The Beast In The Castle

by Daniella Wright

  “You left all of your money?”

  “No. And that’s the problem. I emptied out my bank account before I left.”

  “Ah.”

  “I need to go back to my house.”

  “No.”

  “I have 20,000 dollars in my mattress.”

  “Shit,” he thought for a minute. “The vamps are definitely going to be watching that house. Even in daylight. They’ll have a crooked cop sitting on that.”

  “I can’t leave that money.”

  “You might have to.”

  Hitting an impasse, we read the random novels that Owen had. He didn’t own a television, which was annoying. I wanted to get news on the search for the girls, even if Owen insisted that the Palmers victims were never found. I wanted to know what the police knew about me. I wanted to know what they were putting about me on the news. I wondered if they’d contacted my parents in Boston. Owen dozed off while reading a beat-up paperback copy of Ender’s Game. I watched him sleep for a moment. The sun on his eyelashes made the tips blond. He looked exhausted, as though he were always being chased by something, even in his sleep. Quietly, I eased off of the sofa, and walked into the bedroom, taking his shirt and boxers off and sliding back into my dress. I slid open the bedroom window, which was only four feet off of the ground, and slipped out easily.

  The humidity was thick in the woods. I carried my heels and walked barefoot, praying that there were no snakes nearby. The sun was just beginning to go down, and I was almost back to town when Bianca stepped out from behind a birch.

  “What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?” She crossed her arms.

  “I’m going back to my house,” I replied, feeling stupid.

  “We’re all putting our asses on the line for you,” she replied. “And you are stepping right into it. Do you know how close you are to the Palmer’s property right now?”

  By now, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, making the shadows of the trees long. Owen came barreling through the forest in a panic. He relaxed when he saw that I was with Bianca.

  “Ness! What the hell—” He was suddenly hurled off of his feet by a pale fist. It was one of the Palmer brothers, still dressed in the same oxford from the night before. It was flecked with blood. His features were sharp, perfect. He smiled coldly, hungrily at me.

  “Vanessa,” he held out his hand. “Boudreaux Palmer. A pleasure.”

  I backed away from him as a sand-colored she-wolf burst out of the trees, biting at his throat. They began to grapple as Owen in wolf-form joined the fray. Cold hands reached around from behind me, covering my mouth and whisking me away. Fear pooled in my stomach as I fought against the hands that held me. The vampire holding me ran, as Owen realized that I was gone and began to take chase. But it was too late—we were out of the trees and rushing up toward a large white mansion fronted by white columns. The windows were ablaze with light from inside.

  I found myself seated on an antique couch with mahogany legs and upholstered in pale blue velvet. The whole room was exquisite—marble sculptures lined the powder-blue and gold fleur-de-lis papered walls. The furniture was all lustrous mahogany wood. The floors were polished to a dark gloss, and the carpets were plush oriental designs in pale pinks and yellows. The thick floral brocade curtains were thrown back to show the night sky. The moon was a deep yellow, nearly full; at least it would be in a night or so.

  My hands were tied, as were my ankles, in thick white silk cords. I pulled on it, testing, and it had a little give, but not enough. I wondered if The Pack would come for me, or if they considered me the Palmer’s territory, now. My heart went out to Owen, the betrayal and fear on his face when he saw me out in the forest.

  “It is so rare that we have guests,” the vampire talking to me was dressed in a suit. His hair was worn long, brushed back from his face. The other night, he’d worn a t-shirt. “Charleston Palmer,” he introduced himself. “It is so rare that we have guests that are not food.”

  “You’re not going to eat me?” He placed a hand on my face, caressing it.

  “You are so beautiful, Vanessa. You will make an exquisite vampire,” he said. “And your trust fund will add wonderfully to our slightly diminished resources.” At the shock that registered on my face, he grinned. “Yes. We have had our collective eye on you since you were a child. And imagine our delight when you delivered yourself right to us.”

  The other two vampires entered the room; both were dressed in evening wear. Boudreaux had bite marks and scratches, which healed as he entered. As his marble-white skin eased itself closed, he looked upon me coldly. The other, Napoleon, I assumed, looked at me with a blank stare. I felt as though I had come to the end, as though I were waiting for death to happen—a situation that I had never been in before. But I wasn’t going to die, I realized—I was about to become an immortal thrall to the Palmers.

  I looked at the Palmer Brothers—they could almost be identical, but with minor variations of their marble sculpture-esque faces. Charleston, with his long hair, and slim face, Napoleon with his close-cropped hair and high cheekbones, and Boudreaux with his wide chin and open forehead all stared back at me with the same yellow, predatory eyes.

  “Do promise not to run away,” Napoleon said as he began to loosen my bonds. “We can run quite as fast as the wolves do when we are not otherwise occupied with other prey.”

  “We must get you prepared for your party,” Charleston said, holding out a hand to me that I did not take as I stood shakily. He shrugged. “Follow me.”

  The other two remained in the sumptuous parlor room as Charleston led me down the hall, which was painted a deep maroon color with oil paintings depicting pastoral scenes in the Hudson River School style. He opened the door to a room off of the hallway, revealing a huge four-poster bed with a silky plush comforter, a large, walk-in closet filled with dresses in rich fabrics. There were no windows, I noticed immediately. The room was painted a royal blue, and had a painting of a coldly beautiful blonde woman in an intricate dress from the Regency era.

  “This will be your room,” Charleston said, walking over to the closet and pulling out a full-length ball gown in an emerald green. The silk cloth of it hissed as he whisked it over the bed. “This should suit you.” He went over to the dresser, and pulled out black lace lingerie, that would cover nothing. He walked around behind me, using his fingertips to ease the straps of my wrinkled, sweat-infused dress. I stiffened, feeling deeply uncomfortable with this, but it seemed that I had no choice.

  “Don’t—” I started.

  “Oh, are you shy?” Charleston asked, mockingly. He brushed my hair back over my shoulder, and whispered as his lips brushed my neck, “Soon you shan’t be.” He slowly peeled my dress off of me, letting his fingertips brush my skin as they followed my skin from my shoulders, down my ribcage, and over my hips. My skin was chilled—I felt repulsed as goosebumps raised where he touched me. I was standing in my black bra and panties, arms crossed over my chest. He let me go, and I walked stiffly into the en-suite bathroom with the gown.

  “Be sure to shower,” he called. “You smell a little of dog.”

  He was sitting on the bed when I came out in the gown, which hugged my figure tightly. I felt like I could barely move. My hair was still wet, dripping down my shoulders, but I didn’t care—I wasn’t going to make too much effort for the Palmers.

  “Ah,” he said approvingly, “You look lovely.” He stood up, and then walked behind me, twisting my wet hair into a simple bun.

  “I don’t have shoes,” I said.

  “You won’t need them,” he replied evenly. “We won’t be going out until after you’re Undead.” He led me back down the hallway, where Boudreaux and Napoleon were lounging on the blue sofa that I had been tied up on earlier. They glanced at me approvingly. They were sipping a dark red liquid from champagne flutes and a decanter on the mahogany table in front of them. Boudreaux noted my sudden reaction to the liquid.

  “Do not worry,” he said,
raising his glass. “It is not vintage Ella.”

  “Do have a seat,” Napoleon said, gesturing toward a velvet-upholstered chair that matched the couch. “We are so excited to have you join the Palmer family.” I had no response to this. Napoleon seemed to be the most approachable of the three, while Boudreaux seemed to be the muscle, and Charleston the brains. Good cop, bad cop, worst cop, I thought to myself. Charleston sat down in the chair next to mine, and poured himself a glass of the red liquid.

  “I forgot my manners,” he said. “Certainly we are celebrating your last night as a human, and your entrance into our family. That calls for champagne.” He went to the sideboard by the door, and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, which he poured into a glass for me. I took the delicate glass with a slightly trembling hand.

  “I remember when you were a little girl,” Charleston began. When I gasped, he nodded. “Yes, we chose you a long time ago. You looked like an absolute doll in the carriage ride through Boston Common.”

  I suddenly remembered vaguely—a pale carriage driver with a white horse drawing it around Christmastime, my au pair distracted by his debonair manner. I recalled feeling entranced by all of the white Christmas lights decking the trees on Boston Common, a fizz of excitement while I wore my special dark green dress, my hair tucked up under a knitted white beret. I wondered which of three Palmers it had been, my memory too vague and their features too similar for me to know with certainty.

  “And then you grew up splendidly. We couldn’t have been more impressed.” Napoleon said. I sat there, feeling exhausted and afraid in the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn. I took a sip of champagne, hoping that it would steady me, but it went straight to my head. I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning—almost a full twenty-four hours ago by then.

  “We have been a trio for far too long,” Charleston said, sipping his drink. “We were changed three hundred and seventy-five years ago.”

  “In the colonies,” Napoleon added, reminiscing. “There was so much bloodshed in the early years. We had several other members of the family over the years, but it has, so far, not worked out very well.”

  “We had to destroy them,” Charleston said. “When they proved to be disappointments.”

  “It will be nice to have female company,” Boudreaux was undressing me with his eyes. “Perhaps—”

  At that moment, there was a crash downstairs. It sounded like something had been hurled through a plate glass window. I hoped that it was The Pack, coming for me, and that Owen hadn’t come by himself.

  The Palmers stood, forming an arc in front of the open door. It was not long before the wolf that I knew to be Owen stood in the doorway, along with a sleek, black furred wolf with golden eyes that I guessed was Sami. They growled, and immediately flung themselves at the vamps.

  Wanting to help in some way, I smashed my champagne flute against the mahogany table, and advanced upon the vamps from behind, feeling highly inadequate. I looked around, hoping that the Palmers collected weapons, perhaps. No such luck, however. I supposed they hadn’t required a weapon in a few centuries, anyway.

  Charleston threw Owen against the wall as Sami tore Boudreaux’s throat out with his teeth. Boudreaux still stood, trying to choke Sami with his hands. One of the marble sculptures was knocked to the floor with a resounding crack. Meanwhile, Napoleon turned to find me standing behind him with the shards of my champagne flute.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, disappointedly, as he picked me up easily, leaning in toward my neck. He forced my head back, baring my throat. His fangs descended, and I felt the tips scrape against the skin of my throat. Owen, noticing what was going on, howled, and from the hallway, two identical grayish brown wolves launched themselves upon Napoleon. They each pulled on a side of him, tearing him limb from limb in tag-team fashion. He screamed inhumanly as his arms popped out of their sockets. His legs followed soon after. Although it was my salvation, I still felt a little nauseous.

  Owen was being held up against the wall by Charleston, and he was struggling to reach him with his teeth, snapping and snarling, while Charleston strained to hold him. Sami, on the other hand was slowing down, losing his breath as Boudreaux strangled him to death. The twins; however, made quick work of Napoleon, having turned him to a bloody pulp, and raced to aid Sami.

  I knew that I had to help Owen, so I turned to the mahogany table, and grabbed one of the legs, pulling with as much strength as I could. An antique, the wood was pliable from the years, saturated by the humid Texas air. It bent, albeit slowly. I kept pulling, willing it with everything that I had left within me at this point, until it finally separated from the rest of the table. It wasn’t sharp; it was quite blunt, but it would have to do. Holding the table leg out like a lance, I raced toward Charleston’s unwitting back, praying that I wouldn’t hit a rib. I yelled as I used my momentum to stab him in the back with the table leg.

  At first, it glanced off of a rib before sliding through his back. I twisted upward, hitting his heart. Charleston dropped Owen, who slid to the floor. Charleston turned, looking at me as his face seemingly began to sweat blood. He began to say something, but fell; a mess of blood and pulpy tissue upon the floor.

  I raced to Owen, leaning down beside him. He groaned, and then nuzzled me with his velvet snout. It appeared that the twins and Sami had control of Boudreaux. Owen got up, as he did so, he shape-shifted back into his human form. He looked at me with tired eyes. I felt a rush go through my stomach as I realized he was naked. His body was as well-formed as his canine shape, defined muscles rippling beneath his unevenly tanned skin. He had a light dusting of dark hair that trailed down his stomach. He smiled as I looked at him.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” he said roughly, and I looked at his throat, which was red from Charleston’s hands. He picked me up in his arms and walked to the window which overlooked a field of bluebells, the light early morning sun illuminating them. I tucked my head in beneath his chin, feeling awash in relief. He ran, through the bluebells, and into the forest, taking me back to the cottage.

  “I need some clothes,” he said, placing me down in the living room, and then walking into the bedroom. “And then I’ll take you back to your house.”

  “Wait—” I said, gathering up the skirt of the long evening dress. He turned to me, and his eyes were flashing, angry.

  “How am I supposed to protect you if you leave?” He said, cutting me off. “How could you be so stupid?”

  “I needed my money,” I said, lamely.

  “No, you didn’t.” He snapped. “It’s just money. I’ve lived my whole life with next to nil. You may not be used to that, but you need to realize that your life is more important than feeling comfortable.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you? We risked our lives for you,” he gripped me by the shoulders. “We do that for members of our Pack. We promised to protect you. There are other vamps out there—not just the Palmers. Friends of the Palmers, though. You’re part of this, now.”

  I put my hand on his cheek. It was warm and rough with stubble. A tear ran down my cheek. He turned away, and I grabbed his arm.

  “Stay,” I said.

  “I’m not a dog to be commanded,” he said, looking at me with feral eyes.

  “I want you to stay with me,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. He stood still, looking me directly in my eyes. When I was sure that he wasn’t going anywhere, I reached up, unzipping the gown, and easing it off of my shoulders until I stood before him in the lacy black bra and panties. He exhaled deeply as he looked me over. I unsnapped the bra and let it slide off down my arms, then stepped out of the panties.

  He grabbed me, picking me up and throwing me down on the sofa. He nuzzled my neck with his nose, kissing my throat up to my ear, which he nipped lightly making me exhale sharply. I pushed him back until he was sitting, and I was sitting astride him. We kissed hungrily, eyes open. Running my fingers through his tousled hair
, I held myself close to him, as though I wanted to melt into him. I felt him become hard against my leg.

  He stood, holding me against him, then threw me down on the sofa, his stubble burned as he kissed my stomach, nuzzling his mouth between my legs. Warmth shot through my stomach as he expertly licked me. I felt loosened, freed as I came, yelling out suddenly. He kissed my stomach, smiling smugly at me. I smiled back at him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  He was over me in a hot second, gently entering me, watching my face with a tentative expression. Everything about him was so warm and solid—he held my legs up as he rocked me back and forth. I was panting; I had him, but I wanted more. I arched my back, reaching up and circling his neck with my arms. A layer of sweat slid between us, he was breathing in my ear.

  “What do you want?” He said breathlessly.

  “I want you to come for me,” I whispered. He pumped harder, and I rocked my hips to meet his rhythm. I could feel my own orgasm building up with his, and we both broke together, suddenly coming apart at the seams in each other’s arms.

  He slid behind me on the sofa, wrapping my body with his. I had never felt this comfortable with someone before, I realized with an electric jolt. I laced my small, slender fingers through his longer, masculine ones. He whispered in my ear.

  “Stay, Ness.”

  “Okay, Owen.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  We fell asleep like that, legs entangled, his arms encircling me, the morning light shining through the curtains.

  The sun had advanced by the time that I woke up. Owen was breathing heavily in his sleep. I was starving. Un-entwining myself from Owen, I went into the kitchen. I opened up the cabinets and the refrigerator, taking stock of what was available. The refrigerator was stocked full of raw, red meat I found.

  “Ew,” I whispered, shaking my head as I recalled that the man that I’d just had sex with was not entirely a man at all. Werewolf. I settled for dry cereal and a glass of orange juice. I heard him get up off of the couch. The tired, haunted look had returned to his eyes when he entered the kitchen.