The Beast Read Free

for the stunt. It was unnecessary and a silly risk, she could admit, but still she had to do it. Just once. “Sometimes, a little fancy is completely needed.”
    “Indeed.” Gastone guided his Friesian over, making room for Belle to ride alongside.
    Dual sets of high-pitched songs and an eruption of yellow light trailed them back to the group. Belle and Gastone approached as Friar Clemens and two other Hunters arrived. Friar Clemens drove one cart while the new recruit steered the second. Franck rode his own horse, eyes on the forest and gun at the ready.
    “Hello, messieurs. How goes it?” Belle greeted.
    “Very well. Merci, mademoiselle,” Clemens replied. He didn’t wear the same traditional society clothes as everyone else. His style was little more than basic; brown monk’s robes with a plain cloak for added warmth. “Simple clothes for a simple man,” he’d once told her.
    “Aside from the dead ones.” Franck pointed to the carted bodies they’d picked up along the way. “We didn’t encounter any hounds. The forest seems pretty well cleared.”
    Belle nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
    “Well then…” The new recruit, Jack, hooked his reins to the wagon and climbed down. “Let’s get these bodies loaded. I’m pert near sick of this cold.”
    That was typical Jack Lloyd. He was brash, cocksure, charming, hardworking, and the only American Belle had ever met. He’d traveled all the way from the Colorado Territories in search of an adventure. Said he’d worked on his father’s cattle ranch till he finally decided to see if the world was as pretty as the prairie. He hopped on a train, then boarded a ship, went from Australia to Europe, and somehow found himself in Glace—broke and looking to make some fast cash. Instead, he became their latest recruit.
    “Come on big fella.” Jack slapped Jean’s thigh. “Why don’t you give that horse’s back a break and help us.”
    With a grunt, the ever-massive Jean dismounted. He, along with Franck, Jack, and the friar, set to work loading the bodies. The others kept a lookout. The woods seemed empty, but the forest could be deceiving. Belle knew better than anyone what they were dealing with; her life had been irrevocably shaped by the dangers within Vakre Fjell.
    Five years ago, her father was attacked while traveling home from the Inventor’s World Fair. Not knowing what exactly he’d shot, he carted it straight to the cathedral. Belle remembered waking up to the call of the church bells, running past the unusual guards at the entrance, and pushing through the swollen crowd of onlookers. Most of all, she recalled seeing the bloodied hellhound on the floor. Henri thought he’d killed the creature, but given it took so long to become human again, it must have clung to life before it finally died.
    Questions were shouted. The crowd’s fear was palpable. But when the demon suddenly shifted into a human, stunned silence took the room.
    It was Bishop Sauvage who broke the quiet. As Archbishop, he often traversed the province, visiting the churches in his care. He’d heard tales of hellhounds in his travels, and explained how some sinners could be claimed by the devil. He then foretold of how these creatures would try to consume the world.
    The town hung on his every word, rapt by the power behind his voice. When he proposed forming the Hunters (or holy warriors as he called them) everyone agreed. Being the first to kill a hellhound, Henri LeClair was given the charge.
    To accommodate the volunteers coming from all over, the LeClair family uprooted to the local inn, and their home was redesigned. Continually more and more hellhounds were finding their way south, forcing every second to be devoted to the cause. Henri desperately sought to perfect their hunting skills and weapons, and oversaw the building of the gas-lit paths. Many men died in those days, so by thirteen, Belle was in training. Barely a year later, she was hunting alongside her