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

by Tessonja Odette

  His words chill me. Remembering the trickster wolf I met when I first came searching for thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, it isn’t hard to imagine that version of him being as cold and cruel as he says. But it hasn’t been long since he last expressed disdain for humankind. Could he truly have changed so much? Or is it only me he’s come to value amongst my people?

  He seems to read the concern in my expression and rolls to face me. “You’ve changed me, Gemma. Changed me in a way I never thought I’d want. I never thought I’d want pain or pleasure. I never thought I would choose both over the freedom that ignorance brings. And, yes, it’s changed the way I judge your people. While I’ve yet to meet many I consider worthy of my respect or affection, I’m willing to believe your previous assertions are true—that not all humans are the same.”

  I bring my palm to the side of his face, and he angles his head to plant a kiss on my wrist. “You’ve changed me too, Elliot. You’ve reminded me what it means to trust, reminded me that pain in my past doesn’t mean love can’t exist in my future. It feels stupid now, realizing I nearly let one man close me off to the experiences of life.”

  “Does that mean you won’t leave anymore?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face. “You can, Gemma. I know how much you miss your home country. I will not keep you here, no matter how much I love you—”

  I press my forefinger to his lips. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. Independence doesn’t require running away and being alone. I can have freedom and still live amongst others. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven human society, but I have a feeling there’s more to Faerwyvae than what my experiences have shown me so far. And even if I were to discover every city on the isle is just as stifling as Vernon, well…I’ll still have you.”

  “Yes, my love. You have me. So long as I live, I am yours.” He kisses me, his hands roving my back, as if seeking undiscovered lands he hasn’t already laid claim to. I do the same in turn, feeling his flesh, his muscles, his hair, tasting the salt of his skin. A spark of desire returns, and we continue to fan its flames late into the night, until we’re too tired to move a muscle. Until we fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

  When I wake up, I’m alone.

  It takes me a moment to remember where I am, seeing the unfamiliar bedroom beneath the light of the rising sun creeping through the windows. Then it all rushes back to me, and I relax, images of last night’s pleasure replaying in my mind, making me squeeze my thighs together. I roll onto my side, arm outstretched, seeking any sign of warmth left in Elliot’s wake. But his side of the bed is cold, revealing only a slight indentation of where he was.

  I wonder where he’s gone off to, then sit upright as the answer comes. The curse! Surely, he’s gone to break it. Throwing back the tangled sheets, I leap from the bed and hurry to the window. The view from here is far different from my bedroom. There is no sign of the garden, just forest trees and the tops of nearby mountains.

  I leave the window to find my discarded gown and hastily climb into it. Then I leave the room, keeping an eye out for any sign of Elliot. The halls, however, are quiet and empty. I return to my room only long enough to don hose, boots, and a cloak, then dart downstairs and out the back doors to the garden.

  Just as predicted, I find Elliot in the rose courtyard, sitting on the bench. He has his staff with him instead of his prosthetic, and he’s dressed in nothing but trousers and a shirt—probably the same ones I took off him last night. The thought fills me with warmth, but it’s quickly extinguished by his posture. When I came to find him, I’d hoped to see a triumphant grin on his face, or at least to find him buzzing with nervous anticipation. What I hadn’t expected was to see him shrouded in his telltale aura of defeat.

  Shoulders slouched and elbows propped on his knees, he holds a red rose petal between his fingers. Terror surges inside me, and my eyes dart to the withering rose, thinking the worst, but find it remains with a cluster of petals intact. I take a slow step into the courtyard. Elliot’s eyes meet mine for the briefest second before returning to the petal in his hand.

  My stomach sinks, pulse racing with fear no matter what I do to keep it at bay. Something isn’t right. I clear my throat, attempting to keep my voice light and causal. “Are you going to do it?”

  He meets my gaze again, his eyes wide and haunted. When he speaks, his voice comes out with a croak. “I can’t.”

  A cloud of dread pummels me down, making me suddenly unsteady on my feet. Still, I force myself to maintain some semblance of composure. “You can’t? Elliot, you said last night that you knew what had to be done.”

  “I thought I knew.” He shakes his head, his voice rich with emotion. “But now…I can’t give up what the curse requires. I will give up anything but that.”

  My blood runs cold, freezing my heart, chilling my bones. The world feels as if it’s tipping upside down and I’m about to float into the sky only to crash onto the ground a second later. This is it. This is where it all falls apart, just like everything good in my life has before. Just like Mother’s death. Just like Oswald’s betrayal.

  After a few trembling breaths, I find my voice over the lump in my throat. The words I say are an echo of ones I’ve said in the past, a cruel reflection of a situation I thought I’d recovered from. “You lied.”

  “I didn’t. I had every intention of doing it.” There’s so much conviction in his voice, I almost believe him. But I know better now, for it’s almost the exact same thing the viscount said to me after our affair was made public. After he promised to fight for me.

  “You deceived me. Last night—”

  “If only I could go back to last night,” he says, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “To before I knew you loved me back. Erase all that happened after. At least then I could do this without losing the only thing that matters to me.”

  His words twist my guts, driving thorns into my heart. “You want to erase what we did last night? You regret it?”

  He returns his eyes to mine, his gaze wild, looking more like the wolf I first met than ever before. “Gemma, you don’t understand. Something has changed.”

  Shadows of the past threaten to invade my mind. The force of them is so strong, I fear they’ll knock me off my feet. I breathe them away, hardening my heart against their attack, and channel all of my pain into the present. Crossing my arms, I let my sorrow turn to rage. “I know exactly what’s changed. You got what you wanted and now you realize it was never worth it to begin with. You’re just like Oswald. Full of promises in the heat of passion, but cold and afraid when reality sets in. I never should have trusted you.”

  He stands, securing his staff beneath his arm as he crosses the courtyard to me. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “So you’re going to marry Imogen just to keep your precious wolf form,” I say with a sneer. He has the nerve to look confused, brows knitting together, but I continue on before he can interrupt. “I get it, Elliot. I really do. You value your unseelie form more than anything else. To you, it means freedom. I know that. But you didn’t have to lead me on. You didn’t have to tell me lies to get me into bed—”

  “I didn’t lie,” he says through his teeth. “I’m incapable of it. Even if I were, I’d never lie to you.”

  I fix him with a seething glare. “So long as I live, I am yours. Do you remember saying that?”

  “I meant it. Gemma, you have no idea how much I meant that and still do. I only wish—”

  “What? That I could be your mistress? That you could lock me in a cave and only come visit me when you’re bored of being a wolf? Or perhaps crawl into my bed after you perform your husbandly duties with Imogen? Well, that’s not going to happen, I promise you.” Each word that tumbles from my lips is another lash upon my heart, another gaping wound left bleeding in its wake.

  “That’s not what I’m trying to say.” He advances a step closer, but I retreat back.

  “Let me out of the bargain,” I say, teeth bared
. “I did my part, but I’m done and I’ll participate in it no longer. You can finish our scheme all on your own. I don’t want your money or your thanks or to ever see your face again. Just let me out so I can forget the last month of my life ever happened.” My words dissolve into gasping sobs, but I swallow them down. Angry tears stream down my face, tears I wish I could hide from him.

  Pain twists his face as he watches me unravel before him. Then his expression turns hard, a sudden realization dawning in his eyes. His voice comes out cold, flat. “You’re right. This is the only way, isn’t it? That we part now so you can forget about me.”

  “Can it be done? Can the bargain be dissolved?”

  He nods, eyes closed.

  “Then do it.”

  He stands trembling in silence for a few moments, then opens his eyes. Another flicker of pain contorts his expression, but again he steels it. “Gemma Bellefleur, I release you from our bargain. I consider it served and severed.”

  There’s no rush of magic, no mysterious tingle. Nothing to denote a fae bargain has been dissolved. Or perhaps I’m just too numb to care.

  Without a second thought, I turn on my heel and stride down the path.

  “Gemma,” comes Elliot’s quavering voice.

  I glance over my shoulder to see the plea in his eyes, but what it’s begging of me, I don’t know, and it does nothing to soften my heart. Instead, it fuels my rage. I wish I had a way to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he’s inflicted upon me. But all I have are my words. Filling my voice with all the venom poisoning my heart, I say, “Fuck you, Elliot. I hope you and Imogen rot in hell.”

  37

  My next days pass in solitude and silence. My bedroom at Father’s townhouse feels like a tomb and my presence in it is weighted in defeat. I try not to count the days nor the petals I know are falling in the courtyard of a certain manor on Whitespruce Lane. I try not to compare my cramped yet elegant bedroom to the spacious one I spent the last month in, nor the one I spent a single, pleasurable night in. Feigning illness, I take all meals in my room, refuse all visitors, survive Father’s triumphant glares and Nina’s pitying glances when I’m forced to be in their presence.

  Despite all my best efforts to forget, when a week goes by, I know the exact tally of petals that have fallen and approximately how many remain. If my previous estimates were correct, then tomorrow is the final day before the curse is set to claim Elliot Rochester.

  “I wish it would take him,” I mutter without feeling as I lay reclined in bed, my eyes scanning the pages of a book. I can hardly call it reading, considering my lack of comprehension and joy over the words I visually digest. But it gives me something to do, some semblance of a distraction. It doesn’t last, however, and I quickly find my thoughts returning to their previous musings. Elliot. The curse. The rose petals.

  As much as I dread the countdown to the final petal, I welcome it with cold anticipation. For once that day passes, it will be over once and for all. There will be no wondering, no what-ifs. There will be no feverish, foolish urges to run back to the manor, wrap him in my arms, and proclaim that I will break his curse myself.

  I scowl inwardly at the thought, at my reckless weakness when it comes to him. Even if Elliot deserved my affection, nothing could ever be worth sacrificing freedom for. That’s never been truer than now.

  Then again, I have no reason to believe the curse hasn’t already been broken. He may have married Imogen by now, for all I know. It would be idiocy to wait until the last day, the last moment. They could have been married the day I fled the manor. Closing myself off in my bedroom, I’ve avoided as much outside communication as possible. I’ve certainly ignored every letter of Imogen’s, every request to speak to me. There haven’t been many, but she’s come to call enough to make my feigned sickness almost feel real.

  I shake the thoughts from my mind and return to my book. I give it a solid effort and have almost made it a full paragraph when I’m interrupted by a brief knock on my door. It’s a knock I know well. Father.

  Without waiting for me to answer, he opens my door. “Get dressed. Gavin Aston is coming for tea this afternoon, and you will see him.” Just like that, he begins to close the door.

  I lurch from my bed and race to the door. “What are you talking about? I can’t have company. I’m unwell.”

  Father barks a cold laugh. “We both know that isn’t true, and I’m done humoring your whims. It’s time to do your duties as my daughter.”

  I stare blankly, feeling like I’m missing something. “Why is Mr. Aston coming to have tea with me?”

  He purses his lips, jaw shifting side to side, making his dark mustache twitch. Then, in a rush, he says, “He’s coming to ask for your hand, and you will accept.”

  He tries to close the door on his last word, but I grab the door handle. Terror and fury flood me. “He’s going to what?”

  “Do not try to argue,” Father says, raising his voice. “He’s already asked my permission and I’ve given it. Now that you are back under my roof, you will do as I say. You will accept his proposal and we will put this newest scandal behind us.”

  My mouth falls open. “What are you talking about? What scandal? Father, I took a job. My employment has now ended because Mr. Rochester will be taking up residence elsewhere.”

  He shakes his head, a bitter laugh on his lips. “You aren’t fooling anyone, Gemma. Did you think you could come back here and return to your old ways, secretly sending off job applications and taking my hospitality for granted?”

  I clench my jaw, having no argument against that. It is, in fact, exactly what I intend to do. That is, once I find the motivation to move about the house and interact with people again.

  “Do you not know what they’re saying about you?”

  I throw my hands in the air. “What is so wrong about a woman like me taking a job?”

  His face flushes crimson, eyes bulging. “You lived with an unwed man, spent who knows how many unchaperoned hours with him, and danced with him at a private ball while he was courting Imogen Coleman. Everything is wrong with that. I don’t care if he’s secretly the king, and I don’t care if the rumors about you are wrong. The truth is, no one will hire you now, unless you plan on entering a brothel.”

  His words send shards of glass through my heart, puncturing the already bruised and bloodied organ. Still, I can find no word to use against him. Nothing. The disgust in his eyes has me shriveling before him, shrinking me into a speck of dirt. How did my father become this cold, cruel man?

  “You’re lucky anyone wants to marry you at all,” he says. “You will accept Mr. Aston’s company for tea this afternoon, and when he proposes, you will say yes. Otherwise, I will turn you out of the house tonight.”

  With that, he slams the door shut. In his absence, I lean against the wall, finding my legs too weak to support me. I blink, but no tears will come, for I have none to spare. They’ve long since dried.

  An hour later, I don my false persona and enter the parlor. It isn’t quite afternoon just yet, but I’d rather prepare for my doom now than wait until Gavin is being led upstairs to meet me. I go to the hearth, ignoring memories of another hearth in another parlor, and sit on a chair that looks nothing like one I’ve grown so fond of seeing occupied by a certain surly king.

  My eyes unfocus as I watch the dancing flames, and I force my mind to empty.

  Empty.

  Nothing.

  Too soon, the parlor doors open, sending my heart leaping into my throat. Every muscle grows tense as I squeeze the arms of my chair. But it isn’t Gavin that enters; it’s Nina.

  I release a sigh, feeling my muscles ease as I lean into the back of the chair. Nina approaches and takes a seat next to me. I neither greet her nor meet her eyes but can feel the pity in them just the same.

  We sit in silence for a few moments, until Nina speaks, voice quiet. “You aren’t going to marry him, are you?”

  I can’t quite place her tone. Is there trepidat
ion in it? Condemnation? “What do you want me to say, Nina?”

  She leans toward me. “I want you to say no, that you’ll refuse him.”

  I’m taken aback by this, and slowly meet my sister’s eyes, finding them fierce and defiant. I wish they’d spark the same in me, but they don’t. “Since when do you promote my disobedience against Father?”

  “Since I watched you dance with Mr. Rochester.”

  My heart does a flip then sinks to my toes. I look back at the fire. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Nina leans closer, reaching for my hand. She takes it in both of hers. “Gemma, I’ve tried to give you space and not question you, but something happened between you and Mr. Rochester, and I want you to tell me.”

  I pull my hand from her grasp. “Nothing happened.”

  She sits straighter, her tone sharpening. “You cannot tell me what I saw was nothing. I saw the way he looked at you. The way you looked at him. Anyone with eyes and a brain could see.”

  I scoff. “So very few.”

  “You loved him and he loved you.”

  I whirl in my chair to face her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. The fae aren’t capable of love like we are. Turns out that part of the fairytales is true.”

  “Then tell me what happened. Don’t shut me out. I know you’re hurting and I want to be here for you. I love you.”