Beauty's Beasts: An Urban Fantasy Fairy Tale (Poison Courts Book 1)

by L. C. Hibbett

  Beauty’s Beasts

  A Poison Courts Novel

  L.C. Hibbett

  This book was written, produced, and edited in Ireland, but US English has been used. Slang words and idioms particular to each culture have been retained to respect the authenticity of certain characters. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © L.C. Hibbett 2017

  Edited by N. K. Editing

  All rights reserved

  First edition

  Table of Contents

  Before you begin…

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wicked Destiny (A Sneak Peek)

  To good friends and bad wine—may we never be parted.

  Before you begin…

  The Poison Court Saga is a collection of stand-alone urban fantasy fairy tale retellings with a reverse harem twist. The novels in The Poison Courts Saga are set in my Wicked Witch universe so you might spy some of your favorite (and most hated) characters crossing over between collections.

  Please note: These stories contain steamy scenes, a fair dose of salty language, a heap of fast-paced action, and more hot males than the fairy godmother could handle. If you’re looking for a fun way to suspend reality for a couple of hours and bask in the glory of fine men and frolics, this book might be for you. If you’re looking for a Young Adult read, you might enjoy my Demon-Born Trilogy or my upcoming Cursed Saga. (And if you’re looking for the next Booker Prize winner, you might want to try another author—am I right???)

  Mom, Dad, and siblings, if you’re reading this—DON’T. I love you. Don’t read it. Okay?

  Chapter One

  “I’d rather choke on my own vomit.” I shoved past my sisters and started rifling through the pile of mail lying on the cluttered table in the dining room. The heat of twin glares bored a hole in the base of my skull. I groaned and turned to face Nicole and Chesca. “What? You asked if I’d like to date him, I answered.”

  “He’s the most eligible bachelor in town, Izzy. Handsome, wealthy, influential—you could do a lot worse.” Nicole’s lips were pursed tightly, lending her voice a hissing effect.

  “He’s a creep, Nicole. The man might look like a male model, but he’s the shadiest scumbag this side of the grave. Hell, he had the county library shut down so he could open another all-night poker club.” I frowned at the dining table, scattered with cosmetics of every description, and tried to dampen my irritation at the grimy layer of eyeshadow on the surface of the dining table.

  “He’s a businessman, Isabelle, a very successful one. You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.” Nicole beat her fingernails against the screen of her cell phone and every tap felt like a bullet exploding through my skull. I needed to go for another run. Or do ten rounds with a punching bag. My sisters followed me into the kitchen and I inhaled deeply at the sight of the remains of breakfast congealing on the countertop. I held my tongue, secretly relieved the girls had at least eaten something. They were getting too thin. So was Dad. Nicole rested her hands on her hips. “He’s also Marco’s boss.”

  “And Dylan’s,” Chesca chimed in.

  Nicole nodded. “Exactly. He asked our boyfriends to sniff out whether you’d be interested in dating him, how do you think it will look if they go back and say you’re not interested?”

  “Are you kidding me? You know how I feel about dumb and dumber. As far as I’m concerned, Julian Gastone is a piece of crap and your boyfriends are like flies buzzing around him. This whole town would be better off without his sleazy gang and so would you. You can do better.” Chesca blinked as if I had slapped her but Nicole just narrowed her eyes. My oldest sister was shallow but she wasn’t stupid—she knew I was right. Neither of them spoke.

  I grabbed an apple, already over the conversation about Dumpseville’s most eligible bachelors, and pointed at the old-school phone hanging on the wall like a cowering beetle. “Have you tried ringing Dad again?”

  “He’s not picking up his cell,” Chesca said.

  I frowned. “Weird. I might try to ring him at his hotel. Can either of you remember where he’s staying for his final round of lectures?”

  “I emailed Dad his full schedule, it’s all in his inbox—I can print it off.” Chesca started to walk toward the door to the basement, where Dad worked, but I waved my hand.

  “Nah, I’ll do it. You’ve obviously got plans for the evening, hottie.” I flipped the ends of Chesca’s silky hair and grinned. “Anyway, I should hide in the basement for a while in case Nicole decides to pimp me out to a serial killer.”

  Chesca snickered as she headed for her bedroom and Nicole flashed her middle finger in my direction. “Eat dirt, Isabelle—or pussy, since no man in this town is good enough for you.”

  “Nice mouth, Nicky. Good to see your college education hasn’t gone to waste. For the record, I’d rather eat anything than touch Julian Gastone’s dick.” I swept a purse out of my way as I unlocked the basement and flung it at Nicole’s head. She caught it one-handed, her ridiculous sixth-sense as sharp as ever, and I grinned. “Hey, Nicky, maybe there’s ointment or something in the purse for your lips.”

  Nicole’s hand flew to her mouth. “What?”

  “You know, something for those little wrinkles—to stop your mouth looking like a cat’s anus.” The purse slammed against the other side of the basement door as it closed behind me and I smirked as I skipped down the stairs. Nicole would exact her revenge, but I wasn’t worried. Deep down, my sister wasn’t hideously awful, she’d just lost herself since Mom died. The whole family had—bad town, bad boyfriends, bad choices. And I hadn’t been here to help them find their way back.

  I sat down heavily on Dad’s chair and flicked switches on the side of his desk. Fluorescent strips burst into life overhead, illuminating the laboratory in a flash of unnatural light. All around me, computer screens flickered and beeped. My father’s voice blasted from the computer on the desk. “Whoever is trying to meddle with my work, you know the drill. DNA sample or no access—put your hand inside the white box.”

  My fingers twitched as the computer analyzed my touch DNA. No matter how many times I went through Dad’s crazy tests, I always had a sliver of hesitance. Like the feeling of panic when a cop pulls you over, even though you know you’ve done nothing wrong. “Access granted for darling Belle, my little assistant.”

  My lips curved upwards at the sound of Dad’s pet name for me. I’d always been his baby girl, even though I was only younger than the twins by less than a year. Nicole was really smart at school and Chesca tried so hard to please our parents, but I was the one who’d shared Dad’s love of science and technology. When I graduated from The Academy top of my class and got selected for Delta, Mom said she thought
he’d just about burst with pride—his little girl was an officer in one the greatest armies in the world. Not bad for a family whose ancestors had emigrated to the United States from Ireland on a coffin ship.

  My gaze fell on the desk Dad had set up for me in his lab when I’d been discharged. A thick layer of dust covered the unused surface, bare except for a single framed photograph of me surrounded by four uniformed soldiers, all of us beaming and waving at the camera. I didn’t need to move closer to examine the image, it was burned into my brain. Like a tattoo. Or a wound that would never heal. I clamped my teeth shut and dragged my focus back to the task at hand. There had to come a time to let sleeping dogs lie, or at least pretend to.

  “Now, where the hell is the internet on this damn thing,” I muttered as I tried to navigate the desktop of my father’s latest operating system. Dad didn’t believe in using other people’s technology. He was entirely convinced the multinational software companies were trying to steal his research. My mom called him paranoid Pete. Although, who knows, maybe they were after his work—if there was one thing you could say about my dad, it’s that the man had brains to burn. And a heart as big as a lion’s. But not a whole lot of practical life skills, as evidenced by the mountain of sticky candy wrappers and empty soda bottles littering his workspace.

  I shook my head when I caught sight of an icon titled, ‘Love Letters’, and a double-click revealed that my guess was right as an email server popped up on the screen. I scanned the inbox, searching for any messages from Chesca, but there was nothing. In fact, every email appeared to come from one single address. My heart began to beat a little faster as I stared at the familiar initials—LPI. It had to be a coincidence, maybe one of the universities Dad was presenting at was called LPI. Sure, it didn’t ring any bells, but what did I know about European schools?

  It couldn’t be the LPI from Oak Crescent. There was no way my father would have any business with either of the organizations that had ruined this town. Dad was a little switched off from reality, sure, but he wasn’t crazy. He’d never get involved with something criminal. Right?

  My palm was slick with cold sweat as I opened the most recent email in Dad’s inbox. I read the brief message aloud and my heart rate slowing to a near stop. “The I.G.S. has made arrangements for your transport to Blackwood Manor. Details are as before. Be punctual, Mr. O’ Neill.”

  I began to flick frantically through the rest of the emails, desperately hoping this was some sort of a mistake. How the hell had Dad managed to get caught up in business with these people? Any logical train of thought vanished as I focused on the signature at the end of the email. Shit, shit, shit. It was bad, worse than bad—Alexander Blackwood. The mysterious chairperson of Lunar Properties Incorporated—the man they called the beast of Blackwood Forest.

  Chapter Two

  “Izzy, this can’t be right. It’s a mistake, some sort of a game dad was playing with someone, one of his crazy scientist online-friends or something. Daddy would never get involved with that man—you saw how upset he was when he found out the Marco and Dylan worked for Julian Gastone…” Chesca’s voice faded into silence and she pressed her fingers against her plump lips.

  Of all of us, Chesca looked the most like our mother, with wide blue eyes and fine black hair cut into a glossy bob. When we were younger, I had been so envious of her small hands and her curves. She was every teenage boy’s fantasy; a poster-pin up compared to the athletic frames and unruly brown waves Nicole and I had inherited from Dad. But I had come to respect my wiry strength and effortless speed—it had saved my ass more times than a pretty face ever could.

  Nicole glared at Dad’s laptop and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not a mistake, Francesca. Isabelle is right, the dates on these emails match up perfectly with Dad’s calendar—he told us he was working, just neglected to specify who he was working with. And according to this,” she said, tapping the screen with an immaculate fingernail, “Dad was dropped to Blackwood Manor yesterday morning. He hasn’t answered our calls since.”

  Chesca’s fingers trembled against her lips. “And now his phone is going straight to voicemail. But Alexander Blackwood—”

  “Is filth,” I interjected, emptying the contents of the steel cabinet I used to store my equipment.

  Nicole eyed my stash of weapons. “So, you’re going to burst onto his property in a hail of bullets and haul Dad out of there on the back of your Kawasaki?”

  I tucked another round of ammo inside my belt and met her stare. “You got a better idea?”

  “Actually, Super Bitch, I do.” Nicole straightened her shoulders. “I’ll ring Marco and arrange for us to meet with Julian Gastone. A little more realistic than you pretending this is one of those Z-men films you love.”

  “No way, Nicky.” I zipped my leather jacket closed, concealing the weapons that were pressed against my body and refusing to rise to Nicole’s verbal jabs. “If the gossip is true, Gastone and Lunar Properties are rivals with a big fat capital ‘R’. We’ve no idea what Dad’s been working on with Alexander Blackwood and his men, and we all know damn well what happens to people who take sides against Gastone Enterprises.”

  Nicole had the good grace to drop her stare. There wasn’t a soul in Oak Crescent who didn’t know the rumors about what went on in the Gastone warehouses after dark. Nobody dared to take a stand against Julian Gastone and his guys—except the mysterious inhabitants of Blackwood Forest. And judging by the beheaded corpses that had been found on the steps of Gastone’s nightclub last month, there was nothing sweet about the men behind Lunar Properties either.

  I kicked the door of the cabinet shut and took the basement stairs two at a time, patting my pocket to make sure I had the keys for my bike. I had already grabbed my helmet from the porch chair by the time the girls caught up with me. Chesca wrapped her fingers around my wrist. “Izzy, maybe we should just call the cops?”

  “You know that’s not an option, Ches.” I peeled her fingers gently off my arm. “Even the sheriff is in Gastone’s pocket. We’re on our own if we want to talk to the Blackwoods.”

  Chesca thrust her chin into the air and tried to look fierce. “Then I’m going with you. Let me try and talk to this Alexander man. I’ll reason with him.”

  Nicole clicked her tongue and held the screen door open with her shoulder. “With your tits? And your fluttering eyelashes? Please, Chesca. This isn’t some two-bit loser down at Joey’s bar we’re dealing with. We have to be smart.”

  “I don’t want Izzy going out there alone. We promised Mom we’d stick together.” Chesca snapped her lips closed, and just for an instant, Nicole’s mask slipped. I saw a burst of regret behind her eyes as she reached out and wrapped an arm around Chesca’s delicate shoulders. Maybe a different kind of sister would have thrown her own arms around the two of them and treasured the moment, but that wasn’t my style. Not anymore.

  I bounded down the steps and hopped onto my bike, kicking it into life before either of them had reached the curb. Nicole stepped onto the road in front of me and I stalled, straining to hear her over the roar of the engine. “I won’t say anything to Marco for twenty-four hours, but if you aren’t back with Dad by then, I’m going to Julian Gastone.” I nodded. If I wasn’t back in twenty-four hours, chances are Dad and I were in even worse trouble than I feared. Nicole went to step back onto the pavement but she hesitated at the last moment and glanced at me over her shoulder as I pull away from the curb. “Just tell me you won’t do anything stupid, Izzy.”

  I snapped my visor down and tore into the street without responding—something told me that was a promise I was unlikely to be able to keep.

  As evening settled over Oak Crescent, the town was bathed in Fall’s soft amber glow. My Grammy had run a bookstore on Main Street from the day she moved to Oak Crescent as a young widow with my dad in tow, until the day she died, peacefully, in her chair behind the shop counter. A shiver ran down my spine as I shifted gears and pulled onto Main, swerving t
o avoid two drunken hoods as they stumbled into the road. In my mind’s eye, I saw the town as it had been; the colorful storefronts, the hanging baskets of flowers, the friendly small-town smiles. Since Julian Gastone arrived, most of the local stores and restaurants on Main Street had been replaced by bars that and strip joints—all bearing the forked symbol of Gastone Enterprises. Even the legendary Ma Duke’s Fried Chicken had finally bent under the weight of pressure from Gastone and closed its doors. The Oak Crescent of my childhood was gone, buried under the industrial steel and gray cement of Gastone Enterprises.

  And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, for just over a year, there had been another contender in the race to buy every piece of property in Oak Crescent. Scattered across the outskirts of town were derelict buildings marked with the crescent symbol of Lunar Properties Incorporated—Alexander Blackwood’s company. Or one of them, at least. When I first saw the signs for Lunar Properties, I thought maybe the town had a chance to survive Gastone’s reign because the Blackwoods had a history of looking out for the local people. But when the decapitated corpses of Gastone’s men started appearing, I finally accepted there were no heroes left in Oak Crescent, only small town villains with nasty habits. On my worst nights, I was pretty certain I could include myself in that category.

  I narrowed my eyes as I passed the sign for Blackwood Street. The Blackwood family had owned most of Oak Crescent for as long as anyone could remember, but Alexander Blackwood’s grandfather had gifted the homes and businesses to the townspeople who rented them from him on his death, claiming that while the Blackwood’s owned the forest, the people were the heart of the town. Old Seamus Blackwood’s generosity had made him a legend in Oldridge County, but nobody had heard much from the family since his death. Rumor had it, the big house had lain empty for decades, but there were few who could verify this because even though the Blackwood family had faded from daily life in Oak Crescent, folks still respected the rule that had been enforced by Seamus Blackwood, and his father, and his father before that—never enter Blackwood Forest. And nobody did.