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

by Tessonja Odette

  “Your gratitude is understandable,” he says, padding a few feet closer. The movement is less graceful than that of the other wolves, a slight hobble to his steps. “If the wolves had tried to eat you, you would not have survived.”

  I have no doubts he’s right, but I can’t bring myself to speak. It’s taking everything in me to remain on my feet. He pads even closer, and I take a few stumbling steps away. The wolf fae may have saved me, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe.

  The wolf speaks again. “Fae aren’t required to intervene where humans are concerned. Doing so can risk our lives.”

  I nod, the motion jarring and shaky. “I understand what you’ve done for me, and I appreciate it,” I manage to bite out.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the wolf is now smiling. “Ah, yes. I have done a brave thing, have I not? So very brave and dangerous. You must be…overwhelmed with shock that you are still alive.”

  Okay, what is he getting at? I narrow my eyes. “I am.”

  “So overwhelmed. So grateful. You must be feeling like you owe me your life.”

  My blood goes cold, his words chilling me. They reek far too much of the fae bargains I’ve heard about. The kind I thought were too fantastic to be real. Trying to recall everything I’ve heard in stories and legend, I choose my next words with care. “I feel like you’ve done a great kindness, sir…wolf.”

  “Yes, such a great kindness. I wonder…does it make you want to repay me for my kindness? Of your own free will and volition, of course.” He says the last part in a rush.

  I frown, taking a step away. “I must be going. I have an appointment at thirty-three Whitespruce Lane. I imagine it is just at the end of this path.” I point behind me, taking another step. Another.

  The wolf lets out a grumbling sigh. “What a shame you must be going, for I would like to speak with you more.” His voice has raised far louder than necessary, tone dry, each word enunciated.

  Before I can reply, the shaggy brown wolf from before leaps out of nowhere, charging straight for me. With a shout, I run, but again I’m saved by the white wolf. Rolling in a blur of snarls and teeth, they lock into battle, tumbling off the path and into the underbrush. I find myself alone on the trail; my moment for escape is now or never. But do I run toward thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, where—hopefully—shelter awaits? Or do I run to the main road and try to flee back to town before the wolves catch up with me? Both options pose risks I don’t have time to consider.

  Everything in me shouts to go home, screw the interview and screw whatever maniac invited me here instead of holding the meeting in a safe place. I take off back the way I came, skidding through snow trampled by wolves, and veer onto the main path. I’m half running, half sliding, as I race down the incline. I must be halfway back to the main fork when an enormous white shape comes into view.

  I pull to a halt, nearly losing my legs beneath me.

  The white wolf limps across the road, head lowered, his tongue lolling from his mouth. His back end is covered in bright red blood. He moans, an agonized sound, as he takes three more steps and collapses on the ground. “Oh!” he cries. “Oh, the pain. The agony. Please, help me.”

  Trembling head to toe, I approach the wolf. Part of me wants to skirt around him and claim my freedom, but when I see how much blood coats his back end, my heart softens. Besides, this isn’t just any wolf, this is a fae wolf. And there could be consequences for leaving a fae to die. With bated breath, I kneel at his side. I extend my hands toward him, but I don’t know what to do. I’ve hardly tended more than a scraped knee. What am I supposed to do with a wound this bad? And—oh, for the love of the saints—is his rear leg missing?

  “Oh, the pain,” the wolf says. “You must be thinking how brave I am yet again. How I have saved your life twice now.”

  It’s a strange thing to focus on when he’s clearly bleeding out, but I say, “Yes, again, I’m so grateful.”

  “Seeing me in such a state…I’m sure your heart is…warm, yes? You must be feeling very much in debt to me now. Your gratitude swells so overwhelmingly large that you want to…sacrifice something? Your greatest treasure, perhaps?”

  I ignore him and instead remove my coat, ready to try and staunch the bleeding from his back leg. But suspicion has me freezing in place. As I try to sort out where exactly to place my coat, I find no source of injury, no mangled flesh, no fresh oozing blood. I lean closer, and a familiar aroma tickles my senses. Is…is that…tomato sauce? I lean back and slowly rise to my feet.

  “What are you doing? Can’t you see the condition I’m in?”

  His terrible acting should have given it away at once, but I’d written it off as simply strange fae behavior.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he says, then twists his muzzle into the semblance of a grimace. “My leg. Oh, my poor leg.”

  “Your leg appears fine,” I say through my teeth, keeping as much calm as I can muster. Even though I now know I’m being tricked, my fear hasn’t lessened in the slightest. However, annoyance and fury are now mingling with it, giving me strength not to crumble.

  “Fine?” he echoes, irritation seeping into his tone. “My leg is clearly missing. How can that be fine?”

  “I agree it is missing, but there’s no evidence that it’s from a recent wound.”

  He lifts his head, eying me with that ruby gaze. “What about the red stuff?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you think I don’t know tomato sauce when I smell it?”

  With a huff, he rises to all three legs. That explains why I’d initially thought his movements held less grace than the other wolves. “So,” he says, “you don’t care to sacrifice your greatest treasure as a demonstration of your deep respect and admiration for me? Of your own free will and volition, that is.” Like before, the last part is said like an afterthought.

  My mouth falls open as I shoot him a sardonic look. “No.”

  “Very well.” With a shudder, the wolf disappears into a blur of white, only to leave a man in its place. A towering bear of a man with broad shoulders, a wild mane of long, dark, golden-brown hair, and a grizzly beard. The ruby color of his eyes is more subdued, seeming more like a shade of garnet, like the deepest, darkest wines. He hops on his left foot; the right limb ends at the knee and is hidden beneath the pinned-up leg of his brown trousers. Then, keeping his eyes fixed on me, he lets out a low whistle.

  At that, several humanlike figures, just as grizzled as the fae man, emerge from each side of the path. Something tells me these were the other wolves I encountered, just in new bodies. The realization is of no comfort. “What’s going on?” I ask, hating the quaver in my voice.

  No one answers me. A female with a weathered face and frizzy gray hair tosses the leader a long, gnarled staff that he catches midair. The top of the staff ends in a Y shape, which he props beneath his left arm. “On to phase two then,” he calls out.

  The others nod, then turn to face me. I don’t have to look behind me to know I’m surrounded. I can feel it in my bones. Chest heaving, I dare to ask, “What’s phase two?”

  A corner of the fae man’s mouth quirks beneath his bushy beard. “Take her.”

  7

  I can’t see a thing, but whispers fall upon my awareness. I stop struggling against the tight bonds that tie my wrists behind my back and secure my ankles to the legs of the chair beneath me. That’s all I know for sure—that I’m tied to a chair. I strain myself to lean forward, turning my head to the side as I try and make out the words the voices are saying, muffled as if coming from behind a door.

  That’s another thing I’m fairly certain of—I’m indoors. Blindfolded, bound, and gagged soon after I was surrounded by the wolf-people, I hadn’t seen where I was taken, but it didn’t take long to get me to where I am now. Despite my panicked screams stifled by the cloth covering my mouth as I was physically hauled over what felt like a shoulder, I recall the moment when the cool wind ceased stinging my face and the footsteps surroundi
ng me no longer crunched like boots on snow but pounded against solid floor, echoing against walls.

  None of that intel helps me now, for I can’t make out a single word that’s being said. What could they be discussing? How best to tear me limb from limb? My mind drums up vicious images, ones where the fae creatures shift back into wolves and devour my body while I scream at the top of my lungs. Or they curse me to dance until my toes bleed, just like the terrifying legends I’d so stupidly written off as fiction. It’s safe to say I was wrong about all prior assumptions about the fae.

  Why did I have to come here? Why? All these weeks spent fearing the townspeople, their gossip, their lies, and the true monsters were the ones I should have expected—the ones every other sensible human being expects. The fae, the wolves, and the woods.

  A sound, like the creaking of a door, falls upon my ears, followed by footsteps drawing near. Through my blindfold, my vision brightens somewhat, as if a light has been turned on in whatever room I’m being held in. Rough hands come to the back of my head, and I feel the blindfold begin to loosen. My heart leaps into my throat, terror surging through every inch of me. I don’t know what I’ll find once the blindfold comes off. I could be in a dungeon, a torture chamber, a—

  I blink into the light, its glow the same soft quality as the indoor lighting of our townhouse, and find myself in a…bedroom. A simple, modestly furnished bedroom. It looks as if it hasn’t been occupied in half a century, but that’s its only horror. Well, that and the three figures standing before me.

  Still in the form of humanlike beings, the leader—the one who had been that insufferable white wolf and is clearly this pack’s alpha—stands front and center, his staff propped under his arm, golden-brown hair in disarray around his shoulders. Slowly, I crane my neck to meet his eyes, surprised to find he appears far younger than I’d originally assumed. Despite his unkempt appearance, his stained linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his hideously wild hair and beard, his face is unweathered, devoid of the creases I imagined from afar. He can’t be older than twenty-five.

  He’s fae, I remind myself. Fae don’t age the way humans do. For all I know he’s ancient. And even if he isn’t, his age has no bearing on my circumstance.

  I burn the alpha wolf with a scowl, but I’m sure the effect is lessened by how violently I tremble. One of the two fae—a male with black hair and a dark bushy beard—behind him snickers, then moves to the other side of the room where he sits at a dusty bureau. He wipes his hand across the surface before retrieving a few sheets of paper and a fountain pen from one of the drawers. The other fae, the elderly, gray-haired female I saw before, crosses her arms over her chest, shooting daggers with her gaze. Just like the fae Imogen and I glimpsed outside the Verity Hotel, the only thing that gives these creatures away as being anything but human is their pointed ears.

  The alpha leans forward, and I flinch back, but he only reaches for my cloth gag. With a grimace, he tugs it down, then takes a hasty step back, wiping the hand that touched my gag on his shirt.

  “What do you want with me?” I aim for toughness, but my voice comes out weak and hoarse.

  The alpha’s eyes flick from me to the wolf-man at the bureau. The latter, pen and paper in hand, nods. Returning his gaze to me, the alpha asks, “Are you married?”

  The blood leaves my face. What kind of question is that? Oh, for the love of the saints, what have I gotten myself into?

  The fae lets out an irritated grumble, his tone taking on a sharper quality. “Answer the question, human.”

  I swallow hard. As much as I want to resist my captors, I imagine my best bet is to cooperate. For now. “No,” I finally say, “I’m not married.”

  “Who keeps you then?” he asks with a flourish of his hand. “I know your kind like to keep their females like property, am I wrong?”

  I bristle, wanting to argue, but as much as it incenses me to admit, he isn’t wrong. “I live with my father,” I say through my teeth.

  He looks encouraged by my answer, eyes brightening. “Father, yes. What’s his name?”

  I open my mouth to speak but can’t bring myself to answer. Even though Father and I don’t get along, I hate to think sharing his name could condemn him to harm. “Why? What in the name of the saints is this all about?”

  He leans down, clasping a hand around one of the arms of my chair, bringing us eye to eye. I lean back as far as I can, holding my breath. “I’m asking the questions here,” he says. “Now tell me his name. And don’t you dare lie. If we find out you’re lying about any of these answers, we’ll bite off a finger for each false word said.”

  “Fine,” I say, the word coming out at a higher pitch than I intend. “It’s…it’s Richard Bellefleur.”

  He straightens and snaps his fingers, then points to the fae at the bureau. His next words ring out strong and firm. “Richard Bellefleur.”

  The fae puts pen to paper and scrawls something down, then looks back at the alpha.

  The alpha speaks again in that same resonant tone. “I have your daughter—” He turns back to me and lowers his voice. “Name, human. What is your name?”

  My lips move before I manage to find my voice. “Gemma Bellefleur.”

  He adopts that tone again, one I can only describe as his villain voice. It’s a nearly perfect imitation of the one I imagine the antagonists using in my favorite novels. “I have your daughter, Gemma Bellefleur. She is safe and unharmed. For now.” He lowers his tone, flourishing a hand at his scribe. “Emphasize the for now, part, will you?”

  The fae nods and continues writing.

  “If you want her back, I will accept…” He pauses, lips pursed as he squints. Rubbing his bearded jaw with one hand, he looks down at me with an arched brow. “What is your father’s wealth?”

  “His wealth?” I echo.

  He gives an exaggerated nod, his features laced with exasperation. “His annual salary, human.”

  Annual salary. I narrow my eyes, calculating the sum of all this nonsense in my mind. “Are you…holding me for ransom?”

  He furrows his brow. “Is that what it’s called?”

  “Ransom, yes,” the female fae says, revealing a few sharp, crooked teeth. “I do believe that’s what it’s called.”

  With this knowledge comes a steadying calm in the midst of my fear. It doesn’t take my terror away completely, but at least it gives me an edge. Ransom, I can work with. It’s all numbers and figures, things I know well. Taking a deep breath, I attempt to settle beneath my false persona. Having my hands tied behind my back makes that a little difficult, considering I can’t sit tall the way I normally do when feigning confidence, but at least I can school my features, ease my breathing, steady my voice.

  “I hate to tell you this, but we have no money,” I say. “We’re poor. We can’t afford a ransom. You should let me go.”

  He barks a laugh. “That’s a lie. Just look at that hideous dress of yours.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, but I swallow my indignation and don a mask of embarrassment instead. “It’s the nicest one I have. I…only wore it because I had an interview today. A job interview. When you found me, I was on my way to thirty-three Whitespruce—” My words dry on my lips as another calculation plays out in my mind. Damn. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. When I open them, I burn the alpha with my gaze. “Let me guess. This is thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, isn’t it?”

  The burly fae smirks with pride but gives no reply.

  “You tricked me to come here, didn’t you?”

  “I like the term enticed,” he says.

  My blood boils with rage, chest heaving, but I force my words to come out calm. “I thought fae couldn’t lie.” I’m testing the waters here. Can fae lie? Are the legends correct in that regard?

  “I told no lie.”

  The female fae nods, as if to confirm the validity of his statement.

  I lift a brow. “You wrote a want ad seeking a house steward.”

  The al
pha shrugs. “I don’t have a house steward, so technically you could say I’m in want of one. Fae may not lie, but we excel at deception. Now, enough chit-chat. Tell me your father’s wealth.”

  I grit my teeth, mind whirling to come up with a solution, one that sets me free and leaves my father out of this. I’m not entirely sure he’d come for me, no matter how much or how little I’m ransomed for. He may have regained his wealth, but would he dare spend it to rescue me from a situation such as this? One that I clearly got myself into while acting against his rules and demands? I don’t know how much time has passed since I’ve been gone, but Nina and Susan could already be telling him where I am and what I’ve done. He’s probably spinning into a rage as it is. If he learns I’ve not only gone to a job interview, but also been tricked and held for ransom…

  “I lied,” I say, lifting my chin. “I am rich. But don’t take the money from my father, make a deal with me instead. If you let me go, I’ll give you twice as much as you’re planning on asking from him.”

  He lets out a low chuckle. “I don’t want money.”

  I blink a few times. “Then why the hell are you holding me for ransom?”

  He clenches his jaw. “The ransom, stupid human, is a front. When he comes to do the trade, he’ll find you surrounded by brigands.” The other two fae nod excitedly. “Then I, a brave hero, will step in and defeat them, handing you off to your father unharmed.”

  I stare blankly at their proud expressions. “Why?”

  “He’ll be grateful. When he sees I’ve saved both his daughter and his fortune, he’ll be overwhelmed with gratitude. So much that he’ll be willing to sacrifice that which he holds dear. Of his own free will and volition, of course.”

  So that’s what this is about. It’s that same riddle he kept spouting off about before. For some unfathomable reason, he seeks a sacrifice from a willing human. But what’s even harder to imagine is his assumption my father will…will…