by Evelyn Hill
Rose Beast Into the Woods
A Big Bad Wolf Fairy Tale, Book Two
Evelyn Hill
Copyright © 2018 by Evelyn Hill
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Also by Evelyn Hill
“Yes, I have a dirty mind, and you’re on it.”
Unknown
1
The story of the Rose Beast and his dungeon changed throughout the years. In the original tale I had heard my aunts whisper about, his dungeon was deep in the forest under the tallest tree, but in another version they told, a darker version, there was an old castle, so old it was falling to pieces and nothing much more than a tower remained. Beneath that, they said, was the dungeon were the beast dwelled in human form.
I say dwelled, but that isn’t entirely true, what he did down there after luring a maiden in, was much, much darker...
I’ve made changes to my sex life, but the romance part of it? Eh.
There’s this romance story I once read where a guy takes a girl home after making mad, mad love to her on the beach, and they fall asleep on the front porch swing. He wakes up early in the morning and makes her waffles and coffee. They fall in love and live happily ever after.
What can I take from this?
Hmm…let’s think about it. After carrying me home in his arms after the beach party, Antonio the Viking-Sex-God-Baker promptly left (after showering, I might add.) He hasn’t called me in a full week nor has he visited me at the bookshop. So, yeah, obviously my life is not a romance.
Not that I expected it to be after that night at the lake, but come on. I let the guy fuck me three different ways with a bad boy pirate. What more can the male gender ask for?
I admit my life at this very moment is more like a fuck me now than a happily ever after. But hey, this isn’t a fairy tale, and I will take what I can get. I do want that happily ever after. Eventually. With the right person. (Or the right beast…sorry, had to throw that in there.) With my string of relationship disasters, I think we all can agree that romance can take a backseat. I am okay with that.
Now, in all fairness to the dark and mysterious Antonio, he doesn’t actually possess my phone number. He used to visit me at least twice a week at 1001 Nights bookshop where, if you recall, we sell more than books. Coffee.
Antonio likes his with sugar and fresh cream; emphasis on the “fresh” which, for some reason, always makes me flush red.
I haven’t been able to sleep since that evening. My nights are filled with the howling of dark wolves and sleek muscle toned bodies on a warm grassy shore. Usually, I see Antonio’s face with that lost look in his eyes. I hear his voice from that night. Iris, do you want this? I become aware of his rock hard erection pushed up high between my thighs and I ride him into dawn…and the sound of my alarm clock. Right before I open my eyes? I see the eyes of a black wolf gazing at me.
I haven’t seen the wolf since that night, and even then, I question whether I saw it at all?
Back to the dreams, though. Other times, when I’m not dreaming of Antonio, I see a heart and dagger tattoo on a muscular chest and the face of a pirate ready to plumage—that would be Eric. Oh god, just thinking of him turns my body into a hot, trembling furnace of need. I try to banish him from my thoughts, though it’s been hard since he’s been in the shop at least three times this week.
I swear, I know the moment—the very instant—he walks into the store. I mean, here I am stocking books in the back. He walks in like everyone else: the door opens; the bell jingles alerting someone has come in. Usually, I’ll keep on working, then greet the customer after they’ve had time to browse. But with Eric, it’s as if I sense the very essence of him. Pheromones, I hear, are a powerful thing.
Every time, he simply struts by me with nothing more than a wink and a sexy grin on his lips. He goes straight back to see Connie in the office and I don’t see him (or Connie) for several hours. The whole time I wonder what he’s doing to her, what she’s doing to him, and I swear I can hear the sound of their bodies thumping against the walls as I ring a customer up on the register.
Or…that could be my imagination.
When Eric leaves Connie’s office, his hair is a disheveled mess and there is this look of satisfaction on his face. I’ve tried conversation and asked him if he’d like a cup of coffee, but beside the wink and grin, he practically ignores me. As if the night at the lake never happened.
Mind you, I don’t expect anything more from him. I know erotica isn’t about roses or forever. But fuck, couldn’t he stop for two seconds for a small chat?
You know, a quickie?
Ugh, I need to stop that.
No, in my new brave world of 1001 erotic nights, I want, no, need, Antonio the Viking-Sex-God-Baker. There is something I trust about him. Something inside me that connects with him on a deeper level. I can see myself delving further into naughtiness with Mr. Dark and Mysterious. Maybe even more than naughtiness. Maybe…love?
Love, the word is like a forbidden room or…dungeon… in my mind. The door is slammed shut, locked and boarded. Love is a scary place. I will tell you why someday.
Maybe.
But I digress, and will have you know that I’ve decided that since Antonio hasn’t come in to see me for at least a week, I am going to find him.
Which another new for me. Me? Pursue a man? This is a strange new world to me… and I like it.
I mentally list the things I know about him. He’s devilishly handsome. He owns a bakery in a mountain tourist town near Rainier—how hard could he be to find?
I think perhaps his bakery is here in town opposed to the cluster of villages near closer to the mountain.
Which reminds me, have I told you where I live? Blush, Washington. Sure, it rains almost year round, but late spring through Autumn…it’s absolute paradise. Obviously, everyone else thinks so too, which is how we attract the tourist.
I’m off early today from the bookshop and carry a fresh brewed coffee, a little bag of banana bread and my paisley shoulder bag. It has a phone book hanging out of it. A very heavy phone book. I’m wearing a white with red polka dots tube top sundress (yes, I sewed it myself—don’t you dare laugh!) and the construction guys working on the new gas station down on Main Street cat whistle at me as I walk by. They are wearing tight dirty pants with white shirts and yellow helmets.
Can we say hawt?
One of them, the hot bald guy with the torn t-shirt, has biceps to die for and the look on his face says he wants to eat me like an ice cream cone on a hot, hot day.
I wonder if he’s a licker or biter. Bad girl, Iris, bad!
I swear he knows what I’m thinking as I walk by, smiling coyly at them, but mainly him. I feel like a movie star with the wind blowing back my hair and sunglasses on, swaying my hips like I’m a model getting down on the catwalk.
As soon as I pass them, I roll my eyes at myself and drop the strut—what am I thinking? I continue to walk, feeling determined and enthusiastic about finding Antonio.
I’m walking home to my cottage in the rose garden through the woods. I forgo the car and do this on most sunny days.
There’s a lovely stream that trails through trees. Dipping my feet in the cool water and sipping my coffee while searching the phone book sounds perfect.
I can see the tall trees at the far end of town now. I
quickly move through an alley, down another street and let out a sigh of relief as I enter the shade of the woods.
I wander a half mile along the trail in the forest. When I see a giant fallen cedar, I know that’s my marker to stray off the path toward the stream.
I follow the sound of the water, admiring the site of wild rose bushes and forget-me-nots that sprang up where the sun shines through the tall cedar branches.
I reach the sandy shore of the stream and can’t help but smile at it.
Even in the shade, it’s at least seventy degrees and I plop on the sand and kick off my sandals before opening up the phone book on my lap and pulling out my cell phone.
I sip my coffee and take a bite of banana bread as I skip to the business section of the book and open to B and look for Bakeries.
There must be two dozen of them in Blush and another few dozen in the towns branching out. I’m shocked!
I glance over the names hoping for a clue. Yeast of Eden. Cupcake Occasions. Donut Galore. None of them sounded like my dark Viking businessman. Guess I had to start somewhere. I picked up my cell and dialed the number for A Reason to Remember Bakery.
The voice on the other end answers with a sharp, quick. “’ello?”
“Hello,” I say. “I’m looking for an Antonio…”
“Eh? A what?”
I shake my head. “Antonio?”
“No, no, Antonio here. I sell cake. Would you like cake?”
I sigh. “No, but thanks.”
He hung up, and so did I. I took a sip of coffee and scroll down the listings pausing at Once Upon a Bakery. I smiled at the name, and I wonder if it was Antonio’s. I thought I’d seen that one before around town. But where?
I hold the phone book up to my nose, cursing because I had forgotten my reading glasses at home. It looked like it was on Valley Avenue, I thought I might know where it was… a little alley off Main Street.
Perhaps I should walk back to town and find it?
I gather my things and stand, stuffing the phone book back into my bag. I became aware of something across the stream…watching me.
I glance up to find green eyes locked on me. The wolf was enormous with a dark, shaggy coat of midnight.
It lifted the edges of its mouth, revealing white, pearly teeth. It growled.
I catch my breath and drop my bag.
It took a step into the water.
I took a step back.
A sudden Clank! Clank! Clank! filled the air.
The wolf startled, turned and fled.
I placed my hand over my chest and breathed with relief. It was the same wolf I had seen the other night! Could it be the Rose Beast?
No, no, I shake my head. That was only a fantasy…or was it?
I hear the noise again that had scared away the wolf.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
Curious, I scoop up my bag and sandals, and decide to follow the noise. I hesitate before crossing the stream—would the wolf still be there?
I decide the wolf is well and away by now.
I follow the sound through the woods until I enter a small clearing. My heart begins beating hard within my chest when I see it.
An old, crumbling castle…
I swallow hard as I approach, enchanted by the beauty and yet afraid. Was it the Rose Beast’s castle?
I startle when a voice calls out.
“Hey! Hey lady, could you help me out?”
2
I glance earnestly about the clearing, but I see no one.
“Hey! Hey lady! Up here!”
I turn to my left and realize the voice was coming from someone on top of a tall tower attached to the crumbling castle. It appears to still be intact. A man stands on a ladder against the side of the tower. He is waving his arm at me.
I notice it is well muscled and tanned.
I ask, “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, yes, thank god, yes. Who else would I be talking to out in this godforsaken place?”
He has a point. I shrug and swirl the toe of my sandal on the forest floor, a tad embarrassed.
He says, “You’re a godsend. An absolute redheaded angel.”
I blush. “Why is that? Is something wrong?” I step closer and notice he is holding something against the crumbly, gray bricks of the tower. It is a wrought iron fixture of some sort.
He says, “I’m installing this solar light for Mr. Wolfe, and I dropped my tool belt.”
At the word Wolf, I froze.
Seriously? I say, “Did you say Wolf?”
“Yes, I said it. Of course, I said it. That’s who owns the place.”
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed again. I walk to the tower, scanning the dirt beneath the ladder. I spot it immediately—a tan leather belt full of tools. I see a name stamped into the well worn leather, Brom.
Glancing from the tool belt to the man, who I assume is Brom, far up on the ladder, I yell, “Is anyone else here helping you?”
He laughs. “No need to yell. I can hear you just fine. Nah, it’s just me today. Mr. Wolfe prefers it that way. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but first I’m going to need a favor, Angel.”
I grimace and bite my lip. I think I know what he’s going to say. Before I can ask if he’d like me to find Mr. Wolfe to help him, he says, “I need you to bring up my tool belt?”
“Me?” I say, surprised. I almost drop my shoulder bag. I’m not a handy person. In fact, I can barely screw in a light bulb. It is ironic, because my grandmother left me the old house and rose garden. The house must be at least a hundred years old. The electrical is going as well as the plumbing. I’ve tried to replace the downstairs toilet and fix the faucet in the kitchen sink, but failed miserably. In fact, I only made it worse. I’ve resorted to washing dishes in the downstairs bathroom and showering in the upstairs bathroom. The hot water heater doesn’t work, so I’ve learned to take very fast showers.
The man laughs. “Yes, you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to grab…Mister…ah…” I made dog ears on my head.
“I’m not sure exactly what that is supposed to mean…”
“Mr. Wolfe,” I say, then blush when he gives me a strange look. “It’s just that...” I touch the ladder and withdraw my hand as if the ladder might bite. “I fell off a ladder once when I was fifteen. I was helping my aunt put up Christmas lights. The steps of the ladder were slick with ice. Half-way up, my foot slipped and I ended up on my back in the hydrangeas with a broken ankle. I’ve been scared of heights ever since. I’m… I’m just not good at this kind of stuff.” I had felt so brave moments before, looking up Antonio’s bakery in the phone book, determined to go find him. Now I felt like a little girl lost in the woods being asked to the do the hardest thing she could possibly imagine.
The man groans. I see his arms flex and the heavy light fixture moves an inch down. “I understand. Really, I do, Angel. But I need help or this turn of the century fixture is going to end up in pieces and I’ll be looking a lawsuit in the mouth.”
The words escape my lips. “Turn of the century?” I whistle, then bite my lip and look up at him again, hesitating. “But I thought it was solar?”
“Please.”
The sun is behind his back, I can’t see his face because of the burst of sunlight between the tree limbs, but his voice sounds desperate. And that does it for me. “Hold on,” I say.
“Oh, thank fuck…”
I giggle. The way he said that both tickles me and…turns me on despite my fear, or perhaps because of my fear.
I set down my bag against a pile of bricks.
I squat down and examine the leather tool belt. It is full of screwdrivers, hammers, nails, all that kind of stuff.
“Do you see a drill?”
I didn’t see one inside the pouches, but after closer examination, I see a butt of a handle sticking out beneath the tool belt. I lift the belt and there is a wireless drill. “Found it.”
“Wonderful. Now pick it up and s
queeze the button. See if still works. The battery might have died.”
I push it, and it makes a loud noise, the front of it spins. “Works!” I call up.
“Listen, Angel, I need you to put that in the belt and carry it up to me.”
I glance up at him and gulp…hard. I nod. “Um…’kay.” This is not how I was planning on spending my afternoon. I had wanted to find Antonio. Life often took unexpected turns (like my grandmother dying) and I’ve learned to roll with it. I pick up the belt, surprised how heavy it is. How in the world am I going to carry this up the ladder? I will need two hands to climb up there.
I think about putting it around my waist, but it is much too large, and besides—
“The belt latch is busted,” he says from above as if he could read my thoughts. “That’s how it fell off in the first place.”
I sling it over one shoulder, but it weights down that side too much, so I sling it over both my shoulders, the ends hanging down around my neck like a scarf. “Like this?” I ask him.
He smiles a perfectly gorgeous smile. “Yes, just like that Angel.”
His voice is rough and gravelly, and I feel a shiver rush through me…or is that the adrenaline from stepping up to the ladder?
I take one step, then another; my sandal slips off to one side. It is obvious I’m not going to be wearing them up. I kick them off, thankful that the steel isn’t too hot for my bare feet.
I take one step at a time, my feet curving and hugging the steps as if they are lifelines. I don’t look down, only occasionally up…I meet his eyes and he says, “Yes, that’s it darlin’. Keep your eyes on me.”
Up and up, I go, increasingly aware of the tool handles poking into my neck and chin.
Halfway up, the ladder creaks and a screwdriver flies out of its pouch.
I can’t help but watch it fall head over handle until it strikes the forest floor, bounces up, and skids to a halt.