Curse of the Wolf King: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Entangled with Fae)

by Tessonja Odette

  You brought this on yourself, Gemma.

  Can you really blame him?

  There’s no use crying over something you caused.

  Well, of course they’re saying that about you! It’s true.

  I shake the memories away and begin to shuffle through the stack.

  “They’re all for Father,” Nina says with a huff.

  She’s right. I’m almost at the bottom of the stack, and so far—

  My heart leaps into my throat. There, scrawled over the last envelope, is my name. My name. With trembling fingers, I tear it open and retrieve the letter inside. I read the words once. Twice. Then a third time.

  “What is it?” Nina says, brow furrowed.

  It’s finally here. My hope hasn’t been futile after all. And while this isn’t anything close to a guarantee, it’s a step forward. My first shot at freedom. My first opportunity to be the person I want to be. Just me. Alone. Free.

  I meet my sister’s eyes with tears brimming in my own. “I’ve been invited for an interview!”

  5

  “An interview!” Nina echoes my words, and I’m forced to hush her. She lowers her voice to a whisper, eyes flashing toward the doorway where Father left moments ago. “You mean, for a job?”

  “Of course,” I whisper back, voice quavering. I can hardly contain the excitement that radiates down each limb, so intense I feel I could faint.

  Susan, the only maid of ours whose discretion I can depend on, matches our volume and takes a step closer. “Would you like me to send back a response?”

  “Yes, at once,” I say, rushing to the bureau, my skirts swishing around my ankles. With hasty motions, I grab paper and pen and write my reply, affirming that I accept the invitation to interview.

  Nina reads it over my shoulder. “But it’s tomorrow,” she says. “That’s so soon.”

  “Thank the saints above,” I mutter. I sign my name at the bottom and can hardly bear to let the ink dry before I stuff it into an envelope and copy the return address onto the front. Thirty-three Whitespruce Lane.

  “But…but it’s on Whitespruce Lane! And for the position of house steward? Are there even homes on Whitespruce?”

  “I’m certainly going to find out.” I seal the envelope and hand it to Susan. “See that this is sent at once, please. And…you know.”

  “With discretion,” she says with a nod.

  As soon as the maid is out the door, Nina rounds on me, her frown in stark contrast to the smile I wear. “That was a bit impulsive, even for you.”

  Her tone threatens to drain my triumph. My lips pull into a frown as I cross my arms. “Excuse me? You know I’ve been seeking a job ever since we arrived. I’m finally invited for an interview, and you think accepting it is…impulsive?”

  “There wasn’t even a name with the return address. Do you recall the original posting the job came from? Who you’re meeting? You should have written for more information before accepting.”

  I bite my lip, seeing she has a point. “I suppose that would have been sensible,” I confess, uncrossing my arms while keeping my head held high, “but it’s too late now.”

  She lets out a growl of frustration. “Gemma, you better hope you don’t make a fool of yourself. If the position is for house steward, then it must be the home of someone quite important. You’re going to arrive without any knowledge of whom you might be working for.”

  I shrug and return to my chair, picking up The Governess and the Earl to pretend to read. “Perhaps that’s how my potential employer wants it.”

  She stands before me, shaking her head. “No, this cannot be. We must seek more information. Surely, someone knows who lives on Whitespruce Lane.” She lets out a gasp, drawing my attention back to her. “We can ask Mrs. Aston! She knows all the town gossip.”

  “No,” I say, closing my book with a thud. The thought of asking Mrs. Aston about anything, much less for gossip, sends my blood boiling. “We must speak of this to no one. I can’t risk Father finding out and trying to stop me.”

  “But Gemma—” With another gasp, she takes a step back, eyes growing wide. “Wait. Whitespruce Lane. Mrs. Aston told me just today that wolves were spotted there!”

  I roll my eyes. “Nina, she only said that so she could spread the gossip about Miss Weathersbee without seeming imprudent.”

  “It could be true. Whitespruce goes through the woods, and wolves can be dangerous.”

  “Wolves don’t just attack for fun,” I say. “Everything I’ve heard about Faerwyvae suggests this is a lush and plentiful land. If there are wolves, they aren’t some starving, rabid beasts. If any were spotted nearby, they were probably caught going about their daily business.”

  Nina doesn’t seem at all placated. “But they could be fae wolves.” She says fae in a whisper, as if the word is a curse.

  I give her a pointed look. “You know as well as I do that there are severe penalties for fae attacking humans here.”

  “How are you not afraid?” She stomps her foot in frustration. “We still know so little about this isle and the creatures who rule here.”

  To be honest, beneath my excitement and relief lies an element of fear. We spent our whole lives thinking the fae were creatures of myth. It wasn’t until we moved to Bretton, which is just across the channel from Faerwyvae, that we learned the mysterious isle is as real as the legends said. And many of the legends were terrifying, describing vicious wars, terrible beasts, deadly bargains. But there were a few accounts that seemed far easier to believe, describing two wars between the humans and the fae. The first ended in a treaty long ago, while the second ended just about twenty years ago after the fae protected the humans from Bretton’s armed forces. This resulted in Faerwyvae’s independence from the mainland, and its perimeter was sealed with magic.

  So, yes, I admit I may be a little afraid. And yet, I know the difference between reality and fantasy. From what little experience I’ve had with the fae so far, I find it easier to believe they’re a race of people who ended an unjust war than monsters who steal children in the night.

  Besides, at the end of the day, my determination outweighs my fear. It’s what draws me outside to get more books when I’d rather remain locked indoors. It’s what helps me sneak behind Father’s back, sending out job inquiries no matter how much I know he would disapprove. It’s what will take me into the woods tomorrow, seeking my freedom.

  Nina must sense my resolve, for she clasps her hands together in a pleading gesture. “At least take an escort.”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  She pales. “Of course not! I’m not the crazy one.”

  I open my mouth in a mock gasp. “You’d leave your dear old sister to face her doom rather than accompany me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “At least take Susan.”

  I release a resigned sigh. “Very well. I’ll take Susan.”

  She gives me a satisfied nod. “Good. That way when the wolves get you, she can tell everyone where to find your body.”

  I try to glare, but it turns into a laugh as she settles back into her seat. We fall into silence, and I pick my book back up. As much as I want to read it, my mind is brimming with thoughts, hopes, and possibilities.

  This time tomorrow, I might have a job. Saints above, please make it so.

  I lied when I said I’d take Susan. I may trust the maid’s discretion, but that trust only goes so far. I doubt she’d act so strongly against my father’s wishes by escorting me to a job interview in the woods. Luckily, by the time Nina discovers my betrayal, I’ll be back home safe and sound, hopefully with word of my great success. She and Father are already out for the day, with Nina taking tea with her fiancé’s family and Father likely talking business somewhere. Neither are expected back any time soon. It does mean, however, that the carriage is long gone, and I dare not order a driving service. Trusting my family’s own driver would be risky enough, so perhaps it’s for the best I’m walking.

  And when I say for t
he best, I mean it’s the absolute worst. Snow crunching under my boots, soaking the hem of my skirt and coat. I’ve worn my most modest and austere dress, the gray satin patterned with black roses, the bodice covered with ivory lace that reaches the top of my neck. I only hope I look the part. I still can hardly believe I’m about to be interviewed for house steward. The job is similar to the work I’ve done before, managing my former household’s day-to-day, our servants, and our expenses. But that was for a modest dwelling in Bretton. I’m not sure what to expect at thirty-three Whitespruce Lane.

  I reach the outskirts of town, grateful that the streets are nearly empty this far from the market square. Seeing the sparser homes and lack of incessant foot traffic almost makes me wish Father would have chosen a house for us out here, and not mere blocks away from the melee of town. Then again, if we lived on the outskirts, I’d have to walk even farther to get to the bookshop, bypass even more people…

  I suppress a shudder.

  Then an even more sobering thought occurs to me. If I get this job, where will I live? Will Father kick me out at once? Will the job provide room and board? Is there housing a single woman can afford in Vernon?

  It’s enough to send a rush of panic to heat my cheeks, but I breathe it away. Such concerns are irrelevant for now. First, I must actually get the job.

  The trees at the edge of town come into view. The homes grow even smaller, sparser, the snow less trodden through. Paved roads and sidewalks turn to dirt paths. Thankfully there is a path, and the one that leads to Whitespruce Lane appears to have had some recent traffic. That comes as a relief, considering Nina’s sensible warnings do occupy a corner of my mind.

  I follow the trail to the first copse of trees. Only now does true silence settle around me. If I thought the outskirts of Vernon were quiet, then out here at the mouth of the forest is something else entirely. There is some sound, of course, like the crunch of my boots on snow, the pitter-patter of falling flakes, the rustling of trees. But gone are the sounds of wagon wheels, car horns, horse hooves, and stampedes of chatting people.

  Out here it’s…peaceful.

  It reminds me of home. Of Isola, where I was raised as a child. The climate may have been opposite of where I am now, but the peace…it’s achingly similar. In Isola, we lived in the country on several acres of land. Mother tended her horses, and Father oversaw the mining operations. Every night, I’d fall asleep to the melodies of coyotes, and in the morning, I’d wake with the silent sun.

  My heart clenches, and for a moment, I can almost feel Mother’s arms again, warm and strong as they wrap around me while we sit on our front porch together, watching a blushing sunrise climb over the mountains.

  I blink, realizing I’ve come to a halt.

  Shaking the memories from my mind, I focus on the present. I’ve come to a fork in the road where other paths branch off from here. I study the wooden pole adorned with street names and find Whitespruce Lane. It’s the largest path to the left.

  I take off down it, following as it takes on a slight incline. Here, the snow seems to accumulate a little deeper than it does in town. Unlike the path that led me here, Whitespruce doesn’t seem quite as travel-worn, but there are still signs of earlier foot traffic. However, I’m required to lift my skirts and coat to avoid my hems dragging even further into the snow.

  With every step, I watch for branching paths, seeking out signs bearing house numbers hidden somewhere among the trees and snow. So far, there’s nothing to indicate a ten or twenty Whitespruce Lane, much less a thirty-three. And yet I keep walking, trying to regain my earlier feeling of peace and not the dread that’s beginning to claw at the back of my mind. The silence no longer feels nostalgic and welcoming. It feels…ominous. Not only that, but it’s colder here, darker beneath the trees that grow ever denser.

  And…is that the sound of movement I hear just ahead, rustling in the undergrowth? No, it’s to the side. No, behind me.

  A wave of panic urges me to stop, and I obey, halting in my tracks. The skin prickles up the back of my neck, and all I can think is that I should turn around and go home, now before it’s too late. But too late for what? Surely, I’m just letting my sister’s worry get to my head. This fear I’m feeling…it’s just like what happens when I leave the house, isn’t it? But comparing the two kinds of fear leaves me realizing how vastly different they are. The kind that keeps me often indoors—heart racing when I think of crowds of townspeople—is rooted in memory, in strands of pain laced through my heart and mind. But this…the way my senses grow alert to every sight and sound, skin pebbling over my arms and neck, the calm knowing that I am not where I’m supposed to be…it’s something else.

  But the interview, another part of me says. I’m so close. So close. This is the first interview I’ve been offered, and who knows when I’ll receive another. I can’t give up now.

  Swallowing my fear, I take another step forward, then another. I hurry my pace, eyes darting everywhere for—thank the saints above. There, just ahead, is a wooden sign that reads thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, nailed to a tree at the mouth of a branching path. I quicken my pace again, pulling my skirts even higher as I close the distance between me and the sign. My heart is in my throat by the time I reach it, sweat pooling beneath my armpits. I want to feel joy. Relief. But all I feel is a warning to get indoors as quickly as I can.

  Without a second thought, I turn at the sign and start down the narrow path.

  And there I come to a halt once again, the blood draining from my face.

  No more than a dozen feet in front of me is an enormous creature with shaggy brown fur, golden eyes, and long, snarling teeth.

  “Well, shit,” I mutter under my breath. “There really are wolves.”

  6

  All my bravado about how wolves don’t attack for fun seems like idiocy now that one of the beasts is before me. This creature is nothing like the timid little coyotes from my childhood in Isola. No, this is a towering giant with paws the size of frying pans and a muzzle almost as big as my face. The wolf lets out a growl that reverberates deep into my bones, sending every hair on my body to stand on end.

  “Easy,” I say, voice quavering as I hold up my hands in surrender. But what do saintsforsaken wolves know about human hand gestures?

  Wait…unless…

  Keeping my voice calm and even, I say, “Are you one of the fae?”

  The only answer I receive is a padding step toward me.

  I take three steps back. “If you are, I am not here to harm you or your kind, and it is highly illegal for you to attack me.”

  The wolf’s growl deepens, muzzle rippling with a snarl.

  Okay, so this is either a normal wolf or a fae who doesn’t give a damn about the law. Neither thought is comforting. I take a few more steps back. “Easy. I’m leaving now, so…just go ahead and let me go on my way—”

  Another growl, but this time from behind me. I whirl around and find two more wolves coming down the path, blocking my way to the main road.

  Saints above, this isn’t good. I have no weapon, no skill in fighting off wolves. When it comes to the coyotes, all one must do is stand tall, yell, and act aggressive. I watched Mother do it when they’d try to steal our chickens, but something tells me that won’t work on these vicious beasts.

  Their growls grow louder as they pad closer, then they begin to circle me. I keep my trembling arms outstretched to the sides, warding them away, although it isn’t much of a defense. All it means is they might eat my arms first. And for the love of all things holy, I don’t want any part of me eaten.

  Sweat coats my brow as I whip my head side to side, trying not to let any of the wolves out of my sight for more than a second as they continue to circle me, snarling, growling, and baring their impossibly sharp teeth. My heart beats so hard, I fear it might explode. Perhaps that would be a mercy compared to what these wolves are about to do.

  I have but one hope left. “Help!” I shout at the top of my lungs. If th
irty-three Whitespruce Lane is somewhere at the end of this path, then someone on the premises might hear me. “Help!” I call again, but the wolves only growl louder. Then suddenly, they stop.

  The first one I saw, the shaggy brown, lowers its head, legs staggered, one paw curled under and lifted as if preparing to leap for an attack.

  I call for help one more time, but the words dry in my throat.

  The wolf leaps for me.

  I scream, squeezing my eyes shut as I shield my face.

  And…the attack doesn’t come. The snarls continue, but they’re mingled with sounds of commotion. I dare to open my eyes and find a fourth wolf—just as enormous as the others but with snow-white fur—has tackled the shaggy brown and is locked in combat off to the side of the path. The two other wolves watch the battle, pacing anxiously, ears pressed close to their skulls.

  This is my chance to flee.

  I turn and take off toward the main road, but a flash of brown darts before me. Another wolf blocks my path, this one smaller than the others, but still just as angry, teeth bared as it closes in on me. Three more small wolves leap from the underbrush and onto the path. I whirl back around and find the fighting has cleared away from the trail and sounds of combat have died down. The three larger wolves remain, however, eyes locked on me as they too begin to approach.

  No, not again.

  An ear-shattering growl rips through the air, and I turn toward it. From behind the group of small wolves stands the white wolf, hackles raised. It lets out a booming bark, making me nearly jump out of my skin. But it isn’t barking at me. It’s barking at the other wolves.

  The small ones are the first to flee, scurrying off the trail and out of sight. Another bark sends the large ones darting after them, tails between their legs.

  The white wolf—a male—locks his gaze with mine, his eyes a startling shade of dark ruby. Then a voice reaches my ears, deep and gravelly. “It seems I have saved you.”

  The wolf didn’t open his mouth to speak, but I know the words somehow came from him. I shudder with an inner chill. So, this must be a fae wolf. “I…thank you,” I say through chattering teeth.