Winter's Beast: A Beauty and the Beast Novel

by Twyla Turner

  Too bad she would probably be scared of me or disgusted by me. Even the women who were not repulsed enough by me to have sex with me, couldn’t even look me in the eye when we did fuck. I know it is a lost cause. She would never touch me.

  The man comes back shortly after intermission ends. He makes sure he announces himself this time by clearing his throat and then gives me a wide berth.

  “Mr. Petrov, Miss Rose said she will see you directly after the show. She says, she’ll give you fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s all I need,” Ivan smiles.

  “Very good, sir.”

  The man bows and beats a hasty retreat.

  I still make him nervous.

  My focus goes back to Winter. As she finishes the second half of the show, she continues to hold the audience captive. She hits the last note of the final song, O Mio Babbino Caro, and the audience gets to their feet. The sound is near deafening. I secretly dash away the moisture that has gathered in my eyes.

  To say she was well received is an understatement.

  My blood starts pumping with the knowledge that I will meet her up close in just a few minutes.

  “Let’s go,” Ivan says as he stands from his seat.

  He takes his date’s hand, and we make our way backstage. The little man is there to direct us at the door to the backstage area.

  Ivan turns to me, “Skotina, stay here with Karina.”

  I give him a look.

  “No, I’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just don’t want her to be scared and let that sway her decision. I have to have this woman for Illicit.”

  Illicit is his club. His new venture. And I’m sure he wants her for more than that.

  My heart falls when I realize I will not be meeting her tonight. At the same time, a small part of me is relieved. I can most assuredly wait a little longer to see the disgust in her eyes when she lays eyes on me.

  As promised, it only took fifteen minutes for Ivan to return.

  He does not look pleased.

  He leans forward so that Karina cannot hear him. “She thinks she can say no to Ivan Petrov, she has another thing coming. She will be mine.”

  I knew he’d wanted her for more than singing.

  I give him a look that speaks volumes, “Ivan, we can find someone else.”

  “No,” he grinds out. “You know that I only hire the best. I want the best for the club. My club will be the best in the world. Everyone from around the globe will pay to be a member. And to do that…I have to have the best.”

  I just nod, deferring to his extensive knowledge on how to run a successful business.

  “I need you to follow her tonight. Find out where she lives. And any other important information you may find. It may eventually come in handy.” He instructs me.

  I nod my head once.

  ~~~

  When I got to my dressing room during intermission and was drinking my tea to soothe my vocal cords for the second half of the show, the theater director had come in with a note from an audience member. It simply read:

  You’re magnificent. May I have a few moments of your time?

  I have an offer you can’t refuse.

  Ivan Petrov

  I’ve heard the name somewhere before in certain circles. If I remember correctly he’s a successful Russian businessman who has companies all over the world. I can’t imagine what interest he has in me, though.

  I sink into my dressing room chair and sigh with relief. The shows over and it was a huge success. Any tickets that haven’t been sold for the rest of the month will probably sell out within hours of the reviews coming out.

  Now, I wish I hadn’t agreed to meet with Mr. Petrov. I’d like to celebrate with a glass of champagne and go to bed.

  Of course, it would be that moment when a knock sounds at the door.

  “Come in,” I call out.

  The door opens and the theater director ushers in a man I’ve never seen before. I’m actually taken off guard because he is beautiful, in a do-what-I-say-or-I’ll-have-your-whole-family-killed-mob-boss kind of way, but beautiful nonetheless. He’s tall, probably about six-foot-one, he has a square jawline, sculpted lips, golden blond hair, and sharp icy gray eyes. He looks to be about in his mid-to-late forties. Perfect for Faith, if he doesn’t turn out to be a jerk. That remains to be seen.

  “Miss Rose, I have Mr. Petrov here to see you.” The little man bows.

  “Thank you, Albert,” I say as he moves to the side and gestures to the handsome man. “You can go now, if you want. I’m sure you have plenty to do to close up shop.”

  “Yes, miss. I bid you goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I smile and then look up at Ivan Petrov with my head cocked to the side curiously. I’m trying hard to hide the fact that he makes me nervous. Something about him is very…overwhelming.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Petrov?”

  “Well, first I’d like to say, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you. I’ve followed your career for some time now.” He says stepping further into my dressing room.

  I have the urge to press myself back into my chair to get further away from him.

  “Oh, you have?”

  “Absolutely. I’d like to think that I’m…what you’d call a connoisseur of the arts and sniffing out talent in every field.”

  “I see. And what exactly do you do with the talent once you find it, Mr. Petrov?”

  “Please, call me Ivan.”

  “Alright… Ivan.” I raise a white eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

  I’m pretty proud of the sassy demeanor I’m affecting, even if I’m actually pooping my pants on the inside.

  “I own an exclusive club in Paris. I have collec…hired the best staff in the entire world. World class chefs, musicians, dancers, even the wait staff is exemplary. Now, I want the world’s most gifted singer. I’ve bought your albums, I’ve heard you on television shows and online videos singing other genres as well. Your range and talent are unprecedented, and I want that for my club.”

  “Uh…huh.”

  “I’ll even offer you four million a year.” His smile is self-assured.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. ah…sorry, Ivan. After my month is up here in Russia, my tour will finally be over after seven long months. I’d like to rest and then brainstorm on my next move. So as you can see, I don’t want to be tied down to any residency in one place at this time. I kinda like my freedom in that way.”

  No matter how badly I’ve been dying to live in Paris and sing at a small intimate venue. I’d rather do it on my own terms. Especially, since I get the distinct feeling that working for Ivan comes with more strings than a marionette puppet.

  “Ten million,” he blurts next.

  I stand up and walk towards him. I put a gentle hand on his arm. A shiver runs up mine. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant either.

  “I’m sorry, Ivan. There is no price that will change my mind at this time. But I’m extremely flattered by the offer. Now if you don’t mind, I have an after party to go to and then bed.”

  I turn away from him and head back to my dressing room chair to start removing my dramatic makeup. I glance at his reflection in the mirror. I see his jaw flex and his lips set in an angry yet determined line.

  “Thank you for your time, Miss Rose. Enjoy your time here in Russia.” He bows before turning and leaving the room.

  A shiver runs down my spine. I could have sworn that there was more to that last sentence. ”Enjoy your time here in Russia, for it’ll be your last.”

  I have a feeling that I haven’t seen the last of Ivan Petrov.

  Chapter 3

  Last night, I followed her car to the townhouse she’s staying in for the month. I parked a few houses down from her and watched as the driver helped her and another pretty woman with a sienna complexion out of the car. Winter had smiled and thanked the driver before heading inside. Her kindness and gratitude towards him did not escape my notice.

  She wasn’t ho
me long before the lights had gone out, signaling that she’d gone to bed. I settled in for the night, set the alarm on my phone for six in the morning and hunkered down for a long night in the car. I had not been ready to head back to Ivan’s home in Moscow yet. Plus, I’d wanted to see her again.

  It’s mid-morning now, and she finally emerges from her place. She’s dressed in black jeans that hug her thick, shapely legs and warm boots. Her top half is covered by the black pea-coat she’s wearing. Her white curls are pulled back in a large puff at the back of her neck that she immediately covers with a colorful scarf around her head to keep her warm. But I suspect, to also hide who she is. She places large, oversized black sunglasses on her face to further my assumption, since there isn’t one drop of sunlight to be seen.

  She doesn’t use a car but starts to head down the sidewalk. I step out of the car to follow a few feet behind. I pull my hood over my head to try to hide as much of my face as I can. As people pass me, they sneak curious looks and then stumble away in fear.

  Winter finds a café and goes inside. I slip through the doorway as she stands in line to order. I find a table in the back of the café that has a clear view of the entire place. She asks for a cappuccino and a pastry. When she’s finished ordering, she finds a table that’s out of the way and takes a seat. I have a view of her profile. She leaves on her scarf and sunglasses, proving my earlier theory. I wonder if she wants to stay covered to protect her identity as the famous opera singer or to avoid stares because she is unusual looking. I am sure it’s probably a little bit of both.

  She pulls out what looks like a journal and pen. As she enjoys her coffee and breakfast, she writes on the blank pages. Filling it with her thoughts and experiences. I wish I could read it. I want to know her. In every way.

  One of the café employees heads towards my table. I’m sure it is because I don’t have any food or beverages from their establishment in front of me, yet I’m occupying one of their tables. ‘You buy or you leave,’ was written in the kid’s body language.

  I look up from under my hood, and the guy stops in his tracks as he gets a good look at my face. He holds up his hands and backs away slowly, before turning and heading back behind the counter.

  This face comes in handy sometimes.

  Winter finishes her breakfast and sits just staring out the window, deep in thought. Eventually, she gets up and takes her empty dishes to the counter. Something most people don’t usually do. They usually just leave it for the help to clean up. She’s considerate. I catalog another plus about her.

  She must still be in her own world because she forgets her journal and pen sitting on the table and heads for the door. I get up and rush over to the table and grab the two items before anyone else can. I follow her out and down the sidewalk trying to decide how I can go about returning her property to her. Maybe I could just slip them back into her purse when she’s not looking.

  I am only a few steps away from her when I hear her gasp and turn abruptly. She obviously just realized she left her journal and turns to head back. I am not prepared or fast enough, and she collides into my chest, face first.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” She says startled, removing her sunglasses after they smash into her face.

  She rubs the bridge of her nose as she looks up at me.

  I hold my breath.

  Her eyes widen slightly, and her next reaction startles me. And it is I who stumbles back this time.

  She smiles. Brightly.

  “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to practically mow you down.” Her speaking voice is just as melodic as her singing.

  I stand there like an idiot and just stare. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot waiting for me to saying something. Anything!

  Eventually, I remember the journal and pen. I lift them up and then shove the items against her chest. Instinctively, she grabs the journal and pen and looks down at them with a frown. It dawns on her that I followed her to give them back and she looks up in shock.

  “Oh, thank you!” She says gratefully. “I nearly had a heart attack when I realized I’d left them. You’re seriously my hero.”

  My heart was already pounding. At those last four words, it breaks out into a sprint.

  I feel my face turn red. I grunt and then turn on my heel and stride away as quickly as possible without running.

  Only two words repeat themselves in my head over and over again.

  She smiled.

  ~~~

  I had needed some air and a chance to explore a little of the city when I woke up this morning. Covering up my hair and face made it so I could go about my day without a bodyguard. It also helped make my little journey pretty uneventful, just like I like it. That’s until I forgot my journal with my inner most thoughts and songs I’d written inside of it in the café.

  When I turned abruptly, I hadn’t expected to crash into the biggest man, tall and broad, that I had ever seen. He was in black running shoes, dark gray sweats, and a black hoodie. The hood hid his face in shadows unless you were right in front of him and looking up at him like I had been.

  Any normal person, I’m sure would’ve been terrified by him. Not me. But then again, I wouldn’t say I’m normal. Growing up looking different than pretty much everyone, I was used to being the freak. So I found that other freaks felt like kindred spirits. My tribe.

  I couldn’t totally see his hair, but I think it was buzzed close and brown, much like his dark brown eyebrows and beard. The beard had been full and looked soft to the touch. I wouldn’t doubt that half the reason he had it was to cover part of his face.

  The left side of his face was fine for the most part. There was a scar or two across his cheek. Other than that, he was very handsome on that side. Which is what made the other side so heartbreakingly tragic. A couple of scars cut through his right eyebrow, and one ran down over the outer corner of his eye. It had healed in such a way that his top lid was pulled down slightly, giving him a bit of a lazy eye. Several more gruesome scars ran down the right side of his face and cheek and from what I could see, down to his neck. His beard hid half of it, so I couldn’t completely tell. The scaring covered the one side of his nose too, making one nostril smaller and angled differently than the other. Almost as if part of it had melted.

  Aside from a minor scar running down his bottom lip, his mouth was near perfect. And quite beautiful in my opinion. His well-groomed beard surrounded full pink lips. But it was his eyes that warmed my heart and made me smile at him.

  They were big, brown puppy dog eyes with the longest lashes I’d ever seen. Even with the heavy scarring on the one side, they were adorable and on my mind now, hours later.

  It was too bad that he’d run off. I would’ve loved to hear his story. To know how he’d been injured, because he definitely wasn’t born with those scars. I’d seen enough scars to know, given the foundation that I run.

  I finish up my partial tour of Moscow and head back to my rental. Thoughts of the scarred man, still on my mind. I have a feeling those eyes are going to stay with me for quite some time.

  Chapter 4

  The weeks flew by as I divided my time between my regular duties guarding Ivan and keeping watch of Winter. Watching her was the best part of my day.

  Ivan spent the month continuing to try to change her mind. He sent her flowers multiple times a week. I am sure he has spent hundreds of dollars on the expensive bouquets he has sent to her dressing room after every performance, even though he was not even there for every show. With each one, he leaves notes. Some offer more money for her to sing for him. Some are simple invitations to dinner to just ‘talk.’ More like ‘seduce.’ But it did not matter how much money he spent, how beautiful every flower was, or how eloquently he wrote those notes. Every time she responded the same. “No, thank you.”

  The more she denied him, the more agitated and angry he became. His ego could not comprehend her constant refusal. No one refuses Ivan Petrov. Especially, women.

  Now, it is the l
ast weekend of her month-long residency at Bolshoi and Ivan is ready to snatch her from her bed in the middle of the night, like the worst kind of boogie man. I still think it is a bad idea. And I make sure I tell him exactly that.

  I write on a pad of paper that I use whenever I actually have something to say:

  This is a bad idea.

  “Skotina, I want the girl, and I’m not willing to wait for the day that she’ll change her mind.” Ivan scowls at me from his seat behind his massive wooden desk.

  I know that. But what happens when it goes out around the world that she is missing and one of your club members sees her at your club?

  “Nothing. None of my club members would say a word. Not if they don’t want their darkest fantasies exposed to the world.” Ivan states confidently. “Besides, if we take her here and somehow the police are alerted, they’ll let us go without question. As long as they want to keep getting paid for turning a blind eye, they will.”

  They were sound arguments.

  I concede with a quick nod.

  “Good.” Ivan grins at me. “We will follow her after they leave the theater. If she’s like any other performer, she’ll go out and celebrate the end of her tour. Her manager will be with her. So I’ll take care of her, while you handle the rest. Like any good predator knows, split the herd. Once Winter is alone, take her. Bring her straight to the jet, and we’ll be in Paris before anyone even knows she’s gone.”

  I nod again and stride out of his office.

  Guilt is already eating at me.

  A few hours later, Ivan and I wait in one car and a couple other guards wait in another car behind us outside of the Bolshoi Theater. One car, for when Ivan separates her manager from Winter. And the other is for me to follow and take Winter later.