“You don some too,” the Beast went on.

“As you wish.”

“Pack more, and I want my female bathed. She is dirty. I do not like her dirty. Bathe her and dress her in the woman’s clothes,” the Beast finished.

“It will be done,” Jellan, the arsehole, the fool, the duplicitous sycophantic cretin assured.

She heard steps ascending stairs as she heard others approaching her.

She also heard the rain coming down in sheets and sheets.

She saw his feet, filthy with mud and grass, before he crouched and she saw his member hanging between his thighs, large even flaccid, and now tainted with blood.

Marian’s mouth filled with bile.

She then felt his gentle touch as her hair was pulled away from her face.

“Do not be angry at me, my witch,” he clucked.

Don’t be angry?

Her mind reeled for ways to play this.

Jellan could shove his nose right up the creature’s arse.

She would be who she was.

“You might have broken my back,” she snapped.

“You could have a broken back, but you would still have your magic.”

She lifted her eyes to his and saw what she did not see all these months she had been with him.

He was still beautiful.

In this form.

But he was not innocent and docile and misunderstood. He was not simple and easily led.

He was devious and crafty.

She had been played.

By her Beast and Jellan.

“You connived with him against me,” she accused.

He shrugged.

She turned her eyes away.

“I needed you both,” he shared. “I could not ascend without your power, and his. But when I ascended, I needed a meal. And such it was.”

“Will you do me like you did that woman in the kitchens?” she demanded.

“I like you willing. You have much exuberance.”

Her gaze shot to his handsome visage again.

The new definition of twofaced.

“I can hardly be of service to you in that manner if my spine is snapped,” she spat.

He fell to his arse, and Marian gritted her teeth against the moan welling up her throat wrought by the pain in her body as he pulled her into his lap.

He then smoothed her hair again before he chucked her under the chin.

“I will not hurt you if you do not earn it. You are too important to me,” he told her.

“Important how?” she asked.

“There is more work to be done, important work, and I need you and our friend to do it.”

Marian was not feeling joyous about this news.

“What work is to be done?” she inquired.

“I fear it would be foolhardy to tell you of this at this juncture,” he shared.

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when Jellan appeared at their sides, stating, “I have your clothing, Daemon.”

Marian glared up at the fallen priest.

He was dressed in the dead Dellish farmer’s clothing.