Page 52 of Beloved Beast

Gillian took them off, slowly crouching down and laying the items to the floor. Luke observed her hands shook slightly.

The man smiled. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Brandt of Konski and Kroger. You are as lovely as your photograph. But I will not waste time with conversation. I have been given an assignment and I will see it…”

The knife hit the man in the left shoulder and he cried out, effectively cutting off the rest of his sentence. Gillian. She must have slipped it from her boot when she laid the wig and glasses on the floor. My brave girl. A surge of admiration and love moved through Luke.

In a quick motion, he sprinted toward the German, grabbing his wrist as the man pulled the trigger. Gillian spun and tumbled back, gasping and reaching for her arm. A red, raw fury tore through Luke, clouding his vision. An animal sounding roar escaped his throat as the two of them struggled with the gun. How dare this Nazi harm Gillian! Protect. No other thought entered his mind but to guard her, no matter the cost.

Both men wheeled about, and they continued to grapple for the gun. The Nazi, using the deft movement of a supremely trained and skilled master of hand-to-hand combat, pulled the knife out of his own shoulder. With his free hand and grunting with pain, effort, and fury, he brought the knife between them slicing through layers of clothes as the weapon stabbed deep into Luke’s side.

He nearly blacked out from the searing pain. His arms were leaden, and his knees began to buckle. Luke remained upright, however, thanks to the Nazi holding him in place with the blade. He forced himself to look into the spy’s face and was met by a small, villainous grin. As the Nazi dug the knife deeper into Luke’s side, the spy quietly said, “Shhhh. It is over for you. But live long enough to know what I’m going to do to her will be worse than you can possibly imagine.”

The threat aimed at Gillian caused his blood to boil. Luke looked into the Nazi agent’s eyes and bared his teeth in a growl that started deep in his chest and peaked to a roar. Bad enough the bastard had cut him, but to threaten the woman he loved? Already blood trickled down his thigh, but he did not care. With a burst of energy born from pure rage and the desire to protect Gillian, his legs steadied and Luke rose up as his body came alive. As he regained strength, the Nazi looked him up and down with widening eyes and blurted, “How can this be? You should be dead.”

Luke roared, “You can’t kill what’s already been dead!” He grabbed the Nazi’s wrist still holding the knife in his side and pushed it in reverse, which extracted the blade. He squeezed the man’s wrist and, to the sound of the man’s bones being crushed, the knife clattered to the floor. The spy screamed and with his hand hanging limp tried to back away.

In a move quicker than any predator, Luke seized the man by the throat, lifting him off the floor as if he weighed no more than an empty sack. The Nazi struggled, but with one arm useless and the other clutching the pistol, he could do nothing. Grasping the man’s arm at the shoulder, Luke held it out straight, the Luger pointing against the opposite wall.

Luke tilted his head back and with a bellow of unholy fury tore the man’s arm off at the shoulder socket as if it were a wing from a roasted partridge. A vast spray of blood hit Luke full-force across his torso. The man grew pale and twitched in a death throe. He never uttered a word but looked shocked at the fact his arm was rendered from his body. Their gazes met. Luke’s head tilted as he watched life slowly extinguish in the man’s eyes. Blood pumped out and splattered on the floor with every sluggish thump of Nazi’s heart.

It wouldn’t take long for the German to die. To hell with it. Why wait? Kill. Luke threw the arm aside, and with his gloved left hand, snapped the man’s neck in a quick, fluid motion. The Nazi went limp, and Luke tossed him aside like a rag doll.

It was then Gillian screamed.

Chapter 22

The arm lying at her feet twitched briefly then stopped, the hand still gripping the revolver. Gillian screamed again. Luke whirled around, his fists clenched, his face twisted in untamed anger. Blood dripped from him, splashing on the floor. Droplets were visible on his face and the murderous look in his eyes caused her to cover her mouth to tamp down another scream. Hot, rancid bile crawled up her throat. No, she would not vomit. Wincing, she swallowed it down.

Luke had moved so fast toward the Nazi, he’d been nothing but a blur. All of it occurred quickly, she could barely register what had happened. One thing could not be denied, not with the carnage lying on the floor. Luke killed a man. With only his hands.

Standing there, covered in blood, his teeth bared, he looked every inch The Beast of Charlwood. And he looked ready for another fight—the adrenaline must have be pumping through him at a fast pace. She backed up a step, then another, as fear clutched her insides. Would he murder her next? For a moment, she could not breathe. This is Luke, he will not hurt you, her inner voice insisted. Yet, she recalled what the scientist had written in his notes: Or will he lose control of his emotions, be overtaken by blind rage and become violent and uncontrollable, a beast in nature as well as in look?

The living proof stood before her. The Beast of Charlwood. He’d torn a man’s arm from its socket with no effort at all, broken the Nazi’s neck with a flick of his wrist. Luke hurting her? As her wits slowly calmed, she dismissed the absurd thought right away. He did this to shield her. He swore he would protect her and he did. Luke had no choice; the Nazi would have killed them both without blinking an eye.

All at once, his look softened as he walked toward her. Luke stood before her, remorse covering his features. He rested his head on her shoulder and a gasping sob of agony left his throat. Gillian did the only thing she could do: she embraced him. “It’s all right. Calm yourself,” she whispered. The copper scent of blood rose between them and she shuddered afresh. She patted the top of his head as if soothing an animal. A wild animal.

Suddenly, his arms encircled her waist and he pulled her close. “What have I done?”

As she kissed his cool cheek, she tasted his salty tears. “You saved us. You protected us from grave harm. Protected me.”

He pulled up the sleeve of her wool coat. “Are you hurt?”

Lord, she’d forgotten all about it. “I think the bullet grazed me, though it spun me around. I’m not hurt.”

Sure enough, there was a hole in the sleeve of her coat. The bullet had passed right through without injuring her. Luke glanced down at himself then at the carnage on the floor. “Christ, what a mess. I should have questioned him before I…damn.” Because she’d embraced him, there was blood on her as well.

Luke exhaled, and his breathing regulated to a more normal rhythm. “We have no time to waste,” he stated in a calm voice as he tore off his trench coat. After he removed his Webley revolver from the side pocket, he covered the corpse with the blood-soaked coat. He reached down and pulled the Luger from its death grip then kicked the arm over to the corpse.

“Change your clothes; leave any with blood on them on top of my coat.” Luke placed the pistols on the table and started to strip off his clothes. “Forget the wig and glasses. There’s blood on them anyway.” His suit jacket and shirt landed on the pile. He then strode over to where he left his suitcase, laid it on the table, and popped the latches open.

Gillian studied his changeable facial expressions. All vestiges of the beast were gone, as well as the vulnerability he showed right after. The MI-6 operative was now in charge. A complete and swift transformation. He was Luke once again and she breathed a sigh of relief. The scientist, Reed Parker, was wrong. Well, partly. Luke did become a beast, but not permanently. Meanwhile, she was still trying to gain control of her senses. Her hands shook, her mouth went dry. A chilling fright trickled along her spine.

“Do not dally. The gunshot may have been heard. We’ve got to get out of here. Once we’ve changed, we will exit through the tunnel.” He frowned briefly. “Which we should have done in the first place.” Luke peeled off his trousers and tossed them aside. He picked the knife up from the floor and wiped the blood on the trench coat. He held it out toward her. “Put the knife back in your boot.”

What did he say, knife? “Y…yes.” Her voice trembled and so did the hand taking the weapon. She apparently was still in shock by what she’d witnessed. Gillian glanced at it; the tip had been broken off. Shakily, she slipped it in her boot and changed her clothes in what felt like slow motion. Luke stood, wearing the black trench coat from their first day together. A gray plaid scarf was wrapped around his face, and he wore the glasses and his hat, which had been knocked off in the melee.

He met her gaze. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern in his voice. “Did I frighten you? Are you now afraid of me?”

“I am frightened by this entire situation.” She gave him a brief but reassuring smile. “But I’m not afraid of you. You would not hurt me.”