by Madison Faye
Beasting Beauty
Possessing Beauty: Book 1
Madison Faye
Contents
Beasting Beauty
Mailing List
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Stealing Beauty
Chapter 1
Also by Madison Faye
About the Author
Mailing List
Beasting Beauty
One taste of her sweet untouched innocence, and I’ll lose all control…
They call me a beast, though I was a prince, once. I still am, even if I’ve spent the last four years shutting myself away from the world because of the darkness inside of me.
But royal duty has left me no choice but to attend a “suitor’s ball” in a neighboring kingdom. Finding a wife is the very last thing on my mind, until the moment I lay eyes on her - the far too sweet, far too innocent, far too untouchable Princess Isla.
One look at those big dark eyes and luscious curves, and I need to possess her.
One taste of those lips, and I lose control of the beast inside.
One touch of her soft, untouched body against mine, and she belongs to me.
Forget that she’s off-limits. Forget that she’s never been touched. Forget the darkness hanging over my head and clawing at my past. I’m claiming this princess tonight.
First, I’ll take her as my queen. Then, I’ll take her in my bed.
Princess Isla’s unchained the beast, and I won’t rest until I’ve claimed her in every way I can.
*Please note that each of the Possessing Beauty books are completely standalone stories centered around one couple, with no cliffhangers.
Beasting Beauty is a quick and filthy modern twist on a fairytale involving a dark, utterly obsessed alpha hero and enough insta-love, kindle-melting steam, and sugary-sweetness to give you the vapors. If you love over-the-top, slightly unrealistic, and wildly dirty stories, this one’s for you! HEA with NO CHEATING!
Copyright © 2017 Madison Faye
All rights reserved.
Editing: Sennah Tate
Cover: Coverlüv
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
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Chapter 1
Isla
I gasped as the corset top tightened, glaring at my sister in the mirror.
“You did that on purpose.”
Ilana grinned at me, her big blue eyes twinkling mischievously as she finished pulling at the back of the dress.
“A little.”
I stuck my tongue out at my oldest sister as she finished lacing up the back and stood back, appraising her handiwork.
“Well, you can thank me now, because you look hot.”
I made a face in the mirror, glancing at the pile of dark blonde hair balanced on top of my head, the perfectly applied makeup around my dark eyes and full lips, and the — admittedly — gorgeous gown that now flowed down from my exposed shoulders like a yellow and gold chiffon waterfall.
Okay, yes, I looked fantastic. I looked beautiful. I looked poised. I looked put together, and regal, and like a perfect porcelain doll ready to be placed on a shelf. I looked exactly how a princess should look.
Which is exactly why I frowned at what I saw in that mirror.
I hated having to “look the part,” and I definitely hated having to go to things like the ball tonight.
Our father, the reigning King of Avlion, finally acquiescing to our mother’s complaints, had finally agreed that it was high time for Ilana, Imogen, and I to start finding suitable matches for marriage.
High time indeed.
I was eighteen already, Ilana was three years my senior, Imogen two, and we’d never even been on a normal date. Because no, chaperoned, forty-person dinners, lawn parties, and balls don’t count as dates.
But that was changing. King Lucian, our father and lord of our kingdom, was finally looking for eligible men of the right means and pedigree to marry his daughters, and tonight’s ball was our grand unveiling. And not just us, either. There were a number of eligible princesses that were now at marrying age who’d be joining us in this ridiculously antiquated function. It was silly. I mean, we did live in a kingdom, in a castle and all of that, but that didn’t mean we had to pretend we were in King Arthur’s time or something.
Well, tonight we did, apparently. Tonight, we’d pretend we didn’t live in the age of the internet, and dating apps, and Facebook, and instead we’d spend the evening dancing with eligible princes, to a string quartet, in gowns.
Welcome to the 21st century, right?
And the other thing of it was, this whole princess thing was all lost on me. On Ilana though? Well on my older sister, it fit like a freaking glove. She had the long blonde tangles, the big blue eyes, the perfect waist-to-hips ratio, the dainty demeanor — all of it. She knew when to curtsey, when to “demure” her eyes, when to use the right titles, or the right serving forks.
In short, she was the ideal princess. I mean, honestly, the fact that I’d never walked in on her having a singalong with woodland creatures actually shocked me.
But me? Well, let’s just say I’d never mastered the curtsey and I had no idea which fork to use, for anything. Ilana fit the part — she played the role perfectly. But I’d known young the whole “princess” thing was going to be a sticking point with me. I preferred the library to the ballroom. I preferred bare feet to heels, jeans to gowns, and a quiet night curled up with a book to one spent twirling around with handsy, rich, pompous windbags trying to marry their way into my father’s titles. Not to mention my bed.
Yeah, no thanks.
“You two ready to go yet?”
Imogen stuck her head into my room. God, that dress looked amazing on her. Chartreuse green with gold trim which played off her fire-red hair perfectly and made her emerald green eyes pop.
“Oh, c’mon, Isla, maybe try smiling tonight?”
I rolled my eyes at both of my sisters, doing my best to hide the grin. In spite of both of them being “perfect” princesses, I knew neither of them was thrilled about all this e
ither. It wasn’t Ilana’s fault that she’d been born blonde, and and blue eyed, and knowing when to say the right things. Just like it wasn’t Imogen’s for being born taller than either of us, with crazy long legs, perfect cheekbones, and killer wavy hair. They just both fell into the role we all had to play a little more naturally than I did.
“Can’t we just skip this, go lock ourselves in the media room, and watch movies and stuff our faces with ice cream all night?”
“I am so down for that,” Imogen groaned, sinking onto the corner of my bed. “Tonight is going to blow.”
Ilana groaned. “Don’t tempt me, cause I would totally blow this off if I didn’t think mom and dad would kill us if we did.”
I giggled. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Isla, I think dad would notice if we weren’t there tonight.”
I made a pouty face in the mirror.
“Besides,” Imogen sighed. “On the bright side, this is dad actually letting us date.”
“As if it’s the seventeen hundreds, sure.”
Ilana laughed. “Oh calm down. It could actually be fun, you know. Yeah, there are some douchey princes out there—”
“Some?”
She grinned, rolling her eyes at me. “Okay, there are a lot of douchebag princes out there. But there are some hot, nice ones too.” She sighed. “And like it to not, Iz, we are of marrying age. We can’t hang out in mom and dad’s castle forever.”
“Watch me.”
They both giggled, and Ilana shook her head.
“Well, that’s happening, because that’s our role to play. And it’s not like you have any prospects.”
“I do too.”
Ilana’s brow cocked as she glanced at Imogen. “Oh, really?”
I held my head high, avoiding both of their smirking eyes as I turned back to feign fixing my hair in the mirror. “Yep.”
Imogen snorted. “Like?”
“What?”
She finally caught my gaze in the mirror and gave me a look. “You’re dodging the question.”
“No I’m not.”
“Fine.” Ilana shrugged. “So who’s the lucky man then?”
I glanced down. “Prince Aaron,” I mumbled.
“Speak up.”
I signed. “Prince Aaron, if you really must know.”
My older sisters exploded in laughter. “Prince Aaron of Londaria?” Ilana’s grin was huge across her face. “Isla, that’s four kingdoms over, and you’ve met once.”
“And he was very nice,” I snapped back.
“He smiled at you and held a door for you, and that was once, a year ago.”
“Well that’s nice isn’t it?” I muttered.
“Have you spoken since?”
I didn’t answer Imogen.
“I didn’t think so.” Ilana sighed. “Look, I know it’s not our ideal Saturday night, but tonight’s going be good for you, you know. For all of us.”
“No it's not.”
“You do look great.”
“Well…”
“And there’ll be lots of princes tonight.”
“Maybe I don’t want a prince.”
“Tell that to our father,” Imogen muttered as she stood and checked her hair in the mirror.
I snorted. Yeah, right.
“Hey,” Ilana elbowed me in the ribs and winked. “You might even get lucky.”
Now that was a joke. Under King Lucian’s castle roof, you could be damn sure all three of his daughters were virgins. I had a hard time imagining that changing tonight.
Ilana took one more look in the mirror, smoothing down her gorgeous blue sequined gown and smoothing her perfectly plaited and bobby-pinned blonde hair.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed.
She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, dear sisters. Let’s go find ourselves some husbands.”
Imogen rolled her eye at me over Ilana’s shoulder. “Oh my God, what year is—”
“And if I hear either of you moaning about ‘what year it is’ or if I hear the word ‘antiquated,’ I swear I’m pushing you into the punch bowl.”
I grinned and stuck my tongue out at her. “Fine. Let’s go get this over with."
Chapter 2
Logan
“Drink up, let’s get going.”
Cade glanced at me, his arms crossed over the tuxedo pulled tight across his thick chest. I was nursing my drink, and my best friend knew it.
“Dude,” Magnus, across our little circle from me, paused to finish slugging back the last of his scotch. He leaned back against the stone guardhouse wall, rolling his eyes at me. “I mean no one’s forcing you to—”
Caspian, Cade’s twin brother, quickly shut him up with as slug to the arm.
Magnus frowned, shooting me a wincing look. “Right, sorry dude.”
I just shook my head, gritting my teeth and swirling the scotch in my glass. “Forget about it.”
No one’s forcing me to be here.
I could almost laugh. No one was, and I didn’t have to be there that night. But not coming was another step towards the inevitable. It was one more step into the darkness that was slowly consuming me from the inside out.
No going to that stupid fucking ball that night was one more step towards changing, forever.
“So, gents,” Magnus flashed one of his famously lady-killing grins. “Ready to head in there and see what King Lucian has on the buffet for us tonight?”
We’d been killing time out by the castle’s west gate guardhouse, having a quick drink before we headed in.
Caspian rolled his eyes, and Cade just shook his head. “You’re ridiculous, Mags.”
“Make hay while the sun shines, gentleman. Make hay.”
Even I had to grin at that one. The four of us — all princes of our own respective kingdoms, had been friends forever. After all, we were rich, we were royalty, and we had generations of perfectly selected breeding behind us. We were handsome, built, and cocky as shit, and we reveled in that.
Well, at least we all had been that. They still were. Me? I was dealing with the darkness.
Magnus though, was lately enjoying some heightened notoriety from a tabloid piece that’d just run a month ago on him. Apparently, some blabber-mouth of a duchess has gone to the media to sell the story on her “torrid affair” with our buddy Magnus Jameson. Including his — shall we say — measurements.
The story had run, and had re-dubbed Magnus “Prince Magnum.” Needless to say, the guy was reveling in his new name.
…Of course, I knew for a fact that I had a solid inch on dear Prince “Magnum,” but I wasn’t about to go write a fucking tabloid story about it.
“Hey, chill, Mags,” Cade muttered, glaring at our friend as he pulled a joint out of his tux. “Dude, put that shit away. This isn’t spring fucking break, this is a serious deal.”
“Oh, and I’m very serious about the whole thing, dude.” Magnus winked. “I’m very serious about seeing which ‘eligible bachelorette’ I can fuck so good tonight that she’ll be walking bow-legged tomorrow.”
Caspian snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Jesus, Mags.”
“You’re aware of King Lucian’s reputation, correct?” Cade growled. “This is a formal event, buddy. Keep your cock in your fucking tux tonight. And maybe let’s not break the fucking drugs out on Lucian’s fucking castle grounds.”
“Alright! Alright, Jesus,” Mags sighed. “Fine. Let’s go in there. Now if Logan here would just finish his fucking drin—”
“I AM!” I roared, suddenly slamming back the scotch and dashing the glass on the cobblestone walk. I whirled, and before any of them could even react, I had Magnus by the collar, slammed back against the wall, and one of my fist raised back.
I saw red. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to punch one of my best friends in the world through the goddamn wall.
…And I barely knew why.
I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in a breath. I exhaled slowly, h
anging on to the real me, still deep inside.
Barely.
Slowly, I let go of his tux and took a step back.
“Sorry,” I muttered, looking away from all of them. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool, man,” Magnus said, his voice gentle this time, without his usual bravado bullshit. I felt his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off
“It’s not,” I said quietly. “It’s not cool.”
“For real, don’t worry about it.” I glanced up at him, and he just nodded and smiled. “I coulda taken you anyways.”
I grinned back. We both knew that was complete bullshit, but it cut the tension.
Cade cleared his throat. “You in control?”
“Yes,” I growled.
Mostly.
“Lotta pretty girls in there, bud. You going to be okay?”
I glared at my friend. “What am I, twelve?”
“You know what I mean.”
He meant would being around that many nubile young princesses, and that many tantalizing glimpses and flashes of smiles and suggesting eyes might turn me.
They all worried about this, any time I was going to be around women after my curse.
…They couldn’t know how wrong they were.
It’d been four years since the curse — since the witch, or sorceress, or whatever the fuck she’d been. I’d thought she was just a girl at a bar I’d gone to incognito — trying to get away from my princely duties and all that shit for one damn night and just go have some random fun. I’d been chasing fleeting beauty that night, and she knew it.
Which is why she’d cursed me.
She’d cursed me to turn further and further away from the Prince I’d once been, and more into short-tempered, barely able to contain himself, barely in control of the animal inside, monster.
A beast.
You’d think that an array of gorgeous princesses looking for suitors would be just the damn thing to set me off. You’d think it’d be like setting a wolf loose on the lambs.
