by A. W. Cross
I had never been so glad to see that silent, terrifying wolf in my life.
Two other wolves appeared from the trees, and Jean scowled back at me. “They’ll never believe you. When the villagers get back here, they’ll say that I was right—an animal like that needs to be put down.”
I stared down at Jean and the gun in my hands.
“You’re right.” Jean was a monster. I couldn’t let him go, but if I took him back to the village, I couldn’t trust that the villagers would take my side. Jean would spin more lies and continue his crimes. And I didn’t have time to wrestle with a prisoner. Howl needed me now.
I begged forgiveness from all the saints and angels, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
If Jean wouldn’t hear my voice, he would hear my teeth and claws.
The blast rang out like thunder. My nostrils burned with smoke, and the recoil dug into my shoulder. Watching Jean gasp and slump over, I didn’t know if I would be able to justify my actions to the village, my father’s memory, or even myself. I might never be a hero like the Maid of Gevaudan or Joan of Arc.
But Ghost looked like he approved.
28
Beauty
Rooster whined and howled again before I recovered from the shock of what I had just done. I dropped the gun and fell to my knees. “Howl?”
He lay supine over a bush. His fangs were gone. His face less angled. The black and red in his hair had merged into one unified shade of auburn. The silver—it had removed the curse while it had torn through the side of his chest.
He was human, he was beautiful, and he was dying.
“Maybe I can get it out.” I put my coat over his legs so I could focus my attention on his wound. I dabbed the blood with my sleeve. Something glimmered near the ribs, and I worked my fingers in. He moaned and tried to roll away. I had to pin him with my legs, and the fact that my over-muscled wolf was weak enough to hold that way scared me more than anything else.
“Come on, there you go.” The silver moved a touch and Howl moaned again, but it sounded a bit more like a growl. “Good boy, good boy. Come back to me.”
A sick gurgling filled his lungs. He choked on air and growled some more.
I alternated between pulling at the bullet and stroking him, trying to comfort him through the pain. I hated seeing the agony on his face, but the silver had to come out. Howl had told Jean he could heal if he could just take his wolf form again, be cursed again.
And really, it wasn’t that much of a curse. I had seen him control it.
“I know you didn’t want to hurt Jean; you thought it would upset me. You tried to give him a chance. But you still can’t let him win. You’re such a good man, and I should have known from the first that you never could have hurt my father or anyone else.”
With another sharp tug, the silver came free. I pitched it away—as far as I could throw it through the trees. Blood gushed out in its wake, and Howl went limp under me. Motionless and so pale. I tried to dam the tide of crimson with my hand. Was he colder? He shouldn’t be colder. I pressed myself into him, and a wolf nosed me in concern.
The other two whined and pawed at the ground.
I waved them closer. It couldn’t hurt. “Ghost is here. So are Rooster and Glimmer. Frost and Fern are probably still with Mother and the pups, but we’ll get you home and get everyone back together again—the whole pack. And I already came up with the best names for all the pups. Ash, Blaze, Cinder, and Smoke. What do you think?”
I hoped that would get some kind of reaction from him. It didn’t.
“Howl?” The blood had stopped flowing, but at this point, I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not. What if his heart had simply stopped beating, pulsing out the blood?
“You were right.” My vision blurred with tears, and my hands trembled so much—I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. “I shouldn’t have made that fire in the kitchen. But you also were right about why I did it. Maybe not at first, but when I built that fire, it was because I wanted the castle to be a place we could live together. I built it because I wanted to stay. With you.”
Jean had already taken so much from me—I couldn’t bear to lose Howl too. I couldn’t lose the new home and family we were building together.
I didn’t just want my life back the way it was before. I wanted him to be part of it.
And if he ever kissed, courted, or held another girl in his lap, I would kill her and him.
I pulled the rose from my pocket to show that I had it, that I had accepted the gift and all it symbolized. “Howl, I think I—”
Howl coughed. “Silver . . . hurts.”
I moved my hand, revealing more and more hair on his chest. Red and black. But not even a scar where he had been hit. Without the silver, he was changing and he was healing.
I quickly scanned him for any lingering issues. “You still have your fangs.”
His snout had gone more wolf-like than usual when he healed, but he quickly settled into his usual form. Human, but with fangs. “Are you disappointed?”
“No. I like your fangs.” Really, I was so relieved to see them. Howl didn’t need to be cured. He could control his beast, and nothing about him scared me in the least. I already loved him.
Though I might not tell him that last part yet.
“I like your . . . everything,” he said, still panting. “Are you my mate now?”
Heat filled every part of me. Even though I had given him my coat as a barrier, I had basically been straddling him while I worked on the bullet.
But I didn’t want to move yet either. Not when I just got him back. “Well, let’s just say I would like it very much if you would court me again.”
“I think I’m getting better at that.” He smiled, and my heart fluttered.
He still seemed too tired to leave the ground, so I ducked down to nuzzle him myself. We were in front of his pack, but I didn’t mind at all. I was pretty sure Ghost still approved.
With thoughts of rabid bites, curses, and Jean’s foul kiss still in my head, I didn’t try for Howl’s lips, but somehow this felt even better. Closer. It was something we built together, something we could both understand. We could work on the rest later.
“You did fight another male for me.” I hadn’t realized how well that actually worked. Or maybe it worked because he hadn’t wanted to fight Jean but still did. Or something.
Whatever it was, it had worked.
“And you shot him,” Howl said. “You’re a much better hunter now.”
I slipped off him then, but reluctantly. I looked back through the trees where Jean would have fallen. “Do you think the other villagers will understand?”
Howl shrugged. “If that is important to you, we’ll find a way to tell them.”
I nodded, dully. I had been searching through the bent foliage, looking for the bright red vest among all the green, but nothing was there.
Jean’s body was gone.
29
Beast
The forest had blackened with pain and the sound of the gun, but now it seemed changed, my vision a blur of blue and gray. I had stumbled forward, unable to find my feet, but even crawling on the ground, I moved faster than I ever had before.
My run had no direction at first. The trees were alive with smells I never noticed before. I was called by one movement, one sense, then another. It was hard to know what to focus on, but I eventually followed one scent to the stream and saw the mask of white fur. I knew that it was different, strange, but it didn’t bother me. The pain that had filled my head was gone, and it seemed I had a new sense of clarity, no longer hindered by any tugs of conscience.
Now all I had was strength and hunger.
I no longer had to worry what the village or my family at the inn all thought. I didn’t have to hide. Whether they loved or feared me, they would still come to follow me anyway. The girl and her cursed wolf would too.
I no longer had to crow to mimic the wolves and beasts of the forest.
> I was one.
THE END
Author’s Note
As you would expect, most of the things in this book are fiction, but I wanted to briefly share with you a few things that are not. There is a legendary beast in French history called the Beast of Gevaudan. It was said to be a russet wolfdog who stalked the surrounding villages, killing well over a hundred people (mostly women and children) and giving life to many of the werewolf legends we have today. Many hunts were organized, but the general feeling of the populace was that the French royalty did not do enough to stop the terror (one of the many seeds to the revolution around twenty years later). Some priests did say that it could be an unholy demon, and it’s generally believed that a man named Jean Chastel finally killed the creature with a silver bullet—made from melting down a silver amulet blessed to St. Mary.
There are many theories as to where the beast actually came from and what it was. Perhaps an exotic beast that local people would be less familiar with escaped from a menagerie. Perhaps several wolves or wolfdogs somehow got a taste for human blood. One of the more fantastic rumors (which I just HAD to use for my fantasy novel) was that a sadistic count was training and running experiments on wolves and dogs, and that his work led to the formation of the beast. That count actually lived for several years after the incident, and had several known children who wouldn’t match Howl, but hey, I had to have some fun somewhere.
But it was said that when Jean Chastel shot the beast, it had two cubs with it. One ran after it was shot, so maybe THAT was Howl. ;)
Oh, and some people also suspected Jean Chastel was in league with the count somehow. He was an innkeeper and a hunter who trained red mastiffs. He also had a varying reputation and a slightly criminal past, so some people believed he helped train and then shot the beast to make himself look like more of a hero. I didn’t really get into any of that here, but some of that should sound very similar to another Jean featured in this story.
Another hero was the Maid of Gevaudan—a shepherdess they built a statue for after she stabbed the beast with a pike. Charles Perrault, who wrote the version of Little Red Riding Hood I quoted, and, of course, Joan of Arc are also real people.
The rest is just fun fairy-tale and wolf nonsense that I hoped you enjoyed! If you did, please consider leaving a review on Amazon and Goodreads. Your feedback can make a huge difference in increasing this book’s visibility and improving future novels.
You can also reach me directly at [email protected] or my website sjacquebooks.com.
Those that sign up for my newsletter will receive a free short story and other extras.
About the Author
Jacque Stevens wrote her first novel as a stress relief activity during nursing school. Now as a fulltime nurse working in mental and developmental health, she continues to write stories filled with elves, fairies, and all things awesome. She lives in Utah so yes, she does have a huge extended family and occasionally eats green jello, but she does not yet own a minivan.
New friends, enemies, and other visitors from cyberspace can reach Jacque at [email protected] and sjacquebooks.com.
Other Works by Jacque Stevens:
WINTER FALLS: A Tale of the Snow Queen (2017)
Katie attempts to save her true love and escape a world of fairy tales ruled by the Winter Queen.
On Amazon
On Goodreads
DEPTHS: A Tale of the Little Mermaid (2019)
When Ari falls in love with the prince she has been ordered to kill, she must choose between her heart and her family. Currently in the Kingdom of Salt and Sirens Boxset.
On Amazon
On Goodreads
FAIRY RING SERIES
When fourteen-year-old Livy’s imaginary fairy friends cause a death in the real world, she must unravel the truth behind her so-called schizophrenic delusions before they take another life—hers.
FAIRY RING: Shards of Janderdelle
On Amazon
On Goodreads
FAIRY RING: Changeling of Janderdelle
On Amazon
On Goodreads
THE STONE BEARERS (2016)
To change her fate, Ashira releases a snarky djinni that could grant her every wish or trigger her destruction.
On Amazon
On Goodreads
THE FROG’S PRINCESS: A Stone Bearers Short Story included in THE FANTASTIC WORLDS Anthology (2016) and given free to newsletter subscribers.
On Amazon
On Goodreads
STONE BEARERS: THE QUEEN’S SERIES
After their mother dies from a mysterious curse, two elves leave the forest to find answers and inadvertently restart an old war between elves and humans.
THE QUEEN’S OPAL: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book One)
On Amazon
On Goodreads
THE QUEEN’S GIFT: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book Two)
On Amazon
On Goodreads
THE QUEEN’S HEIR: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book Three)
On Amazon
On Goodreads
THE QUEEN’S BANE: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book Four)
On Amazon
On Goodreads
THE QUEEN’S RITE: A Stone Bearers Novel (Book Five)
On Amazon
On Goodreads
A Monstrous Beauty. by Majanka Verstraete
1
The night called out for me, and the darkest part of me, the monstrous part, answered.
“Belle.”
Father’s voice sounded miles away, something from a dream, a memory of a different life. The call of the night was much louder, much more urgent and pressing.
Come to me, the wind whispered. Join me. We’re alike, you and I.
Asleep, driven forward by the dream, my subconscious followed that treacherous voice, unaware of the danger I was in.
“Belle, wake up.” Father shook my shoulders. While the movement vaguely registered in my mind, my sleeping brain shook it off as nothing but a nuisance. I had to focus on the other voices, which were so much clearer. They needed me, they…
Father shook me harder, growing more desperate. “Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP!”
Finally, the veil of sleep lifted from my mind.
The Wall.
I was so close to the Wall, the one thing protecting our village from the outside world. If I reached out with my hand, I could even touch the cold stone. I’d never made it this far before.
Father’s eyes filled with worry and at that moment, he looked as if he’d been alive longer than any of the trees that surrounded us.
“Are you all right?” Father squinted his eyes, and wrinkles appeared in the corners. “You’ve never gone all the way up to the Wall.”
“It’s not like I could have climbed over it.” I sounded slightly annoyed, although not at him. I was glad he’d come to my rescue like he had the night before, and the night before that, and God knows how many nights before.
While the five-meter-high monstrosity was impossible to scale alone, with no aid or equipment, that didn’t mean I couldn’t have walked along the Wall, all the way to the gate. Maybe I could’ve even sneaked sneak past the guards. They were always expecting Tainted trying to get into our village, not the other way around. That would leave me outside the Wall, vulnerable in my sleepwalking state, while everyone knew wandering outside the Wall was suicide, even when you were wide awake.
Strangely enough, this dark part of me that awoke when the rest of me slept… It seemed drawn to the world beyond our border, to that vast forest filled with creatures that could destroy me in a heartbeat.
“Come on.” Father put his hand on my back and ushered me toward our house. A single light from a candle downstairs illuminated our path.
Despite the Wall acting as a barrier between us and the horrors beyond, I felt a thousand eyes on my back, yearning for me to join them in their wickedness.
2
The downside of living in a small town with a popula
tion of roughly three hundred people was that each day started with the same routine.
Every morning, at the break of dawn, I got up as the first rays of sunlight filtered into my room. My room did not have much furniture: a bed, nightstand, closet, a pile of books tall enough it almost reached my height, a desk with my current work-in-progress on, and a table with a washing bowl on it and a large mirror above it. That mirror… how I hated that mirror.
As I splashed water from the washing bowl in my face attempting to wake up, I always caught a glimpse of my mirror image, and for some reason I always forced myself to look at my image closely. Inspect every detail of it.
I started with my face: almond-shaped, brown eyes, full lips, a straight nose. Nothing too remarkable; despite my name, I wasn’t exactly beautiful, more like average looking. At least, if you only looked at my face.
In the mirror, I glanced down at my shoulders. My left shoulder and arm looked perfectly normal, with pink, unblemished skin. But at my right shoulder, the skin was replaced with a brown metal plate attached to my chest by screws and bolts and linked to my arm with a golden gearwheel. Four similar metal plates ran all the way down my arm, until they ended in a robotic hand with four fingers and a thumb made from brass plate. Two more golden cogs were attached to the mechanical arm, at the height of my elbow, and allowed me to lift and move the arm easily.
I raised my robotic arm once or twice, shaking the stiffness from it, which occurred just about every morning. The connections between the plates squeaked when I moved my arm, and I made a mental note to ask Father to apply some oil to the cogs today.
As I washed my face, I already began to prepare for the next step in my morning ritual—the worst step, actually. Living with a mechanical arm was far from ideal, but it was better than nothing. If my Father hadn’t been so good at inventing things, I might not have had an arm at all.