Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(35)

Beast, definitely a beast.

“Now,” Dominique said, voice steady, sounding irritatingly nonplussed by the interaction they just shared. “Would you care to—”

Thunder interrupted his words. Glancing at the window his brows furrowed, and then he shook his head. “As I was saying, would you—”

The thunder boomed, shaking the practice room. Dominique cursed and marched over to the windows. Lightning streaked the sky.

He cursed again as the thunder shook the windows and then seemed to retreat behind Isabelle.

“Am I to understand that the beast is afraid of a silly storm?”

His eyes turned murderous. “I’m not afraid.”

“So you make a habit of hiding behind women when you want to show acts of extreme bravery? How very brave of you.” Isabelle reached out and touched his arm. “We can always continue the lessons elsewhere.”

“No.” Dominique backed away from the window, nearly tripping over the sofa behind him. “It will be loud everywhere in the house except—”

“Except?” Isabelle prodded, a chill running down her arms. She really did need to put on her dress.

“Never mind.” Dominique gave her a tight smile. “Lessons are done for the day, you can read, or sew, or do whatever a woman does to keep her hands from idleness and I’ll just run along and...”

“Drink yourself into a stupor?” Isabelle reached for her dress and began the task of dressing herself.

Dominique scowled. “I was going to do nothing of the sort.”

“He lies,” a voice said from the door. “Apologies, Dominique, when I heard the impending storm I rode as fast as I could to get here. Are you well?”

“Merciful heavens! What is going on?” Isabelle nearly shouted. “Why wouldn’t he be well?”

For once, Hunter was silent, which is something she would normally comment on in order to bring out his usual biting sarcasm, but his eyes seemed haunted, fearful almost.

Dominique was visibly shaking.

Fortunately, Isabelle had managed to fasten her dress in time for Hunter to enter the room. Both men were now talking in hushed voices. Hunter had his back to her and Dominique held his head in his hands.

Something was wrong, but the only cause she could find was the storm. Why would a man, so fearsome to behold, a beast, be afraid of a little thunder?





Chapter Seventeen


I can still remember the storm as if it was yesterday. It broke a window in the house. Terrified, I ran downstairs to my father. He may have been a monster, but he was still my father. Even after everything he had done to me, I still wanted his approval, needed him to say I was growing into a good man, even though I was only a young lad. Upon entering the room, I noticed another window had been broken. He was standing in the glass, barefoot. I remember because the blood stained the carpet. He stared at the rain pouring down and then lightning flashed. I noticed the pistol in his hand. Would the violence never end? The music started again, and I couldn’t bear it. I still can’t describe the pain a child feels when he sees his own flesh and blood blatantly reject him. He lifted the gun toward me, pointed it directly at my chest and snarled. Instinctively, I moved away from the gunshot and plowed into him. He lost his balance. In the span of two years, I lost my parents. But not just my parents, my future, the meaning of life, my contentment, my soul. To say I hate thunderstorms would be a gross understatement, for every time one is upon me, I feel possessed with hatred and sorrow. I fear, that one day, I will die the very same way my father did. The thunder, just like the music will come for me, and I’ll leave this world as the same sad little boy who entered it.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



Dominique felt the familiar chill run down his spine. Hunter’s words seemed to be pouring from his mouth at a slow pace. The room spun, and his chest clenched with terror. The thunder rolled again, and Dominique tried to swallow, tried to calm himself, but it felt like his throat was closing, that air could not get through from his lungs to his lips. He choked and coughed. Air released, but only a little. His vision blurred as he glanced at Isabelle.

Beautiful Isabelle with her golden-brown hair and bright blue eyes. Innocent of the evil done in this very house. Blast him to Hades for forgetting that minor inconvenience. The world wasn’t fair. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him in such a weakened state, or God forbid, for him to harm her as he had harmed his father. Like it or not, his father's blood ran through his veins and as much as she tried to cleanse his body of the hatred at being related to such a terrible man, it seemed to only fan the flame.

“Leave!” Dominique yelled. “Leave me!”

Hunter slapped him on the back. “Right, then, I’ll just be on my way.”

“Where are you going?” Isabelle chased after him. “You cannot leave him here like this! Do something!”

“What would you have me do?” Hunter gripped her arm tightly. “Erase the past? Hmm? Tell him to forget the horrors of his life? Knock him on the side of the head? Believe me, none of it works.”

Isabelle looked back to Dominique, her eyes full of compassion. “What should I do?”

“Love him,” Hunter whispered so softly Dominique nearly missed it. “You must love him.”

Dominique closed his eyes as the room continued to spin. He needed to gain control of the fear, but it suffocated him, made him want to scale the walls of the room he was sitting in, yet at the same time he couldn’t move. He didn’t even have a sound enough mind to be embarrassed.