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

by L. C. Hibbett

  Well, nobody with any sense.

  I eased up on the gas as I approached the Blackwood estate. There were no gates barring entrance to the private forest; the savage tangle of twisted and overgrown trees that hung low on the narrow strip of asphalt was intimidating enough to dissuade most would-be trespassers. My pulse raced as the Kawasaki’s tires spun on the unexpectedly slick track and I screeched to a halt at the entrance to the forest. The dying evening light was too faint to penetrate the thick canopy of trees, but if I turned on my headlamp, Blackwood and his men would see me approaching the manor a mile off.

  “They already know you’re here, knucklehead,” I mumbled, tugging off my helmet and letting my hair fall down my back. The weight of my thick waves gave me a feeling of security. I patted my right hip. The weight of the Beretta I was packing gave me an even better feeling of security. I knew Blackwood’s creepy, head severing men were probably watching me on their security cameras, but I was pretty damn certain they would underestimate me—like almost every man I’d ever met. I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. “Buckle up, Blackwood fuckers, I’m coming for you.”

  The wind whipped my face as I bent low over the bike and hugged every corner of the winding trail, squinting into the near darkness. I had only been in the forest once before, one summer when we were teenagers. Nicole bet me her designer jeans that I was too chicken to spend the night in Blackwood Forest and I’d never been able to turn down a bet. Or a nice pair of jeans. Chesca had been terrified to come with us, but too frightened to stay at home with our grandmother in case she let slip that we weren’t really going for a sleepover with a friend from camp. So, Chesca tagged along with us, jumping every time the trees rustled in the wind.

  We all regretted coming the minute we set foot on the muddy trail and the heavens opened above our heads, transforming us into drowned rats, but Nicole and I were both too stubborn to admit defeat, so we stayed, following the track as far as a clearing in the wood.

  Chesca spotted the stream first. She started babbling about its beauty and the music in the water, but Nicole and I had already begun to argue about whose fault it was that we were stuck in a filthy wet forest in the middle of a storm. By the time we noticed Chesca had fallen silent, she had already been submerged face down in the shallow water for long enough to stop her heart.

  Let me tell you, everyone and their mother had a lot to say about that—the paramedics and the ER doctor said it was nothing short of a miracle she survived, the psychologists said the trauma had affected how she processed information, Mom said she was going to whoop our butts so hard we wouldn’t sit still for a year, Grammy said Dad needed to talk to us about Blackwood Forest, but Dad said nothing at all. He just looked at us with huge, sad eyes. And that frightened me more than any of Mom’s hollering.

  I never set foot in Blackwood Forest again.

  The road took an abrupt turn to the left and I gripped my bike with my thighs, struggling to maintain control as I skidded over a humpback bridge. As my bike skidded to a halt, I found myself staring at a scene from a fairy tale. Blackwood Manor was more like a French château than a typical Maryland home. The towering mansion stood several stories tall and a stone staircase swept up to a grand front door. You could tell that the gardens surrounding the house had once been beautiful, but the rose bushes had withered in their perfectly symmetrical plots and the ornate fountain in the center of the front lawn was silent and dry. In fact, there was no sign of life anywhere. The place looked deserted.

  I veered into a hollow between two tall hedges, settled my bike onto its kickstand, and unzipped my jacket, pulling out my cell with my left hand while keeping my right hand close to my hip. The call was picked up on the first ring. “Izzy!” Chesca’s shriek pierced my eardrum. “Izzy, did you find Dad? Are you both okay? Are you on your way home?”

  My trigger finger itched as I scanned the manor through gaps in the hemlock. Everything was unnaturally still and quiet, not even the whisper of the breeze or distant birdsong broke the silence. I cupped my hand over my mouth as I spoke into the phone. “I’ve just arrived at the manor. There’s nobody here, Ches. The place is dead, doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for years. Look at the email again—maybe we made a mistake with the location?”

  “What?” Nicole’s voice cut across Chesca’s reply. “Put it on speaker, for God sake, Francesca.” I repeated my update for Nicole. Fallen leaves rustled under my feet as I edged my way around the perimeter of the garden, searching for any indication that my father might be somewhere on the property. I ran my stare over each row of windows, paranoia building with every blank piece of glass.

  Chesca’s words were rushed. “‘Your transport to Blackwood Manor has been arranged’—that’s what it says, Izzy. And two other emails mention Blackwood Manor.”

  I lifted my hand from my hip and pressed my thumb against my eye socket for a moment to clear my head. “Okay. Chesca, I need you to search for Blackwood Manor on the internet. They’re an old family, filthy rich, maybe there’s another Blackwood Manor—could even be out of state?” I glared at the mansion again. “Nicole, will you try find out everything you can about Lunar Properties; all their registered addresses, all their stakeholders, their legal representatives—”

  My lips froze, cutting my sentence short. I took a step forward, ignoring Nicole’s increasingly shrill demands for attention, and squinted at the huge wooden front door. It was open, hanging ajar by a fraction of an inch. A tiny detail, barely noticeable at a distance, but finding little details was one of the positives of being a natural nosey-parker. My chest tightened as adrenaline began to pump through my veins and I felt a familiar static energy in the pit of my belly. I shoved the phone against my ear without shifting my gaze. “Gotta go, girls. Might have something.”

  I felt a wave of sympathy for Chesca as I killed the call, but there was no time to explain. Cursing my heavy leather boots, I ran toward the house and crept up the steps to the front door. I slipped my Beretta out of its holster and tugged my jacket sleeve down to conceal it—no sense giving away the game before I had to.

  The door was still ajar. I used my fingers to pry the gap a little wider and then nudged the door open with my knee, hands tight and ready for battle, but the entrance hall was empty. I stepped inside and scanned the area. A huge ornate staircase dominated the far side of the hall and several doors dotted the paneled walls, all of them shut tightly. A lamp lit the space and a neat pile of opened mail sat on a silver tray by the door—so much for deserted.

  “Hello,” I called softly, cobbling together a story about bike trouble and a dead cell phone in case anyone appeared. I cringed at my own lack of planning—the old Izzy would never have been such an idiot. The old Izzy was the ultimate professional; every mission planned to perfection, every outcome prepared for. I crossed my arms and clenched my teeth together. It didn’t matter a damn, the old Izzy was dead.

  I called out politely once more, and examined the room while I waited for a response. Framed photographs covered the wall, a vast selection of images, from sepia family portraits to garish Technicolor snaps of a couple wearing seventies style bridal clothes, but the picture that caught my eye was of four young men standing on the steps of the manor. They were young and handsome and appeared to be wearing some sort of military uniform, but not one that I could place. Two of the boys were smiling and another was looking at the camera nervously from under long fair lashes, but it was the guy in the middle that captured my attention. He was staring out of the photograph with such intensity in his green eyes that it took a concerted effort to pull myself away from the wall and back to the task at hand.

  The large Persian rug that ran down the center of the floor muffled the sound of my footsteps as I crossed the hall. I stared at the doors, trying to decide on a plan. From outside, the front of the building had appeared completely unlit, so it stood to reason that the doors leading to the rear of the building would be the best choice. And if my father was wor
king with them, maybe they had a lab.

  “Basement? Lab in the basement?” I whispered the words under my breath. Three years of active service had left me with some pretty deeply ingrained habits. Nicole was constantly on my case for talking to myself, but that’s not who I was talking to, not really. I eyed the three doors that lined the rear wall, selecting the one closest to the base of the staircase in the hope it led to a lower level. I gripped my gun tighter as I turned the handle, releasing my breath slowly when it opened with ease to reveal a flight of stairs. “Dad, if you’re still alive down here, I’m going to kill you.”

  Chapter Three

  Walking down the staircase shouldn’t have given me a creepy feeling. Well, no more creepy than your everyday, run-of-the-mill breaking and entering sort of feeling. It was a perfectly nice set of stairs—the carpet under my feet was plush and expensive, the walls were freshly painted, and inoffensive spotlights the shone from the wood-paneled ceiling overhead. Everything about the decor screamed good taste and plenty of money, not exactly my style, but there was nothing tangible to explain the way my heart hammered in my chest or the itching sensation at the base of my spine. But something was off. I felt it every time I passed one of the small, mirrored tiles that decorated the walls.

  I was being watched.

  The staircase came to a small landing before twisting to the left and descending down another flight of steps. I paused on the landing and pressed my back against the wall. There was an arched doorway to my right, leading into a mezzanine level or a garage, perhaps. I gripped my Beretta tightly as I turned the door handle but it didn’t budge. Locked. I narrowed my eyes at the final flight of stairs and descended into the bowels of Blackwood Manor.

  I knew I had found a laboratory before I reached the bottom step. You don’t grow up with a mad scientist for a father without learning to recognize the particular type of silence you can only find in a lab. The glow of artificial light, the blinking and beeping of computers and data collection devices—that was the church of my childhood. Other people had Sunday service and the Sabbath, we had science. It was our religion and it served me well. Until I learned, just like every religion, there were some things that even science couldn’t fix.

  The sound of footsteps dragged me back to reality and I strode forward with my gun cocked.

  “Isabelle? Hell’s bells, child, what are you doing here?” My father’s face was a mask of horror. “Put your gun down. You look like a raving lunatic.”

  I lowered my gun and looked him over for any sign of injury or mistreatment. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on your way home from London, but instead, you’re in the basement of one of the local criminal gangs—are you insane? Why didn’t you tell us? If you’ve gotten into some kind of trouble, we can help.”

  “Rescuing me? My wild girl, I don’t need rescuing. I have this under control. I’m working,” Dad hissed.

  My stare reached his ankles and I felt my jaw stiffen. “You’re manacled.” I gaped at his foot. “Holy crap, Dad, who are these people?”

  “Izzy, it’s not what you think. The manacles aren’t to keep me here, they’re to protect me, but you need to leave, immediately. I’m working on a top secret project and I’ll return home the moment I’m finished.” My father squeezed my wrist and ran his other hand through his wild shock of hair.

  “Dad, can you hear yourself? If these people won’t let you go home, they’re keeping you as their prisoner. That’s fucking insane. I’m getting you out of here right now.” I grabbed his arm and dug my nails into his flesh as I kneeled down to examine the metal restraint. “Crap, the lock must be remotely activated. Where’s the control panel?”

  “It’s right here. Ma’am.”

  I froze. When I became an Operant, they told me I was going to see some mind-blowing shit. Not everybody is cut out to be part of a Special Operations Unit, they said. Not everyone has what it takes, they said. But nothing I had seen, none of the top secret, classified, crazy-ass information I had been privy to could have prepared me for the creature that was leaning against the wall at the far side of the lab.

  In a heartbeat, I threw myself in front of my father and leveled my gun at the monster’s hairy chest. No, not hairy—furry. The man’s chest was covered in a coat of dark copper fur. Silky and fine enough that I could make out the shape of his muscled torso, but too thick for me to make out the inevitable definition of his stomach muscles. I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing as my gaze traveled over his strong shoulders and down his arms to hands tipped with fingers that resembled claws more closely than anything human.

  My father pinched my arm gently. “Isabelle, your manners. Please.”

  I snapped my mouth shut, suddenly aware that it had been hanging open. The monster gave a low roar and I flexed my fingers, steadying the Beretta. The beast’s growling voice rumbled against my eardrums. “It’s quite alright, Dr. O’Neill, your daughter’s terror is to be expected. Very few people come face to face with a living nightmare—it must be quite frightening.”

  “I’m not scared, asshat.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, but there was no way I was letting some fur-backed freak who was holding my father captive think he had the upper hand. “I’m pissed that you have my father chained to the floor in your basement. Not frightened, douche bag. Angry.”

  The monster gave me an unexpected grin and I braced myself for a flash of razor-sharp teeth. Instead, I came face to face with the most disarmingly perfect smile I had ever seen in person. Bright green eyes examined me curiously for a moment before the beast’s smile faded, replaced by an expression so grim that it should have made him ugly, but despite the fur covering his body and his claw-like hands, he was distractingly handsome. His eyes flashed coldly. “How very foolish, Miss O’Neill. In future, if you meet a beast, I suggest you have the good sense to be frightened enough to turn and run as fast as your legs can carry you.”

  I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore the ache in my arm. It had been a long time since I’d held a gun steady for so long. “Thank you so much for that advice—Mr. Blackwood, I assume?” The beast nodded slowly. “Well, now that we're all acquainted, I’ll be taking my father and running home as fast as my legs can carry us if that’s quite alright with you? Not that I haven’t enjoyed your wonderful hospitality, but manacles and passive aggression aren’t really my bag. So, if you wouldn’t mind unlocking my father’s restraints…”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Miss O’Neill. I apologize if I misled you by not ripping your head from your body when I first discovered you prowling around my property, but your father has signed a contract and sadly the issue is quite time sensitive.” The beast reached out and pressed his claws against a large red button on the lab wall. “There’ll be someone with us shortly to see you to your motorcycle. I suggest you don’t delay on your journey home, it would be rather unfortunate if your sisters were to involve Julian Gastone and his men in the business I have with your father.”

  I dug my heels into the ground. “Unfortunate for whom, Mr. Blackwood? I hope you aren’t threatening my family.”

  “You’re trapped in my basement, armed only with weapons which cannot kill my people or me, and your father is, as you have so rightly ascertained, chained to my floor with restraints that only I can open—I have no need to threaten you, Miss O’Neill. I was merely offering sage advice.” The beast returned my glower.

  “Oh, for goodness sake.” My father threw his hands into the air and sat down heavily on the edge of a workbench. “Isabelle, this is my business. I’ve made an agreement to be here and I won’t be leaving until I’ve produced a cure for Mr. Blackwood and his companions. It’s a simple as that.” Dad leaned a little closer to me. “Darling, I know that you’re only trying to look out for me by coming here today but, quite frankly, all this has served to do is make me more concerned than ever about your recklessness. You’re being irrational.”

  “Irrat
ional?” I glowered at my father. “Well, considering you’re allowing your clients to chain you to the floor, I’d say the crazy apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I shoved my Beretta back into its holster and crossed my arms over my chest.

  My father’s shoulders dropped and he stared down at his hands. “Belle, my agreement is not with Alexander, and it’s not negotiable. If I don’t find a cure for his condition before the next full moon—”

  “Find it at home! You work best in your own lab, you’ve always said that. And I’ll help you, I know I haven’t been much use since I was discharged, but biochemistry is my thing.” I glanced at the beast’s fur covered chest. “If this is some sort of genetic testing gone wrong—”

  “It’s not.” My father lowered his voice. “Izzy, this isn’t something I want you or your sisters involved in. I made an agreement that if I hadn’t created the necessary cure by now, I would agree to forfeit my freedom to work solely on this project for the final month.”

  “Bullshit!” I exploded across the room, unsure of who I wanted to shake harder, my father or his infuriatingly handsome employer. I hissed into my father’s ear, “This is insane, Dad. You’re working for criminals, who are clearly threatening you in some way, but you won’t admit it and you won’t let me take you home. I feel like I’m in some sort of an alternate universe. This simply isn’t happening.”

  “Everybody okay in here?” I bolted back to my position in front of Dad, furious at myself for not hearing the stranger approaching. He took a step forward and my stomach tightened as the light revealed his form. The man was shorter than Alexander Blackwood and slighter. His dark hair was tousled as if he had just woken up, and even though his lips were set in a straight line, his brown eyes were soft. And he was cute. Really, really cute. Except for the clawed hands peeking out from the end of his extra long sleeves—I guess nobody’s perfect