Her Ugly Monster (book 1)

by Kaylee Rymer

  “Go to sleep,” Weegel said from afar.

  Ivora’s eyes shot open. “Weegel! Come back!”

  “I’m right here.”

  His face appeared before her, and there he was, yellow eyes, red hair and thick horns. The light cast a golden glow on his skin, outlining the contours of his face, and her heart fluttered.

  Weegel had never looked more like a work of art — smudged watermarks and charcoal. She promised herself that one day she would paint him.

  Ivora smiled. “Don’t... don’t listen to a word they say, Weegel.”

  He blinked in confusion. “What?”

  “You’re... beautiful.”

  Weegel stared in stunned silence. Then he gave a small laugh. “I think you really did have too much wine.”

  “N-no, you... you are...”

  He stopped and gazed down at her amused. His pupils overtook his eyes, making him look all doe-eyed and innocent, and she lost herself in their depths. It really wasn’t the wine talking; he really was beautiful.

  Weegel reached into his pocket and pulled out a wooden figurine. “I forgot to give you this earlier. It was meant to be your birthday present.”

  Ivora’s eyes welled with tears when she saw it was a horse. “B-Belle?” she whispered.

  Weegel scratched his head. “Yeah... I made it after I found her in the woods and buried her. The least I could do.”

  She took the horse and turned it in her hand. It looked exactly like Belle, strong, lean and graceful, and a strange swell of emotion engulfed her. “Thank you. I... love it.”

  He sighed, and his whole posture relaxed. “I was hoping you would.”

  Ivora sat up and stretched out a hand. Weegel froze when her palm touched his cheek, his yellow eyes wide and alert. She brushed a thumb over his lips, enjoying the shape and texture. He had a prominent Cupid’s bow and a thick lower lip, and she wondered what they’d be like to kiss.

  Slowly, she leaned her head forward. Weegel closed his eyes, breathing in anticipation. Ivora’s mouth parted, eager for his kiss, but then Sir Varius’ face flew up from nowhere.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she pushed away, feeling her heart thrashing.

  Silence fell across the cave. The only sound Weegel’s rapid breaths. A lump formed in her throat, and she lay back down, wishing to be rid of the knight. His phantom touch still lingered on her lips, and she cursed herself yet again for letting the vampire get the better of her.

  Weegel remained frozen. She glanced up.

  His brows were crumpled in confusion, but she recognised the hunger in his eyes. Now she thought she finally understood what he couldn’t tell her in the kitchen, and shame and guilt cut through her chest.

  Ivora buried her face in her pillow, and he soon got up and left.

  Her heart broke to pieces, and she cried herself to sleep.

  Why didn’t she just kiss him?

  Curse that Sir Varius.

  15. Weegel

  Frozen needles crunched beneath Weegel’s boots. Nothing stirred in the trees. Absolute silence. Perfect.

  He gave a sigh and his breath billowed like a cloud.

  Winter was fast approaching. Every branch and rock glittered with frost. Soon the entire landscape would be covered in snow.

  Weegel couldn’t understand why the humans hated winter. Summer was hot and sticky and made him sweat. Since the cold had never been a problem for him, he embraced the season like an old friend.

  Ivy, on the other hand, would be in for a treat.

  However, there was always the danger of an avalanche up in the mountains. Snow also made hunting more difficult — deer don’t frolic as much as they do in the spring. Even his traps were becoming bare. Rabbits were getting smarter. Weegel was sure they were teaching their offspring how to detect his snares.

  Weegel could go without regular meals for weeks, but he wasn’t sure how Ivy would cope. She couldn’t expect to survive the winter on porridge. The rations were running short; Ivy had depleted a shelf in a month. Even her bag of oats was shrinking.

  They hadn’t spoken much since the night of her birthday. That had been a week and a half ago. Ivy avoided his gaze whenever they passed in the tunnel, and she’d mumble if he asked her a question.

  Weegel would do anything to erase that night from his memory. No amount of wine or ale could make him forget the sensation of her soft breath against his lips.

  When she’d leaned in to kiss him, his heart felt ready to burst from his chest. His palms turned sweaty and his mouth dried up, but he couldn’t deny the sweet anticipation of her lips, and the feeling like you’re floating high in the heavens.

  But then she’d pulled away, and he crashed back down to earth again.

  Why had she stopped?

  “Maybe your breath smelled,” Rosemary said.

  Weegel ground his teeth. “Shut up.”

  “Or maybe she thought your lips were gross. Cracked, bloody, full of sores...”

  Weegel felt his lips. They really weren’t as bad as Rosemary described. In fact, he’d always been rather proud of his mouth. His lower lip was bigger than his top lip, and he had a pronounced philtrum that added depth to his face.

  Maybe Ivy had agreed too.

  A shuffling sound brought him out of his reverie, and he peered towards a bush.

  He had placed one of his traps there.

  Weegel crept towards the bush and pried the branches apart. A rabbit hung suspended by a snare, its soft toes grazing the frosted ground, and he moved forward to cut it free.

  He lifted it by the scruff of its neck, meeting its prominent dead eyes, and grimaced. It was like the rabbit was staring into his soul. A split in its upper lip revealed snarling incisors.

  How in the world could humans find these creatures cute? Rabbits were always depicted sweet in their illustrations, but this one resembled its rodent cousin — the rat.

  Yet why did a hard lump form in his throat when he glanced over its brown fur? It had a white underbelly and a cottontail that could be described as adorable.

  The rabbit’s protruding eyes transformed into Ivy’s next, and he shook his head. Since when did rabbits remind him of Ivy?

  He tied the rabbit to his belt and continued his hike around the mountain.

  Another twenty snares to go.

  WEEGEL ARRIVED BACK at the mountain by dusk.

  He’d only found three rabbits, but they should last him several weeks — salt should do the trick in preserving their shelf life.

  He winced on his way up the tunnel. A strong, sweet smell burned his nostrils.

  Weegel entered the kitchen, wafting thick smoke away. Ivy sat at the table, poking at the contents of a bowl.

  “That smells... delightful,” he lied. “What is it? Burned sawdust?”

  Ivy frowned. “No, porridge. A very nutritious breakfast.”

  Weegel shifted his eyes. “But... it’s dusk...”

  She threw her spoon down and pressed those plump lips together. “And your point is?”

  Weegel glanced at the bag of oats. It slumped miserably in the corner, wishing to be loved once again.

  “Porridge at dawn, now porridge at dusk,” he said. “Seems like we’re finally running out of things to eat.”

  She scowled up at him. “What are you trying to say?”

  He took a seat at the table. “You need to eat meat.”

  Ivy pursed her lips. It was the third time they’d had this discussion; if Ivy wanted to survive the winter, she had to give up on her love for animals and eat meat. Simple.

  Weegel grabbed a rabbit from his belt and flung it onto the table. Ivy flinched when she spotted it, and those big green eyes rippled like pools. No doubt she thought the rabbit looked as adorable as one of those illustrations.

  “You don’t mind if I skin my rabbit here, do you?” he asked.

  “No. Go ahead.” She rose from her seat and moved out of the cave.

  “You don’t want to stay and watch?” he said, pulling ou
t a knife.

  She whirled around. “Of course not. Why would I want to watch such a barbaric act?”

  Weegel cut into the rabbit’s fur. “It’s not barbaric if it’s already dead.”

  Ivy sighed. “Look... I said no. You know I have no interest in skinning animals.”

  “Then you have no interest in survival. It’s not that hard. Just watch.” He yanked the pelt off the rabbit, revealing its red flesh beneath.

  Ivy squealed and covered her eyes. “Stop! You’re disgusting!”

  Weegel sniggered. “Well, I’ve been called far worse lately... beautiful, for one.”

  Ivy’s cheeks glowed bright pink, and she turned the other way.

  He groaned and placed a bloody hand to his forehead. He’d been prepared to forget that embarrassing night ever happened. She’d been drunk, it wasn’t fair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  She regarded him from the corner of her eye. “It’s fine. I... shouldn’t have insulted you.”

  Silence merged between them. It happened a lot, Weegel noticed. Fighting, then endless silence, but never kissing. Maybe that was what married life was like?

  He shook the last thought away and went back to skinning the rabbit. Blood dripped from the table, and he released a sigh. Why didn’t he think to put a cloth out?

  Ivy still hovered in the doorway.

  “Well, aren’t you leaving?” he said.

  She straightened. “I was just about to.”

  Ivy left through the door. Weegel called out after her. “You’ve seen the rations, Ivy. We’re running short. So you’re joining me on my hunting trip tomorrow.”

  She stopped and met his eyes. “No...”

  “You have no other choice. It’s either starvation or learning a valuable skill.”

  Her top lip curled, revealing a perfect pair of canines. “It’s not a skill. It’s murder. You’re...” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away.

  Weegel rose from his seat as it scraped against the floor. “What were you about to say?”

  Ivy cleared her throat. “You... heard me...”

  He moved around the table and took slow, deliberate steps towards her. She held her chin high, trying to look brave, but he could see she was nervous.

  “Watch your tongue,” he said carefully. “I’m many things, but not a murderer.”

  She trembled with nerves, and he rolled his eyes and returned to the table. “I know you love animals, Ivy, but you need to see sense. You will starve.”

  Ivy closed her eyes as if in prayer. His heart clenched watching her there, silent and torn, and he rubbed his face, groaning when the blood dripped down his cheeks. “What... what if I taught you to kill them in a way that caused the least amount of suffering? Would that help?”

  She hung her head. “That’s... exactly what my father used to say.”

  Weegel pursed his lips in agreement. “Well, he’s a smart man.”

  Ivy released a deep breath. “But... I’d still be taking an innocent life. I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “I won’t let you waste yourself away, Ivy. I’d kill a thousand deer before I ever let that happen.”

  Her brows furrowed together as she looked at him with the most peculiar expression. Then she shut her eyes and gave a quiet nod.

  “So, that’s a yes? You’ll join me?”

  Ivy nodded again, and relief coursed through every fibre of Weegel’s being.

  “Thank goodness,” he said. “Thought I was going to have to pin you to the ground at some point and force-feed you, but I’m proud of you, Ivy. You’ve made the right choice.”

  She flinched as if he’d just spat at her and dashed out the room. Weegel scratched the back of his head. Was it something he said?

  “Meet me by the entrance tunnel at dawn tomorrow, and we’ll get started!”

  He fell back in his seat and pulled on his hair. “Ugh, she is trying my patience.”

  HE FOUND HER BY THE entrance tunnel the next morning, wrapped in that flimsy blue cloak. Her teeth chattered while she stared out at a fresh sheet of ice.

  Weegel handed her his quiver.

  Ivy grabbed it, mystified. “Why are you giving me this?”

  Weegel shrugged. “Thought you might like the honour.”

  Her eyes moved to the bow at his shoulder. “Well, can I hold the bow, too?”

  He covered the bow with his fleece. “Certainly not. It cost a mountain of gold. You’re not quite there yet.”

  She tossed the quiver over her shoulder and stomped out the cave.

  Weegel pinched the bridge of his nose. Today should be fun.

  WEEGEL POINTED THE arrow and let go. It hit the mark he’d carved on a tree, and he gushed with pride. He turned to Ivy, expecting her to be impressed, but she merely shivered like a leaf.

  He beckoned her over. “Come here.”

  She glanced up, cheeks red with the cold, and moved closer. Weegel straightened her posture and kicked her legs apart.

  “I can move my own legs, you know,” she said.

  “Well, you seem to be in a world of your own right now, so it’s the only way, I’m afraid.”

  She eyed the bow. “So does this mean I can hold the bow now?”

  “No. You will learn all the proper steps before I give you my most prized possession.”

  She sighed. “Fine. So what’s next, teacher?”

  “You determine your dominant eye.”

  Ivy put her hands on her hips. “How do I do that without holding the bow?”

  Weegel smiled and formed a triangle with his hands. “You move the triangle close to your face, and whichever eye it’s most drawn to, that’s your dominant eye. Mine’s my left, see.”

  She gave him a scathing look and formed a triangle. It appeared she was left eye dominant too.

  Weegel chuckled. “Left eye dominant, like me. Lucky you.”

  “Now can I hold the bow?”

  He tapped a finger to his chin, taking a moment to consider. She didn’t look the least impressed.

  “All right,” he said, “but not without my careful assistance.”

  Weegel moved around behind her and positioned the bow in her hands. Then he took an arrow from the quiver and placed it in her other hand. “First, point the bow towards the ground, and place the arrow on the rest. See the groove at the end of the arrow? That’s the nock and you attach it to the drawstring. Got it?”

  She nodded, repeating his instructions.

  “Now hold the arrow in place with three fingers,” he adjusted her fingers so that one finger was above the arrow, and another two were below. “Then point the arrow at the target, keeping your elbow parallel to the ground. Can you see down the spine of the arrow?”

  She gave another nod.

  “Now, pull the drawstring towards your face,” he placed a hand over hers and guided her arms. “Always keep your arms relaxed and elbow raised and pull until the string feels tight. Is the target in sight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shoot.”

  Ivy let go, and the arrow whizzed through the air, hitting the target. Weegel stared, impressed. Where did she learn to shoot like that?

  She faced him, grinning wide from ear to ear, and then went completely still.

  Weegel’s heart beat on his tongue as he lost himself in her perfect greens, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

  What were they even doing again?

  A branch cracked to their right, and they both turned. A doe stood between the trees fifteen yards away.

  Weegel’s heart accelerated. The first deer he’d seen in weeks.

  “Ivy... shoot...”

  Ivy gazed at the doe helplessly, her eyes wide and awe-struck.

  Weegel ground his teeth. “Ivy. Shoot. Now.”

  She glanced from Weegel to the doe, a conflicting series of expressions playing across her innocent face.

  “Ivy...”

  Her lips trembled as she watched the d
eer, tears pooling in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head.

  Weegel growled and ripped the bow from her fingers and aimed for the deer. In his haste he missed, and the doe scampered off, flashing its white tail.

  He rounded on her at once. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

  She still stared wide-eyed after the doe, bottom lip wiggling like a pathetic child’s. “I... I couldn’t...”

  Weegel bared his fangs. “That deer could have seen us through the winter. Who knows when the next one will show!”

  His words echoed through the woods. Birds took flight from a nearby tree.

  She gave a shuddery sigh, a tear dripping down her cheek.

  “You will never be a bowman,” he said. “In fact, you can go ahead and starve this winter for all I care.”

  She looked back up, and her eyes vanished behind a veil of tears. She dropped the quiver at his feet and ran off into the forest.

  Weegel took two fistfuls of his hair and released a frustrated yell. More birds took flight.

  He shouldn’t have yelled at her, but she’d made him mad. No one had ever made him feel so many emotions all at once: irritation, anger, joy...

  He turned to the area of the forest where the deer vanished, eager to track it down and kill it, but his mind wandered back to Ivy, and he followed her instead.

  The deer can wait. Ivy can’t.

  HE FOUND HER LYING face-down on her bed, silent as a rock. It was probably worse than her crying. Weegel may not know a lot about human women, but when they’re silent, it was bad.

  A part of him had the idea she may run away, which was why he got home in time. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to her.

  Weegel sat on her bed, and the scent of heather wafted up from the sheets. The last time he’d been in her room was when she’d almost kissed him, and his mind reeled.

  Not the best moment to remember their almost kiss.

  Ivy didn’t even acknowledge he was in the room, and he knew he deserved it.

  “You deserve everything you’re about to get, you miserable little wretch,” Rosemary said.

  “I’m... sorry I yelled.”