Chapter 5His mistress was angry.
The Beast had learnt to read the signs early enough, following his change. After the first time the anger had been directed at him.
He remembered snatches of the night of his capture, like a sequence of moving images in a 1950s slide show. Packed bag, clogged motorway, turrets of Lady Cockerell’s manor rising in the gloaming.
A feast in the dining room with all the other guests his godmother had invited, then a bonfire outside along the cliff top, over the cave’s mouth.
He couldn’t recall names or faces, only waving limbs and shadows growing into the darkness beyond the fire. He had expected battle, an overt attempt to coerce him, which he could—and would—counter. But there had been no declaration, no break in the other guests’ movements. All in a minut
