Her Ugly Monster (book 1)

by Kaylee Rymer

  A brute of a man towered above him. He had a thick white beard and powerful, well-muscled arms.

  An eerie sound burst from Weegel’s lips. It was almost like a laugh, but it was too raspy to resemble such mirth.

  “Hey, I know you!” he blurted. “How’s the pretty lass holding up? Hope I didn’t traumatise her too much!”

  He was a worcog possessed. What he said wasn’t even funny; it was crude and vulgar, yet Weegel still cackled as if he just heard the funniest joke.

  A fist met his nose, and stars twinkled in his peripheral vision.

  “You keep that vile mouth shut, beast. You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your head.”

  Weegel sneered, blood dripping from his nostrils. “It probably would’ve been kinder.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  The blacksmith’s blue eyes moved to Weegel’s horns, and a look of pure disgust took over his face. “You really are a freak of nature. Your posters hardly do you justice. I should kill you now. No beast deserves such a life.”

  Weegel growled, his heart pumping faster. “Then do it! I’m not afraid!”

  The man’s scowl deepened as he continued to scrutinise Weegel. The dogs waited patiently as their master took his sweet time. If he gave the command, they’d rip Weegel apart in seconds.

  He flinched as the blacksmith groped a hand inside his pocket and pulled out the necklace.

  Weegel’s white northern dream vanished before his eyes. No more snow and no more worcogs. The prospect of finding his people had been the only thing keeping him on his toes the past few years, but now it had been snatched away from him.

  Suppose he deserved it. Rosemary was right.

  “I’m always right...”

  Weegel shuddered and watched as the man put the necklace away. What would become of him next?

  The man caught his gaze and smirked. “Now what to do with you...”

  Weegel’s mouth dried up. Images of his own beheading flashed through his mind, and his skin broke out in sweat.

  Maybe he could play up to the king’s fae half and beg for his life. Unbeknownst to the humans, King Astor was half shapeshifter. It was no wonder he rose to power so quickly. With a strong following of both human and fae, Astor had managed to gather an army within a matter of weeks, and defeat King Merf Godwyn. All just at the age of nineteen.

  Weegel’s mind wandered back to the diamonds. He had to know. If he was to leave this world, then he had a right to know the mystery of the seal.

  “Why does your daughter have the Westwind seal on her necklace?”

  The trees turned silent. Weegel had the peculiar feeling that someone was watching them, and it was obvious the blacksmith sensed it too.

  “Well? It is rather curious,” he went on. “The Westwinds were in league with the Godwyns. If anyone saw your daughter with that necklace, she’d be killed in an instant. On that account, I’d advise you don’t let her wander around with it again so freely. Even I could see it from across a crowded street.”

  The man bared his teeth. “You hold your tongue.”

  Weegel studied the old blacksmith. Who did he follow? And why did he get so touchy whenever he brought up the necklace?

  “Is that why you came to live in Chars-town? Are you hiding from someone?”

  The blacksmith seized a hold of Weegel’s jaw and squeezed it tight. “I said, quiet.”

  Weegel stared into his maddened blue eyes. It seemed he struck a nerve. Something fishy was going on inside that peaceful cottage, and it had something to do with the girl.

  A soft wind blew through the trees next, rattling the leaves overhead. If Weegel weren’t mistaken, he was sure the trees whispered.

  Had someone overheard them? Tree spirits frequented these woods after all.

  The man let go and closed his eyes. Weegel rubbed his jaw, trying to shake off the sensation of those crushing fingers.

  “Go.”

  He whipped his head around. “What?”

  The man opened his eyes again, and those piercing blues cut straight through Weegel. “I said go. Leave, before I change my mind.”

  Weegel stared dumbstruck. Was this some kind of sick joke?

  The blacksmith turned to the dogs. “Roger, Banjo, rise.”

  The dogs rose at their master’s command, snapping and growling their jaws.

  Weegel scrambled to his feet. “All right, all right, I’m going.” He limped off into the forest, an arrow sticking out from his hamstring.

  “And beast, if you ever come near my daughter again, I’ll kill you.”

  6. Ivora

  A yellow-eyed creature rushed up from the darkness, clasping its bloody claws around Ivora’s neck.

  She woke up and screamed, thrashing her arms and legs in a bid to escape.

  The door swung open, and hands gripped her tight. “Ivora, it’s all right, it’s just a dream,” a familiar voice reassured.

  Ivora snapped her head up and met her mother’s eyes. “He was here! In this room!”

  Mother scanned the room, a worried expression on her face. She sighed and turned back to Ivora. “All is safe, dear. No one’s here.”

  Ivora double-checked, feeling her heart banging against her chest. Mother was right. No worcog to be found. Yet why did her muscles shiver, and her lungs feel as if they were about to explode?

  The worcog’s face had looked so real. As real as the day he’d broken into the cottage and stolen her necklace. Ivora had felt his breath on her neck again and smelled the blood of his open wound.

  Mother watched her miserably, and Ivora couldn’t bear to see the look on her face. Her parents hadn’t left her side since the attack. Father spent less time in the forge, declaring that he should always be by the women he loved. Even Bryce had found a permanent home at her bedside.

  The mastiff rested his chin on her bedsheets, gazing up with those sorry brown eyes. Ivora laid a hand on his large head and searched her room.

  The turquoise paint she’d bought the day of the attack lay untouched on her dresser. In fact, she hadn’t touched a single paintbrush since. How could she with fear and doubt plaguing her mind? Like many artists, Ivora needed to be at ease, free and inspired. Not tortured by her demons.

  Ivora’s seaside mural seemed to mock her now, its unfinished waves black and merciless.

  She would never feel safe in her home again even if Father reassured her the worcog would never come back. When he placed the necklace back in her hand, she felt no joy, because it reminded her of that fateful day.

  The necklace now lived in the bottom of her sock drawer, never to be seen again.

  “Feel better?”

  Ivora looked to her mother. She sat at the edge of the bed, giving Ivora a reassuring smile.

  “Yes,” Ivora lied.

  Mother patted her hand. “Remember, you’re safe now, dear. That monster won’t find you again.”

  Ivora forced a smile, trying to find comfort in her mother’s words. Suppose she was right, but that didn’t stop the tightness forming in her chest.

  Mother’s entire face froze next, and Ivora watched confused. “Mother, what’s—?”

  “Shh. Listen... Do you hear that?” she said.

  Goosebumps spread across Ivora’s arms.

  Mother ran out of the room, the colour of a sheet, and let out a shrill gasp.

  Ivora scrambled out of bed and followed her outside. Her mother’s eyes were glued to the stairwell. Ivora followed her gaze, and her heart flipped upside down.

  A woman sat halfway up the stairs. She turned and her dark hollow eyes looked straight through Ivora. Her skin was singed and blistered, filling the landing with the thick smell of smoke.

  “M-Mother...?” Ivora stammered. “Who... who’s that?”

  The woman opened her skull-like jaw and released a raspy breath. Ivora could just make out the words, “The spell has broken. They’re coming. Leave, now.”

  Blackness seeped through Ivora’s veins. It sounded like a warning
.

  Mother sprang immediately into action. “Ivora, go into your room and pack. Only take what you need. I’ll wake your father.”

  Ivora pointed a shaking finger. “But... the... the lady... she...”

  “Never mind her now. Go.”

  Mother hurried into the next room. Ivora remained on the landing, staring dumbfounded at the stairs.

  The lady had gone.

  Father jumped out of bed next and rushed past her. Before he slipped down the stairs, Ivora glimpsed his face, so urgent and terrified it froze her blood.

  Father never got scared...

  Ivora hurried into her room and stuffed several things into a bag. She also grabbed her paint set, several books, and slipped on a pair of boots.

  Bryce barked by the window.

  “Bryce, quiet!” she snapped, trying to think of something else to take.

  Her gaze landed on the sock drawer. She ran forth and groped inside for her necklace. Despite the painful memory, Ivora could never leave without it.

  Bryce pawed at the glass now, his slobbery mouth leaving fog stains.

  His low growl turned Ivora’s insides cold, and she stepped towards the window.

  A succession of cloaked figures marched up the road to the cottage. Through the darkness they looked like a gigantic snake, slivering slowly towards their humble abode to swallow them whole.

  The blood drained from Ivora’s flesh, and she backed away from the window.

  Mother barged through the door, carrying a green box in her spare hand. “Come, to the stable. Now.”

  Ivora barely recalled leaving the room as they headed downstairs, Bryce close at their heels.

  Father had barricaded the back door, a crossbow in hand. Mother threw a bowl of fruit into Ivora’s bag, then tossed in a loaf of bread and fresh cheese. Then she grabbed a map, a compass and a bag of gold, and passed them to Ivora.

  She bent down next and opened the trapdoor below the rug. “Quick, inside.”

  A cool breeze wafted up from the cellar below, and Ivora stepped away, too afraid to enter the mouth of the beast.

  A horse whinnied outside, and a series of rumbling hooves followed.

  The men had arrived.

  Ivora stood rooted to the spot. Father tightened his hold on the crossbow while Bryce raised his hackles.

  “Head to the stables and take Belle,” he whispered. “I’ll hold them off.”

  Father’s words yanked Ivora from her stupor. “You’re... not coming with us?”

  His eyes shimmered in the dim light. “No. You two go,” he said, voice thick and tortured.

  A heavy hand banged on the door outside. All three jumped.

  “Go,” Father ordered, pointing his arrow at the door.

  Mother tried to force her down the cellar, but she refused to budge. “Not without Father!” Ivora cried, her chest tight.

  “There’s no time,” Mother said. “Down into the cellar, quickly.”

  Ivora stared at her mother in disbelief. Tears streamed from her hazel eyes, and Ivora sobbed.

  They really were leaving him behind.

  The men started kicking down the door, and Ivora had no choice but to move.

  With a heavy heart, she climbed down the cellar, and her mother followed closely behind. The last she saw of her father was the back of his head, and Bryce waiting by his side.

  They tripped over jars and crates to get to the door at the back and ran out across the lawn. Men shouted from all around as they dashed towards the stables. They barged through the doors, and Father’s chestnut, Flame, reared up on his hind legs.

  Yet Ivora’s own horse, a beautiful silver mare by the name of Belle, remained calm and poised, even though the air reeked of fear.

  Mother pulled Belle out of her stall and handed her to Ivora.

  “Up, onto Belle’s back.”

  Ivora obliged and climbed up onto the horse’s bare back. She held a hand down. “Come.”

  Mother stepped away from the horse.

  Ivora stared down at the shadowy silhouette of her mother. “Mother, take my hand.”

  “No, dear,” she sighed, shaking her head. “An old lady like me will only slow you down.”

  Heat rose in Ivora’s cheeks, and she ground her teeth. “Mother, take my hand, now. I won’t leave without you too!”

  Mother glanced up now, her eyes glistening with tears. “I’m... sorry.”

  The woman patted Belle’s flank, and the horse shot off into the night. The wind took Ivora’s breath away, and then everything blurred by.

  Belle had never moved so fast. A heat radiated from her body, making her coat shine bright silver.

  Ivora barely had time to register Belle’s strange appearance when a large black dog jumped out from the shadows and snapped its jaws. She screamed, but the mare sidestepped in time, kicking the dog in the head as it collapsed to the ground.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you away safely, my mistress.”

  Ivora froze, keeping a firm grip on the horse’s mane. Did Belle just speak to her?

  The strange female voice never returned. So Ivora kept her eyes on the journey ahead and braced herself for the night.

  SHE RODE ON TILL MORNING, arriving at a quiet stream by the first light of dawn.

  Ivora swung her stiff legs off Belle’s back and slumped down into the dirt. Her reflection gazed back up from the stream, rippling and wavering upon the glittering surface.

  Memories of the previous night flashed through her mind, and she sucked in harsh, painful breaths, the cold air piercing her lungs. Mother and Father... they were gone.

  And Bryce and Lucy... They were taken from her too.

  Ivora beat a fist into the wet grass. Why? Why had the men come and driven her away from her home? And why hadn’t Mother and Father run away with her?

  None of it made sense — the lady on the stairs, the armoured men, and the big black dog.

  She had nowhere to go; she didn’t even know where she was. It was, after all, her first time leaving Chars-town, and now she had to do it alone.

  Maybe they’d escaped too and were now on their way. Ivora could stay put until they arrived. Not that she had anywhere else to go.

  She glanced at her surroundings. The woods were strange. Trees seemed to grow in a different manner, their limbs stark black against the grey sky. Ivora shivered, bringing her knees to her chin.

  Her nightdress smelled of home. When she closed her eyes, she was back in the kitchen with her parents again. But then the lady’s singed face flew up before her, and she jumped up and yelped.

  She took slow, steady breaths. Who was the lady, anyway? And why did she come to warn them at just the right time?

  “The spell has broken...” the lady had said.

  Spell? Did she mean the legendary barrier that protected the town? Legend told that a witch had cast the spell long ago, but she was later burned at the stake, despite her efforts to protect the town.

  A memory of the lady’s charred flesh flooded her mind again, and Ivora shuddered.

  It couldn’t be...

  Something nudged the side of her head, and Ivora startled. She sighed. It was only Belle, nuzzling her ear.

  The horse pointed her nose at the stream as droplets dripped from her snout.

  Ivora recalled the strange female voice that had spoken to her. It was so beautiful and melodious, and she watched the horse curiously.

  Had it really been Belle?

  The horse nudged her again, and Ivora crawled to the water’s edge. She cupped her hands into the stream and brought them to her lips. Then she moved to her face and washed away the tears.

  She rummaged inside her bag, and her hand grazed a wooden box. She pulled it out. It was the same box her mother had given her the night previous.

  Why had Ivora never seen it before?

  She opened the lid, savouring a sweet chestnut smell, and spotted a blanket. The name Ivora was embroidered in one corner.

  Her baby blanke
t; Ivora hadn’t seen it in years. Below the blanket was a framed oil painting of a beautiful dark-haired girl. Ivora had never seen her before, but something about her eyes was familiar. They were of the brightest ocean blue.

  Ivora picked up a purple pouch. Stones rattled inside. She emptied the pouch, and her organs twisted. Runes. Mother had been teaching Ivora how to read them for the last three years, but she had shown little interest.

  Her chest constricted, and she squeezed her eyes. Now Mother could never teach her runes again.

  A roll of parchment sat inside the pouch. Ivora pulled it out, recognising her mother’s smudged scrawl.

  Dear Ivora,

  Hopefully by the time you read this you are far from Chars-town. Whatever you do, don’t turn back. Go beyond the lion’s neck and keep going north. That way his men won’t find you.

  When you reach the mountains find The Blanket and your aunt Elly.

  Your father and I love you, and we regret every moment of letting you go, but one day we hope you understand.

  Remember, you are our child and always will be. No couple could ask for a greater daughter...

  Ivora read the letter over and over, eyes filling with tears. Mother must have known she wouldn’t be leaving with Ivora the moment the lady arrived. That was why she had written the letter, preparing for the inevitable as always.

  She placed the parchment inside her breast pocket and unrolled her map. A black mark denoted Chars-town’s position below the lion’s neck, yet nowhere on the map pointed to The Blanket, whatever it was. Was it a town, village, city?

  Mountains encompassed the entire north of the country. A giant circle covered several hundred miles of the area. Someone had scribbled the word “Blanket” inside the ring with a question mark.

  Again, she recognised her Mother’s handwriting.

  At least now she knew where to find her aunt Elly.

  Ivora counted her money: ten gold lions and five silver hawks. Next, she groped inside her bag, certain she’d seen a flask. She took her fill from the stream, gathered the rest of her things, then rose up onto Belle’s back.

  The path before her was unfamiliar, but she must go on.

  To the north.