jueves, 29 de noviembre de 2012

Festival 2013, mas noticias

Compartiendo más noticias  desde el grupo de fans http://es.groups.yahoo.com/group/labellaylabestia_tv/ 

Saludos a todos,
Como lo prometimos, aquí tenemos más sugerencias para hacer este Festival memorable por su diversidad de creaciones.
Los túneles siempre estaban tan serios. Cada manifestación de un poco de humor era como un rayo de sol. Nos gustaría que contribuyeras a ese rayo de sol creando unas caricaturas o una historieta sobre los personajes de La Bella y la Bestia: Vincent y Padre, Jamie y Mouse, Catherine y Joe, ¡o la combinación que quieras! El objetivo es una sonrisa, un chiste o broma, no necesitas ser un artista profesional. ¡Vamos a reir un poco en los túneles!
Nuestra Cámara de Susurros necesita más lecturas para este Festival. Te invitamos a leer en voz alta un poema, relato favorito que refleje el espíritu de los túneles y envíanos la grabación. Este año nos encantaría recibir grabaciones hechas por niños. Los niños eran una parte muy especial de la familia de los túneles y estamos seguros de que sus voces se escuchaban a menudo recitando algún poema o cuento favorito.
Tenemos algunas ideas para la Búsqueda del Tesoro, y necesitamos saber qué sitios web quisieran participar.  Una de estas ideas te facilitaría como nunca la participación con tu sitio.  Si te interesa, avísanos antes del 1 de diciembre.
Si tienes preguntas, por favor escríbenos.  Estamos aquí para ayudarte a hacer de este Festival un éxito absoluto.
Cualquier consulta o envío de creaciones, como indicamos en cada vela / anuncio, debe dirigirse a: Wintercandlemakers2@yahoo.com
Los Wintercandlemakers

miércoles, 28 de noviembre de 2012

Festival 2013 - novedades

Compartiendo noticia desde el grupo de fans http://es.groups.yahoo.com/group/labellaylabestia_tv/ 
Saludos, fans de La Bella y la Bestia, 
Les traemos otra vela con una idea que tal vez les guste.  
Durante años, hemos coordinado relatos “round robin” para el Festival. Este año, hemos decidido que ustedes mismos coordinen el suyo. Busquen un grupo de amigos de la serie, y escriban un relato en conjunto. El grupo no necesita ser muy grande, y tampoco hay límites sobre cuántos capítulos puede escribir cada uno. Esta es su historia, escríbanla como quieran. Pueden hacerlo entre dos solamente, turnándose en escribir un párrafo o un capítulo cada uno. Puede ser un poema. Puede ser un grupo de tres o cuatro que se turnen en escribir una viñeta (100 palabras).  Puede ser como las historias que han visto en el Festival en años anteriores, o cualquier otro formato que se les ocurra.
Los relatos pueden ser de hasta 25,000 palabras. Pueden indicar quién escribió cada parte, o presentar una lista de todos los autores. ¡Pero recuerden no publicarlo antes del Festival! Si coordinar el trabajo por email les parece complicado, les sugerimos usar alguna herramienta como Google Docs, o crear un grupo en yahoo, etc.
 ¿No saben con quién escribir? Tal vez quieran preguntar en el foro B&B del que eres parte.
 ¡Y tal vez hasta quieran pedir a alguien que colabore ilustrando el relato!
 ¡Que se diviertan reinventando esta tradición!
 Los Wintercandlemakers 
Cualquier consulta o envío de creaciones, como indicamos en cada vela / anuncio, debe dirigirse a: Wintercandlemakers2@yahoo.com

martes, 6 de noviembre de 2012

Fanfiction: "Reunited - Part II"

written by Inês Costa

The bar was filled with people. Jacob thought that not even in winterfest had he seen so much people together. Jeff, by the other hand, felt like he was at home, and rushed to the bar were he shouted

-Beer!!!! Hey, ladies!

And of course, began courting some girls that were at the bar. But Jacob wasn’t really interested on those girls. He was looking for that special girl, Mary, and he wanted to know why had she troubled him so. He started walking through the bar, between the loud crowd and so he became near the small dancing stage.

There she was, dancing happily with her friends. Jacob sat on the nearest available bench and was only able to stay there and look. She was wonderful and so pretty that no words could describe it.

The sound of the crowd faded to oblivion and suddenly it was only he and she in that room. Mary continued moving to the sound of that involving music, and he would only watch, in wonder, afraid that he would move and destroy that image.

How many time had he stayed there? He could tell, but the hours passed like minutes and suddenly Jeff was taping on his shoulder.

-Hey, earth to Jacob!

-What? What?

-I think you’ve drunk too much.

-Stop saying nonsense. I’m fine…Jacob stopped and smelled something….you by the other hand…

-Nothing that a good night sleep won’t cure.

-Yes, and the first class is tomorrow morning. Come on pal, let’s go.

Jeff turned around and shouted.

-Good evening ladies, it’s been a pleasure…hope that you might pose for me someday!

Everybody laughed and raised they’re glasses. The party carried on, but Jacob felt better to leave, due to Jeff’s condition. Nevertheless, he wanted to take a last peak at Mary, but she wasn’t there. He stood on his toes and looked around, but she wasn’t in sight. Cheerless, he retired with is friend.

They were walking in the direction of the dorm when Jeff stopped.

-Are you all right, Jeff?

Jeff had suddenly turned from pale to some sort of undefined green.

-I think I’m going to…

Jacob held his friends forehead while he vomit.

-Hey, it’s for the best, this way you won’t wake up with a headache.

Jacob remembered one story that grandfather used to tell about one time when Mouse had found a bottle of vodka and had drink some trusting that was water. He became so drunk, that afterwards he didn’t left his bed for three all days and even afterwards he was still a little shaky.

Jeff was resting, sitting on the sidewalk, when Jacob heard the first scream. It was coming from somewhere up ahead.

-What’s going on? , Said Jeff standing and stumbling a little bit.

But Jacob knew instinctively that something wasn’t right and was already running up the street, despite Jeff’s protests about him being crazy.

Everything else was unimportant.

He stopped by a side street and saw three men surrounding Mary and another girl. Despite the danger, Mary stood right, unafraid.

-Leave us alone! We don’t have any money!

The men laughed, and one of them held a knife. Mary froze when she saw the cold light of the blade.

-But it’s not your money we want.

-Yeah, we just want to fool around!

The other girl shouted for help, but in vain. One of the thugs was already reaching for her arm.

-Let them go!

The men turned around to find Jacob, and at the sight of him he started laughing.

-Get out of here kid; this is none of your business!

But since Jacob didn’t move, the leader signalled one of his companions to scare him off. Has he approached and tried to push him off, Jacob took the fight skills learned with Diana and taking advantage of the legacy of his father’s strength, he easily knocked the man out.

-Damn kid!

The second men approached and Jacob couldn’t help it, he released a large roar and his eyes seemed to glow in anger…his face almost changing in something…catlike. He jumped to his opponent and kicked him in the face in one strike. The men fell, dripping blood from his mouth, and looking very scared. Jacob then turned to the leader, head low, arms pendent along the body…he was looking at the thug in such anger. The man quickly turned to Mary and surrounded her with his arm while threatening her with his knife. Mary’s friend ran down the street, looking for help.

-So, how is it going to be? If you make one move, the girl gets it.

He began to walk slowly backwards, trying to reach a car that was parked, no doubt they’re getaway vehicle. But then, a strange thing happened. The man started hearing a strange sound coming from Mary, something like a low growl. Suddenly the girl impelled her elbow against his stomach, and her oppressor, not expecting her reaction, immediately dropped the knife and fell on his knees. Mary, unsatisfied with this, threw a kick on his face that made the man faint.

Jacob was stunned.

-Where have you learn to fight like this? -He said.

She shook the dust from her hands and replied.

-I’ve learnt some karate at school back in Montana.

She then stopped and looked at Jacob, intrigued by him.

-You’re not bad yourself.

-I’ve also learned some moves with my aunt…

-That part of the roar was something completely unnecessary although…what were you trying to do? Scare them to death?

Both of them laughed, as they heard a police siren approach.

-Something came up. -Said Vincent, pushing the chair aside. He felt the rush of his son’s heartbeat and knew that the boy was in trouble.

-Some sort of fight?

-Yes, but he is all right now.

-I’ll go call him, said Diana rushing to the corridor.

-Wait, Diana! There’s no need. He’s fine… I think the worst has passed.

Diana returned to her seat and rested comfortably on the red sofa. She continued looking at Vincent, because his troubled look didn’t leave his face, although he was sure about his son’s security.

-But what’s the matter? You still have this look on your face.

Vincent wasn’t sure about his son’s emotions. In fact he was a little bit ashamed about peaking into his child’s feelings, and so he stopped “tuning”, as Jacob used to call his empathic abilities.

-Nothing, nothing…it’s just that for a moment…

-What? For a moment what? You’re leaving me curious!

-I think that Jacob met someone…special.

-So soon? Boy, I know that Jacob is a very interesting young man…but so soon? Well, he’ll never cease to surprise me!

And with that Diana resumed her reading, while Vincent sat again on his armchair. He turned around and faced the open pages of his book, unread. Nevertheless he couldn’t stop thinking about that strange emotion that his son was felling…it was something deeper…something that Vincent knew he also be affected from.

The days succeeded mild and filed with classes. Jacob had his hands full and no time for parties and other things, but he always had time to talk to his new friend, Mar, although he hoped that she would soon become something more. He had learned form Diana that Vincent was hurt about the absence of his son and in return Jacob wrote him letters saying that he had a lot of work and university wasn’t only easy work and so he excused himself from regular visits Bellow in order to stay at the dorm every weekend … so he could have more time for Mary, since she couldn’t go home so often.

The sparse visits that he had undergone Bellow were always on the run, never having a quiet conversation with his father, because he was afraid of what he might say to him. The thing was he wasn’t sure about his feelings towards Mary and before he could his father anything else, he had to be sure of something! At least that was what he felt best. So the weekends that he spent above were quiet and wonderful, with lots of talks with Mary about herself and her mother, a woman that Jacob could see was the most important thing to Mary. So, and it was expected, Jacob began to be more distant to his friends, like Jeff and focus only on Mary.

One Saturday late afternoon, Jacob took Mary to Central Park. Although Mary arrived at New York only a few months before, she still didn’t knew much about the city itself, so Jacob thought that it was time for her to know one of the most attractive things about that town.

-I grew up here mostly…er…my aunt used to bring me here a lot of times.

-She sounds like a great lady.

They found a quiet place by the lake and sat there. Jacob looked at the trees and at the grass and thought about his friends Bellow. It would be a shame if he didn’t visit them, being so close! But Mary was there and…well, her presence was something soothing and pacifying.

Unaware of his gesture, he reached for her hand and she, didn’t move a muscle. Felling encouraged by that act, Jacob reached for her face and kissed her on the lips.

Vincent turned his head in the direction of the lake and begun running down the corridor, despite Father’s protests of what was going on and “be careful with the books!” but it was to late, Vincent swept anything at his passage. He had to see what was going on with his son, although he was already in suspicious, and no better way and no better day to find out! So Vincent ran and ran until he could reach the soil of Central Park. The sun had already settled, and so night was the perfect cover up. There were a few people in the park, but no matter because Vincent found his refuge in the trees. There was a safe distance between him and his son so he could see who was troubling his son so.

As they parted, Jacob looked at Mary in another way. Mary smiled and took her hand off.

-Look Jacob, I was expecting this…in fact I wished to happen…but…

Jacob smiled, in understanding.

-We’re only friends.

-Yes, I didn’t felt anything bigger with that kiss. Did you?

No, he didn’t. In fact the kiss felt strange and Jacob knew in that second that he wasn’t in love with her, but only a deep friendship connected them in a way that he couldn’t explain.

Mary suddenly turned around, looking into the trees…in fact, looking straight at Vincent’s direction. Vincent felt something tightening in his heart when he saw the golden hair beauty and her eyes were so…familiar!

Jacob knew that something was wrong, and the  minute he saw Mary looking at the trees he started diverting her attention.

-So, were does it leaves us?

-What? Jacob, there’s someone in those trees.

-Let’s go then.

-Yes…I think that’s probably the best thing to do.

They went to the bus stop, were Jacob told Mary that he was going to spend the night at his aunt’s house, so that it was best for her to go to the dorm.

-Do you want me to go with you?

-No! You haven’t seen your aunt in some time…it’s best for you to go, before she starts thinking to disinherit you!

Jacob laughed and looked at her, and she looked at him right back. Suddenly she embraced him.

-Oh Jacob! I’m so sorry…

He gently pushed her back and looked straight at her.

-Don’t be. I was confused, and now I’m not! It’s as simple as that. And you are a dearest friend to me, so I hope that this won’t keep us apart, ok?

Mary nodded and hugged him once more, before taking the bus. Jacob waved at her until the bust took a turn. Then he tightened his jacket and started walking to Diana’s apartment.

Diana had just returned form Bellow, and was cooking something to eat when she heard the buzz on the door.

-Who is it?


She opened up the door and waited for him to come up. When he opened the elevator door she knew by the look on his face that he wasn’t very happy.

-What the hell was he trying to do?

-Calm down Jacob. He is your father and he’s only concerned about you.

-Concerned? Concerned!? Come on Diana! Mary almost saw him! What is he doing in Central Park at sundown? Anyone could have seen him!

-I’m sure that your father knows to take care of himself. The worst is your own attitude towards your father. You don’t talk to him, you don’t go Bellow more often and you’re not really that far away! Jacob, you’re neglecting your own family you should at least admit that!

-That’s my problem and I can take care of my self! He has no right of “tuning” me!

-He can’t help not to! It’s part of who he is!

-That’s a lie! He can control it! He did with my mother!

A gust of wind came by the window and both of them saw Vincent’s shadow on the rooftop.

Jacob rushed to the roof and Diana immediately followed him. His father was waiting, with his cape covering him all over, and his hood pushed forward so that he almost couldn’t see his face. In the matter of fact, Jacob never had seen his father like this.

-What were you doing? Risking your self like that for what?


-Father, you have no right of “tuning” me! I want some privacy don’t you get it? I’m not a child any more! I can take care of myself.

-I was worried, that’s all.

Jacob knew that his father’s concern was true and had all sense of being. But the thought of his feelings being watched, that was something that he took very personally.

-Worried about what? That I should fall in love and get hurt? Afraid that I might tell something?

-Do you love that girl?

The question came out dry and unexpected. Vincent stood calm and there was nothing that Jacob could read in his face that might give him a hint.

-She is just a friend…a dear friend.

Vincent walked towards him and rested his hands on his son’s broad shoulders.

-I’m sure she is. I’m not pointing any finger at you Jacob. Can you accept that I was just concerned about you?

Jacob felled to his senses and nodded in agreement. After all, he was making a fuss over something that would lead him nowhere, but Vincent was afraid of something and the only thing he knew that there was something to do with that girl.

-Why don’t you go Bellow, visit your grandfather, and calm yourself, hum? I’ll follow you later; I have to talk with Diana.

Jacob knew that they were going to talk about him and said nothing. He quietly went downstairs and proceeded to the Central Park entrance.

Vincent watched every move and waited until Diana said something.

-What’s going on Vincent? You can fool your son…well probably not, but you sure can’t fool me.

Vincent breaded deep.

-That girl, Jacob’s friend.

-What’s wrong with her?

-There is something in her that troubles me, but I can’t tell what it is.

Diana was used to know that when Vincent had something troubling him, it was usually something valid and not to be regarded in a simple way.

-Well, will you rest if I check her?

Vincent smiled and looked at her. Diana knew what the answer was.

 "REUNITED" belongs to Inês Costa Any distribution, copy, shoul be made under her consent. Thanks

domingo, 4 de noviembre de 2012

La Bella y la Bestia - Video fan-art

Comparto vídeo recopilatorio con una parte de mis dibujos inspirados por la serie, otros muchos dibujos esperan todavía en el cajón para ser video-editados. Tiempo al tiempo :)

viernes, 2 de noviembre de 2012

Fanfiction: Rose-Lipt

Written by Verity Mathews - Artwork by Sonia Mª Corral
I am in blood

Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er.
(Shakespeare, Macbeth)

If I show you the roses, will you follow?
(Nick Cave + Kylie Minogue, Where the Wild Roses Grow)

Vincent dropped soundlessly into a shadowy corner of Catherine's balcony, a move so practised that he could do it in his sleep. The evening air was clear and fresh, and there were roses in Catherine's cheeks despite the snug blue jumper she wore. Oblivious to his presence, she was kneeling over a new pot plant; her absorption in her task seemed to spill over into him, and he stood there, silently watching her. Her hair was tied back into a casual ponytail, giving him an uninterrupted view of her face; it held an endearing mixture of pleasure and anxiety as she fussed over her new acquisition.

To see her fingers -  kneading the rich soil, stroking the leaves, brushing over the delicate, unopened rosebuds - was to want those hands on him. The unbidden thought gave his features a dreamy, unfocussed vulnerability, and was not easily suppressed. It occurred to him that he should announce his presence or leave immediately; to stand about gaping at her in this useless fashion did him no good at all.

As he watched, she wielded a pair of secaturs with the tentative touch of the occasional gardener. The small rosebush fought back, piercing her left finger with a thorn; Vincent felt a pang in his own finger, and although he had long accustomed himself to this bone-deep knowledge of her, it still astonished him.

"Ow, dammit!" she cried, and he came forward, drawn as always by her distress.

"Catherine, are you hurt?" At the sound of his voice, she looked up with surprise, her finger already forgotten.

"How long have you been...?"

"Only a moment," he answered, feeling abashed about his silence earlier. She looked so pleased to see him. "You were so absorbed in your work. I didn't want to intrude."

She chuckled at this, shaking her head a little. "Must've appeared pretty ridiculous."

"No. You looked..." Vincent thought for a moment as he approached her, before continuing, "...determined."

As he crouched down beside her, he eyed the plant with interest, feeling her pleasure in it. "The terrace gets so much morning sun," she said. "I thought a rosebush might do well here."

"Roses?" he mused, thinking of the flower's unspoken language of poetry, passion...love.

"The man at the nursery said this is a very special bush...if I don't kill it with my gardening," she said ruefully. With a quick glance at her bleeding finger, she seemed to acknowledge that the rose might well kill her first.

Vincent's gaze was drawn to her finger as well, the scent of her blood filling his hypersensitive nostrils. "Catherine...your hand..."  

Overtaken by instinct, he took her bleeding finger between his lips, drawing it into his mouth to absorb the coppery warmth on his tongue. To taste of her this way was to magnify their bond a thousandfold. Never had he felt so intimately connected to her as at this moment, when he was soaking up her very essence on the raspy roughness of his tongue. His teeth clamped helplessly, hungrily on her finger - not enough pressure to hurt her, but more than enough to hold her there before him. On his haunches, he crouched over her hand as - hidden behind the golden curtain fall of his mane - he savoured the sensation for what seemed like a remarkably long time...though it was in fact no more than a moment.

Looking up at last, he met Catherine's gaze. Her eyes were wide with awareness, and Vincent felt the grip of panic. He was all too aware that he'd crossed an unspoken boundary, and was desperately uncertain of her reaction to his incursion. Their bond - now pulsing with frenetic energy - gave little hint of her underlying emotional state, even had he been calm enough to read her properly. His head was filled with the pounding of his own accelerated heartbeat...and her heartbeat as well.

Catherine looked...mystified...even hypnotised...by an unexpected and most extraordinary development. Her expression disturbed him deeply. He saw bewilderment and uneasiness, and interpreted them as rejection. The desire - a mirror image of the need in his own eyes, had he but known it - was something he could barely recognise, much less acknowledge.

His eyes darted anxiously from side to side under the steadying pressure of her own gaze; as she gathered her composure - and her determination - his own seemed to be breaking apart. His rational self urged him to leave her and pretend that these minutes past - so utterly telling - had been a figment of his aching, restless dreams. Wished the boundary uncrossed, the moment undone...for where could it lead but to frustration and despair? She could not possibly accept him...crouched over her like some beast of prey, luxuriating in the taste and scent of her blood, and knowing only that he wanted, needed...more.

Always more.   

At least his dreams, restless though they may be, were safe. Safe for Catherine, and sanctuary for him. So he would pretend this was just another dream, from which he would awaken soon, hard and wanting of her love, but safe.

Yet his body still clung stubbornly to her lofty balcony, and the dream went on as dreams do, with its own sense of reality - vivid yet hazy, and quite pregnant with significance. Like a flash, Catherine grasped his chin with her right hand, compelling him to acknowledge the truth of the unspoken moment. His bottom lip, swollen and glistening from its caress of her bleeding flesh, slackened now, trembling infinitesimally as Vincent realised that in this Catherine was stronger than he, and would face this head on whether he was ready or not. He had, almost unawares, initiated something powerful here tonight, and the growing resolve in her eyes told him that she would force him from dreams into the waking world.

A world where he could hold her...perhaps hurt her...

"No," he muttered, his voice husky and harsh. He was unwilling to remove himself from her grasp, but hoped desperately that she would release him of her own accord...make the decision for them both. Her fingers did not fall, however; if anything, they gripped his jaw tighter. Through the pulsing chaos that had infused their bond, Vincent felt her unspoken plea - stay - and was lost.

The air between them was thick with almost unbearable tension. Responding, perhaps, to the anxiety in his expression, Catherine smiled a little, a gleam entering her eyes. "Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Vincent swallowed. His tension was unwavering, but he was not unappreciative of her attempt to ease it. "If we're to reenact a certain balcony scene, I believe that should be my line."

"Then say it, Vincent. Say it."

Vincent stared at her, his breaths drawn sharp and shallow as he tried to feed his fevered brain enough oxygen to think straight. An honourable task, but ultimately useless as he soon discovered; watching a delicate pink flush cross her features, Vincent could feel his own face overheating as rational thought dissolved and instinct took over.

His bottom lip still shook uncontrollably, and Catherine's wide eyes hooded as she watched it, transfixed. She knows now, he thought. She knows how much I need to kiss her...taste her. Such all-consuming hunger. Why doesn¹t she run? How does she find the courage to stay, when I have so little?  

He spoke finally, his words hesitant, yet utterly heartfelt. "Wilt thou...leave me..." Catherine's eyes narrowed alarmingly as he paused. Her fingernails pressed into his jaw, and he gulped before continuing, "...so unsatisfied?"

The smile he loved so dearly bloomed across her face, telling him without words that he had asked the right question...and already had his answer. Her determined grip on his jaw shifted now, her index finger stroking his bristled chin tenderly and her thumb soothing his yearning mouth. "Never, Vincent," she murmured, before leaning closer to touch her lips to his. "Never," she repeated with quiet emphasis, and the word seemed to fill his mouth and sink deep into his lungs as he breathed her in.

It was...unspeakable bliss...to have her so close. So close that he could feel the gentle flutter of her eyelashes against his cheek as her eyes closed. So close that the heat of her skin against his threatened to inflame them both.

So close...

Vincent thrust himself away from her, unusually graceless as he lost his crouched balance. Arms outstretched to brace himself, his right hand met the secaturs that Catherine had dropped earlier. One blade cut into his thumb, and he fell back against the balcony wall with a soft growl of discomfort - more at having torn himself from Catherine than from the small gash.

Slumped on the ground, Vincent glanced up to see his reflection in Catherine's glass balcony doors...and loathed what he saw. The reminder of what he was...and all that he was not...cut Vincent more sharply than the keenest blade. His head drooped wearily to rest on his raised knees. It was too hard to pretend that this was all a dream, not with pain slicing through him so harshly that he couldn't begin to imagine where his ended and Catherine's began.

A soft sound made his ears prick, and he turned his head to find Catherine wiping a stray tear from her cheek...the same cheek he'd been nestled against a moment ago. He had pulled away so as not to hurt her, yet nonetheless his retreat caused her pain - her face bore the proof. What was he to do? This impasse was destroying them both, and he saw no way around it. They had long since passed the point where they might have parted forever. Had there ever even been such a point? She had entrenched herself so irrevocably in his heart - in his very soul - from the moment he had first caught the scent of her life's blood seeping uselessly into the earth. Then and there he had resolved to keep death from her at any cost...even of his mortal soul. And surely his soul was in peril, for in keeping her safe he brought death to others. So many...maimed and killed  for her sake, and he would do it all again. Not gladly - never gladly - but without question. There had never been any question in his mind that harm must not be allowed to touch her.

But if Catherine was to be protected, then should he stay away? He was the very embodiment of his own fears for her. These hands - and he looked at them now, so inhumanly strong, so fiercely armoured - these hands could do more damage to her in an unguarded moment than six inches of steel had accomplished two years ago. A man - and man he had been, though cold and cruel and utterly without mercy - had been in control of that knife. Vincent was warm and loving, but he knew what it was to be without mercy. Part of him was not a man - even Father had admitted as much - and Vincent feared that this part of him had precious little control of his own deadly hands.

And that side of him wanted Catherine too, loved her beyond reason. Could it be trusted? It shed blood so unthinkingly...so unstintingly. What if it touched her with the same heedlessness? Catherine would call such fears pointless - and indeed, there seemed little point in turning violence against the one person he'd sworn to protect - yet that animal side of him was so simple, and so completely beyond comprehension.

So much a part of him...

No use pretending there was a schism within him, either. He might like to think that the beast within was somehow separate...other... but it resided deep in his marrow and surged thick and fast through his veins when called upon. It wasn't some entity he could argue with or battle. It wasn't something to be used and then shunted aside for the sake of expedience.

It was him.

Could he, Vincent, be trusted?

Catherine evidently thought so. Her faith in him seemed boundless. How else could she bear with him after all that she had witnessed? She had seen the almost insane bloodlust that overtook him whenever her life was threatened. The horrified shrieks of his victims as their flesh was torn asunder - straight through to the bone, and beyond - and that puzzled expression that came over them, each and every one, as they grasped their own entrails. These were the sights and sounds that stalked Vincent's dreams, as surely they must haunt Catherine. If he was the perpetrator of such frenzied acts, then she was the inspiration. Yet she abided with him still. No amount of carnage seemed to shake her faith.

No amount of shed blood...

His eyes moved from the blood on his hand to the tears on Catherine's face; it seemed an apt symbolic indictment of their relationship. But if Catherine believed in their love, its rightness, then shouldn't he believe in her? She had strength - he had known that from the beginning, before she had even begun to feel it herself. When she saw him for the first time, instinct had prompted her to fight, not run, and though her reaction had given him pain, it had also made him proud; even at her lowest ebb, she had been able to draw on deep, untapped stores of courage. Courage that had seen her through any number of atrocities since she had begun testing the limits of her new life.

Their bond had from the first become an imperative in his life, and the impulse to be with Catherine, to surround her, was growing stronger with each day. Much of this had to with the advancement of Catherine's own powers of empathy. She had always been a person of great affinity for the feelings of those around her - countless times he had seen people drawn into her tender, soothing focus - but proximity with him, with his hypersensitive perception, seemed to ever heighten her own empathic intensity. To be the subject of her compelling attention was more than he could resist. He could no longer even try. No longer wanted to.

Time seemed curiously suspended, marked only by the fall of Catherine's tears. Vincent watched the salt water trace her soft cheeks and fall to her cupped, waiting hands. A powerful longing to taste those tears - to savour her again - washed over him, and he felt for the first time that it was right to feel such urges...and right to act upon them, too. She looked up at him then, caught perhaps by the changing current of his thoughts, or by the vivid mental image of his mouth on her flesh as it had been earlier to such devastating effect. She was becoming so attuned to his every impulse that it frightened him sometimes, but it gave him great satisfaction as well. The intimacy was beautiful, almost unbearably so; he had been a slave to it himself for so long now, and it was both joy and terror to watch Catherine become as entangled as he himself was. Could she still love him once she learnt all his secrets?

Evidently he would find out sooner or later, for Catherine felt no inclination to stem the tide of their intimacy - he could sense her determination. Even now she crept closer to him, in almost unconscious response to his unspoken call, until she knelt before him, cupped hands held out towards him. Earlier, he had taken her by surprise when he drew her bleeding finger into his mouth. Now...now she offered herself freely. Sweet compliance to his fractured, fraught desires, their bond telling him quite plainly that she shared his thirst.

His head dropped to her outstretched hands, his lips searching eagerly for the salty droplets before they dried. Her tears - the physical manifestation of her charged emotions - tasted as intoxicating as her blood. Nuzzling her hands, he breathed in her fresh, loamy scent - so unusual for his Catherine, who was not much given to grubbing in the dirt. He was close enough to see every intricate pattern on her palms, the loops and whorls at her fingertips, the three endearing freckles on her left pinkie. His avid mouth sought the small wound made by the rose thorn, but it was already healing, leaving only the memory of her blood for his palate to dwell on.

As he hunched over her, she crept ever closer, easing his legs apart before curling into the curve of his body. With her back tucked snugly against his torso, she relaxed into the cushioning embrace, quivering as he wrapped his arms about her with possessive fervour. His left hand pressed into the softness of her belly, drawn helplessly by its yielding appeal; he was certain that she could feel the imprint of his claws even through the woolly protection of her pullover, yet she didn't protest, and he felt incapable of loosing his hold. His right arm crossed beneath the delicate weight of her breasts, and she arched into his touch trustingly, increasing their contact further.

Vincent's face nestled into the crook of her neck, his uneven breathing ruffling the soft tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Her woollen sweater was soft against his left cheek, but the skin against his right was softer still - lush velvet that cushioned his bristles and coaxed his ardent lips. Could there be any greater happiness than this? he wondered. The rapture of this embrace was almost beyond his comprehension.

A restless movement from Catherine snared his attention, and he followed the direction of her gaze to where his bleeding thumb rested between her breasts. He was daunted suddenly by the unheard-of intimacy - terrified that he had gone too far - but he felt no hint of disturbance in their bond. Instead he sensed in her a longing to taste him, just as he had tasted her. She took his hand in hers, drawing the reluctant fingers from the shadow of her breasts, and brought his thumb to her waiting lips. Instead of taking him into her mouth though, she stroked his thumb slowly along her lush bottom lip, painting it blood-red, whilst the tip of his razor-sharp thumbnail traced a path over the delicate bow of her upper lip.

Vincent shuddered in a state of anxious entrancement. Her fingers were interlaced with his own, and he struggled to keep from clenching his fist. As if sensing his tenuous control, she let their joined hands fall as her head dropped back against his shoulder. His gaze was drawn helplessly to her blood-stained mouth, which creased into a breathtaking smile beneath his regard. She tilted her head to face him more squarely and freed her hand to caress his bristled cheek, gently coaxing his mouth to meet hers.

Vincent needed little persuasion; he was utterly beguiled, so many untried senses and desires coming to life. All too susceptible to the enticement of her grey-green gaze, he coiled his neck about hers to claim her mouth. His kiss was slow and exploratory, a feather-touch that became increasingly urgent as he tasted his blood on her...in her. Her lips parted willingly, joyously, for his delectation, and he stroked their copper-scented softness with his questing, eager tongue. All the while, a low groan issued from deep within him to match her jagged panting; both of them were desperate for breath, yet loath to separate for even a moment.

Mouths melding in a series of hot, shivery kisses, they shared his blood between them until hardly a trace remained; then they shared the salty sweetness that remained. His tongue rasped against hers, the roughness a tantalising reminder of how different they were...and how compatible they might prove. Never before had he had the freedom to satisfy such cravings as these, but he would not be deterred by inexperience and felt certain, on some soul-deep level, that he was giving her pleasure. Her gasping, restless mouth could not release him long enough to smile or speak of her happiness, yet a dreamy glow suffused their bond, and her heart pounded beneath his hand with an elation he knew well, for it lived in his own breast as well.

Dimly he realised that he was kneading her, claws clenching and relaxing at her belly and breasts in a rhythmic paroxysm of pleasure. Would he leave marks on her skin? The thought did not disturb him nearly as much as it should; she was so sweetly yielding in his arms that he could not even imagine her turning from him now. Indeed, she covered his hands with her own, holding him captive as she enjoyed the pin-prick sensation. And still their lips danced to music only they could hear.

Before long - or had it been hours? - she had coaxed his right hand beneath her jumper, where he lightly, helplessly scored her soft belly flesh; a foe would have been done for at this juncture, but she was his love, and he touched her with a lover's caress. Yes, there would be marks - it was unavoidable - but they would not last long, and he shivered to think of her at her bath later, tracing his mischief with her fingertips and remembering the pins-and-needles ardour that had gripped him in her arms. How he longed to be with her always!

The thought seemed to penetrate his most primal senses. With his left hand, he cupped her cheek and eased her away, just enough so that he could look into her eyes and see the unswerving love there. Her delicious mouth, so swollen and damp from his kisses, made him think of Housman's rose-lipt maidens; and if his Catherine was a rose, then he possessed more than enough thorns to protect her from harm. Rose and thorn had intermingled since the time of Bacchus; so Catherine and Vincent were meant to be. He had never felt more certain of anything.

Thus he let his yearning mouth drop to the hollow of her neck, where he branded her with his teeth. Four small punctures; his mark on her, for always. As her blood filled his mouth like fire, the unique kiss sang hotly through their veins...and they embraced their dream of roses.


"ROSE-LIPT" belongs to Verity Mathews. 1999 Any distribution, copy, shoul be made under her consent. Thanks

© All artwork you see here are property and were desing by  Sonia Mª Corral, Any distribution, copy, shoul be made under her consent.


"Beauty and the Beast" and its original characters are the creation of Ron Koslow and is owned by Republic Pictures and its owners. The stories shown here are written strictly for the enjoyment of fans, and no infringement is meant in any way

martes, 30 de octubre de 2012

Feliz Samhain :)

En puertas de la noche de Samhain comparto unos minutos del episodio "Máscaras" ambientado en esa noche con los fans (resto del capítulo en Youtube). ¡Pasádlo bien en la noche de Halloween!

domingo, 28 de octubre de 2012

Fanfiction: "Move Toward Love"

A story based upon the characters of “Beauty and the Beast”
by Nancy Lynn Knauff * Artwork by Sonia Mª Corral

Vincent looked up from his journal entry, pondering what he felt from the bond he shared with Catherine.  He felt a profound fatigue.  That in itself wasn’t unusual- he knew that she had been working hard at her office recently on her latest cases.  However, this exhaustion wasn’t the kind he felt from her when she worked too hard.  It felt more like…

The past few months Vincent had been even more diligent about protecting Catherine from harm.  During his recent breakdown Vincent’s vision had shown him what his life might be like without Catherine.  Although the details here hazy, its message was clear.  He would not survive intact without her.  Any slight flutter of emotion from her set him on edge for hours.  Right now the fatigue he sensed from her set his own heartbeat racing.

Finally unable to stand it, he quickly shut his journal and lighted from his high-backed upholstered chair, quickly snagging his cloak with one hand as he left his chamber.


Catherine snuggled deeper into the cotton robe she was wearing and looked out over her balcony.  For late summer there was a definite chill in the air.  Fall was not far behind.  Catherine sipped the herbal tea from the mug she held, cupping her fingers around it to absorb its warmth.  For some strange reason she could not get warm today.  Even her earlier shower had failed to keep away the creeping exhaustion into her bones.  She shrugged.  I’m just working too hard, she thought.  I can’t wait for the weekend.

That brought a smile to her lips, brightening her entire self.  She had no plans Above and she was planning on spending most of it Below with Vincent.  There was to be a concert Saturday evening, a rare choir concert in the park.  She had found out from her late father’s friend Kay that one of the pieces to be performed was Vaughan Williams’ In Windsor Forest.  Catherine was ecstatic.  She couldn’t wait to see the look on Vincent’s face as he recognized some of Shakespeare’s verse in the piece from their secret music chamber.

But Saturday was three days away and Catherine was feeling the frustration.  She still had a mountain of paperwork at the office, and two cases that Joe would be bringing to trial next week.  She was also holding out that Moreno would give her the Lenox case to prosecute.  She had worked long and hard on that one, and it would give her immense satisfaction to finish the job in court.

She was so absorbed in her musing that she didn’t notice Vincent as he landed on the balcony.  He watched her from a distance for a moment, always taken aback by her strength and beauty.  She was, as always, a vision, and Vincent was always amazed that this incredible woman could actually love him.

She had closed her eyes, breathing in the night air.  Vincent, feeling slightly foolish for staring at her, announced himself.  “Catherine.”  Her eyes opened quickly to glance in the direction of that musical voice.  When her gray-green eyes met his sapphire ones she greeted him with a smile.

“I was just thinking about you,” she told him as he took a step towards her.

Vincent returned the smile with a small one he knew she could see.  “I know.”  He looked out over the balcony at the night skyline before them.

“I haven’t seen you for a few days.  Is everything alright?”

He continued to look out over the night but Catherine felt that there was no distress within him.  Still, she thought that he looked almost as tired as she felt.  When a small wave of concern washed through her, he shifted in his gaze from over the city to where she was behind him and to his left, obviously feeling her emotion through the bond.  “Yes, all is well,” he assured her. “There has been much work in the lower chambers recently.  There was also a leak from Mouse’s recent aqueduct that needed repair.  Three people had to be evacuated from their chambers.”

Catherine grimaced.  She remembered Vincent once telling her about the last large flood Below almost two years ago.  “No one was hurt?”

He shook his head, his long locks from his blond mane softly and lightly swinging around him.  “Thankfully, no.”

“Good.”  She reached around to the back of her neck to massage her suddenly tired muscles.  Vincent didn’t miss it.  “I’m alright, Vincent,” she said to his frown.  “I’m just tired.  It’s been a long day.”

“I should leave,” he said.  He still wasn’t quite sure what exactly had drawn him to her.  He only knew that something wasn’t right.  It wasn’t rational, but them again the bond they shared seldom offered explanations.

“No,” she murmured, putting her cup down on one of the nearby chairs.  “We spend so little time together as it is.”

“True.”  That admission brought both joy and sorrow to him.  As pleasant the stolen moments they shared were, they were never enough. They probably never will, Vincent thought to himself.

A sudden shiver went through Catherine.  She tightened the folds of her robe around her.  Vincent silently came forward to wrap his cloak around her, offering his own body warmth.  She sighed and snuggled into him, glad to have him near.  Two strong arms enveloped her, holding her closer to him.  Vincent leaned his head onto the top of her freshly washed hair, taking in her scent, the scent he held so dear.

But something was indeed amiss.  Vincent noticed almost immediately.  He pulled back from their embrace to look down at her.  He noticed that her face was flushed, even more so than usual.  The air was crisp, but not enough to cause the rosy look about her skin.  His heart jumped in concern.  He raised a furred back of a hand to her forehead.  It rested there for only a moment.

“Catherine, you have a fever,” he said, concern filling his voice.

“Don’t be silly, Vincent.  I’m just cold.”  She glanced in surprise as he looked at her in disbelief.  That look was usually reserved for the children he watched over Below.

“You should not be out here.  You should be inside.”  Catherine tried to object again, but Vincent had already opened the terrace door to her bedroom before sweeping her off her feet into his arms to carry her inside.

Moments later Vincent had settled her into her bed.  He tucked in the sheets snugly around her before shutting the terrace doors.  This surprised Catherine, for it was rare for him to be in her apartment.  During the summer, in the midst of his breakdown, she had nursed him here for several days.  As Vincent had recovered and began to come back to the balcony, he had only entered once during a sudden intense thunderstorm.  The subsequent blackout had been an added bonus.  Thank God I had those candles… She suddenly closed her eyes for a moment.  Her mind was wandering.  Where is my head?

He glanced back at her for a moment, frowning at her sudden confusion before heading into her bathroom.  A minute later he returned with a thermometer in his hands and sat down at her side.  She tried to protest again, but he popped it into her mouth with a practiced hand.

“Under the tongue, Catherine,” he said, in a voice she knew would tolerate no defiance.  She obeyed as another wave of exhaustion washed over her.  Vincent felt it as well, as his face deepened in concern.  They stared at each other for a few minutes waiting for the result.  A small voice inside Catherine whispered how strange and funny this might be someday.  But for now, she could only gaze into those soft blue eyes currently drinking in her own pools of green intently.  Vincent’s eyes were full of concentration and concern for her well-being.  She couldn’t help but be touched by his devotion to her.

When he finally took the instrument from her, she gave up any protest when he spoke the reading.  “One hundred one.”  He looked at her.  “You’ve been tired all day, I felt it.”  Catherine watched him as he shook the thermometer down.

“I thought I was just tired because of my workload.”  She had really hit the pavement recently.  Now it seemed that it had finally caught up with her.  She yawned, trying to hide it behind her hand.  “Really, Vincent, I had no idea.”

Tourmaline blue eyes softened as he listened to her.  “Alright.  Rest now.”  He got up from his seat on the bed, as if to leave.

“Please, don’t leave Vincent,” she softly pleaded.  Already she could feel sleep calling to her, making her eyes droop, but she wanted him to stay.  She hadn’t seen him for several days, and was loath to let go of him so fast.  Strange, she thought.  It was almost as if she couldn’t let him leave her yet that night.  That same voice whispered of her need to have him near.

He gave a small sigh, feeling it all in her and into himself.  How could he resist?  “I won’t leave, Catherine.  Sleep now.”  He picked up her spare blanket to drape it over her, then sat back on the bed and took her hand in his furred own.  She didn’t hear him or feel his touch; she was already asleep.


Vincent watched over her throughout the night.  He had hoped that she would sleep through whatever she was suffering from.  But when she woke up again and again after midnight, he knew she was very ill.
Her fever didn’t go down, and she shivered despite the added blanket.  Vincent could feel the ache in her body, and the tightening of his own throat he could only associate with Catherine’s own soreness there.  He felt helpless.  So many times he had come to her, drawn by her sudden fear, when she faced certain danger.  He had protected her from so many evils, had even tried to protect her from himself.  But there was no way to battle a demon from inside a body, a danger that attacked from within.  All he could do was sit with her, holding her hand.  He felt he had to do something, but what?

It was only a few hours from dawn when Vincent finally made up his mind.  Catherine was finally in a deep sleep, after tossing and turning for hours restlessly.  He left her there and softly walked into the living room.  He found her address book by the phone, picked it up to thumb through it.

He had never had any use for this particular device, but had seen it in use many times; he knew how it worked.  Still, this was highly unusual for him.  Fully conscious of possibly exposing himself, no matter how small a chance that might be, he glanced back into the darkened bedroom.  No, he felt he had no choice.  Catherine needed more than he could give her.  He found the number he needed, swallowed the lump in his throat, took up the receiver and dialed.

His highly sensitive ears did not appreciate the high-tone broken shrill coming from the earpiece, so he was quite relieved when he heard a familiar, if groggy, voice on the other end.


He paused for a moment.  Then he took a long breath.  “Peter?”

It took a second for Peter Alcott to register whose voice he was indeed hearing on the other end.  “Vincent?”

“Yes.  Peter,” he broke quickly, before his friend could interrupt further.  “Catherine’s not well.  She’s running a high fever.”  He was thankful that Peter quickly got over his shock of hearing his voice on the telephone.

“Alright, I’ll be over there as quick as I can.”  There was a pause on the other end.  “You are at her apartment?”


“Okay, I’ll be right there.”  Peter hung up the phone so fast Vincent flinched from the abrupt sound.


It seemed to take an eternity before Vincent heard a knock on the door to Catherine’s apartment, then his friend’s loud whisper.  “Vincent?”  After a quick glance at them, he undid the locks and deadbolts of the door, then swung it open.  He stood behind the door as Peter came in, allowing no one to see him.  The door swung shut behind the elderly doctor, and Vincent emerged from his hiding place.

Peter looked rumpled, looking out of place in jeans and a pullover, a change from the usual suit and tie. There were circles under his eyes, but he still managed to give Vincent a small smile.

“Neither one of you will give me a decent night’s sleep, will you?” he teased.  It had the desired effect.  Vincent relaxed a little, his shoulders losing some of their tension.  Peter tossed his coat onto one of the sofas and shifted his grip on his black doctor’s bag.  “Now, my boy, let’s see what’s going on here.  Where is she?”

Vincent escorted him to the bedroom.  Catherine was still asleep, and made no move as Peter placed a cool hand on her forehead.  “Mm-hm.  Did you take her temperature?” he asked.

“It was one hundred one at 10:30, but I’m sure it’s gone up since then.  I gave her two aspirin to try to bring it down.”

“Any other symptoms?

“Sore throat, aches.  She had a headache the last time she woke up.”

Peter frowned as he thought.  “Get a cold washcloth for her.  We’ll start there.  Don’t worry, Vincent,” he said, seeing the tension in the younger man’s face.  “She’ll be fine.  It’s probably just a cold.”

Nonetheless, Vincent was worried.  In all the time he had known her, she had only been sick once.  She had caught a small cold after she had almost drowned last April, but it hadn’t kept her down at all.  Besides, anything that caused distress to her was unbearable to him.  He couldn’t protect her from an illness, and that one fact was eating away at him.  He turned around and headed into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. * She knew this feeling well, yet at the same time it felt so unfamiliar.  One minute she felt normal, but the next a kind of wet blanket seemed to envelop her.  Worse, she had the strangest sensation of her head being too big for her body.  Her limbs felt far away from her, heavy and limp.  She hadn’t felt this bogged down since she was a little girl.

What was worse, someone was talking to her, saying her name.  Swimming up to consciousness the wet blanket followed her, much to her annoyance.  “Catherine,” the voice repeated.  Inwardly, she frowned.  Hadn’t Vincent been with her when she had fallen asleep earlier?  The tone was familiar, but it wasn’t Vincent’s smooth velvet voice.

She opened her eyes to see the face of Peter Alcott looking down at her pleasantly.  What the… she thought, her mind stalling for a moment.  How did he know I-  Then it hit her.  Only one person she knew would have gotten Peter here if he was worried enough.  Vincent.  She wasn’t mad; it was impossible to be mad at him, but she wasn’t exactly thrilled either.  Oh, great.

She groaned in frustration.  “Peter, what are you doing here?” she half moaned.

“Making sure you’re okay,” was the reply.

She looked around, but couldn’t find any sign of her other half.  “Where’s Vincent?”

“He had to go, honey.  Believe me, he didn’t want to- I made him.  He’ll be back tonight, I’m sure.”

Her body felt as if it weighed a ton, and her head was still pounding.  The impending dawn coming from her terrace doors didn’t help any either.  Still, she was curious.  “How did-“

Peter was ahead of her.  “He used your telephone to call me.”  She frowned at that for a minute.  That didn’t sound right; Vincent didn’t have a need for a telephone, nor did he have one Below.  She was really too groggy to let that sink in.

Peter sat down on the bed next to her with his stethoscope.  He helped her up and examined her for a few minutes.  “Well,” he said, putting the instrument around his neck, “It’s what I thought when Vincent left.  You, Cathy, have the flu.”

“The flu?  In the summer?  It’s too early.”

He shook his head.  “There have been quite a few cases of it popping in the area hospitals already this time of year.  I’m not surprised.  You’ve been running yourself ragged recently.  You forget,” he admonished, “I know your boss and those Below.”

“Busted,” Catherine conceded.  She flopped back down on the bed like she did when she was a little girl, unable to let her head rest on her sore neck a minute longer than necessary.  “So, what’s the prescription, Doctor?”

“Bed rest, lots of liquid, and sleep.  Sorry Cathy,” he hurried in when she opened her mouth to object.  “You are going to have to stay in bed for a few days.  You keep this up, and it’ll turn into pneumonia.  Vincent’s already concerned enough.  He made me promise I wouldn’t leave until he sent someone up to stay with you.”

“Vincent doesn’t need to do that.”

“He felt he did.  He’s very worried.  Yes, he might have overreacted, but I don’t have to tell you how devoted he is to you.”  Peter smiled and brought up the blankets around her again, replacing the cold washcloth on her forehead.  “Now, you relax.  I’ll call Joe Maxwell and let him know you won’t be in for a few days.”

As Peter moved into the living room to make the call to her office, Catherine closed her eyes to snuggle in her cocoon of warmth.  She was still shivering from cold, and she felt awful.  He’s probably right, she admitted inwardly, although her stubborn streak would never let her admit it to Peter.  Even if Vincent hadn’t of intervened, she probably would have called in sick this morning herself.  She closed her eyes, tossed the blankets over her head to block out the infernal sunlight, and consigned herself to rest.


As the day progressed, she felt worse and worse.  She started coughing in mid afternoon, making her headache become a steady migraine.  Her whole body ached as well.  Jamie came earlier that morning with some tea and homemade soup from William.  She stayed with Catherine until Lonnie, a fellow Helper came that afternoon with some Chinese herbs from Dr. Wong’s shop.  Catherine didn’t know Lonnie too well, only meeting her at last year’s Winterfest.  But that didn’t matter to the short curly jet-black haired Scot.

“When one of our own is sick, Cath’rine, we take care of ‘em,” she said when Catherine had tried to apologize.  “When I was goin’ through the chemo, I had Helpers and Tun’lers alike wit’ me, almost twenty-four seven.  Vincent himself would write me everyday.  Tha’ helped as much as the treatments.”  She picked up a glass to get some more juice for her.  “You jist sit back and relax, ‘cause you’re gettin’ pampered for the next few days.  An’ besides, you’re a special case.”  Lonnie winked as she left the room.

Despite the care, Catherine still felt like she had been hit with a Mack truck.  She only managed to snag a nap at dusk, totally missing Vincent’s arrival.
It was a good thing, because Lonnie let him have it.  “That’s how you git up here?” she half whispered to him as he eased into the terrace doors into the dining area.  She was also grinning at him like a Cheshire cat.  “You’re either the bravest man alive, or completely daft.”  She wiped her hands on the dishtowel over her shoulder.

Vincent only gave her a sideways glance for her teasing before looking into the darkened bedroom.  “How is she?” he asked.

“Poor thing’s feeling miser’ble.  Her fever went down for a while, but now it’s back up.”  She noticed Vincent’s fallen posture, and placed a hand on his arm.  “You’re really worried, aren’t ye?”

He said nothing.  “Aye, Vincent, she’ll be fine.  Don’t worry none.  She’s strong as an ox, and a fighter.  Not to mention, as stubborn as you.”  Her jibe managed a silent chuckle out of him.

But he was worried.  He sat with her that entire night, and the next, only leaving her at the last possible moment.  Catherine’s fever was going up and down like the proverbial yo-yo, which had surprised Peter when he checked up on her that Friday afternoon.

What was worse, Catherine lost her voice from all her coughing.  The persistent cough also wouldn’t let her have more than a few hours of sleep.  She could only stammer out a weak “Hi” as Peter came into her bedroom.

“Well, this might help,” he said, giving her a dosing cup of Nyquil.  She inwardly groaned.  She hated Nyquil passionately.  “I got the cherry flavor,” Peter told her.  “That and William’s chamomile tea ought to put you to sleep.”

“Thanks,” she squeaked out after making a face from the awful taste.  She had hoped that this would run its course quickly so she and Vincent could still go hear the concert on Saturday, but that hope was fading fast.  It was Friday, and she still felt horrible.  So much for Vaughan Williams.  Dammit, she thought, mad at Fate or whoever had given her this evil thing.  Why can’t my plans ever go through, she thought bleakly.

She tried to apologize to Vincent that evening when he came, but he also would hear none of it.  “Catherine, you cannot help it if you are ill.  Think nothing more about it.  No,” he insisted when she tried to object, “You should only concern yourself about getting well.”  He rested against the headboard with her curled up in his arms.  He rested a long furred finger against her lips, not letting her abuse her strained vocal chords.

Another feeling of disappointment and fleeting anger flew through her, adding to the frustration present.  I wanted this concert to be special.  It’s just not fair, she thought.

Obviously in tune with her mood, and almost as if Vincent had read her very thought, he spoke once more.  “Catherine, every concert we attend is special.  They are, because we share them together.”  She buried her head further into his chest, still not convinced.  He could feel that stubbornness within her, and his heart filled with more love for this woman, if that was possible.  He knew that she had been looking forward to it, and he felt the disappointment she felt run deeply through her.  “You have given so much of yourself, Catherine,” he told her, “ but now you must think of your own health.  Rest now, please.  For me.”

She brought up her head at the plea in his voice.  He looked down at her with a look of pure concern.  He continued.  “You haven’t slept, your fever has not broken, and you are worried about a missed concert.”  He shook his head, stroked her tousled hair back from her tired face.  He said no more, but his unspoken message finally got through to her.

I can’t think about this when he’s worried about me, she thought to herself.  Almost as if he could hear her very thought, he brought his head down to rest against her own.  God, he must be out of his mind.  She had forgotten that he still harbored memories of the awful nightmares he had suffered from through his breakdown that summer- nightmares that had been of her own possible death.  I’m sorry, Vincent, I’m so sorry, she told him silently, wrapping her arms more securely around him.  Again, as if he could read her mind, he wrapped the blankets more snug around her and held her close.  She relaxed against him, wishing her clogged sinuses could let her partake of his virile candle smoke and musky scent, and letting all her love and devotion for him surpass her disappointment.

The medicine Peter had given her was finally working; she fell asleep quickly and finally slept through the night, much to Vincent’s relief.  He was even more relieved when he rested a hand to her forehead later that night and found no fever burning through her.  He held her tighter to him, listening to her slow rhythmic breathing and feeling the strong beating of her heart both in her and him.  She would indeed be well again.  And so would he.


That morning when Catherine opened her eyes to the sunshine, she actually felt better than she had in several days.  The sleep had been much needed.  Her head felt clearer.  She was still coughing what she thought was equivalent to a lung, but she was no longer so cold.  The constant ache was gone as well.  She still had no voice, so calling for Jamie, who had probably come sometime that morning, did absolutely no good at all.

To her surprise though, some one did come to her almost immediately.  “What are you still doing here?” she practically mouthed, unable to make much sound.  “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” said Vincent unerringly, not even glancing at her bedside clock.  “And I couldn’t leave you.”  He produced a steaming cup of tea for her; exactly what she had wanted.  “Your fever broke last night, much to my relief.”

She was full of questions.  Father?  The tunnels?  How- when could Vincent get home?  She only stared at him in disbelief.  He was in her apartment in the daylight without a cloak or vest!  Seeing him in only cord pants and a light green cambric shirt was a shock to her sleep-fuzzed brain.

“I sent Geoffrey with a message when he came with more supplies.  It is Saturday,” he said, almost as an afterthought.  “We had planned on spending the day together.”    Was he reading her mind again?  She shook her head at that, but she smiled weakly up at him.  There was no way for him to return until the evening now, the sunlight streaming from behind the closed curtains of her bedroom.  The fact that he would sacrifice the safety of his home and Father’s possible wrath for her spoke volumes of his love.  And his state of dress told her of his comfort with the situation.  How could she argue with that?


He managed to cook a pretty good breakfast, despite the fact that Vincent knew next to nothing about a gas stove.  She slept most of the day, a feeling of contentment washing through her.  It felt so good to have him here with her, she just wished that she felt better to fully enjoy it.  Still, she didn’t dwell on it too much; it was almost as if he was some fairy god who would disappear into the very walls if she pondered his presence too closely.  He heated some of William’s soup for her lunch that afternoon.  When a thought of nostalgia washed through her, he smiled back warmly, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. His memories of those first few days they had known each other were as strong as hers.

As evening fell, she assumed that he would leave as soon as it was dark enough.  To her surprise, he didn’t.  At some point he carried her from the bedroom into the living room where he had set up a cozy little nest on one of her loveseats.  The lights were dimmed, a few candles were burning strongly and the radio was playing as Vincent settled the two of them onto the couch.  Catherine felt snug in blankets and his own body warmth.  He was still only wearing the one shirt and the effect of his strong hard chest under her was very alluring.

She tore away from the tantalizing thought, hoping he wouldn’t notice through the bond, and concentrated on the rest of the room.  What’s going on, she though.  She fidgeted, trying to figure out what Vincent was up to.

“Shh.  Just listen,” was his only reply when she looked up at him questioningly.

She suddenly heard a voice announce a few things and an orchestra warm up their instruments.  After another few minutes, music softly started from the stereo.  She glanced up at him in surprise.  That was choir music she heard!  He looked down at her, his blue eyes sparkling with love and mischief.
“Your friend Kay left a message on your answering machine that the concert would be broadcast live on an AM radio station,” he told her.  “I seem to have found it.”

If she could have, she would of laughed out loud.  Somehow, instead of going to the concert, the concert had been brought to them!  She wanted to shout to the world and announce that Fate had for once been in their favor.  Instead, Catherine gave him a fierce hug, then both settled in to hear the concert in comfort and warmth from the room and with each other.


The morning sun has yet to rise Above, and I am once again home, here Below.  Catherine is safe, snug and slowly becoming well in her apartment Above.  I look back at our time together there now with awe.  I stayed with Catherine today, in her world.  I watched the sun rise over the city like a watchful mother from her apartment.   I actually risked my own safety to stay with her!  One part of me is thrilled, for a moment it was as if our dream had come to be.  The last time I stayed in that apartment for more than a few hours was a time I half-wished I could forget.  How sweeter is this memory.  Together, her and I, we, even now I cannot help but be overwhelmed by the feelings this generates in me.  I feel from Catherine, then and while she still sleeps, a feeling of contentment.  All during the concert I felt that from her, and even though she couldn’t speak the words, I knew she was saying “thank you”.

Father was furious when I returned an hour ago.  He didn’t say anything- he didn’t need to.  I could see it in his eyes, the worry and fear I caused him when I didn’t return. He was in my chamber when I entered, said only that he would see me in the morning.  I know I frightened him, even though I sent word of where I was.  He has a right to worry.  And worry he does, as any parent would for a child, even when they are grown.  And yet, even now, I ask myself, how could I leave her?

But another part of me questions my motives in staying with her.  Was it wise?  I risked everything to stay- my life, my home, my family and friends.  This place I have sworn to protect, with my last ounce of strength if necessary.  The people here count on this sanctuary, as has Catherine.  Many times I have denied myself from staying with her, Above or Below because of those risks.  What made this any different?

I have only to look to myself for that answer.  She was ill, more ill than I have ever seen her.  When Dimitri brought the plague Below, she risked her own life to help us.  Not just me, but the community.  She told me later that she had felt helpless, that she couldn’t just stand by and wait for news.  These last few days, I’ve felt the same.  But there’s another feeling within me.  Not helplessness, but fear.  It is deep within me, almost hidden, but nonetheless, it remains with me.  I still wake in the night, haunted by images of that horrific nightmare vision.  I’ve managed to keep that from Catherine and Father, but it cannot continue.  Many a night I have stolen to her balcony, just to watch her sleep.  My heart pounds in dread whenever I feel her emotions even close to fear.  Each time, I think ‘is this it?  Will I lose her tonight?’  The answer to that is something I dare not dwell upon.

This emotion I feel is only from myself, not from Catherine.  And I believe that the true answer lies only within myself.


It was another beautiful starry night to Catherine a few nights later.  It was back to being seasonably warm, and she was glad for the central air in her apartment.  Nonetheless, there was a breeze tonight, and she was determined to make the most of it.

Opening the curtains from her dining area, she walked into the night air.  Leaning against the balcony wall, she took a deep long breath, the first in quite a few days.  Her run with the flu was just about over.  Her voice still wasn’t one hundred percent, but when Joe had stopped by earlier that day, he had told her when she returned to work on Wednesday she’d still have the Lenox case prosecution of she wanted it.  It was good to know that some things were still going her way.

A stirring from the corner of her eye brought her head around.  “Vincent!” she softly exclaimed.  He had been sitting cross-legged against the far wall of the balcony.  She walked over to him and offered her hands to help him up, which he took.  “What are you doing hiding back there?” she asked.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m sorry,” he said, letting his volumous blond hair shade his face from her view.  “You should still be resting,” he softly admonished as he peeked between his bangs.

She shook her head.  “I’ve been in that bed or resting for days, I’m about to crawl out of my skin.”  She looked out over the balcony at another wonderful glance at the many illuminated buildings in view.  “Besides, it’s a beautiful night.  I wanted to see it for myself.”  She looked back at him, her eyebrows sliding up in humor.  “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Vincent nodded, one of his small smiles playing across his leonine face.  There was no getting around it.  He didn’t answer for a minute, trying to gather his thoughts.  “What is it, Vincent?” Catherine prompted.  She used one of his trademarks; it always worked.  “Tell me.”

He walked and leaned against the balcony as Catherine had done minutes before.  “I was trying to understand something,” he finally told her.

“Understand what?”

A great sigh left him as he continued to gaze over the city.  “Understand why I felt the way I did when you were ill.”

Here it comes, thought Catherine.  She had been expecting something like this.  Why does he always feel guilty over his feelings?  “Vincent, it’s perfectly natural to feel frustrated when someone you love is ill.  You did everything that you could, and then some.”

“It’s not that,” he replied.  “I did feel helpless, but I’m not speaking of that.”  He turned from his position to look at her.  “I’ve been thinking this since Saturday night.”
Catherine let her mi
nd wander back to that particular evening.  It had been the first evening she had felt remotely better, and Vincent’s surprise of the broadcasting of the concert had been a tremendous joy.  She had watched him in delight as he had recognized some of it.  “It was wonderful to sit there and listen to it with you,” she reminisced.

“For me as well,” he said.  A moment passed as he took a breath, then continued.  “You give me so much, Catherine.  You shower me with your presence, your love.  And I have so little to give you.”

“Oh, Vincent,” she sighed, standing by his side.  “What you give to me is beyond anything I could ever possess.  You give me your heart, your soul.”

He turned away from her.  “But you bring me into your life.  You share your hopes, your dreams with me.  I cannot.”

She pondered that for a moment.  “Why not?”

He looked back in surprise.  “Because- because of what I am.”

Her heart broke at the anguish she heard in his voice.  Then she took her own breath.  “What you are is the most loving, devoted, and caring being I have ever met in my life.  What you did for me these last few days go beyond love or concern.  My God, Vincent, you used a telephone!” she slightly chuckled at that, but went on.  “You sent your friends to take care of me, you yourself risked your own safety, not to mention Father’s wrath, to watch over me.  You even figured out how to bring a concert that I wanted to bring to you!”  Catherine took a step toward him and placed a hand on his broad shoulder.  “You are all I ever want or need.  Just you, Vincent, the way you are.”  She turned him around to face her.  “Your love is all I need.”

He couldn’t look at her at first, but she lifted his chin up to gaze at her.  That love, the devotion that she had grown to love shone in the pools of crystal blue eyes.  Then, unable to hold back, he reached for her to envelope her in a tight, warm embrace.  She wrapped her arms back around him.  He leaned his head against her own and held her for a long time.

“What I felt,” he finally said to her, whispering softly into her ear, “was fear.”

She looked at him, a frown crossing her features.  “You were afraid?”

“Yes,” he told her, breaking away from her.  His large furred hands gripped the edge of the balcony wall.  “I did feel helpless.  Helpless that I might lose you.”

“To the flu?”  She didn’t understand.  “Vincent, I was never in any real danger.”

“I know that.”  He shook his head, looking out into the night.  “This- fear- isn’t rational.  But it still grips me, every time I feel the slightest change from you.  Catherine,” he turned to face her, his true love’s eyes flit back and forth across his unique features.  “I cannot lose you.  I love you.”

Her own heart pounded in her chest.  For as strong, as formidable as he was, Vincent was still so vulnerable.  So unable to realize that he was capable, was more than worthy to be loved as she did.  She took his face in her own small hands and looked as deeply as she could into his eyes.  She could almost feel his gasp as she penetrated the windows to his soul.  “You will never, never lose me, Vincent.  I am in your life, now and always.  I love you, too.”

She fused her emotions into him, still gazing into his eyes.  The love and devotion she held for him was as strong as the first time he woke up from his coma and felt the Bond return to him months ago.  It was amazing, and he realized then that it was the truth.  She could not live without him, the same as he needed her in his life to survive.

She slid one back of a hand across his cheek.  “Now, share a dream with me.”  That took a while, but eventually, he did.  They talked into the night and the early morning about dreams, hopes, everything and anything.  Vincent found out that Catherine had never learned to swim, and she learned that he had wanted to learn baseball as a child, but had never been able to.  Catherine dug into her closet and given him her father’s old Mets cap, which she thought he looked darling in.  But most of all, she listened to him, finding more about this wonderful and complex man before her.  He spoke at length about how his differences kept him apart from his peers growing up.  Catherine’s heart felt his pain when he realized that the world Above and its charms would be forever denied him, how he had always felt that he was unworthy or unable to share in so many things Catherine herself took for granted.  He revealed how much her very presence had forever changed and was still changing that perspective.

Finally, though, all words were said.  A comfortable, and glowing silence swam above them.  Green eyes held blue for a spell from where they both sat.
Vincent broke the unspoken communication.  “It’s almost dawn,” he reluctantly told her.  Indeed, the sky was beginning to show a tinge of pink when Catherine glanced over the balcony.

Vincent got up from his position and straightened his cloak.  He gracefully stretched his muscles as Catherine yawned.  “I’ve kept you up too long.”

“That’s okay, I still have one day of rest before going back to the office,” she told him.  “What about you?”

“I have more work in the lower chambers, but I will be alright.”  He stepped toward her slowly, then loosely wrapped one arm around her waist.  “Thank you, Catherine.  Thank you for listening.”

She smiled up at him.  “I’m glad that you felt that you could trust me.”

“I have always trusted you, Catherine.  I knew that from the beginning, when you trusted me.”  The look of love that shown in her face at that statement struck Vincent deeply.  Her whole face lit up as she recognized what he had once told her so long ago when he had brought her Above the first time.  It radiated from her, the devotion, care, and soul that she freely offered him.  It was angelic and incredible, and it held him close in its gentle grip.

His gaze suddenly settled on Catherine’s lips as she continued to smile at him.  She loved him!  Her- a vision, even in an oversized sweater and tousled hair from the wind.  A woman who loved him!  How could this be?

He had never kissed her, certain that it was a barrier he could not cross.  She had, once; a short simple kiss in gratitude for once helping her grieve her father’s passing..  He had not responded to that kiss, the shock of actually feeling her lips brush against his almost too much to comprehend.  But now, as she gazed at him lovingly, he could not help but remember those lips on his own.

Before he could stop or talk himself out of it, one furred hand brushed against her smooth cheek.  She watched him, her eyes searching his unique face.  Slowly, he brought his fingers- carefully- under her chin to draw her face closer to his.  Finally, he slowly lowered his head to hers, closing his eyes a second before pressing his lips to her lightly.  Her own eyes fluttered closed at that first touch of his kiss.

He reveled in the feel of her lips under his own.  The softness of her mouth was incredible!  He had meant for this to be a short kiss, but at the feel of her against him he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth to taste her sweetness.  Oh, it was heaven!  She let him hold the kiss, giving him the lead in their first physical display of love.  When he finally parted from her, her eyes held such a complex array of emotions even he had trouble discerning what exactly she was feeling.

From the Bond he could feel at first surprise, and then elation from Catherine.  As they gazed at each other, he felt a small amount of relief surpassed by an all-encompassing love and passion he had never felt from her before.  “Oh, Vincent,” she whispered, wrapping one hand behind his neck to disappear underneath his golden mane.  “That was lovely.  Thank you so much.”  She was still there, here, with him!  She wasn’t repelled by his display, or frightened by him at all!  She really wouldn’t leave him, he realized as all fear left him.

Catherine’s eyes held a small spark of mischief as she leaned closer into him.  Oh, she was so close to him!  “But I would be negligent if I didn’t return your kiss,” she said before guiding him back to her.

This second kiss was much more passionate, and Catherine much more sure of herself this time.  Her other arm went around his neck as Vincent wrapped both arms around her slender waist to bring her even closer to him.  She opened her mouth under him, and he tasted her sweetness more fully.  He held her tighter, his body shuddering at the intensity of all of their emotions spiraling up into the heavens.  She shook as well with desire, ever so slightly, and it only registered somewhere in the back of both their minds.  There was nothing in the world but Vincent and his Catherine, and the feel of their mouths together as if they had never known anything else.

After what felt like forever, Catherine broke the connection.  Vincent’s eyes were still closed before her soft words broke through his mental fog.  “You have to go.”

He looked up from her to the skyline.  When had it grown so light?  He had to hurry to return to his world.  Oh, if only he could truly stay!  His heart almost broke at his parting from her, but part he must.  He reluctantly pulled himself away from her and made toward the end of her balcony.  Almost there, he turned around to see her still staring at him.

“Catherine,” he asked and bowed his head, suddenly shy.  “May I kiss you goodnight?”

It was probably 5 or so in the morning, but Catherine didn’t care.  “Vincent, you can kiss me anytime, anywhere, for whatever reason,” was her whispered reply.  He acknowledged that with a quick but sweet kiss before he left her and the balcony in a swirl of cape.

She watched him go in a daze.  He had kissed her!  He had actually kissed her of his own accord!  She almost cried out a “Yes!” if her throat hadn’t closed off on her.  So only a whispered one carried on the wind to him.  That heartfelt response filled her entire being with love, relief, passion, and throughout it all, a contentment she had never felt before, almost as if a blanket of despair of unfulfilled dreams was suddenly lifted from her.  There were possibilities for them, and she smiled to the impending dawn, tears of joy misting her eyes from the view.

He heard it, felt it in his own heart before leaving the roof of her building.  His memory of her touch, the feel of her mouth against his was nothing he could, would ever want to ever forget.  He was hers, and she was his, and as he returned to his world, for the first time in his life, he turned his thoughts to dreams he once believed never to behold.


"MOVE TOWARD LOVE" belongs to  Nancy Lynn Knauff  Any distribution, copy, shoul be made under her consent. Thanks

All artwork you see here are property and were desing by  Sonia Mª Corral, Any distribution, copy, shoul be made under her consent.


"Beauty and the Beast" and its original characters are the creation of Ron Koslow and is owned by Republic Pictures and its owners. The stories shown here are written strictly for the enjoyment of fans, and no infringement is meant in any way