The Beast & His Beauty Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal, Virgin Tags Authors: ,
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
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Perhaps it is both of us.

It cannot have been an accident, however. He took me from my father’s house and brought me here, for I cannot have passed through the wall and gotten myself through the forest alone without waking.

Although there were those vines in the trees, wrapping around my ankle and pulling me…

No, I think there would have been evidence of that. Scratches from tree branches and bruised toes, and I have neither. Right? My sanity plays tricks on me.

So he cannot have made a mistake. What happened was not a mistake, I’m sure. I felt his mouth, hot and desperate on mine, and it was not the touch of a man who wanted to be doing something else.

I do not know what went wrong. I do not know what has made him retreat into silence and avoid me. It is not difficult in a castle this size, but why would he want to?

He told me to obey him, and I did so with almost ease and enjoyment, because his kiss made me want more. If I had shown that I was not willing, I think he would have drawn back. I did not feel any hesitation that night, save for a little when I woke up and found myself in a castle far from home. The question of whether it was the magic or his presence that made me feel that way seems almost irrelevant, but as the day stretches on and I do not see him, my thoughts return to the topic again and again.

I nearly debate leaving. Simply walking out of the gate. But fear keeps me from testing that boundary. That and my promise that I would stay. If I were to go back home, Crawe may be waiting for me. They will need answers as to what’s happened.

My heart races with endless possibilities of the tragedy that may occur either way. Along with the judgment and penalties for what I’ve done.

The moment the sadness consumes me and my thoughts travel down that round, the magic pulls me somewhere else in the castle. With trinkets I’ve only heard of before, I’m suddenly swept away into wonderment.

There is little else to think of. I am relatively free within the castle. It’s peaceful and quiet aside from the movements of the objects that dust and mop in the rooms and halls closest to mine. Every morning, the bed I am sleeping in remakes itself with fresh sheets, the fabric hovering over the mattress. The pillows fluff themselves. The comforter smooths itself out and tucks itself in tight as if done by the most experienced housekeeper. In the afternoons, the floor is swept by a broom that dances over the floors. I see this happen in other bedrooms, sheets snapping and flying and tucking themselves into mattresses, each room seeming to prepare for something, though no one arrives.

I do not think anyone else lives here. I do not see servants or housekeepers or footmen. For all the motion in the castle keeping it perfectly clean, it begins to seem quite empty.

I explore the long hallways. Some doors open as I approach, inviting me in to see the trinkets or antiques that lay within. They are dark and dusty, these rooms, but when I walk in and imagine them cleaned and bright, the house springs to life again. Windows open, letting in fresh air and closing themselves before they make the rooms uncomfortably cold. Brooms appear to take the dust from the floors.

Where is the beast? Where has he gone?

I do not think he has left the castle, but if he has, I do not think I can go after him. He has forbidden me from leaving. I think stepping away from the castle grounds would be obvious disobedience, and I would not be able to get a message to my father, nor convince the beast to send one.

Have I imagined the beast?

For a little while, I wonder if I’ve made all this up in my mind. It could be that I wanted to escape Crawe so badly that I’ve fallen into a dream and can’t be woken. Maybe I’m lying in my bed at my father’s cottage right now, my father leaning over me, worriedly trying to wake me.

But then that cannot be. Just as the scar from the beast’s bite mark still lingers on my shoulder, the bruises he pressed into my hips also linger. I check for them each morning in the mirror and while they are beginning to fade away, I can still see them. I can feel the echoes of the friction between us and the heat of him inside me.

In the afternoons I look at more paintings or curl up in a chair by a fireplace, relishing the peace. This life is one I’ve never felt before. Sleeping with ease and worrying for nothing…apart from my father. It was not often in the village that I was able to take time for myself after reaching womanhood. My father needed all the money I could earn, which was not much but it kept us from starving.


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