The Beast In The Castle

by Daniella Wright

  “I’m good, I think. Once, I had a three-way with two French guys.”

  “Ooooh! City Mouse ain’t shy!” Kelly gushed.

  “Yeah. It was gross. Like, porn-level amounts of cum.” I wondered how much I should be telling them. I knew that everyone in town went to the small church on the edge of town every Sunday. Ella was looking at me with wide eyes. I took a sip of my beer. “So what else goes on here?”

  “City Mouse,” Kelly said. “Nothing. You can go drinking, you can go find a man, you can go ride your horse, you can go shoot your gun, or you can go crazy.” She leaned back in her seat and looked around the bar. “I think I’ll find a man tonight.” She said it with such confidence, then looked at Ella. “Shall we ask The Board?” Ella groaned.

  “It never responds. So stupid.” She said, taking a pull on her beer as she swept her dark hair back over her shoulders.

  “What is The Board?” I asked as Kelly popped out of the booth and walked over to a bookshelf that contained a multitude of beat-up board game boxes. She pulled one out and headed back over to our table excitedly.

  “Ella, get the shots!” Kelly said as she placed an Ouija board on the table. Ella rolled her eyes and got up. “Every time we get an answer, we all take a shot of tequila.”

  She grabbed my hand, and looked me in the eyes, saying, “A night that begins with tequila ends in compromising positions with a stranger.” I was soon to learn how true those words would become for me that night.

  Ella returned to the table with three shot glasses and a bottle of Jose Cuervo. She slid into the booth as Kelly unfolded the board and set the planchette on top. Ella placed a glass in front of each of us and poured the shots, leaving the bottle uncapped on the table. We each placed our fingers on the planchette.

  “Who wants to go first?” Kelly asked. “City Mouse?”

  “Okay.” I thought hard. “Obviously, is there anyone here with us?” The planchette automatically swung over to “yes.”

  “Kelly!” Ella said. “You’re just trying to get us trashed.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Kelly said, eyes wide and innocent. “Shot! Now.” The tequila burned on the way down, and we all coughed simultaneously.

  “Okay, I’m next,” Kelly said. “Is anyone getting laid tonight?” The planchette swung over to “yes” again.

  “Kelly,” Ella groaned as she lifted her shot glass again.

  After the first few shots, the tequila stopped burning, and I began to get a nice, warm buzz going. I looked around the bar, at the people who were talking, dancing to the steady stream of country music. I smiled, then was taken aback when I met someone’s gaze. He was leaning up against the bar, facing away from it, elbows leaning on the top. He had tousled brown hair and light stubble, as though he’d shaved yesterday. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and a white t-shirt and jeans. I could see all of the way across the bar that he had deep brown eyes. There was warmth in them as he smiled at me and nodded, raising his beer to me. But he also seemed sad.

  “Who’s that?” I asked. Kelly and Ella looked.

  “Ooooh! Girl, that is Owen Green,” Kelly said. “He is fine.”

  “I think I need some water,” I said. “Is it okay if I leave my bag here? I’ll just be a second.” Ella nodded.

  “You are totally thirsty,” Kelly replied. “And so am I.”

  “Please don’t go talk to the Palmers,” Ella said.

  “They’re here to play,” Kelly replied. “And so am I.”

  I rolled my eyes at Kelly’s drunkenness and wove my way through the crowd to the bar. I leaned up against the bar on tiptoe, instantly getting Cam’s attention.

  “Can I have an ice water please, Cam?”

  “Sure, hon, how are you holding up with those two birds?” He pulled out a plastic cup and scooped ice into it before setting it on the bar and filling it with water. “They drink you under the table yet?”

  “Not yet. Us Bostonians can hold our own against Texans.”

  “Atta girl!” He said as he was hailed to the other end of the bar by another customer. As I sipped my water, I could feel Owen’s warm gaze on me.

  “Boston, huh?” He said.

  “Born and bred.”

  “You don’t have the accent,” he commented.

  “No. I went to prep school in New York for awhile.”

  “Prep school? Whatever would bring you to this little slice of nowhere?” I turned to look at him. He towered over my five foot four frame. He was easily over six foot.

  “Hiding out.”

  “Ah. A good place to do that.” He seemed so cool. So comfortable within himself, but also a little bitter, a little sad. I was close enough to smell him. It was animal—sweat, soap, the leather of his jacket. I liked it. I think I liked everything about him in that moment, even the sadness.

  “How about you? Are you from here?”

  “Nah. I guess I was also fixin’ to hide out,” he said. “I come from New Orleans, though.”

  “I’ve never been.”

  “It’s full of ghosts,” he replied. “Maybe you could try your spirit board there to better effect.”

  “Oh, that.” I shook my head. “It was Kelly moving the planchette to get us drunk.” He looked at me with a bitter smile.

  “Don’t count things out as impossible so quick,” he held out his hand that wasn’t holding the beer. “I’m Owen.”

  “Ness.” I pressed his hand. “Short for Vanessa.”

  “Ah.” He looked up and then pointed. “Your friend seems to be tryin’ to get your attention.”

  I looked up and saw Ella waving frantically as Kelly walked, arm-in-arm with the oxford-clad Palmer brother out of the back door of The Ice House.

  “Your other friend appears to be makin’ some bad decisions,” Owen said, placing his beer on the bar. Leaving my half-finished water behind, I quickly followed my friends and the Palmers out the back door. It slammed shut behind me, then was opened again as Owen followed me out.

  I froze as I took in the scene before me. One of the Palmer brothers appeared to be biting Ella’s neck, from which blood flowed freely. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared to be screaming, silently. The other two were biting Kelly’s neck. Kelly appeared to already be unconscious. I screamed, loudly, and all three brothers stopped and turned to me.

  At that moment, Owen grabbed me, picking me up and cradling me in his arms, as though I weighed nothing at all.

  “Put me down! What the fuck is going on?” I fought against him as he suddenly began to run at a ridiculously fast pace.

  “It’s too late for them, Ness,” He said. “They’ve either been drained or infected. I have to get you to safety.” I began to scream.

  “We have to go back,” I insisted. “Now.”

  “I have to get you to safety,” Owen repeated. “Be quiet, or they’ll find us.” My head was spinning. We were speeding through the woods that backed up to The Ice House, at least as fast as a car would go. I stayed quiet, waiting for my world to reset itself. But it never would.

  Owen took me to a small cottage out in the woods. It was almost fairytale-like, although it was dark, I could make out that it was painted yellow, with a small porch with a few rocking chairs. He finally set me down on my feet when we reached the clearing that the cottage was nestled in, but my knees buckled and I almost swayed to the ground. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me up.

  “C’mon. You’re safe here.” He looked me in the eyes. “I promise.” I just nodded, and mechanically followed him into the house. He shut the door behind us, and locked it. Sensing my sudden panic at being locked in a strange house with a strange man who was preternaturally strong, and really fast, he reassured me: “You can unlock the door if you want. I’m not forcing you to be here. But the Palmers don’t know this is here, so it’s the safest place for you to be.”

  “The Palmers—what are they?” I felt exhausted, confused, and still very drunk. The room that I was in was comfortably furnished,
with a brown sofa, and two armchairs. There was a small kitchen off of the main room, and a closed door, behind which was presumably a bedroom. There was a little clutter—a sweatshirt thrown over a chair, a newspaper and some books with an abandoned mug on the kitchen table, but it was remarkably clean for somewhere that a man lived by himself.

  “Leeches.” He threw himself down upon the sofa.

  “What?”

  “They’re vampires. Drink blood. They don’t usually go hunting out on the town.” He said casually. “You’ve heard the human trafficking rumor, I presume?”

  “Yes,” my stomach was roiling a bit from the tequila.

  “Well, the reason the sheriff has never found any humans being trafficked, is because they have already been dined upon and disposed of by Misters Napoleon, Charleston, and Boudreaux, A.K.A. Leon, Bo, and Chaz, to the local human population.” He cocked his head to the side, like a puppy, I thought dazedly. “You wanna have a seat?” I plopped down in an armchair.

  “Are you a vampire, Owen?” My heart was racing a little.

  “No. I’m…something else.” He smiled. “You can trust me, when the moon isn’t full, at least.”

  “You’re kidding me.” He shook his head.

  “No, ma’am.” He leaned forward, as if to get up. “You want a beer for this conversation?”

  “Might as well,” I said, realizing that the “normal” world that I had heretofore inhabited had just been blown apart, and I wanted to prolong the inevitable hangover as long as possible. Owen went in the kitchen, returning with a six pack of Bud Light.

  “Sorry I got nothin’ fancy. “ He set a can into my outstretched palm, and then placed the six pack on the coffee table between us as he sat back down on the couch. Opening my beer, I took a deep sip.

  “Thanks,” I said. “So, you’re a werewolf?”

  “Yeah. Since I was a kid. Got bit by my foster mom.” He took off his leather jacket, revealing a twisted pink scar from an old bite. “She was trying to start an army of sorts to take back the city of New Orleans from the vamps. I didn’t want to be a part of it. I left the pack when I was eighteen and out of the system. I’d heard that there was a wolf pack in Wimberley. The preacher here is the Alpha. He set me up in this house here. Got me a job fixing cars.”

  “Wait. Hold up. So there’s a war going on?” There was so much I didn’t know.

  “Not really. More of a long-standing disagreement.” He said it easily.

  “Between vampires and werewolves?”

  “And the humans who hunt us.”

  “Why doesn’t everyone know? I mean, this vampire thing—” I suddenly gasped, my stomach dropping as I realized that I’d forgotten entirely about Kelly and Ella. “We have to call the police! Kelly and Ella—”

  “Are never going to be found.” Owen finished. “The Palmers have been doing this for several hundred years. They never get caught. What we need to focus on is getting you out of here.”

  “Where am I going to go? I mean—” I suddenly realized that I’d left my purse with my wallet and keys back at the table in The Ice House. “I left my purse back at the bar.” Owen let out his breath with a hiss.

  “The vamps probably have your info, in that case.”

  “Right.” I leaned back. “So, now what?”

  “You stay here. Until I can talk to Pastor Rich.” He got up, and offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. He lead me to the bedroom. He opened the door, revealing a neatly made bed on a braided, circular rug. “You can sleep on the bed. I’ll shape shift, if you don’t mind, then sleep on the floor.” I nodded, stepping out of my heels.

  “Could you maybe close your eyes?” He asked. I nodded, shutting my eyes. It sounded like skin tearing and bone cracking, and his breath thickened into something animal. When I opened my eyes, a large wolf stood before me, his fur was brown like Owen’s, and his eyes were that same deep, soulful brown. He was a beautiful animal—well-formed, muscular legs and a thick, glossy coat. He was much, much larger than a normal wolf—he was able to look me in the eye easily when he was on all fours.

  Without thinking, I reached out a hand and lightly caressed his velvet muzzle. He flinched in surprise, and then watched as I went over to the bed. I sat down on it. He curled up on the floor in between the bed and the door. Still very drunk, I fell asleep quickly.

  In the morning, I woke up to voices and the sound of cooking; clanking pots and a whisk. I smelled bacon and coffee. I sat up and stretched, groaning as I felt the hollow pang of a hangover headache. My stomach turned a little—I was nauseous from the tequila. The sunlight coming through the white curtains was already hot. My dress was wrinkled, and I tried to straighten it as best I could.

  When I opened the door, I encountered The Pack for the first time. Lounging on the sofa were two twin boys with straggly brown hair, about late teens, wrestling with each other. Sitting regally in the armchair that I’d occupied the night before was a woman in her early thirties who looked like a super model. Her back was straight, and she was reading a thick novel. Her wild, curly hair framed her picturesque face. She looked over the book at me with vivid blue eyes. She put the book down gracefully.

  “Hello, human,” she said. I felt automatically uncomfortable in the presence of the she-wolf. Owen came out of the kitchen wearing his white t-shirt and jeans.

  “Bianca, be nice,” he said.

  “You, are a Beta,” she spat at him, and then returned to her novel, Anna Karenina, I saw. “You have no power here.”

  “It’s my house,” Owen replied, throwing a pillow at the twins. “Knock it off, y’all.” Two more men came out of the kitchen; one had thick black curls and deep brown skin with a banded tattoo around his arm. He smiled easily at me. The other, I knew.

  “Hello, Pastor Rich,” I said to the copper haired priest. He had tried to usher me into his flock earlier that week, and I’d been politely dismissive.

  “Hello Vanessa. How are you?” He took my hand in his, pressing it.

  “Um. Hungover.” I felt extremely awkward in the presence of so many people, still over-dressed, and feeling horrible.

  “Breakfast and Advil await you in the kitchen,” Owen said. “Quick introductions—”

  “Evan,” one of the twins offered.

  “Peter,” the other said.

  “Bianca,” she said, not looking up from her book.

  “Sami,” the man with the black curls and tattoo replied with a warm smile, and gestured to the kitchen, where I was then plied with Advil, bacon, eggs, and toast. As I ate, I was filled in with the goings-on outside.

  “We have to get you out of Wimberley,” Pastor Rich said. Not that I had roots there, but I had just been getting on my feet. “You should stay low here with Owen for a couple of days. The Palmers are looking for the two of you. They don’t like leaving human witnesses, and the fact that Owen, a werewolf, rescued you, has them angry.”

  “We have a little agreement that they don’t hunt in town and we don’t bother them,” Sami whispered to me. I nodded my head.

  “I want to go get my things,” I said.

  “In a few days, maybe. But not only are the vamps looking for you, so are the authorities. Currently, you are technically endangered missing, along with Kelly and Ella. If they don’t know where you are, then the vamps don’t either,” for a man of God, Pastor Rich was shifty.

  “The vamps have easy access to any police resources,” Owen said. “They grease some palms fairly regularly.”

  “We’ll get you some fake ID’s and then get you safely out of Dodge in a few days,” Sami said. “I’m an artist at Driver’s Licenses.” I smiled. I liked Sami. We were going to be fast friends.

  “We’ll keep this place surrounded so the vamps don’t get in. You have nothing to worry about,” Pastor Rich said. I nodded. I realized that I felt safe, despite the fact that I was the only human in a house populated entirely by werewolves.

  Everyone was standing around the kitchen,
eating off of mismatched plates, except for Bianca, who sipped a Red Bull. Owen was fiddling with his coffee pot, pulling mugs out of the cupboard by his head. He turned to me.

  “How do you take your coffee, Ness?”

  “Soy,” I said. And they all looked at each other before laughing. “What?”

  “Only humans are lactose intolerant,” one of the twins, I wasn’t sure which, said. “We forget sometimes.”

  “Goes for gluten, as well,” the other twin said.

  “Wolves have strong stomachs,” Owen supplied, pouring a copious amount of sugar into my coffee. “This is gonna be like jet fuel.”

  I accepted the cup offered to me, coughing and cringing as the most acrid and sweet thing I’d ever tasted filled my mouth. One of the twins howled with glee. I was so glad that my humanity was entertaining to them.

  After The Pack had left, Owen and I sat in the living room silently. We were both on the sofa, about a foot apart. I felt him, like a bolt of electricity, beside me. I was borrowing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers. The clothing was thick with the smell of him, and I found that I enjoyed being wrapped in it.

  “You weren’t afraid of me, last night,” he said.

  “You’re a puppy,” I replied.

  “Awwww don’t say that,” he said, looking away. We were silent for a minute, feeling the short distance between us.

  “Hey,” he said, turning his whole body toward me.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I told you what I was running from,” he seemed tentative, but genuinely curious. “What are you running away from? Why are you here?”

  “It’s stupid, really. I was in college. Getting my degree in Law,” I sighed. “My parents were so proud. Their alma mater.”

  “What school?”

  “Boston University.”

  “Ah. So you’re like, wicked smart?” he imitated the Bostonian accent poorly, dropping the “r” in smart. I shoved his arm lightly. “What happened?”

  “I didn’t want it. Any of it. The trust fund, the law degree, the plastic life they wanted for me… I was so tired.” I looked at him. “I wanted to be a chef. So I left and got a job as a baker in a coffee shop in Wimberley, Texas.”