Stars speckled the velvet dark that caressed a low-hanging crescent moon, beaming down at them with a gentle smile. The smell of rain permeated the room, and Jane’s nose scrunched slightly when she could still smell the acrid stank of the beast’s discarded pelt.
“Stars, Jane…” she jumped when his breath disturbed the hair beside her ear. When she looked up at him, she saw him staring into the night sky, eyes twinkling with tears—starlight of their own. When one of those tears slipped down his cheek, she reached up to catch it with her fingertip. “I’ve never seen stars before… Have they always been this wonderful?”
Jane didn’t look at the stars. She had seen them all her life, and no longer did they hold whimsy for her. Instead, she was captivated by his wonder, enthralled by a man denied a pleasure as simple as looking into the night sky, and her pride coaxed her to smile. It was a sad, soft grin, but a smile nonetheless. She was the one who had given him the stars and the moon.
She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder as she looked out the window, deep into the marsh’s still waters reflecting the moonlight. She wondered if the beast lavished under such moonlight, so that Terence could have tasted some kind of nightly beauty in some way.
“No,” she said at last.
She turned to cup his face. His eyes—hisblessed, human eyes—continued their glittering as her thumbs ran the lengths of his cheeks. A gentle sigh rushed from his nose as he closed those eyes and pressed into her touch.
Such a good boy…
She craned her neck to kiss his human mouth where she whispered against human skin, “They’ve only become wonderful since you’ve looked at them.”
Epilogue
By the morning of the following second day, the marshes had drained enough for Ruben to take a bicycle to Wolf’s Run so that he could call for a carriage for the rest of them.
Jane could barely contain her excitement, and fear, at being able to leave this wretched house. She paced the entryway, bag and ruined parasol in hand.
Mrs. Foster had the dress she first wore to the Drowning House cleaned and pressed, and at last Jane finally felt right to be wearing her proper pelt again. Almost. Her face was still naked, stripped bare of her makeup. It was ruined by bruises and scrapes, and a nasty scratch trailing from her bottom lip to chin that would certainly leave a scar.
All she could think about, after a time, was what her mother would be like upon her return. Would she be frantic? Would she be understanding? Or would she just be working on her watercolors again as if Jane never left in the first place? Jane at leastknew she’d panic over her injury and the stilted stride Jane now walked with. Mrs. Sterling would first fret over Jane’s well-being, as all good mothers do, but would then bemoan the grace in Jane’s stride becoming permanently interrupted rather than the fact that her daughter had been mauled.
Thinking about the wound made it ache suddenly, the pain settling in Jane’s knee. She paused her pacing to lift her skirt and look at the bandaged limb. The gauze was marked with the faintest imprints of pink and yellow. Jane had to admit that she, too, feared the scar would be both ugly and damaging to her stride. At the same time, smug pride flared in her chest. Neither of her sisters, her parents, or anyone else she knew, would bear scars from a battle won against a devil. She had gone to discover her own new beast—her ownIchthyosaur—and all she would be able to show for it were a few scars and a new companion.
At least the beast spared my face… somewhat.
“What were you going to tell your mother?” Terence’s voice startled Jane as he plodded down the stairs. He wore a fine green vest, which stood out brightly against the black of his tweed overcoat. His face was smooth from a fresh shave; Jane smiled with approval. He held a proper cane—which he used to gesture to her leg and then offered to her.
She took the cane, rolled it in her hands, and wrinkled her nose at it. It was a simple wooden one. Finely made, yes, but still plain. She decided to hold onto it, but she preferred to lean on her, admittedly, more fashionable parasol, even though it was stained with mud and blood.
“I do not know,” she said and dropped her skirt. “Haven’t decided. Perhaps I will say that we had a run-in with a dog—but that I won and that the dog is worse for wear.”
That rose a wry chuckle from Terence as he joined her inthe entryway, “You wouldn’t be wholly wrong in that statement.”
The space was quiet, stiff, between them for a moment before he cleared his throat. He wrung a pair of smart gloves and a scarlet scarf between his hands.
“I’ve… never had a chance to properly thank you, Jane—and to apologize.”
“For?” Jane knew damn well what for, but she wanted to hear him say it. She smiled expectantly.
Her smile fell, though, when he looked at her. The earnestness in his gaze tamed her need to be playful.
“You freed me,” he whispered. “And I don’t think I’ll ever find a way to forgive myself that it was at the cost of your own blood but… thank you, Jane.”
Yes, I know. I gave you the stars. Now say it again… Please.
When he didn’t, she rolled her shoulders in a masculine shrug. “I’m an American. It’s practically instinct for me to viciously dress a thing I’ve put a bullet in.”
His laugh was muted, and Jane’s giggle faltered when he took her face in his hands. The calluses were tender against her cheeks and she savored their heat with a hungry sigh.
“Thank you, Jane,” he whispered, lower now, and his breath brushed against her mouth. “I fear that I shall forever dread the setting sun. I’ve always dreamt of what music was made by crickets and bats and reeds kissed by the shifting winds, and perhaps one day I may come to cherish their song as a herald of freedom, just as I do dawn’s first songbirds. But I hope I may grow to find excitement in finally looking upon the night sky to see the moon and stars I’ve only ever heard tales of.” Their lips brushed, though only briefly, before he whispered, “Only if you’ll join me, and teach me to appreciate their wonder.”
Teach me.
A command of his own that threaded its way through her ribs and the valves of her heart. She supposed that there was now much for him to learn, no longer bound by a beast in his blood but rather the scars of manhood.
