out to see that the dawn was stealing its way into the sky. Immediately, she rang for a servant to come.

  Not her maid, though.

  Her father had dismissed her maid a month ago, a punishment for some sin of hers, and she couldn’t remember what it had been now. Possibly that she had smiled at the wrong time. Possibly that she had not smiled when she was meant to.

  The servant burst through the door, shaking her head.

  “He never came home?” said Ziafiata.

  “No, mistress,” said the servant, who currently balanced duties in the kitchen with helping Ziafiata to fasten the buttons she couldn’t reach and to plait her hair. Ziafiata did what she could herself, of course. It would be too much for one servant to take on all the duties of a maid in addition to everything else.

  “Blazes,” whispered Ziafiata. This couldn’t be good. “He’ll be drunk when he gets back, then. Have you thought of what to serve for breakfast?”

  “Oh, already started on it. We will be serving as much of the sausages and sweetbreads as we can manage. And, of course, coffee. We will sober him up as best we can.”

  “Good,” said Ziafiata, taking a deep breath. That was the best they could do, then. Her father was not an easy man under the best of circumstances, but after a night of drinking, he was unbearable.

  Her father had exacting standards, and Ziafiata did her best to meet them. She only failed when her father changed the rules on her, which he did often enough.

  She had long ago learned that the punishments she received weren’t about her failures but about her father’s enjoyment of meting them out.

  He was a hard man to live with.

  He never put his hands on her, of course. He was not physical in that way. His punishments were more intricate and devious. He liked to cause her discomfort. He liked to remove her joys and pleasures.

  Perhaps Federo Abrusse’s deviousness was an asset as a street lord. It allowed him to keep control of the underbelly of the city of Rzymn. But in his household, it did nothing but cause misery.

  It was after one of her father’s punishments of Ziafiata’s mother that the woman succumbed to sickness, after having been forced to spend a night out on the roof in freezing weather. She had also lost a finger to the frost rot, but that had hardly mattered when she hadn’t lived but a week beyond the incident.

  Her father repented of this. He went to the brothers and confessed and did penance for weeks. He promised Ziafiata and her two older sisters that he would change, and for a time, things did get better.

  But slowly, her father’s punishments returned.

  It was no wonder that both of Ziafiata’s elder sisters had married young, to whatever men who would take them. Ziafiata herself had attempted an elopement, but it had failed. She should have known better than to fall for the son of her father’s rival, the heir to the Caputio family.

  The servant gestured to Ziafiata’s wardrobe. “Shall I help you to dress?”

  Ziafiata shook her head. “No, best if you are in the kitchen. Everyone should be in the kitchen now. We must have the smell of food wafting out when he walks through the door, so that he goes straight there and does not seek anyone out to find fault with.”

  “As you say,” said the servant, giving a quick curtsy before she left the room.

  Ziafiata dressed herself, selecting a gown that was easy enough for her to get into herself, one that laced up the front. She braided her hair herself, something that she could do fairly well, except for the fact that the resulting braid always wanted to lie over one shoulder and not down the middle of her back.

  When she heard her father come in, he called for her the minute he came in the door.

  Her heart sank, but she knew better than to delay or pretend as though she hadn’t heard him. This would displease him, and she couldn’t be sure what he might do in response.

  She hurried down the steps and met him at the entryway to their house. The house was on the outskirts of the Trisaccio part of town, right on the water, accessible only by boat. The city of Rzymn was an island that had outgrown its borders and expanded onto the water. This house’s foundations were far under the water, anchored to the land below. The house was up on stilts because high tide brought the waters nearly to the front door. But it was low tide now, and her father had to ascend steps from the dock below.

  “Father,” said Ziafiata, taking him in. He did not look as though he had brawled or fought with weapons. That was something, at least. “Would you not care for some breakfast?”

  He looked her over from head to toe. “I have news for you, Ziafiata.”

  She licked her lips. News? What a strange thing to say to her. “There are sausages and sweetbreads, I think. Are you not hungry? You must be both hungry and tired to have been gone all night.”

  “I have lost you in a card game,” said her father.

  Ziafiata raised her eyebrows. “You have… you have what?”

  “I was maneuvered into a position by that dreadful Chevolere Vox. He did it to humiliate me, and I am sure he cheated. That man has no honor. What is he? An upstart tavern owner who sells cainlach? How dare he think to trifle with me, with a street lord? He will pay for this, make no mistake. But there were witnesses, girl, and I cannot back down. You’ll have to go to him.”

  Chevolere Vox?

  The man who was banned even from visiting prostitutes because his appetites were so unbearably savage?

  Her father had lost her in a card game to the Beast of the Barrens?

  Ziafiata uttered a tiny noise, in the back of her throat. It might have been a sob.

  “Oh, don’t,” snapped her father.

  “But what have I done, Father?” said Ziafiata. “Why do I deserve such a thing?”

  “It’s not about you,” said her father. “It’s about something between Vox and myself, some personal grudge he bears me. He hides it well, but he let his feelings come through a bit there at the end. He means to hurt me, to embarrass me, and he has done so. I…” Her father clenched both hands into fists.

  “If it will embarrass you, say no.” Ziafiata tried to stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Telling her father what to do was a recipe for pain. He would not take well to it. She cringe
d, as he lifted his gaze to hers.

  “I would if I could, believe me,” was all he said. His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Zia.”

  Her father was apologizing to her?

  “I am skilled with cards. You know this. I would not have undertaken the risk if I did not believe that I could prevail against him. He must have cheated. There is no other explanation. And when I discover that, I will ruin him. Unfortunately, I don’t know what will become of you, because once he has his way with you, you be thoroughly destroyed. Between that and your little dalliance with Diago, there will be no shred of reputation left for you. But some of that is your own fault, I must say.”

  Ziafiata pressed her fingers to her mouth. Inside, she was coming apart, but outwardly, she refused to react. She still feared her father, and she was already heading for the worst punishment she could possibly imagine. She could not bear for him to add to the punishment. That would be more than she could bear.

  “Well,” said her father. “You might as well tell your maid to pack your things. He’ll be here in an hour and a half.”

  “I have no maid.” Her voice was strangled. “You dismissed my maid.”

  “Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Her father sighed.

  “I’ll pack myself,” said Ziafiata, and she turned and ran up the stairs as quickly as she could.

  She shut herself in her room and stared at her bed. She had the urge to fling herself down on it and bury her face in the pillow. She wanted to sob and sob until there were no tears left.

  But she had cried before, many times, and she had learned something about crying.

  Tears were useless. They changed nothing.

  She didn’t cry. Instead, she took several deep breaths and went to her wardrobe. She busied herself with folding her dresses and putting them in her trunk.

  When she went down again, sometime later, she was in full control of herself. She asked one of the servants to bring her trunk down.

  The food in the dining room had been eaten, but her father was nowhere to be seen.

  Ziafiata wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to choke down something, because she did not wish to go into her ordeal with no food in her stomach.